“But maybe you’d like her to be troubled. Unhappy with her new life. What would you do then, Arin? Rescue her from it?”
Arin said nothing.
“She seems happy to me,” said Tensen.
“The dress’s seams were ripped. The skirts were filthy. There’s no mud in the Winter Garden. The garden has flagstones. Where did the stains come from?”
Tensen stared at him. “Arin. I don’t mean to be unkind, and I know you feel that what Deliah said is important, but all I am hearing is an obsession with the prince’s bride and what she likes to wear.”
Arin closed his mouth. He shivered, suddenly chilled by doubt.
“Please,” said Tensen. “Leave the spying to me.”
“But you’ve learned nothing. Not since you told me about Thrynne.”
“All in good time.”
“Is it your new recruit? Has he learned something?” Arin saw Tensen’s expression change slightly. “Or she?”
“Not yet. I’m encouraged that we’ll hear something soon.”
“I don’t like this. I don’t like how happy you seem about nothing at all from somebody whose name I don’t know.”
“I think of my informant as the Moth.”
“I want a name.”
“I see. You’re concerned about whether we can trust this person. Don’t be. The Moth is highly motivated to give us what we need.”
Arin slammed his good hand down on the end table. “I will send you back to Herran. I swear that I will pack you onto the next ship there if you don’t tell me who your informant is. Now.”
Tensen swept the scattered shards back into their pile. He relaxed into his chair. His small green eyes were bright. “I noticed you speaking with Princess Risha the other night.”
He fell silent, and the silence began to speak to Arin.
“Yes,” Arin said slowly. “She was upset.”
“Of course. What happened in the plains was tragic. Its people are refugees in the eastern capital. Hundreds died during the trek from the plains.”
“Are you telling me—?”
“It can’t be easy to be a knife held to the throat of one’s own people. That’s why Risha was kidnapped as a child. The emperor can make the eastern queen grieve at a moment’s notice. I’m surprised the emperor hasn’t killed the queen’s little sister already—but then again, that’s a card he can only play once. He must be waiting for the right moment. I wonder what Risha thinks, while he’s waiting.”
Arin absorbed what his minister was saying—or what Arin thought he was saying. It occurred to him that it might be wise to suspect one’s own spymaster, who’d been employed to traffic in deceit. And Tensen had been an actor before the war. But Arin could see no reason for Tensen to pretend that Risha was his Moth. Arin could see why she would work against the empire.
The old man looked at him, his expression kind. Arin suddenly craved kindness. He was seized by a horrible feeling, a familiar one. He’d been caught in its fist for ten years. He was sick of it. Why couldn’t he outgrow it? He was no child. He had no business feeling lonely.
Loss of blood made Arin light-headed. His thoughts seemed to float and drift.
Tensen rose and brought a fresh bowl of water to Arin, who sank his right hand into it.
“Risha is very beautiful,” the minister commented.
“Yes,” Arin said. “She is.” It was hard to think. Arin was so tired.
“Well, I’m going to bed,” Tensen said. “Unless I need to pack for an abrupt departure over the tempest-tossed winter sea?”
“No. Go to sleep.”
Tensen smiled and left him.
Arin sat for a long time in that chair. He considered what he knew, what he thought he knew, and what he knew he didn’t know. Then he reconsidered everything.
His thoughts began to take strange shapes. They beat their wings and fluttered away. Arin found himself borne on those wings and flown into sleep.
He had dreams where moths were crawling on his face. Their legs became black stitches. They laid eggs in a long line down his forehead and over his cheek. The eggs hatched.
He dreamed of Kestrel. He dreamed of Risha.
He dreamed that Kestrel had become Risha, that the sun had become the moon, and he couldn’t tell whether he was blinded by the light or the dark.
An infection set into the wound. Arin’s fever raged high.