Free The Winner's Crime by Marie Rutkoski Page B

freedom.
    “I don’t want to talk about your fi ancé.” Arin pushed
    away from the balustrade and stood tall enough to cast a
    shadow over her if there had been any light. “I seek infor-
    mation.”
    “Gossip, Arin?” she said lightly, and toyed with her
    necklace in the dark until its fretful clicking made her
    let go.
    “I’m looking for a Herrani servant. He’s missing.”
    The memory of Thrynne welled up. Tell him. He needs
    to know. Those had been the tortured man’s words. “Who
    is he to you?” Kestrel asked.
    “A friend.”
    “You could ask the palace steward.”
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    “I’m asking you.”
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    She couldn’t believe it. The mere fact of Arin’s asking
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    was so reckless. No matter that his trust didn’t extend quite
    so far as to admit the truth of the situation: that Thrynne
    CRIME
    had been a spy sent to gather information on the emperor,
    ’S
    and must be assumed caught. It was nevertheless clear
    that Arin was the sort of person who would dash safety to
    pieces. No one with any sense of self- preservation would
    THE WINNER
    inquire after the whereabouts of his spy from the emperor’s
    future daughter-
    in-
    law, who had already betrayed Arin
    once.
    But self- preservation had never been Arin’s strong suit.
    What would he do with the truth of Kestrel’s engage-
    ment?
    Where is my honor in all this? he’d asked her once. She
    didn’t know what honor was to him. She thought that it
    wasn’t the same as her father’s: monumental, marble- cut.
    No, Arin’s honor was alive. She sensed the way it moved.
    She couldn’t see its face— maybe it had many faces— but
    she believed that Arin’s honor was the kind that would
    hold its breath and bite its lip until it bled.
    If she told Arin the truth, he’d wreck the peace she’d
    bought. It almost didn’t matter whether he loved her. Arin
    wouldn’t let someone imprison herself so that he could go
    free. He’d fi nd a way to end her engagement . . . and she
    would let him.
    She’d felt it before, she felt it now: the pull to fall in
    with him, to fall into him, to lose her sense of self.
    There would be scandal, and then there’d be war.
    Kestrel must keep her secret. She was going to have to
    lie with her whole self. She could be cold. She could be
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    distant. Even with him.
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    As for Thrynne . . . she had a plan.
    SKI
    O
    “Very well,” Kestrel said. “Tell me your friend’s name.
    I’ll share what I know in honor of the protection you gave
    me after the Firstwinter Rebellion. A Valorian remembers
    her debts.”
    MARIE RUTK
    Arin stayed very still. “I hadn’t realized I had done any-
    thing that begged repayment. What I did, I did for you.”
    “Precisely. So ask. I will answer. We will be even.”
    “Even? If you insist on seeing things that way, you and
    I will never clear our debts.”
    “Do you want your information or not?”
    “What I want . . .” He muttered the words. Then his
    voice steadied and came clear. “My friend’s name is Thrynne.
    He cleans. Floors, mostly.” Arin described the man’s fea-
    tures.
    Kestrel pretended to think. “No. I’m sorry. I don’t recall
    seeing someone like him.”
    “Maybe if you took more time to consider—”
    “Doubtful. There are hundreds of servants and slaves
    in the palace. How am I to know each one?”
    “So you give me nothing.”
    “When have I ever given you anything?”
    Softly, Arin said, “You gave me much, once.”
    “Well,” said Kestrel, “as cozy as this little chat has been,
    I’d like to get back to my party.” She stepped toward the
    curtain.
    His movement was swift. He blocked her path, hands
    coming down on either side of her to brace against the bal-
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    ustrade. He didn’t touch her, but was close enough now
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    that