Marie Rutkoski - The Winner’s Crime

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For Kristin Cashore

She cut herself opening the envelope.

Kestrel had been eager, shed been a fool, tearing into the letter simply because it had been addressed in Herrani script. The letter opener slipped. Seeds of blood hit the paper and bloomed bright.

It wasnt, of course, from him. The letter was from Herrans new minister of agriculture. He wrote to introduce himself, and to say he looked forward to when they would meet. I believe you and I have much in common and much to discuss, he wrote.

Kestrel wasnt sure what he meant by that. She didnt know him, or even of him. Although she supposed she would have to meet with the minister at some pointshe was, after all, the imperial ambassador to the now independent territory of HerranKestrel didnt anticipate spending time with the minister of agriculture. She had nothing to say on crop rotation or fertilizer.

Kestrel caught the haughty tone of her thoughts. She felt the way it thinned her mouth. She realized that she was furious at this letter.

At herself. At the way her heart had leaped to see her name scrawled in the Herrani alphabet on the envelope. She had hoped so hard that it was from Arin.

But shed had no contact with him for nearly a month, not since shed offered him his countrys freedom. And the envelope hadnt even been addressed in his hand. She knew his writing. She knew the fingers that would hold the pen. Blunt-cut nails, silver scars from old burns, the calloused scrape of his palm, all very at odds with his elegant cursive. Kestrel should have known right away that the letter wasnt from him.

But still: the quick slice of paper. Still: the disappointment.

Kestrel set aside the letter. She pulled the silk sash from her waist, threading it out from under the dagger that she, like all Valorians, wore strapped to her hip. She wound the sash around her bleeding hand. She was ruining the sashs ivory silk. Her blood spotted it. But a ruined sash didnt matter, not to her. Kestrel was engaged to Prince Verex, heir to the Valorian empire. The proof of it was marked daily on her brow in an oiled, glittering line. She had sashes upon sashes, dresses upon dresses, a river of jewels. She was the future empress.

Yet when she stood from her carved ebony chair, she was unsteady. She looked around her study, one of many rooms in her suite, and was unsettled by the stone walls, the corners set insistently into perfect right angles, the way two narrow hallways cut into the room. It should have made sense to Kestrel, who knew that the imperial palace was also a fortress. Tight hallways were a way to bottleneck an invading force. Yet it looked unfriendly and alien. It was so different from her home.

Kestrel reminded herself that her home in Herran had never really been hers. She may have been raised in that colony, but she was Valorian. She was where she was supposed to be. Where she had chosen to be.

The cut had stopped bleeding.

Kestrel left the letter and went to change her day dress for dinner. This was her life: rich fabric and watered silk trim. A dinner with the emperor and the prince.

Yes, this was her life.

She must get used to it.

* * *

The emperor was alone. He smiled when she entered his stone-walled dining room. His gray hair was cropped in the same military style as her fathers, his eyes dark and keen. He didnt stand from the long table to greet her.

Your Imperial Majesty. She bowed her head.

Daughter. His voice echoed in the vaulted chamber. It rang against the empty plates and glasses. Sit.

She moved to do so.

No, he said. Here, at my right hand.

Thats the princes place.

The prince, it seems, is not here.

She sat. Slaves served the first course. They poured white wine. She could have asked why he had summoned her to dinner, and where the prince might be, but Kestrel had seen how the emperor loved to shape silence into a tool that pried open the anxieties of others. She let the silence grow until it was of her making as well as his, and only when the third course arrived did she speak. I hear the campaign against the east goes well.

So your father writes from the front. I must reward him for an excellently waged war. Or perhaps, Lady Kestrel, its you I should reward.

She drank from her cup. His success is none of my doing.

No? You urged me to put an end to the Herrani rebellion by giving that territory self-governance under my law. You argued that this would free up troops and money to fuel my eastern war, and lohe flourished a handit did. What clever advice from one so young.

His words made her nervous. If he knew the real reason she had argued for Herrani independence, she would pay for it. Kestrel tried the painstakingly prepared food. There were boats made from a meat terrine, their sails clear gelatin. She ate slowly.

Dont you like it? said the emperor.

Im not very hungry.

He rang a golden bell. Dessert, he told the serving boy who instantly appeared. Well skip ahead to dessert. I know how young ladies enjoy sweet things. But when the boy returned bearing two small plates made from porcelain so fine Kestrel could see light sheer through the rims, the emperor said, None for me, and one plate was set before Kestrel along with a strangely light and translucent fork.

She calmed herself. The emperor didnt know the truth about the day she had pushed for an end to the Herrani rebellion. No one did. Not even Arin knew that she had bought his freedom with a few strategic words and the promise to wed the crown prince.

If Arin knew, he would fight it. Hed ruin himself.

If the emperor knew why she had done it, he would ruin her.

Kestrel looked at the pile of pink whipped cream on her plate, and at the clear fork, as if they composed the whole of her world. She must speak cautiously. What need have I of a reward, when you have given me your only son?

And such a prize he is. Yet weve no date set for the wedding. When shall it be? Youve been quiet on the subject.

I thought Prince Verex should decide. If the choice were left to the prince, the wedding date would be never.

Why dont we decide?

Without him?

My dear girl, if the princes slippery mind cannot remember something so simple as the day and time of a dinner with his father and lady, how can we expect him to plan any part of the most important state event in decades?

Kestrel said nothing.

Youre not eating, he said.

She sank the clear fork into the cream and lifted it to her mouth. The forks tines dissolved against her tongue. Sugar, she said with surprise. The fork is made of hardened sugar.