“You don't need to be gifted with a blade. You are your own best weapon.”
“Will you come with me?"
"Ah, Kestrel, that's something you never need to ask.”
“Arin pulled her onto his lap. He held her shaking form, tucked his face into the crook of her cold neck as she sobbed against him. He murmured that he loved her more than he could say. He promised that he would always choose her first.”
“He changed us both." She seemed to struggle for words. "I think of you, all that you lost, who you were, what you were forced to be, and might have been, and I—I have become this, this person, unable to—"
She shut her mouth.
"Kestrel," he said softly, "I love this person.”
“Arin. I've wanted to do this for a long time."
Her words silenced him, steadied him.
Antecipation lifted within her like the fragance of a garden under the rain. She sat at the piano, touching the keys. "Ready?"
He smiled. "Play.”
“You will be lonely, but you'll become strong.”
“She tried to imagine her former self. Enemy. Prisoner. Friend? Daughter. Spy. Prisoner again. “What am I now?”
Sarsine held both of Kestrel’s hands. “What ever you want to be.”
“You could offer her a seat,” Arin said.
“Ah, but I have only two chairs in my tent, little Herrani, and we are three. I suppose she could always sit on your lap.”
“I told her that I belong to you, and no other.”
“If I die, you'll survive. If you die, it will destroy me.”
“He didn’t smile. He cupped her face with both hands. An emotion tugged at his expression, a dark awe, the kind saved for a wild storm that rends the sky but doesn’t ravage your existence, doesn’t destroy every thing you love. The one that lets you feel saved.”
“She had done everything she could. And he didn't even know.”
“He'd believed it. She couldn't believe that he believed it. Sometimes, she hated him for that.”
“It was an old Herrani flag, stitched with the royal crest.
Arin said, "But the royal line is gone."
"They're looking for something to call you, Kestrel said, nudging Javelin forward.
"Not this. It's not right."
"Don't worry. They'll find the right words to describe you."
"And you."
"Oh, that's easy."
"It is?" It seemed impossible to name every thing she was to him.
Kestrel's expression was serious, luminous. He loved to see her like this. "They'll say that I'm yours," she told him, "just as you are mine.”
“She would never give him her dagger. “I tried so hard to live in your world,” she told him. “Now it’s your turn to live in mine.”
“She pressed her face into the pillow. His scent was there. She was stupid to have come, yet didn’t have the strength to leave.
The ghost of him between the sheets. The shadow of her old self curled into the shadow of him.”
“It was the horror of someone who'd been dealt a winning hand, had bet her life on the game, and then proceeded (deliberately?) to lose.”
“She said, I'm going to miss you when you when I wake up.
Don't wake up, he answered.
But he did.
Kestrel, beside him on the grass, said. "Did I wake you? I didn't mean to."
It took him a velvety moment to understand that this was real. The air was quiet. An insect beat it's clear wings. She brushed hair from his brow. Now he was very awake.
"You were sleeping so sweetly," she said.
"Dreaming" He touched her tender mouth.
"About what?"
"Come closer, and I will tell you."
But he forgot. He kissed her, and became lost in the exquisite sensation of his skin becoming too tight for his body. He murmured other things instead. A secret, a want, a promise. A story, in its own way.
She curled her fingers into the green earth”
“Kestrel thought that maybe she had been wrong, and Risha had been wrong, about forgiveness, that it was neither mud nor stone, but resembled more the drifting white spores. They came loose from the trees when they were ready. Soft to the touch, but made to be let go, so that they could find a place to plant and grow.”
“Later, Kestrel wished she had spoken then, that no time had been lost. She wished that she’d had the courage that very moment to tell Arin what she’d finally known to be true: that she loved him with the whole of her heart.”
“Kestrel felt a slow, slight throb, a shimmer in the blood. She knew it well.
Her worst trait. Her best trait.
The desire to come out on top, to set her opponent under her thumb.
A streak of pride. Her mind ringed with hungry rows of foxlike teeth.”
“Go away, little ghost. Go haunt someone else.”
“He hadn’t been blessed by the god of death.
Arin was the god.”
“I have a confession,” he said. “Sometimes I offend on purpose. It’s like my smile.”
“That’s not an apology.”
“Princes don’t apologize.”
“I told you everything I know", said the messenger. Arin had gone to his childhood suite, feeling anxiety verging on panic at the thought of not finding the man there, of having to track him down, of time lost…but the man had opened the outermost door almost immediately after Arin’s pounding knock.
"I didn’t ask you the right questions,“ Arin said. "I want to start again. You said that the prisoner reached trough the bars of the wagon to give you the moth.”
“Yes”
“And you couldn’t really see her.”
“That’s right.”
“But you said she was Herrani. Why would you say that if you couldn’t see her?”
“Because she spoke in Herrani.”
“Perfectly.”
“Yes.”
“No accent.”
“No.”
“Describe the hand.”
“I’m not sure…”
“Start with the skin. You said it was paler than yours, than mine.”
“Yes, like a house slave’s.”
Which wasn’t very different from a Valorian’s. “Could you see her wrist, her arm?”
“The wrist, yes, now that you mention it. She was in chains. I saw the manacle.”
“Did you see the sleeve of a dress?”
“Maybe. Blue?”
Dread churned inside Arin. “You think or you know?”
“I don’t know. Things happened too fast.”
“Please. This is important.”
“I don’t want to say something I’m not sure is true.”
“All right, all right. Was this her right hand or her left?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can you tell me anything about it? Did she wear a seal ring?”
“Not that I saw, but –”
“Yes?"
"She had a birthmark. On the hand, near the thumb. It looked like a little black star.”
“The reason you enjoy my company is because I look like how you feel.”
“When Roshar saw her ripped, one-legged trousers and Arin at her side as they stood outside the prince’s tent, his eyes glinted with mirth and Kestrel felt quite sure that the prince was going to say it was about time Arin tore her clothes off. Then Roshar might comment coyly on Arin’s inability to reach a full conclusion (Only one trouser leg? she imagined Roshar saying. How lazy of you, Arin), or on the quaint quality of Arin’s modesty (What a little lamb you are). Perhaps he’d offer condolences to Kestrel on the partial death of her trousers. He’d ask whether she’d gotten injured on purpose.”
“She'd betrayed her country because she'd believed it was the right thing to do. Yet would she have done this, if not for Arin?
He knew none of it. Had never asked for it. Kestrel had made her own choices. It was unfair to blame him.
But she wanted to.”
“His gaze was unblinking. Lacking eyelids will do that to a person.”
“Well, it may have escaped your notice,but life isn't fair”
“Dear Miss Independent,
I've decided that of all the women I've ever known, you are the only one I will ever love more than hunting, fishing, football, and power tools.
You may not know this, but the other time I asked you to marry me, the night I put the crib together, I meant it. Even though I knew you weren't ready.
God, I hope you're ready now.
Marry me, Ella. Because no matter where you go or what you do, I'll love you every day for the rest of my life.
—Jack”
“Excuse me,” she said. “Is that a flowerpot on your head?”
“Not my business, I guess. I teach you what I know, He shows you what to do with it. Bane, you don’t need me to mediate nothing with Him. He’ll establish direct connections with you the same way He has with me.”
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