"You do now." Kestra held out a hand to me, but I was already on my way with her bag of coins. I gave them to Kestra, who passed them to Rosalie.
"I'm so sorry," Kestra said. "I was trying to help."
Rosalie nodded back, as if to acknowledge that Kestra hadn't intended any of this. It didn't matter. Kestra looked wounded, stripped of her Dallisor superiority. I almost pitied her.
When she stood again, I took her arm. "Our escorts will be waiting." My tone was gentle. After what had just happened, Kestra would scold herself far worse than I ever could.
This time she went with me. Every face in the market watched her leave, none of them in a friendly way, and I knew she felt it. One hand was on my sword, but nobody would try anything. Not with Dominion soldiers nearby.
Trina was still on her horse, holding the reins for the mount we had been riding. Her face was nearly purple with anger.
Before climbing on the horse, Kestra paused to say, "I didn't know places like this existed."
And I didn't know how to respond to words filled with such sadness. I finally said, "Dallisors do not live in the same world as the rest of us."
She gave a halfhearted shrug. "That's why everyone thinks Dallisors are horrible people, right? Because we support a ruler who allows such a country as this? Maybe we are horrible. Maybe I am, and I never knew it."
Maybe. Or, there was a thought that bothered me more. Maybe she wasn't horrible at all. Despite my efforts to pretend otherwise, she had gotten into my head, stirring up emotions that kept my breath lodged in my throat whenever I looked at her. I could tell myself this was only the energy between rivals, or the stress of the mission we were about to undertake, but that'd be a lie. Whatever I felt, it was real and growing stronger. I'd sooner divide the sun from its light than separate Kestra Dallisor from my feelings.
As awful as I felt upon leaving Pitwill, what remained of the ride into Highwyn only worsened my mood. The poverty we saw on our journey was rampant, with empty shops, abandoned or neglected homes, and children in overgrown fields foraging for scraps to eat. This was good land. Where were the people who used to tend it?
Meanwhile, I was headed home to a manor of brick and stone with deep woven carpets and plush bedding. At each meal, we'd be offered more food than we could possibly consume, and every day, I'd have my choice of new dresses to wear. I was utterly ashamed of myself. How could I not know these realities of life outside of Highwyn?
Behind me, Simon barely said a word for the entire ride, if his occasional mumbles could be considered that much. Trina kept quiet too, which was a relief. If we weren't being escorted, they'd have had plenty to say. About what a terrible person I was, how I'd ruined Rosalie's life, perhaps a comparison of me and the average rabid skunk.
Trina could say any of that and it would roll off me without leaving a scratch. But I didn't want to hear it from Simo
n. I'd spent much of this ride replaying in my head the way he'd looked at me last night, while we hid inside the wall. His hands on my face and back, the warmth of his expression.
Him.
It was all a game to distract me from the trouble outside while I was distracting him from his knife--I knew that. Nothing that had happened there was real. But I wondered what it would be like to see that gentleness in his eyes again ... when he meant it.
From there, my thoughts descended to dangerous levels.
Lord Endrick was not a tolerant man. That was something I'd always understood, even when very young. Before she died, my mother had been afraid of him and taught me to be afraid too. She'd kept me hidden every time he came to our home. She whispered about the violence of his magic, and the casual cruelty of his heart. I accidentally encountered him once when he'd come for a supper, and remembered him saying that he'd forgotten Henry Dallisor even had a daughter. Then he'd ordered me away, claiming that I had the look of trouble in my eyes. I'd gone to a looking glass from there, searching my face for what he might have meant. It was years before I understood it, and before I saw that same look too.
The official Dominion explanation for Endrick's harsh rule was that it was forced upon Antora by the uncooperative masses, by the Corack rebels who terrorized the countryside, and by the occasional appearance of a Halderian, which always caused unrest as people wondered if they would bring back another war. Nobody wanted that, certainly not me. Even if things were bad, maybe it was best to let everything remain as it was. Trying to help only made lives worse. Rosalie proved that.
But what if Tenger was right? What if the Olden Blade was real, and the Infidante could be found among the Banished to claim it? If that was true, then I was playing a role in Endrick's downfall.
And my own family's downfall.
And possibly the collapse of Antora itself.
A wave of nausea rose in me, forcing my hands into fists to fight it back. I had always loved my country, but what if I only loved the idea of it, of what Antora could have been if anyone else were on that throne? Maybe I'd spent a lifetime staring at a glossy painting of Antora, beautiful and rich in color, but which was actually rotting beneath the surface.
If that was true, then there were other questions I had to ask, with answers that could earn my execution. What if saving Antora required Lord Endrick's destruction? What if the Coracks were right?
Simon touched my arm, and I jumped. "Are you all right? You seem nervous."
Nervous? No, I was unnerved, and completely unsure of what I was meant to do next. I just had to get home, back to what was familiar, and center myself again. Then everything would be all right.
"I'm fine," I said to Simon. It was a lie, but I made myself believe it, at least until the worst of the nausea passed.
Crossing into the capital city of Highwyn required us to pass between the Sentries, two blue granite statues so enormous that on horseback, we were barely taller than the toe of a Sentry's foot. The one to our right stood as a warning to all who came, his sword outstretched and body in a fighting posture. The one to the left faced toward the city, its sword sheathed and arm outstretched, an invitation to leave in peace. The Sentries had been built by the Dallisors during our family's earliest days in power. My mother once told me that Endrick hated them, felt dwarfed by them, but had never destroyed them for fear of losing our family's support.
Immediately after crossing the Sentries' Gate, the hills of Highwyn rose before us. The capital city was grand and regal, its streets clean and in good repair. Buildings were close together and stood tall. Each new layer upon the city became increasingly elegant as Highwyn's height grew along with its wealth. Numerous suspended bridges overhead connected the various buildings, leaving the narrow streets for animals and carriages. My father often described postwar Antora as an empire in eternal blossom, reflecting the immortality of its Lord. But if that were true, how would he explain what I'd seen in the countryside, in Pitwill? The Lord of the Dominion's green and black colors waved in flags hung over most building entrances. The streets remained busy for most hours of the day, populated by loyalists or those who wanted Dominion favors. And the deeper we went into the city, the tighter Simon's hand gripped his sword and the more ashen Trina's face became. I figured I was still more nervous than the two of them combined. They were risking their lives for this mission, but so was I. If they succeeded in obtaining the Olden Blade, I would also lose my honor, what was left of my family, and any future I might have otherwise had. But with soldiers as our escorts, none of us could go back now.