She stepped back, but kept her eyes low as she said, "I never asked for those executions. I didn't want them."
I only nodded. It wasn't the same as saying I believed her, because I wasn't sure if I did. But I wanted to. For now, that was enough.
I continued, "Garr adopted me as his own son. When he died, he left everything to me, far more than I deserved. I gave Garr's house and what mone
y he had to my family. They live there still. All I kept was a ring and his sword." That was the weapon at my side now and the ring was in my satchel. "I joined the rebellion to honor him. And, more importantly, I joined to bring down the Dominion. Endrick is our target, but I won't pretend bringing down your father in his wake hasn't crossed my mind."
She stepped back, repulsed. "And you're equally comfortable with destroying me?"
That was an accusation, not a question, but it deserved an honest answer. "I'm never comfortable with what I have to do for the Coracks, and I don't want to be. But you've said it yourself, Princess--by the time we're finished here, the Dallisors will never take you back. If I can separate you from them, I'll consider that the greatest act of service I could offer you."
She shook her head. "This is no service."
"It's no curse either." I checked around us again, keeping my voice at a safe whisper. "I'm a good person, Kestra. So are you. One of us is on the wrong side of this fight."
"I saved Trina from a serious whipping today, and covered for your mistakes here, risking my own life each time. I am doing everything you've required of me. Will Darrow be killed if I fail to find the Olden Blade? Celia? Will you kill me too?"
I opened my mouth to respond, but this time, no answer came. My silence became my conviction.
With a sharper tone, she said, "I think we know who's on the wrong side. You are stealing away everything that's important to me."
"Speaking of stealing ..." I needed to ask if she'd gotten into my satchel. She must have, though I wasn't sure how or when.
But I wasn't able to finish my question before Basil emerged from the home into the gardens and called her name. When he saw Kestra, his whole face lit up, like a giant mole rat approaching its next meal. If there was a better analogy for Basil, I couldn't think of it.
"I was told you'd come out here," Basil said. "Perhaps you weren't really tired before. Perhaps you were only tired of me."
Her grin was coy. "My protector was tired."
"Sick ... and tired," I mumbled.
"Ah." Basil smiled back at her, forgetting me almost instantly. "Then maybe you should dismiss your protector for the night and take a stroll through the gardens with me? I promise to see you safely back to your room."
"Her maid is expecting her--" I said.
"My maid works for me and not the other way around," Kestra snapped. Then to Basil, she added, "However, the air outside has chilled. If you'd like, I can show you around Woodcourt. I think you'd love my father's library."
Basil smiled and offered Kestra his arm. This time she took it, pressing closer to him than was necessary for an escort. I wasn't sure what she thought about Basil, or about me, or what tricks she was still plotting. But one thing was certain. She knew I didn't like her walking off with Basil, and that there was nothing I could do or say to stop her. And that was exactly the way she wanted it.
I pointed out to Basil the various features of Woodcourt as we walked through the home, but cared little for my own words. Basil seemed to sense my nervousness.
"Will your father object to us going in there?"
"It's his library, not his confessional," I said. "There can't be anything too private here."
Except maybe a pink satin diary. And if he kept it here, then what else was he willing to hide? Maybe the elusive Olden Blade itself, buried beneath some loose floorboard? Probably not. Concealing a diary from Lord Endrick was one thing. He'd never deliberately keep the Olden Blade from his master.
Once inside the library, I shut the door tight and began scanning the books, making casual conversation about the various titles. However, I barely listened to my own chatter, much less Basil's. I had a vague notion that he was trying to show how intelligent he was, by claiming to have read many of these books himself. I figured if he was particularly intelligent, he'd have already sensed that I wasn't listening to a single dreary word he said.
At one point, I saw on an upper shelf a book with a faded fabric binding that might have been pink once. I reached for it, and failed, so Basil came beside me and lifted the book down. It was a treatise on seedlings, which I'm sure would be an instant cure for insomnia. But it wasn't Risha's diary.
"What happened to your wrists?" Basil took my upraised hand in his and pulled back my sleeve. "Kestra?"
I pushed the sleeve down again. "It's nothing. We had some trouble getting here last night."
"Trouble? From the Coracks?" Basil's face tightened. "Your father explained to me how much trouble they cause here in Antora. After we're married, my father will send in his armies to help destroy the Coracks for good."
I pressed my brows together. "Why would your father do that, risk his own soldiers to quash our rebellion? Sir Basil, what benefit is our marriage to you or your family?"