The gesture was small, a slight tilt of her head that would've been imperceptible had I not been studying her so closely. Yet the revelation still hit me like a punch to the chest.

She had found the Olden Blade.

Which led to the larger question involving that burn on her hand, a question I barely dared to ask. Taking a deep breath, I whispered, "Did you claim it? Kes, are you the Infidante?"

Simon repeated his question a second time, or maybe a third time before I heard him, the urgency rising in his voice.

I couldn't look at him, and not because I was afraid of what I'd see in his eyes, but for the truth he'd see in mine.

I started with the easiest end of the conversation: "I was not the only thing my mother--Lily Dallisor--saved from the dungeons."

Except for an arched eyebrow, he barely moved. "She smuggled out the very weapon her husband had been searching for?"

"According to the diary, Lily believed the dagger might save me one day, from her husband. She hid it in her room, the one place in Woodcourt that Henry Dallisor never allowed to be disturbed or searched, because of his love for her."

His eyes tightened on mine. "And you tried to claim it?"

"I thought maybe as an Endrean--" I swallowed hard, pushing down the frustration and feelings of failure, and the idea that at my best, I would never be anything more than an outcast. "I had to know."

"And?"

His voice was tender, seeming genuinely concerned for me. Which made this harder.

He might have forgotten he was holding my hand, or maybe why he was holding it, but when I clenched the palm again, he glanced down at it, then back at me.

Fighting the worst of my emotions, I said, "If the dagger does not want you, it will let you know. This burn marks my attempt to claim it, and my failure."

He nodded, then folded his hand over the back of mine, drawing it closer to him. Drawing me closer to him, into his arms, where I could have remained forever. What emotions was I feeling from him? Relief? Hope? To him, this wasn't failure. It was deliverance.

The corner of his mouth lifted. "This is good, Kes. For us."

Us. I liked the sound of that and mirrored his smile. He was right. No one else had to know of my bloodlines. I could choose my own future.

I could choose him.

My eyes invited him closer, and his grin widened. His breath greeted my cheek, and my heart pounded. With a hint of a smile, my lips parted.

But as he moved toward me, I whispered, "Wait."

Somewhere on the road below, the sounds of an approaching wagon echoed. I ducked low in the weeds with Simon beside me.

It was an old wagon with an arched canvas cover, headed west on the road below. The driver was even older and probably wouldn't notice much around him, might not hear as well as he used to.

Might not realize he was about to carry extra cargo.

I looked over at Simon, feeling a spark of hope. "We could walk to Silven, or catch a ride."

He nodded, though the seriousness in him had returned. He had one question left to ask, and I knew he would soon. But I was finished giving him answers. Our game could go no further.

We stayed low as we plowed through the grasses, hurrying toward the road. The driver was singing to himself, a rousing tune that would be grounds for his arrest if a Dominion soldier heard it. Music was important to Halderian traditions, so Endrick made any form of it illegal, except when it was performed in honor of his presence. As if any singers could swallow their fear of him enough to croak out a few notes.

When the wagon rode by, Simon and I bolted from the roadside and took up chase. Simon reached the back of the wagon first, grabbing the rear board and hefting his weight up on the body bar. He stretched out a hand for me, and I took it, letting him lift me up too. He helped me squeeze beneath the canvas first, then followed me inside. The wagon never slowed down. The driver didn't know.

There wasn't much back here. The wagon bed was about half full of hay, hence the reason for the canvas, to keep it dry in case of rain. Two wood trunks sat on either side of the wagon. A quick peek into each trunk only revealed clothes, one for men, and the other full of dresses. Food would have been better. On the wagon floor near the backboard was a tablet, similar to my father's. That meant our driver was either loyal to the Dominion, or a trader. Or both. A near-perfect image of my face was displayed on the tablet, with a message below it that read, "Kestra Dallisor, Reward for Return." Lovely. A reminder that the Dominion could, and would, follow me into any corner where I might try to hide. Worse still, a reminder of the trouble I was introducing to Simon's life, regardless of the Olden Blade.

I'd have crushed the slab if I had both a hammer and an indifference to whether the driver heard me, but since neither of those held true, I picked up the slab and dumped it out the back of the wagon.

Simon had been watching me with a pronounced frown. "You can't destroy every tablet, Kes. A lot of people will see that message."

Tags: Jennifer A. Nielsen The Traitor's Game Fantasy
Source: readsnovelonline.net