The Winner's Curse(43)

She tried to deflect it. She tried to talk about the duel itself, which seemed straightforward next to her reasons for it. Lightly, she said, “No one seems to believe that I might win.”

Ronan vaulted off the rock and strode toward her horse. He seized the saddle’s pommel. “You’ll get what you want. But what do you want? Whom do you want?”

“Ronan.” Kestrel swallowed. “Think about what you are saying.”

“Only what everyone has been saying. That Lady Kestrel has a lover.”

“That’s not true.”

“He is her shadow, skulking behind her, listening, watching.”

“He isn’t,” Kestrel tried to say, and was horrified to hear her voice falter. She felt a stinging in her eyes. “He has a girl.”

“Why do you even know that? So what if he does? It doesn’t matter. Not in the eyes of society.”

Kestrel’s feelings were like banners in a storm, snapping at their ties. They tangled and wound around her. She focused, and when she spoke, she made her words disdainful. “He is a slave.”

“He is a man, as I am.”

Kestrel slipped from her saddle, stood face-to-face with Ronan, and lied. “He is nothing to me.”

Ronan’s anger dimmed a little. He waited, listening.

“I never should have challenged Irex.” Kestrel decided to weave some truth into her story, to toughen the fabric of it. “But he and I have an unfriendly history. He made me an offer last spring. I turned him down. Since then, he has been … aggressive.”

She had Ronan’s sympathy then, and she was grateful, for she didn’t know what she would do if he and Jess turned their backs on her. She needed them—not only today, but always.

“Irex angered me. The slave was just an excuse.” How much easier everything would be if that were so. But Kestrel wouldn’t let herself consider the truth. She didn’t want to know its shape or see its face. “I was thoughtless and rash, but I’ve drawn my tiles and must play them. Will you help me, Ronan? Will you do as I asked in my letter?”

“Yes.” He still looked unhappy. “Though as far as I can see, there is little for me to do but stand and watch you fight.”

“And Jess? Will she be at the duel?”

“Yes, as soon as she is done weeping her eyes out. What a fright you’ve given us, Kestrel.”

Kestrel opened a saddlebag and passed Ronan the purse with the death-price. He took it, recognizing it by its weight and the fact that her letter had told him to expect it. Softly, he said, “You frightened me.”

She embraced him, stepping into his arms. They relaxed around her. His chin rested on top of her head, and she felt his forgiveness. She tried to push away thoughts of Arin on the auction block, of the look in his eyes when he asked where his honor was, of him swearing at her guards in his tongue. She held Ronan more tightly, pressing her cheek against his chest.

Ronan sighed. “I’ll ride with you to Irex’s house,” he said, “and see you safely home after you’ve won.”



The path to Irex’s house was clotted with carriages. Society had turned out in force for this duel: Kestrel saw hundreds of well-dressed men and women talking excitedly, their breath fogging the late autumn air. Ronan dismounted and so did she, letting their horses range to join the others.

Kestrel scanned the crowd ringed around the clearing in the trees. People smiled when they saw her, but they were not kind smiles. There were coy looks, and some faces held a morbid fascination, as if this were not a duel but a hanging, and the only question was whether the criminal’s neck would break instantly. Kestrel wondered how many people gathered in the lowering sun knew that Irex had already paid the death-price.

Kestrel felt cold and hard. A walking skeleton.

Ronan slid an arm around her. She knew this was as much to prove a point to society as to soothe her. He was shielding her reputation with his own. She hadn’t asked him for this, and the fact that he had seen something missing in her plan made her feel both relieved to have him at her side and more afraid than before.

“I don’t see my father.” Kestrel’s fingers trembled. Ronan caught her hands in his, and even though his eyes were filled with doubt, he gave her a showy grin meant for the crowd. Loudly, he said, “How chilly your hands are. Let’s get this dull thing over with, shall we, and then go somewhere warm?”

“Kestrel!” Benix detangled himself from the crowd, holding Jess’s hand and waving boisterously at his friends. Benix had a jolly swagger as he walked toward them, but Jess couldn’t play the game so well. She looked awful. Her eyes were red, her face splotched.