“Brother.” The queen spoke as if nudging him.

“Leave me alone.” He refilled his cup.

When people entered bearing the main course—including, Arin noted with wry amusement, the fastidiously prepared loin for the tiger, on its very own platter—Roshar stood, swaying a little. The room hushed. He scanned the faces, Dacran and Herrani alike.

“People of the hundred,” he said, using an ancient Herrani phrase Arin was surprised he knew, “who leads you?”

So many cried Arin’s name that it no longer sounded like his name.

“Do you trust your country to him?”

Yes.

“Would you say that Herran is his?”

Yes.

Sudden distrust slicked down Arin’s spine.

Roshar raised his hand to quiet the roaring crowd, and Arin was reminded of Cheat relishing his role as an auctioneer. A stone rose in his throat. Kestrel’s hand tightened on his, but Arin no longer felt wholly there.

“Enough,” said the queen . . . not so much in reprimand, but rather as if telling him to get to the point.

“I have fought for Arin, bled for him. I hold him in my heart. I have even named my tiger after him—no small honor. And yet, we have a problem. Arin of Herran was not always my friend, and once committed an offense against me that caused my queen to award me control over all he owns: his life, his belongings, and—since you say he possesses it—his country. I’ve been told to take from Arin what is due to me. I’ve been told it is mine by law. Must I? Yes. Will my people support my claim, with force if necessary? They will. Will my queen rise in admiration of me? Oh, indeed. And so I must.

“No, Arin. Sit down. Other wise you’ll make an ass out of yourself, and that role is mine. I see my tiger’s meal is here. You, there. Yes, you. With the platter. Bear it forth.”

Kestrel laughed. Arin felt rather than saw that she had relaxed beside him, aglow with mirth. He sank back into his chair, because now he too understood Roshar’s game. He wanted to sag with relief. He wanted to strangle the prince.

And thank him.

“There.” Roshar flourished a hand at the platter. “Arin the tiger’s meal. Since I’ve been ordered to take from Arin what belongs to Arin, I shall.” Roshar returned to his seat, platter in hand, and commenced cutting the meat. He took a bite. “Mmm. This is excellent. So well done. Now, as for what belongs to Arin the human, I relinquish any claim to it. Nothing of his was ever mine to take, nor will ever be. What belongs to him, I defend his right to keep, out of my love for him, and his for me.” He looked directly at the queen as he ate. “This is delicious. Exactly the way I like it.”

The queen forced a smile.

“Oh, and would someone bring another slice of loin? Raw, please. My tiger is hungry.”

Chapter 43

“I don’t want you to go.” waves rocked against the pier. The sun was too bright. Weathered boards creaked beneath Arin’s feet.

“Only because you enjoy a good bully. Someone to make you behave as you ought.”

“No, Roshar.”

“You know well enough what to do now. You’ll be fine.”

“That’s not why.”

“Why you’ll miss me? I admit that the impending absence of my keen wit would make anyone sad.”

“Not exactly.”

“Now I’m getting sad, just thinking about how it would feel to be parted from my sweet self. Lucky me: I will always have my own company.”

“What you said at the banquet was true.”

“Every thing I say is true.”

“That I love you.”

Roshar’s face went still. “I said that?”

“You know that you did.”

“That was more for the drama of the moment.”

“Liar.”

“I am, aren’t I?” Roshar said slowly. “I really am. Arin.” His voice roughened. “You’ll see me again.”

“Soon,” Arin told him, and embraced him. Then they broke away and maybe some would have thought that the sun was a little cruel, for how its brightness allowed no subterfuge in their expressions, and every thing that could be seen was shown. But Arin thought that it was a kindness. He wanted to be a mirror, to reflect what Roshar was to him.

A launch waited in the water below. Arin wished him fair tides. He watched until the launch reached Roshar’s ship, then watched as the ship, with the rest of the entire Dacran fleet, left his city’s bay.

He glimpsed Sarsine as he walked through the city. She had a laden basket—it dragged at her arm, making its weight known even from far away. Her faintly harried expression softened at the sight of him.