Fear opened wide inside him, funnel-shaped, draining away every thing else.

Her father had wanted the life of a soldier for her. She’d nearly agreed. He imagined her at war. His throat tightened.

“Here.” The captain had come back. Arin hadn’t noticed him leave. The man held out a pair of boots. “Try these.”

No need to ask where they’d come from. Bodies were all over both ships. The captain surveyed the scene. “This is good work. If we keep at it, their general won’t have an easy time attacking the mainland. Soldiers can’t fight if they can’t eat.”

What would happen if Valorians landed on the peninsula? If they pushed, unchecked, to the city? His cousin. His friends.

And what of Kestrel? Escaped prisoner. Traitor to her people. Would her father spare her? Arin couldn’t even ask himself the question. That question would lead to other questions, and a worming sort of knowledge reminded Arin that the general hadn’t acted to save his daughter from prison, which meant that either he didn’t know she was there, or he knew and didn’t care, or . . .

No. Arin had sworn to himself not to try to guess what Kestrel couldn’t recall.

But he was sick, he was sore.

He was certain that the general would have no mercy.

So there was no room for Arin’s mercy.

Arin put on the boots.

They’d seized another ship and anchored it off the eastern shore of an island, as they had with the first, when Xash arrived. He sailed up alongside Arin’s ship and boarded. “I’m taking over,” he told Arin. “Return to the city.”

This was unexpected. Possibilities teemed in Arin’s mind, and he didn’t like any of them.

“My queen has arrived in your city,” Xash told him. “She wants you.”

Chapter 16

It was now clear why Roshar had stayed in the city. He’d been waiting for his sister.

The queen wasn’t what Kestrel had expected. She’d imagined someone older, but this woman looked no older than Roshar.

Kestrel had gone down to the harbor with the rest of the house hold, as surprised and curious as the others. The crowd had eyed her from the moment she slipped in among them. She didn’t know what stories had been told about her, but what ever they were, they made the Herrani and Dacran strangers look at her with fascination, but leave her alone.

Roshar’s gaze had cut her way when he’d ridden past her into the city. Kestrel didn’t recognize what his expression meant. She saw a flash of discomfort, then his face had shuttered and he’d ridden on.

He was all ease now, on the pier at his sister’s side. Kestrel watched him offer pleasantries she couldn’t hear and wouldn’t understand if she did. She’d never learned the eastern language.

Her father had wanted her to learn. She remembered this. She didn’t like the queasy feeling remembering gave her.

He had pressured her. She had refused.

It’s dangerous not to know the language of your enemy, he’d said. When you go to war—

I won’t go to war.

The words throbbed in her brain.

Kestrel felt Arin’s absence. She wondered what he would make of this woman on the pier. But then Kestrel reminded herself that Arin knew the queen already, must know her well, quite well, if he’d been able to persuade her to take his side in war.

The queen (her name was Inishanaway, Kestrel heard someone in the crowd murmur) listened as her brother spoke. Her face was so still that it was easy to see its magnetic quality. A deep sort of mouth, ears so small that they looked like ornamentation, the nose softly shaped. Yes, beautiful, Kestrel decided, yet she didn’t understand why that thought dug hard into some vulnerable place.

Kestrel wanted her horse. She wished she hadn’t tethered Javelin in the marketplace and continued to the harbor on foot. She wanted to ride away. Now.

Foolish. If she felt dingy and small, it was her own fault for comparing herself where no comparisons could be made. She’d seen a mirror.

As she tried to understand it—this compulsion to compare—she began to realize slowly that the queen’s features were familiar. It wasn’t because they resembled Roshar’s, though they did.

A little sister. Kestrel had known her at court. Risha, the eastern princess, the youngest child of the three, beloved of the Valorian crown prince . . . who had been engaged to Kestrel.

Kestrel felt dizzy under the lemon-yellow sun. A sour taste in her mouth. Her father had been pleased, she remembered. He had hoped for Kestrel to marry Prince Verex, had hoped for it even when they were babies. His daughter: an empress.