Kestra stopped there, unwilling to back down, so neither would I. The anger between us was like fire, and the next one to speak would likely pour oil on it.
How foolish I'd been. I never should've cared if Tenger hurt her knee, or if she was afraid, or if this mission destroyed her life. I'd been wrong before. She didn't feel, no more than any of Endrick's puppets.
We both turned as Trina entered the room, carrying a tray covered by a cloth. She looked from Kestra to me and smiled. "It feels like war in here. And they say I'm the hotheaded one."
I closed the door while Trina set the tray on the small table in the room. Kestra's eyes immediately found the bowl, filled with a thick venison stew. But I knew she wouldn't say anything, no matter how hungry she was.
"What should we do about her while we eat?" Trina asked.
My temper had cooled enough to think rationally again. We couldn't bring her into Woodcourt half-starved. I motioned Kestra over to the table. "Come eat."
"After Trina has breathed on it? I'd rather eat off the floor."
Cursing loudly, Trina scooted back the chair she'd already been sitting in. She leapt toward Kestra, who waited until the last second before sidestepping, leaving a foot in her path. As quickly as Trina was moving, her sprawl onto the floor went wide. Trina's hand caught the edge of the meal tray, sending the stew to the floor, its inviting scent rising in the room. None of us would eat now.
I withdrew my sword from its sheath and held it out toward Kestra. But she casually waved it away.
"Don't pretend you'll use that." She scowled. "You have your orders."
It had never been about using the sword. It was a distraction for Trina, who pounced on Kestra from behind, bringing her to the floor. She locked Kestra's arms behind her back, shoving her face down.
"Get me some rope, Simon!"
I hesitated. Everyone just needed to calm down and get through the night, but Kestra was clearly determined to cause problems. Tying her up would be our only chance to keep the situation under control.
I dug into my satchel for a ball of twine and handed it to Trina. She wound it around Kestra's wrists, more times than was necessary and probably tighter than it had to be. But Kestra didn't complain, either because the knots weren't bothering her or, more likely, because she didn't want us to think they were. While Trina pulled her to her feet and tied her to a post of the bed, Kestra glowered at us as if already plotting her revenge.
I knew I should intervene, but I didn't. After what she'd just done, Kestra deserved to be tied up. Besides, I still had scars on my wrists from when I'd been bound up that day. A part of me wanted Kestra to know how that had felt.
Trina stood back to admire her handiwork. I noticed Kestra was already twisting her wrists, trying to loosen the knots. I'd give her a few minutes with them, then loosen the knots myself.
"What do we have for a gag?" Trina asked.
Kestra's head shot up. "Don't gag me. I won't scream."
"Look at her eyes!" Trina squealed, enjoying this moment far too much. "She's afraid!"
Yes, she was, though I didn't know why and knew she'd never offer the information. Maybe this had something to do with her kidnapping a few years ago. I'd heard rumors about what happened to her then, why she vanished from her home the same night she returned from the Halderians. But that's all they were, rumors.
Use that knowledge against her. Tenger's voice echoed in my head, his unspoken order. It's what the Dominion would do to us, turning information into torture. But we weren't the Dominion.
Trina wasn't ready to let anything go though. She picked up a roll that had fallen to the floor in their scuffle and held the warm bread beneath Kestra's nose. "Can you smell this? Wish you could eat it?"
"All I smell is you," Kestra countered. "Did you bathe in horse manure?"
"Enough." I only wanted the night to end. "Trina, enough! Help me clean up."
"Make her do it. It's her fault."
"Yes, but you'r
e the servants, not me." Even in bindings, Kestra still believed she was the mistress here.
Trina checked her knots again, tightening them out of spite rather than necessity. Then she knelt on the floor beside me, using one of Kestra's fine skirts from her trunk as a rag for the stew.
When we had finished, Kestra said, "You both hate me. Not the idea of me, as a Dallisor or a lady of the Dominion. You hate me. Why?"
Trina started to answer, but I shook my head. "Don't."