"Let me talk to my driver," I begged. "Please."
Tenger gestured his permission and I quickly ran to Darrow's side, kneeling beside him on the cold ground. I touched my hand to his cheek, brushing away the dirt that was bound to the skin with his sweat and tears. Panic began to overtake me. What if he died? There was so much more blood than I'd thought.
"You're going to be all right." He'd know I was only saying that to make him feel better, but maybe I needed to hear the lie more than he did.
"I'm fine." He drew in a sharp gasp. "It's not as bad as it looks."
Now he was lying. I didn't know what to do. Fear swelled in my chest, choking off my breathing.
He touched my arm. "Listen to me. You will get through this, Kestra. Be smart. Be strong."
"No, I can't--"
"They'll say terrible things about you. Don't listen. And whatever they want ... do not help them."
Tears filled my eyes, blurring Darrow in my vision, which was the last thing I wanted. I needed to see his face, needed to remember him more clearly than this. "If I don't, they'll kill you and Celia!"
"A small price ... to save Antora." His breaths were shallow and obviously came with great pain. "I loved you as Henry Dallisor should have done. I'm so sorry ..." His consciousness was fading, which terrified me, and though his chest still rose and fell, I felt his life fading too. He tried to co
ntinue, but the rebel who had held me before pulled me back to my feet with an unforgiving grip. Or, rather, it was a grip I would never forgive. What if Darrow died? What if that was my last moment with him and these monsters couldn't even let him finish his sentence?
To the men surrounding Darrow, Tenger said, "Put him in the back of our wagon. Take her servant girl too."
"Kestra!" Celia cried out as the rebels took her by the arms and pulled her deeper into the darkness. "Kestra, help me!"
I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Within seconds, they had dragged Celia from my sight, though I still heard her muffled sobs, each cry ripping at my heart. Darrow was lifted by his legs and arms, a cruel way to treat a man with injuries such as his. They didn't care. They had me alone now.
Tenger said to the rebel behind me, "Simon, search her for any weapons, and hurry."
"No!" I tried wrenching free, but this rebel--Simon--and his knife were uncompromising. "How dare you do this?"
"How dare I?" Tenger pointed at the man whom I had stabbed. The girl who had treated Darrow was using the last of the cauterizing powder on his wound. My powder, which should have been saved in case Darrow needed more. "That's my man, Pell, and until you put a knife in his shoulder, he was a vital part of tonight's plan. You're no better than we are, my lady. Search her."
Simon ordered me to turn around and face him. When I did, I was surprised to find that he wasn't much older than me, maybe seventeen or eighteen. His hair was a darker shade of brown than mine, and closely cropped on the sides, but longer on top with a fringe of hair near his forehead that I suspected was often out of place. If he were a higher form of life than a Corack, his strong, square jawline might have been considered attractive. His brown eyes were striking, with thick lashes that gave them prominence, I'd give him that much. Something was familiar about those eyes, though I couldn't place the memory. But I would, eventually.
He raised a hand, clearly hesitant to conduct the search, and I made certain to glare directly at him, hoping to shame him. He started where it was easiest, with a leather band around my wrist that crossed the back of my hand with cording, and was held in place by rings on three of my fingers.
"What's this?" he asked.
"Jewelry, nothing more." Since that was one of the larger lies I would probably have to tell tonight, I had to be convincing. This glove had been a gift from Darrow when he was first teaching me to use a sword. It had been his own glove before that, though he'd never explained how he had come to possess one. Grip gloves were rare, powered through the grace of Lord Endrick's magic, and considered valuable since wearing it gave its bearer extra strength in the hand. I hoped Simon didn't know that.
He grunted. "Only a Dallisor would consider a grip glove an item of jewelry."
So he did know. I cursed under my breath while he pulled the lacing, loosening the glove and then removing it from my wrist. He passed it to Tenger, who immediately began fastening it on his own hand.
Simon continued with my hair, possibly checking for hidden pins that might be sharpened to a fine point. I had none, but once this was over, I planned to have some made. Next, he pushed back my cloak, his rough hands grazing my skin. In this dress, my shoulders were bare except for two straps of my shift. He ignored them, instead running hands down my sleeves. He also avoided my back and sides. The tight fabric of my corset would make hiding a weapon nearly impossible.
"Enjoying this?" My tone was as bitter as I felt.
"I'd rather search a bear."
"I wish you would. If I'd known this was coming, I'd have brought one along."
"But you didn't know, because we outsmarted you." For the first time, he looked directly at me. His smile was triumphant. Arrogant. It wouldn't look that way during his execution. He pointed to my boots. "Remove them."
"You do it." All the easier to kick him if he got into the right position.
And that's when the memory nagged at me again. There had been a Simon years ago, when I was a child. That boy lived at Woodcourt as a servant, and had been one of the rare children near my own age I ever saw. We hadn't been friends, my father never would have allowed that. But we were ... something like friends. It didn't matter anyway. This couldn't be that scraggly boy. That was impossible. Wasn't it?