The Traitor's Game Chapter 1

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ONE

KESTRA

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he truth of where I’d been for the past three years wasn’t

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what anyone believed. It wasn’t exile, as my father claimed. The Lava

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Fields were barren and unforgiving, and charming in the way that

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discovering a thorn with one’s bare foot might be charming. But I’d

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gladly choose to live there before sacrificing my happiness for my

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father’s political demands.

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Nor was I hiding, as most people in my country suspected.

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While it was true that I’d been sent to the Fields on the same day I

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escaped a kidnapping, I had Darrow to protect me now. Thanks to

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him, I was stronger than before.

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And I wasn’t away learning to become a proper young lady. If

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anything, the opposite was true. My handmaiden, Celia, had tried

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her best, encouraging me to put down the swords and disk bows

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Darrow liked to train me with and pick up a hairbrush or sewing

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needle instead. But so far, I’d done more damage to my fingers with

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the needles than had ever been done to me by the edge of a blade.

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The truth about the Lava Fields was that very few people knew

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my whereabouts, making it the first place I’d ever felt truly free. Free

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to explore the knifelike maze of sharp, black rocks. Free to sit in the

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Kestra

stone cottage near Unknown Lake and eat at the rickety wooden table with Darrow, Cook, and Celia. Free to run and sing and let my hair tangle in the wind. Free, that is, until last night, when a garrison of six Dominion soldiers had unexpectedly arrived with a summons from my father to return home to Woodcourt. Why? Nothing on my end had changed, and he’d certainly never back down. Yet here I was tonight, boxed inside a cramped security carriage, unable to block out the incessant noise of gravel grinding beneath our track wheels. I felt trapped.

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No, I was trapped, a thought that choked my breath. Everything

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had been fine in the Lava Fields. Aside from the occasional rum-

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blings of an ancient volcano and a relentless odor of sulfur, we’d

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enjoyed a simple life there, one with few rules and even fewer people

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to tell me how I’d disappointed them that day. Why should I have to

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go home?

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“Are you all right, Kestra? You look worried.” Sitting across

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from me in the carriage, Celia had spent the past hour knotting and

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unknotting her fingers. She was nervous, which was no great sur-

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prise. So was I. My first meeting with my father in three years could

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end poorly.

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Celia was a wisp of cloud, a crocus flower in bloom, far too deli-

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cate for a life in my service. Her hair was much lighter than mine, and

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naturally curly, which gave me a fierce amount of jealousy, though

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because I belonged to the Dallisor family, I could never admit to feel-

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ing inferior.

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“I’m fine,” I told Celia. “I just want this ride to end.” How long

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had we been stuck inside this carriage? Hours at least, though it 2

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Th e Tr ai tor ’s G a me

wouldn’t surprise me if the world had shifted into a new century since we’d left the cottage. Cook was probably an old woman by now. Or an older woman. “Another hour, and we’ll reach the inn.” Celia seemed to believe if she always spoke with patience, the trait would inevitably rub off on me. I doubted that. To her credit, although she was only two years older, Celia had been patient with me for a year, a record for any lady in my service. My former lady-in-waiting, Ibbi, had lasted less than three months. Ibbi had been prone to “frantic episodes” that Darrow insisted were

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brought on by the suffocating Lava Fields, and not by my difficult

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behavior. I rather doubted that too. Her last episode came on after I

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stitched her into her bed one night as she slept. It wasn’t my fault.

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I was bored.

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That was nothing compared to my boredom now, and an aching

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restlessness to escape this coffin on wheels. As a protection against

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attacks, security carriages had metal sides, a single narrow window

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with thick glass, and steel track wheels that could crush anything,

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preferably the attacker. A clearstone hung in one corner of our car-

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riage, though if I warmed it with my hands to freshen the glow, I’d

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only be reminded again of how compact our space was.

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This carriage was also a symbol for what my life might become

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now. Maybe everything I knew and wanted—everything I was—

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would soon be compacted into some safe, proper world.

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Unbearable.

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Darrow would understand.

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With a grin my poor handmaiden had too often seen before, I

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sat forward, unbolted the door, and reached for the handle.

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“My lady, the carriage is moving.” No details escaped Celia’s sharp attention. “Then I’d better not fall.” I pushed open the heavy metal door and a crisp evening wind awakened my senses. It smelled like rain, though the dirt road beneath us was dry. A half-moon did little to cut through the dark night, but tall trees lined the road and I thought I heard a river nearby. That could put us practically anywhere between the edge of the Lava Fields and the outskirts of Highwyn. Celia put a hand on my arm. “The garrison won’t like this—”

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“Well, I don’t like them either.” The garrison served Endrick,

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our Lord of the Dominion, because even the title of king was not

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grand enough for him. Part of service to Lord Endrick required that

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a piece of the soldier’s heart be replaced with a magical ball of iron

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that Endrick could control when necessary. Hence our nickname for

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them: Ironhearts. Never a compliment.

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Before Celia could protest again, which she undoubtedly would,

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I found a solid grip on the carriage frame and put a foot on the step.

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“Darrow!” I called up toward the driver’s box.

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Darrow was almost thirty years my senior, but had the energy

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and spirit of a person half his age. He had dark hair that was rarely

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combed, a beard always in need of a trim, and, I believed, an infatu-

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ation with Cook. It wasn’t fair that she had been dismissed upon my

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leaving the Lava Fields.

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He shook his head when he saw me. “You’re in a security carriage for a reason, Kestra!”

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“I’m not in it now for other reasons. Give me a hand up!”

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He chuckled, then shifted the reins into one hand and scooted

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across the bench toward me. “You have to get higher than the wheels, or you risk being caught in them.” Darrow used to discourage me from such risky behaviors, but as soon as he understood I was going to do them anyway, he’d changed tactics. Now he taught me how to survive the risks I took. I checked my grip on the rail, then took my first step forward, blinking hard against the brisk evening air. This wasn’t a good idea. Which was the very reason to do it. If nothing else, it might be my only chance to study Lord Endrick’s newest creation up close: the oropod. These creatures, pulling my carriage, fascinated me. Oropods

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were slightly larger than horses but had the muscle structure of a

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snowy lizard, with leathery, green-patterned skin and two powerful

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hind legs. Before we left the Fields, the garrison leader had explained

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how their front claws could be used for fighting or climbing, and

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showed us their fanged teeth. I’d asked to ride one back in the Fields,

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just to see if I could, but was told that an oropod had to know its

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rider’s scent, or it’d eat the rider. Hence, the reason Lord Endrick was

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fond of them.

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Celia opened the carriage window. “This is reckless, my lady. If

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your father finds even a scratch on you, he’ll kill me.”

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I glanced back, expecting to laugh off her comment. But Celia

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sounded upset, and for good reason.

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I was thirteen when I’d been sent from my father’s home, still

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young enough to excuse his flaws as my own failures of understand-

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ing. I’d been young enough then to love him despite his coldness, and

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to pretend that he cared for me too. After three years, I wondered if

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any love remained in his heart at all. It was still beating, so there had

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to be some humanity left. Yet it would take a special talent for cruelty to become the chief counsel to Lord Endrick. I couldn’t imagine the terrible things my father must have done in Endrick’s name. After one more plea from Celia, I called to Darrow that I’d go back inside the carriage after all. It meant delaying our talk, but I couldn’t risk her getting into trouble because of me. Before I took my first step, a whoosh came from the woods on both sides of the road. At first I thought it must be a swarm of bats flying from behind the trees, but then I heard the cries from the garrison. These were disks, dozens of them.

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“Get back inside!” Darrow yelled as he pulled up on the reins.

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Four Dominion soldiers were leading our carriage. Three of

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these men were immediately cut down by the disks’ sharp edges, and

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the fourth didn’t get far before he was hit too. The two riders behind

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our carriage shouted for me to duck, but I was too terrified to move.

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Seconds later, they were struck as well, tumbling off the backs of

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their oropods.

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Fear flooded into me, so forcefully I couldn’t hold my thoughts together. My garrison was dead. All of them. Dead, and in mere s­ econds. Who could have done this? And why?

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“Kestra, get down!” Darrow ordered.

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This time, I obeyed, bending my knees low, my hands clinging

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to the frame of the carriage. Darrow steered sharply around the rider-

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less oropods, so I couldn’t open the heavy door, but if another disk

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attack came, I’d be vulnerable. Two oropods still pulled our carriage.

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If they fell, we’d be trapped here.

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Trapped by who? 6

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The clan of the Banished, who’d kidnapped me three years ago, were enemies of my family and had been exiled from the Dominion. After four days in their captivity, during which they’d somehow failed to kill me, Darrow had come to my rescue, and remained in my service ever since, in case the Banished returned. Except this didn’t feel like the Banished. They weren’t known for precision attacks. The Coracks were. This thought chilled me to my bones. The reason why I’d been missing for three years didn’t matter. What did matter was that no one was supposed to know where I’d

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been, or that I was headed home tonight.

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But whoever was hiding in the woods knew. And whatever they

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wanted with me, they were obviously willing to kill to get it.

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I was in serious trouble.

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