"You knew I'd be on that road last night, and at what time. Celia arranged all of it, didn't she?"
There was nothing to be gained by lying. I said, "Six months ago, Celia was in town shopping for fabric, probably because you wanted a fancy new dress, right? She struck up a conversation with the clerk, not realizing he was a Corack. The clerk figured out who Celia must have been working for and contacted Tenger. It took some persuasion, but she finally agreed to our plans."
"Persuasion? Was that in the form of a threat, or a reward?"
There was no good way to answer that. "Both, I suppose."
She took a breath, hesitating on her question. "Last night, when Tenger was forcing me to agree to his terms, were her screams real? Or was she only pretending to be hurt so that I'd agree?"
Celia didn't have a scratch on her and was a better actress than we could have hoped for. But Kestra didn't have to know that, nor was she in control of this conversation. "Celia doesn't matter. What do you suppose will happen if your father discovers you've brought two Coracks inside the walls of his home?"
"Not by choice!"
"But you still did it. He won't protect you. He doesn't care for you. I understand now why your father sent you away in the first place."
I instantly regretted my words. They had come out colder than I'd intended and hit her deep. Her lower lip quivered before she pushed past me and began marching out of the gardens. I followed close behind, calling her name and getting nothing in response. At the entrance, she nearly collided with Gerald. That was no coincidence. Obviously, he was there for Kestra, and didn't seem at all happy to be the one sent to fetch her.
Cautiously, he said, "My lady, your father requests that you return to his library at once."
She folded her arms again. "Nothing has changed since our conversation an hour ago."
"Your handmaiden claims it was you who overturned the bath, that it was not her fault. Your father believes she is only saying that to save herself from a whipping. He wants to hear your answer."
Kestra released a deep breath, then followed Gerald back into the manor house. I continued to follow them, hoping no one would stop me. And hoping even more that if they did, Kestra would cover for me. After my final words to her, I had my doubts.
I was the last to enter the library and stood in the doorway, eyes down. When I served here, I'd never taken orders directly from Sir Henry, but he would have seen me in the home. As much as possible, I'd have to avoid him.
Trina was farther inside, her hands bound in front of her with rough cording and her yellow dress ripped at the shoulder. A guard standing beside her had a stiff rod in his hands, ready to deliver a brutal punishment. Trina had gone so pale that I wondered if she was about to faint.
When she saw Kestra, she cried, "Talk to your father. Tell him the truth, please!"
Sir Henry was standing in the center of the library, arms folded and with a face the approximate color of a ripened plum. Not good.
Kestra crossed her arms and stared off at the shelves. It obviously wasn't the first time she and her father had faced each other this way.
He finally erupted, at a volume high enough that the northern territories could surely hear him. "Water seeped beneath the floorboards, Kestra! It wouldn't surprise me if it all must be torn out and replaced!"
I'd seen the damage myself. It was worse than that. Some of the furniture was spoiled, heirloom pieces that had probably been there for ages. A couple of rugs were ruined too. Kestra barely reacted and only kept her eyes grazing along the shelves. Was this about the diary that Trina had told her to find? If so, then Kestra's timing was awful.
"Look at me!" Sir Henry ordered, and Kestra did. "Your servant claims you overturned the bath, that you did it out of spite and anger. I told her that Dallisors have enough dignity to never do such a thing. Tell me she is lying, Kestra. Surely you have matured enough that you would not willfully cause damage to my home." His voice sharpened to a fine point, making sure she understood his full meaning. "Be bold enough to assign blame onto your servant, and perhaps I will let you miss tonight's supper with Sir Basil."
Trina mumbled Kestra's name, her voice quivering with fear, but Kestra's attention had returned to the shelves. Most books in this library were very old, some of them probably dating back to the times when books were largely unknown in the world. Trina had described the diary we were seeking as being covered in pink satin, but nothing I saw came close to fitting that description. I doubted it was as important as Trina had made it out to be anyway. Who'd be foolish enough to write down the secret location of the Olden Blade, risking discovery by Lord Endrick?
With Kestra's silence, the guard reached for Trina's damaged sleeve, preparing to bare her back.
Kestra sighed, as if she'd grown tired of the conversation. "Stop this, Father. You know I'm the one who did it."
"That's irrelevant!" He stepped closer until he towered over her. "Do Dallisors let harm come to themselves, or do we bring it to others?"
"Maybe if Dallisors were less concerned with bringing harm to others, Antora would be a better place to live. The people hate us!"
"Are you more concerned with what the people think?" His tone darkened. "Or what I think of you?"
Remembering what I had said to her in the gardens, my eyes shifted to Kestra. Her breaths became shallow, and her lashes fluttered as she tried to hold her stare at her father. No wonder my words had hurt her. She wanted his love. He wanted her respect. Neither of them would be the first to budge.
Finally, Kestra took Trina's arm a
nd walked her over to Gerald. "Take her to my room and help her draw another bath. I have a supper to attend tonight."