Trina stiffened. "The Olden Blade is full of magic, and that magic lives and breathes. When a Halderian claims it again, the true revolution will begin."
"Fine. So you'll go to a ceremony, the Blade will become a lantern or something, because for some reason it cares who holds it, then that person will defeat Lord Endrick?"
"And the Coracks will have started it all, maybe even finished it."
"The Coracks?" My brows drew together, wondering if she had said more than she intended. "I thought only a Halderian could hold the blade."
She stumbled for the right words. "Well ... yes, but--"
If I asked again about Tenger, I knew she'd dodge the question. So this time, I tried something more subtle. "Are there any Halderians among the Coracks?"
Trina shrugged. "If there are, none will admit it."
"Would any of them hope to become the Infidante?"
She stopped working on my dress long enough to say, "Whoever the Infidante is, the Coracks will follow that person into battle. So should you."
If we were discussing Tenger, she'd be disappointed by my response. I'd seen what he was like as a captain. I wouldn't follow Tenger into the finest pastry shop in Antora, much less into battle.
"We don't need your approval," she said, sensing my disgust. "Just find us the Blade, and the Coracks will worry about the rest." Putting the final ties on my dress, she added, "You could join us, Kestra. You won't have any other choice, really. I had to leave my family name behind. You will, too."
A statement that proved words were far more cruel than any weapon. I turned to face her, signaling the end of that conversation. Instead, I asked, "Aren't you afraid of Lord Endrick, afraid of the things he can do?"
"Sooner or later, Lord Endrick will find all of us. Our best chance of survival is for the Infidante to find him first."
I gave Trina my used tunic and trousers, which she bundled inside the servant's dress I had worn. The knife that I had taken from the hutch the night before was still with me, though I hadn't been able to reach it with the dress on over my trousers.
"Where did you get that?" she asked.
I rolled my eyes. "Honestly, Trina, you seem surprised every time I get a weapon. Take this if you want. I'll only find another one."
"Are you going to use it on me?"
Now I smiled. "If that was my plan, I would've done it already."
"Then keep the knife."
I smiled and lowered my skirts over the knife, now secure in its garter. When that was done, Trina pulled out a brush from her apron pocket and began to work on my hair.
"This was an unpleasant task when we were in your room, but it's nothing compared to this tiny cell," she said.
"Then let's go." I hardly needed a reminder that these walls seemed to be closing in on me. "Leave my hair as it is."
"Stay still." She pulled at a tangle, then added, "When the Halderians kidnapped you, I heard they held you in a very small box. What did they want?"
"My death. Most of them did, anyway." I shivered, wondering if the cell walls were actually shrinking, or if I was imagining it. "I doubt they've changed their mind in three years."
"The Coracks will protect you." Trina moved to where she could see me directly. "I know how that sounds, given what we've done to you, but it's not personal. All we want is the dagger. If you don't try to stop me, I promise I will never harm you."
Which was a problem, because I absolutely planned to stop her. Unless I had no other choice, that dagger would never fall into Corack hands.
A few minutes later, Trina pronounced my hair "good enough," which was more than I cared about. I banged on the cell door until a guard came to open it. "Will you need an escort to your father?" he asked. "Your protector already left to tell him you were coming." The guard's eagerness to go aboveground was apparent. I doubted he ever saw much light.
"We don't need an escort," I said.
Still, he walked us up the slope to the main gathering area and then fumbled for his keys. Before we reached the stairs, another door opened behind us, one that would allow prisoners to enter the dungeons directly from outside Woodcourt's main gates. The daylight from the open door was bright enough that I had to shield my eyes. But the light was also accompanied by the sounds of people, several of them.
"Make way for prisoners!" someone called.