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stu-
    pid. He summoned her to his bed naked, so that she had
    no chance to hide a weapon. And he had her bound as
    well, at least at fi rst. He didn’t trust her hands.
    But Jadis was sweet and easy, and as time passed and the
    warlord’s camp traveled, he noticed that she had become
    friends with the other women in his harem. They taught her
    how to knit. Sometimes, when not at battle, he saw her out-
    side the women’s tent, knitting something shapeless. It
    amused him to know that the reputation of Valorian feroc-
    ity was nothing more than myth. How domestic was his lit-
    tle warrior!
    “What’s that?” he asked.
    “It’s for you,” Jadis said. “You’ll like it, you’ll see.”
    The woolly thing grew over the months. It became a
    private joke between them. He would ask if it was meant to
    be a sock, a tunic, a cloak. Her answer was always the same:
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    “You’ll like it, you’ll see.”
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    One night, in the warlord’s tent, long after he’d stopped
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    ordering her hands to be bound, he gazed upon her. “Do
    you know which battle comes tomorrow?”
    CRIME
    “Yes,” Jadis said. The warlord planned to strike at the
    ’S
    heart of Valoria. He would likely succeed.
    “You must hate me for it.”
    “No.”
    THE WINNER
    The word brought tears to his eyes. He wanted to weep
    against her skin. He did not believe her.
    “My love,” she said, “I have almost fi nished your pres-
    ent. Let me knit it here beside you. It will bring you luck in
    battle.”
    That made him laugh, for he couldn’t possibly imagine
    how she expected him to wear that ugly, lumpy mass of
    wool. He was cheered as he remembered how dedicated she
    was to her hapless knitting. So what if she had no skill for
    it? It was proof of her devotion to him.
    He went to the tent’s opening and called for her knit-
    ting basket.
    He set it beside the bed and enjoyed her again. After-
    ward, she knitted beside him. The warlord was made sleepy
    by the needles’ quiet chatter. “Aren’t you fi nished yet?” he
    teased.
    “Yes. Just now I’ve fi nished.”
    “But what is it?”
    “Don’t you see? Don’t you like it? Look closely, my love.”
    He did, and Jadis stabbed her needles into his throat.
    The coin lay heavy on Kestrel’s palm. All the breath
    had gone out of her.
    The emperor said, “We were talking earlier about your
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    captivity under Arin.”
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    “It wasn’t like this.” She tightened her fi ngers around
    SKI
    O
    the coin. “I’m no Jadis.”
    “No? The governor, I hear, is an attractive man.”
    “I didn’t think so.” She hadn’t, not at fi rst. How miser-
    able that she hadn’t seen Arin for what he was, how worse
    MARIE RUTK
    when she did understand it, and how perfectly awful now,
    when he was lost to her and the emperor was asking for her
    secrets. “He was never my lover. Never.”
    That much was true. The sound of her voice must have
    convinced the emperor, or the way she clutched the coin.
    His response came gently: “I believe you. But what if I
    didn’t? Would it matter if the slave had shared your bed?
    Oh, Kestrel. Don’t look at me with such shock. Do you
    think that I’m a prude? I’ve heard the rumors. Everyone
    has.” He stood, and came near to tap the fi st she had closed
    around the coin. “That’s why you need Jadis. This is a gift.
    If the capital thinks you favored the governor of Herran,
    let them think that it was for a purpose.
    “You made a choice when you stood before me and
    pleaded for Herrani in de pen dence. You chose my son. You
    chose my cause.” He shrugged. “I’m a pragmatist. I had no
    desire to mire myself in a battle with Herran when the east
    beckons. Your solution— Herran’s new status as an in de-
    pen dent territory of the empire— has been po