The Traitor's Game by Jennifer A. Nielsen

Author:Jennifer A. Nielsen [Jennifer A. Nielsen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781338045390
Publisher: Scholastic Inc.
Published: 2018-02-27T05:00:00+00:00

Gerald met me on the way to the library, his brow creased with concern. Was that because of his fear for my safety, or for whether the diary had been returned to its hiding place? Other than Darrow, my greatest worries were focused on the diary. I didn’t know whether I’d get the chance to move it from the library shelves and put it back under the desk again, especially now.

After a quick assessment of my appearance, Gerald offered me a polite bow. “My lady, I am relieved. You look none the worse after that visit to the dungeons.”

“I’m no better either.” My anger at Gerald wasn’t fair, but I felt it anyway. “Did you know what was in the diary when you gave it to me?”

He shook his head. “The day Lady Dallisor died, I snuck that key away from here and sent it to my people. The key was not supposed to return to Woodcourt until it came in your hands. No one but Lady Dallisor has read that diary, not even her husband.”

I wished I could discuss its contents with Gerald, though it probably didn’t matter now, and this open hallway was no place for such a dangerous conversation. Two nearby maids surely heard me whisper to him the only thing I dared say: “I don’t want to know the things I now know.”

“Life doesn’t give us what we want. It gives us what we need and asks what we will do with it.”

“Don’t speak in philosophies, Gerald. You should have warned me.”

He gave a quick bow. “Yes, my lady. I assume you are here to see the master? That’s why you were allowed to leave the dungeons?”

A sudden weight pressed on my shoulders, but through it, I asked, “Where is he? In his library?”

“Of course. I’ll take you there.”

I had half-expected to see Simon near the library. He would’ve come here to gain permission for my release, and should’ve known I wouldn’t be far behind. Maybe he’d been sent on other errands. It would have helped to see him.

Gerald knocked on the door and we were allowed to enter. “Sir Henry,” he said, with his customary bow, “your daughter is here.” I said nothing, and certainly did not curtsy.

My father was standing near the library’s window, gazing out on his land, the colors of his fields cooling along with the weather. “Wait in here, my blue friend.” That was undoubtedly meant as an insult, reminding Gerald of his place.

“Yes, Sir Henry.” Gerald offered me a weak smile before bowing his way over to the back wall. He made an excellent spy, one who was perfectly willing to humble himself before a man he surely hated, all to remain trusted. Lacking Gerald’s humility—lacking any humility whatsoever, actually—I could never be so successful.

Now my father turned, furrowing his brow as he looked me over. Normally, I would have returned his stare, pretending to feel as indifferent as he always was, but this time, I found it hard to look at him at all.

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