I open my mouth. Close it.
Maybe the Hold would be better.
“Followed by lunch in the hall,” he continues, “and then the dressmaker will see you in her suite. Afterward, lessons with Master Verity—”
“More lessons?” I squeak.
“—on the current political climate of Kandala. If you are to be in the palace, you simply must know the key players. Once complete, you will return here to dress for dinner, which will likely be a private affair with Prince Corrick, though I have advised him it should be done in a public location . . .”
He keeps talking, but I’ve stopped listening.
A private affair with Prince Corrick. In a public location.
My mouth has gone dry. Last night was bad enough in the confines of his bedchamber. When we were truly alone, he wasn’t quite as frightening, but that’s like saying a ravenous wolf is only slightly less terrifying because it’s in the midst of a meal.
I can only imagine what Corrick must be like in public, the King’s Justice in the presence of his people.
With a start, I realize I don’t need to imagine it. I watched the execution that ended in cries for rebellion.
I don’t want to dine with that Prince Corrick.
“Tessa.” Quint is looking at me. I don’t know how much I’ve missed, but I’m guessing it was a lot.
I don’t care. I force my eyes to meet his. “How can you be his friend?” I whisper.
Quint closes his little book and studies me. “You were his friend, too, weren’t you?”
“No. I was . . . I was friends with a man who doesn’t exist. A . . . a trick. An illusion.”
“Are you so sure?”
Of course I’m sure.
But then I think of those few moments when the prince smiled, or when his voice gentled, or when he wasn’t being violent and instead treated me with thoughtful consideration. Ask your question, Tessa. When the guise of Prince Corrick seemed like a mask that Weston Lark hid behind.
I’m not sure of anything at all.
Maybe he can read it on my face. Quint pulls his pocket watch free. “Shall we go?”
My heart wants to fall through the floor. “Is the Hold still an option?”
“The Hold is always an option.” He offers me his arm.
I hesitate. I still want to panic and run. If this were Corrick in front of me, I probably would.
Quint leans in a bit. “I don’t recommend it,” he says softly.
So I steel my spine and take his arm.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Corrick
I’m used to waking well before dawn. For years, because I would meet Tessa in the early hours of the day and we would make our rounds. Lately, I’ve been waking in the darkness and listening for the sirens, worried that she’d find herself caught by the night patrol.
This morning, I don’t wake until the sun has fully risen, the hearth has gone cold, and my room is bathed in light.
Tessa is here.
She hates me, but she’s here. She’s safe.
It’s reassuring, but it’s also terrifying. I grab my pocket watch from my nightstand. It’s nearly nine.
Nine! She’ll be heading to meet with Harristan. I need to speak with her. I need to warn her of what to say. How to act. How to protect herself.
I stride across the floor to the door and throw it open.
Allisander Sallister is there, arguing with my guards, his voice a low, lethal hiss. “I’ve heard all about the girl he’s taken. I assure you, the prince is not still sleeping, and you will—”
He stops short when the door is flung open. I watch as he takes in my bare chest, my loose linen pants. I very definitely need a shave, and at the present moment, my hair likely rivals Quint’s.
“I was, in fact, asleep,” I say. “And alone.”
He clears his throat and straightens. “Forgive me.” Though he says it to me, not the guards he was just dressing down. “Our supply run was attacked by vandals. The guards you provided were able to detain them. They’ve been taken to the Hold. I would like you to join me when we question them.”
Oh, he would, would he? I run a hand across my jaw. I’d say it’s too early for this, but it’s really not.
“Send for breakfast,” I say to my guards. “Tell Geoffrey I’m awake. Have a message sent to the king that I need to attend to business in the Hold.” I glance at Allisander, who looks poised to step forward and wait in my chambers while I dress, but there’s only so much of him I can take within five minutes of waking.
“Wait for me in the hall,” I say to him.
He inhales to protest. I shut the door in his face.
I should be worried about whatever smugglers he’s dragged into the Hold, or whatever he’s going to say about last night, but I can only think of Tessa meeting with my brother.
She’s smart and savvy and quick on her feet. I hope she has the good sense to lie. If she tells him the truth about everything, he won’t believe her. I know he won’t.
I hope he won’t.
I press my hands to my mouth and breathe through my fingers. Tessa.
I have a thought, then dash to my desk, fish out a slip of paper, where I nearly spray ink all over the surface in my hurry to write. I fold up the parchment and take it to the door, flinging it wide as I did before, just as my steward, Geoffrey, is approaching with a shaving kit.
He and my guards all look at me in surprise.
I clear my throat and thrust the folded paper at the nearest guard. “Take this to Quint. Tell him it’s for Tessa.”
“Yes, Your Highness.” He takes the paper and gives me a nod.
Geoffrey clears his throat. “I’ll be quick, Your Highness.” He pauses. “Consul Sallister told me you have business to attend to.”
I’m tempted to tell Geoffrey to go shave that stupid goatee off Allisander’s face, but I don’t. He’s already heard about Tessa, and he’s definitely not happy about it. I sigh and take a step back. “We mustn’t keep the consul waiting.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Tessa
Quint must be used to filling uncomfortable silences. I’m holding on to his arm like it’s the only thing keeping me upright, my breathing shallow and rapid, and he’s waxing poetic about the historical relevance of the doorknobs.
“And you’ll see,” he’s saying as we move into the central part of the palace, “the metalworking here turns from brass to gold-plated steel. Much of this area was destroyed in a fire a century ago, but the Steel City sector was just beginning to flourish, so King Rodbert ordered that all—”
“Master Quint.” A guard has appeared in our path. My fingers tighten on Quint’s arm.
Maybe Prince Corrick has changed his mind. Maybe this guard is going to drag me away. Maybe I’m going to be drawn and quartered. They’ll do it in front of the king. Or on that stage where he was going to execute eight people. Or—
The guard extends a hand with an unevenly folded slip of paper. “From His Highness, Prince Corrick.”
Quint takes it. “Thank you, Lennard.”
The guard’s eyes don’t shift to me, but he says, “He asked that you give it to Tessa.”
Quint offers the paper to me. I close my fingers around it. I have no idea what it could say.
That’s not true. I can just imagine what it says. Probably a promise to break all my bones if I mess this up. I want to crumple it up without looking.
Quint is walking again, and the guard steps to the side to allow us to pass.
My hand is damp on the note, but I don’t want to unfold it.
“Are you not going to read it?” says Quint.
I make a face. “It probably says something like, ‘Say the wrong thing about me, and I’ll use your limbs as firewood.’ ”
“I rather doubt it. I’m certain he would expect the guard to see it.”
That draws me up short. I’ve never considered worrying about such a thing. My fingertips press into the paper, and I
swallow.
Quint drops his voice. “Can you not read?”
I snap my head around. “What?”
“There is no need to be ashamed. I can arrange for tutors discreetly.” His voice is still very low. “A delegate from Trader’s Landing married a woman who had never learned her letters nor her sums, and within weeks—”
“I can read!” For goodness’ sake. I hastily unfold the paper and stare at the words scrawled there. They stop my heart and coax it into beating again.
“Mind your mettle,” I whisper. For a breath of time, I want to press the paper to my chest.
Weston Lark isn’t real.
He’s not.
But if he’s not real, then Prince Corrick sent me the exact words I needed to hear at the exact moment I needed to hear them. Words that could sound like a warning or a threat or nothing of consequence at all.
I take a long, steadying breath. I square my shoulders and fold the paper into a rectangle in my palm.
“Steady on?” says Quint. His eyes are searching my face.
For all his endless prattle, Quint is sharper than he seems. I make a mental note to remember that.
“Steady on,” I say, and to my surprise, I mean it.
“Marvelous! Now, allow me to draw your attention to the wall hangings . . .”
The palace is enormous, and though it takes a while to walk to wherever the king awaits, it’s obvious when we draw near. While we’ve passed guards and servants in the hallways, this door is surrounded by eight armed men: two on each side, with four directly across. These guards bear an extra adornment on their sleeves that I haven’t seen on the others, a crown stitched in gold surrounded by interlocking circles of purple and blue. A footman in richly detailed livery stands to the side as well. The guards don’t seem to move, but I feel their attention on me the instant we come into view. Every hair on the back of my neck stands up.
My finger’s tighten on Quint’s arm again, but my step doesn’t hesitate.
“You’ll stay?” I breathe.
“If asked.”
The footman announces us. I think we’ll be made to wait, but a voice calls from the other side. “Enter.”
The door swings wide, and I find I can’t breathe. Quint leads me forward. This is a different terror from last night, when I was certain I faced execution. This is fear wrapped up in silk and ribbons and etched with gold.
The room is smaller than I expect, with a marble floor and a long, shining glass table. The windows here stretch from the floor nearly to the ceiling, and curtains have been drawn wide, allowing natural light and warmth to swell in the room, making the sky-blue walls come alive with shadows. Flowers bloom in massive pots set against the wall, filling the space with warm and inviting scents. An actual tree towers in the corner, situated in a pot half the size of the table, and vines climb the trunk and stick to the wall, blooming with tiny pink flowers along the length. If a garden could be brought inside, I very much think it would look like this room.
Then my eyes fall on the king standing by the corner of the table, and it’s a testament to the room that I didn’t notice him first. I saw him last night, but my brain was clouded with fear, and my only thoughts were of escape and survival—to say nothing of betrayal. Now I can take in his height—slightly taller than Corrick, I think—and the breadth of his shoulders—slightly narrower—and the black of his hair and the blue of his eyes. He has a smattering of freckles like his brother, too, though his skin is more pale, and there’s no hint of a smile on his mouth, so the freckles look like someone painted them on, an attempt to make a severe man seem more boyish. Four more guards stand by the wall at his back, and another footman waits in the corner by a table filled with drinks and delicacies.
I don’t know if I’m supposed to kneel or curtsy or lie down on the floor and beg for my life. My mouth is dry. I wish Jossalyn were here so I could follow her lead. The king’s eyes are on me, and I find I can’t move.
“Your Majesty,” says Quint. “May I present—”
“I know who she is, Quint.”
“Ah, yes. And may I remind you that she is unfamiliar with court protocol—”
“I don’t need to be reminded.” The king’s eyes flick to my left. “Out.”
I suck in a breath, but Quint’s arm drops from under my hand before I can dig in with my fingers. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
And then he’s gone, and I’m alone with the king. The door quietly clicks closed behind us.
No matter how much finery Jossalyn laced onto my body this morning, I feel like the ragged outlaw in torn clothes he saw last night in Corrick’s chambers. My hands flutter over my skirts, unsure where to settle.
So many words want to escape my lips.
Forgive me. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.
Please don’t kill me.
Please don’t have Corrick kill me.
Please bring Quint back.
Please send me home.
Jossalyn’s warning to wait until he addressed me is ringing in my ears. I bite into my lip from the inside until I taste blood.
The former king was well loved by the people. Kandala prospered. To sit with Harristan’s and Corrick’s father would have been an honor. I wouldn’t have been terrified. I would have been in awe. The envy of everyone I knew.
Then again, with the previous king, I wouldn’t have been sneaking into the servants’ quarters. I wouldn’t have been smuggling medicine out of the Royal Sector. I wouldn’t be here at all.
I’d be a lot better off than I am right now, because King Harristan is most definitely not well loved.
“What thought just crossed your mind?” he says.
I jump. “I—what?”
His expression doesn’t change. “I know you heard me.”
I can’t very well say that no one likes him. “I was—I was—” My voice sounds like a wheezing whisper. I have to clear my throat, but it doesn’t help. He’s every bit as intimidating as Corrick. “I was thinking that King Lucas was well loved by the people.”
King Harristan’s eyes search my face, and his expression shifts in a way that makes me think he can read every thought I’m not voicing. “Yes, he was.” He holds out a hand to indicate a chair. “Sit.”
I have to force my feet to move. He’s watching me, and after the way he said, I know you heard me, I don’t want to make him wait again. He eases into the chair at the head of the table, but I drop into mine so quickly that I have to grab the edge of the table to keep from upending the chair.
Almost as if by some unseen signal, the footman moves out of the corner. He was standing so silently that I almost forgot he was there. He sets two glass goblets in front of us, then two china cups on delicate saucers. First the king, then me. He pours water into the goblets, and then tea into the cups. The tea is dark gray and smells heavenly. The footman pours milk into the king’s tea and adds a small spoonful of sugar, then glances at me. “Milk and sugar, miss?”
I have no idea, but following the king’s lead doesn’t sound like a bad plan. “Yes. Please. Sir.”
Once he’s returned to the corner, King Harristan traces a finger around the rim of his cup but doesn’t take a sip. “Did you know my father?”
It’s a ridiculous question, but it sounds genuine, so I shake my head. “No. No, Your Majesty.”
“It’s easy to love your king when everyone is well fed and healthy,” he says. “A bit harder when everyone is . . . not.”
He doesn’t say this in an arrogant way. More . . . contemplative. He’s so severe that sentimentality takes me by surprise. I’m not sure how to respond.
He finally takes a sip of his tea. “Corrick tells me that you steal medicine and distribute it.”
I freeze with my hand on the cup.
“You slipped into the palace, and your life has been spared,” King Harristan says. “You may as well speak freely.”
“Has my life been spared for . . . ah, ever?” I rasp.
“Forever? That is outside my power, I would think. But I would not have summoned you here if I wanted frightened lies.” He pauses. “Is my brother mistaken about what you do?”
Mind your mettle. My brain supplies images before I’m ready. Wes in the workshop, helping me weigh and measure. The children we have to coax into taking their medicine. The women who cry on my shoulder when we appear with the vials, because they’re so worried they’ll lose their entire family. The men who want to skip their doses so others can have more.
“Tell me,” says King Harristan.
The words aren’t an order. They’re a plea.
I blink at him, surprised. My brain supplies a memory from last night. Harristan and Corrick in close conversation, their voices low and intense. I wasn’t listening. I wanted to escape. But my thoughts captured their words to replay later. To replay now.
Cory. I don’t like this.
I wasn’t wrong before. King Harristan has a limit. Not just a limit. A weakness for his people.
I think back to the moment in front of the sector gates, when the eight smugglers were set to be executed. King Harristan looked so cold and aloof. I thought it meant he was numb to our suffering, bored with our punishment. I thought it meant he was horrible, as so many of us believe.
But maybe he was so cold and aloof because he didn’t want to be there at all.
What did Corrick say? Kindness leaves you vulnerable, Tessa. I learned that lesson years ago.
King Harristan would have learned that lesson, too. He also lost his parents—and inherited a kingdom that was on the brink of falling apart.
I don’t want to feel any kind of kinship or sympathy for this man or his brother. They’re cruel and cold, and they’ve caused so much harm. But it’s one thing when I’m seeing the bodies hanging from the gate—and altogether another when Prince Corrick is telling me of their crimes.
I draw a long breath. “Corrick—ah, Prince Corr—I mean, His Highness—”
“I know who you mean.”
“Right. Of course.” I pause. “He’s not mistaken. I do steal medicine. But I’m not a smuggler. I give it to those who cannot afford their own.”
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