“I didn’t say it was my speculation.”
She taps at her mouth, thinking. I can almost see the wheels in her brain turning, and the familiarity of it tugs at my heart. I have to shove the emotion away.
After a moment, she glances up again. “Consul Cherry. Arella.”
“Yes.”
“The girls were gossiping about her, how she was seeking additional funding for her sector.”
“Gossiping? What girls?”
“On the day I was able to get into the palace. Serving girls. They said that Consul Cherry and Consul Pelham had to be hatching a plot to fleece silver from the king.” She pauses. “I didn’t know who they were at the time.”
I want to roll my eyes at the idle gossip, but something about this lodges in my head for examination later. “All the consuls seek additional funds for their sectors. They expected Harristan to grant a funding request to Artis to build a new bridge, but it was declined, so I’m expecting them all to scramble to put a request together.”
“You don’t want Artis to build a bridge?”
My voice is dry. “Not one that costs four times as much as it should.”
Her mouth twists as she considers the implications of that, but then she looks back at the papers in front of her. “So Sunkeep has few deaths, but Emberridge and Moonlight Plains seem to have a healthier population—”
“Because they control the medicine. Allisander can’t guard his entire wall with dying soldiers.”
She looks up. “I’ve spent two hours reading all this to come to the same conclusions everyone here already knows, haven’t I?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I pull my pocket watch free. “You’ve spent three hours.”
She glances at the pitch-dark window, then at the brightly lit chandelier overhead. “It’s a wonder anyone here ever sleeps, when you can chase the night away.” She stifles a yawn.
“You should retire.”
“I thought you said this was going to take all night.”
“I said it was going to take me all night.” I set my own papers on the table. “I’ll see you to your room.”
“No!” She grabs hold of the armrests like I’m going to physically wrestle her out of her seat. “This is important.”
“I know.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “You knew people here were taking more medicine than they needed. Why didn’t you do something about it?”
“For one thing,” I say, “I don’t know that. Not with certainty. You’re the apothecary, not me.”
“You do know it. You’ve seen it.”
“Yes, I’ve seen it.” I pause. “And I’ve still seen people die, Tessa.”
She stares back at me, and I feel as though a wall of ice has formed between us.
“I’m not challenging your knowledge,” I say. “But it wasn’t enough. I didn’t have proof. And where would I say I’d gotten it? Do you think the King’s Justice could suddenly have suggestions on dosages and additives? We get hundreds of messages at the palace gates every day. A good portion of them declare the fevers are some kind of plot to keep the people subdued. Many promise miracle cures. None work.”
Her eyes narrow further. “Mine isn’t a miracle cure. It’s better medicine.”
“I know. But the Royal Sector is rationed just like all the others. Anyone who takes more than their allotted dose is spending their own silver. I can’t control what people want to spend their money on.”
“Your brother can.”
“Oh, you think so?” My eyebrows go up. “I cannot simply take a hypothesis, snap my fingers, and have my brother turn it into a royal decree.”
She frowns.
I lean in against the table. “Can you imagine the outcry if Harristan told his subjects they couldn’t purchase as much as they want? Can you imagine Allisander’s reaction? Or . . . anyone’s, really? The hoarding, the panic? Every sector has pockets of wealth. Every consul purchases more than their allotment. There is too much fear already. Even if you are able to prove that we can make the medicine stretch further, it may not matter.”
“But your brother is the king! Why can’t he make Allisander provide more?”
“By law, the consuls can set the prices on their sector’s exports. But say Harristan overturned that law, and suddenly Moonflower petals were free. Who pays the thousands of people who harvest the petals in Allisander’s sector? What motivation does Allisander have to keep his fields in good condition?” I pause. “And then, what’s to stop other sectors from hoarding their goods in fear that we’ll seize those assets as well?”
I see her expression and sigh. “We buy what we can from the taxes we collect, and we distribute it among the people. But there is never enough: not enough silver, not enough Moonflower. Ruling a country takes more than just medicine, Tessa. We’re stretched thin everywhere. Jonas asked for too much money to build his bridge—but he surely still needs one. His people are just too sick to efficiently build it.”
Her frown deepens. “So you think this is hopeless.”
“Sickness has plagued Kandala for years. If royal physicians and advisers have not been able to discover a pattern as to who is affected by the fevers, then we are unlikely to overturn it in this room in the dead of night.”
She picks up her piece of paper again, sighing through her teeth. “Well, they haven’t had to.”
I’ve been in this room and gone through documents just like this many times. I’ve seen the same glimmer of hope that shines in her eyes die in a dozen others. I could call for the physicians and advisers to join us right this minute, and I’d watch it again.
I think of the way Harristan read every single request for leniency on the day we were to execute the eight prisoners, or the way he sent me all of these documents and granted Tessa an audience with the royal apothecaries. I’ve been thinking he was indulging me for keeping her here, but maybe it’s something else.
“Harristan doesn’t think it’s hopeless,” I say.
Her eyes lift. “How do you know that?”
“Because you’re here.”
She bites at her lip, considering that—but then she sets down the papers and rubs at her eyes. “Well. Like you said, I don’t think the answer is in these documents.”
“Very well.” After the way she clutched at her chair, I didn’t expect her to give up so easily. I’m surprised that I don’t want her to give up so easily. “I’ll see you to your quarters.”
“Oh, I’m not done.” She taps the table decisively. “I need to see a map.”
Sleepy servants bring half a dozen maps, as well as a tray of black tea and warm muffins, with pots of honey, milk, jam, and sliced berries arranged around a small pot of pink and lavender blooms. They set cups and saucers in front of us both, but Tessa ignores everything in favor of the first map. It unfurls across the next table, and she slides her fingers along the edge, surveying it.
“Tell me your thoughts,” I say.
“Maybe it’s not the weather in Sunkeep that makes a difference. They have the greatest exposure to the ocean.” She points to the southernmost sector, running her finger along the lengthy border. “Which makes me wonder if there is something about the ocean that has some kind of . . . preventive effect.”
“Emberridge, Artis, and Steel City also border the ocean,” I say.
She makes a face. “Well, yes.” She points to the eastern border, running her finger along the edge. “But these are cliffs along the oceanside of Emberridge and Artis, right? So they don’t have as much access to the water.”
“That’s true.” I pause, surveying the map. “But Steel City and Artis share a port where the Queen’s River joins with the ocean.” I point to it. “And the Queen’s River runs straight through both Emberridge and Artis.” I point to the western side of Kandala. “Here, the Flaming River runs alongside Moonlight Plains and the Sorrowlands and also joins with the ocean. Nearly every sector has direct access to free-flowing water.”
She looks at me. “E
xcept the Royal Sector.”
“To prevent an attack by sea—but the Royal Sector is just as affected by the fevers, despite our water sources.” Unbidden, my thoughts turn to Harristan. I’ve hardly seen him today, so I have no idea if his cough has returned. A small spike of fear enters my heart and lodges there.
He was fine when he came to my chambers. He must be fine now.
One servant has lingered, fastidiously wiping a drip of tea from the silver platter. Hoping to catch an earful of gossip, no doubt. “Leave us,” I snap.
He jumps, then offers a quick bow and leaves.
I look back at Tessa. “Continue.”
Her eyes are dark with reproach. “You don’t have to be so cruel.”
I drop into a chair. Worry for my brother has caused my mood to sour. “I didn’t kill you and Allisander threatened to stop shipments of the Moonflower, so I beg to differ.”
She glares at me.
I glare right back. “Continue.”
She looks at the map, then back at me. The censure hasn’t left her eyes.
“I bring nightmares to life,” I say. “If you think a dark look will affect me, you will quickly learn otherwise.”
She hesitates, then sighs. “Perhaps there is something different about the sea life, then.”
It takes me a moment to realize she’s talking about Sunkeep again.
“Mistress Solomon uses ground seashells in one of her fever lotions,” Tessa continues. “It’s ridiculously expensive because the shells have to travel so far, but it is one of her few concoctions that actually seems to make a difference. I always thought it might be the white willow bark, but maybe—”
“Wait.” I sit straight up. “Something other than the Moonflower can cure the fevers?”
“Well—no. But the lotion does seem to make the fevers more manageable, so the Moonflower elixir is more effective.” She grimaces. “Maybe. Honestly, I think that all she’s really selling is a cheaper version of hope to desperate people.”
Desperate. Like I just was. I sit back in the chair and run my hands over my face. The room is so silent I can nearly hear the gears shift in my pocket watch.
I need to move. If I keep sitting here, I’ll spin worry into a frenzy. I shove away from my chair and move to the window. The sky above is dark and thick with stars, but the Royal Sector makes for a fine match, random candles and electric lights twinkling throughout the city. The Hold is a massive rectangular building, easily spotted because torches burn all night beside the men standing guard. In the distance, the spotlights sweep along the wall.
Fabric rustles as Tessa leaves her chair and moves to join me. Her voice is very low, very quiet. “You’re worried for your brother.”
“The king needs no one’s worry, least of all mine.”
She hesitates. “Others must suspect he is sick.”
“He’s not sick.” I want my voice to be hard, to scare her away from this line of conversation, but it’s not. I sound petulant. Worse: I sound soft. Weak and afraid.
Without warning, her hand closes on mine, and she gives it a light squeeze.
I look at her in surprise, but her eyes are on the city lights, and she lets go of my hand so gently that it feels like I imagined the touch.
Especially when her voice is all business again as she says, “What about Ostriary?”
I blink. “What?”
Ostriary is the kingdom on the opposite side of the Flaming River, which runs along the western side of Kandala. The river is rough, fast-flowing, and wide—over fifteen miles wide in spots—which would make trade difficult in the best of conditions. But on the opposite shore, Ostriary’s terrain is dense marshland in the south and mountainous in the north, making for treacherous travel. We don’t have a hostile relationship with Ostriary—but thanks to the difficulty of travel, we don’t have a very good one either. Our father had just begun sending emissaries into the region to see whether it would be worthwhile to try to establish trade routes, but then he was killed and Harristan was left to deal with a dying population.
“Are they affected by the fevers?” says Tessa.
“I don’t know,” I say.
“Don’t you think it’s worth finding out?”
I inhale to reject the notion—but it’s not a bad question. I look at her. “Maybe.”
“If the Moonflower grows in the north here, maybe it grows in the north there. And if they’re not sick there, maybe you’d be able to get it for—”
“These are a lot of ifs and maybes.” I pause, mentally tabulating how much silver it would take to outfit ships that could withstand the river current and hire people willing to take on the task of traveling and mapping unknown terrain. “It would be costly, too. I’m not sure Harristan would be able to justify the expense.”
That said, Allisander would hate the idea. That alone makes me want to draw up a funding request this very minute.
Tessa sighs.
I sigh.
I wish she hadn’t let go of my hand so quickly. The motion was meaningless, I’m sure of it. The same momentary compassion she would give to a worried mother when we wore masks and tried to help the few we could.
You don’t have to be so cruel.
She may have felt something for Weston Lark, but she hates Prince Corrick.
“It’s worth discussion,” I offer.
She turns to look up at me in surprise, her eyes lighting up. “Really?”
She’s so heartfelt about everything she does that I nearly smile at her reaction. “You’re at court now, so you shouldn’t be so earnest.”
“What on earth does that mean?”
“You should say, ‘If that’s the best you can do, Your Highness.’ ” I say this with an intonation that sounds a lot like how I mock Allisander in my head. “Or, ‘I suppose that will do for now,’ with a heavy sigh so it’s clear you’re unsatisfied.”
She folds her arms across her chest and looks back out at the city. “Well, that’s just ridiculous.”
I laugh.
She startles, then frowns.
A weight drops between us again, hot and sudden. I don’t know what just happened.
Tessa swallows. “You remind me so much of Wes when you laugh.” Her eyes gleam. “I can’t tell who’s real and who’s the illusion.”
Those words carry so much pain that I nearly flinch. I hold my breath for a moment.
I reach out and touch her hand the way she just did to me. The way we did a hundred times in the woods, when the nights were too difficult.
I wait for her to pull away, but she doesn’t. I close my fingers around hers, and we stare out at the lights of the city.
“You see through all my illusions,” I say, and my voice is rough.
She turns to look up at me, and I hate that there’s hope in her eyes. It reminds me so much of our last night in the woods, when I promised to return—and then I didn’t. I’m destined to disappoint her. There’s a prison full of smugglers that are proof enough of that.
Even still, I can’t let go.
I lift my other hand to touch her face, tentatively at first, but then more sure when she doesn’t pull away. “You remind me of how it felt to be Wes.”
Her breathing shakes, and her eyes fall closed. “I hate you.”
“I know.” My thumb strokes across her mouth, and her lips part. We’re closer somehow, all but sharing breath.
Then her eyes open, and she gasps. She puts her free hand in the gap between our faces, her fingertips against my mouth. Her eyes blaze into mine.
I want to take her hand and push it out of the way. I want to press my mouth to hers. I want my hands on her waist, on her back, on every inch of skin this gown leaves bare—and some inches that it does not. I want her scent in my head and her taste on my tongue and her arms wound around my neck.
I can’t move. I want her to want those things, too.
“You’re not Wes,” she whispers.
The words hit me like an arrow, and I step bac
k. The distance between us is suddenly immeasurable.
Light and sound explode outside the window, so bright and loud that I jerk her away from the glass. We stumble back six feet, but nothing comes close to the palace. Fire has erupted a few blocks away, at the Hold, flames billowing high into the night. I can already hear shouts from distant parts of the palace, and people running in the streets down below.
“What—what’s happening—” she begins.
“Guards!” I shout. The door to the room swings open, and guards burst in.
Another explosion in the city makes the windowpanes rattle. Near the Hold again. The flames are three stories high. The alarms in the sector start blaring.
Another explosion. I don’t flinch this time.
Another.
A guard is speaking to me. “Your Highness. You should move away from the windows.”
But I can’t. I can’t look away.
The Royal Sector is on fire.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Tessa
The room was so silent and still when I was alone with Corrick, but now it’s loud with guards and advisers who bustle in and out, carrying orders and messages. King Harristan joined us within ten minutes of the first explosion. He clearly dressed in a hurry, because he’s in his shirtsleeves along with simple calfskin trousers and unlaced boots. He and Corrick are sitting at one of the long tables with Quint standing to one side, the Palace Master hurriedly scribbling notes that are taken by runners as soon as he tears them free. Several consuls are also in the room, including Consul Sallister, Consul Cherry, and Consul Marpetta, the woman I saw at the gates on the morning I came to the sector for Mistress Solomon. I don’t know the others. At first they surrounded the king, arguing over whether the entire sector was under attack, over the best way to fight the fires, over who was behind the explosions. Harristan listened to their bickering for one full minute longer than I would have, then said, “Enough. If you have so much to offer, go find a bucket of water and get to work.”
They all fell silent. Now they’re sitting at the table closest to the hearth. Their voices are a low rush, and I can tell they’re still arguing, but they have the sense to stay out of his way. I hear murmurs of funding and rebels and planned attack.
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