“Talk to me.” There’s a tone of command in his voice, one I’m used to hearing—but never directed at me.
Two chess pieces remain in my hand, and I slide them over each other in my palm. I give him a sidelong glance. “Am I speaking to my brother, or am I speaking to the king?”
“Both.”
Maybe I was wrong before. Maybe the tension isn’t all on my side.
I stand and set the chess pieces on the table, then offer him a flourishing bow. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I had no idea this was an official meeting.”
“Corrick.” His tone is unyielding.
I didn’t want to kill those prisoners.
I don’t want to do this anymore.
I don’t want you to need me to do this anymore. This can’t be how Father would have wanted us to lead.
I can’t say any of that. “There were few guards left in the Hold after the attacks,” I say. “The few that remained were needed to remove the bodies.” I pause. “Are your guards to be your spies now?”
“Do they need to be?”
I don’t have to pretend to be offended at the question. “No!”
“That girl didn’t want you to kill those prisoners—”
“Neither did Arella and Roydan,” I snap. “Send your guards to eavesdrop on them.”
“—and she asked Rocco to take her to find you in the Hold. Why?”
Because she saw through me. Because she knew I was a breath away from shattering. Because her hope hasn’t burned away into nothing.
I can’t say any of that either.
Harristan takes a step closer to me. “I thought this was a simple dalliance,” he says, his tone low. “An infatuation, maybe, that got away from you. I was willing to overlook it.”
I move to the side table and uncork the brandy. I want to pour it straight down my throat, but I have the sense to use a glass. “But your guard has convinced you otherwise?”
“You spend a great deal of time in the Hold, speaking with smugglers. I find it an interesting coincidence that when the night patrol caught a small operation, half of them were able to call for rebellion and escape. And when Allisander caught another group, they were able to set the sector on fire while being rescued.”
My hand goes still on the glass as the impact of these words becomes clear. Even still, I can’t quite believe it. I turn around. “What are you asking me, Harristan?”
“Are you involved with these smugglers somehow? Do you know anything about the thieves who’ve been plaguing the sector?”
The world seems to tilt on its axis, just for the barest moment. I’m destroying myself for the sake of my brother, and he’s all but accusing me of treason.
The worst part is that he’s not wrong. Not entirely.
I drain the glass of brandy and pour another.
He moves close. His voice drops. “Tell me, Cory. If you’re doing this—whatever they’ve promised you—”
All of my anger flares. I whirl, plant my hands on his chest, and shove him as hard as I can. “Get out.”
He stumbles back a step, surprise plain on his face. Then he coughs. Hard. He puts a hand to his chest.
For an instant, panic replaces all the anger. He sucks in a breath, and it sounds like he’s breathing through a cupful of water.
“Harristan,” I whisper.
He grabs hold of the back of a chair and fights to breathe.
I did this. I did this. Tessa said he was fine, but he’s clearly not. I move to surge past him to shout for a physician.
Harristan seizes my sleeve and draws me up short. “Tell me,” he gasps. His eyes are dark and intent on mine.
And a little desperate.
“I’m not working with the smugglers,” I say. “I would never betray you. I have never betrayed you. I swear it.”
He stands there fighting to breathe, until his grip on my sleeve feels less like a demand and more like a plea.
“I swear,” I say again, my voice softer. “I swear.”
For the first time in what feels like an hour, he draws a full breath. His grip eases. He nods and straightens.
He’s not dying. I didn’t kill him. Relief is potent, but some of my rage slips back into my chest, turning my voice rough. “Why would you think that?”
“Because you’re hiding something from me.” He hesitates. “And Allisander expressed concern—”
“That son of a bitch.”
“You can’t blame him. You’ve changed these last few weeks.”
My brother’s voice is still a bit thin, a bit reedy. I look at him. “I have always worked in your interest, Harristan. Always.” I pause, remembering the moments I stood in the deserted chamber of the Hold and wished for my brother to appear. How I wished for him to see how this was destroying me as effectively as the fever is destroying all of Kandala.
But he didn’t. He’s not seeing it even now.
I straighten, and I don’t even have to try to tinge my voice with regret. “Sic your guards on me if you must. Measure my every movement. Attend every interrogation. Tether your horse to mine if you like. I commit very little treason on the toilet, but if you want to be absolutely thorough—”
“Cory.” He draws a breath, then hesitates.
I stare back at him, and I wonder if he can read the emotion in my eyes. I remember when we were young, how we’d sneak into the Wilds, how he’d lead and I’d follow, but I always felt an obligation to protect him. Some of it was due to growing up beside a brother whose health was monitored and protected and worried over for so long. Some of it was due to the fact that he would one day be king, and I would not. It’s an obligation I still feel, and it seeps into every action I take. I thought he knew that.
For the first time, I feel as though he has betrayed me.
Maybe he can see it, because he lets that breath out slowly. He claps me on the shoulder, giving my arm a gentle squeeze. “Forgive me. Please.”
I nod.
But something has fractured between us.
I think he must feel the same, because he holds on for a moment too long, then steps back and turns for the door.
I should tell him everything about Tessa. About Weston. The words burn in my throat.
Then again, maybe that would confirm all his worries. I am committing treason, brother, I’ve been committing it for years.
I swallow the words. I swallow my anger. I swallow my disappointment. When the king pauses at the door to glance back, the King’s Justice looks back at him.
Once he’s gone, and I go for the door to have a message sent for Quint, I find Rocco there guarding my door.
Hours pass. Quint doesn’t arrive.
I’m not desperate enough to send word to Tessa, because every syllable will be scrutinized and reported back to my brother, and I can’t think of anything to say that won’t bolster his suspicion. I also don’t want to leave my room with my brother’s guards trailing behind me, because I know it will generate gossip: either people will think we’re more at risk because of the explosions at the Hold, or they’ll think Harristan is doing exactly what he’s doing.
I don’t like either option.
I’m also petty enough to like the idea of Rocco having to stand outside my door for hours on end, because it’s interminably boring.
Only slightly more boring than sitting in here by myself. I’ve been spending the time reviewing the documents that Tessa abandoned, and discovering nothing new. Tessa was right: no one will speak to me like this, but they’ll speak to Wes and Tessa.
I’m fidgety and eager for nightfall.
Quint finally appears when I’m debating whether I’m going to eat dinner in my quarters alone, like a prisoner.
A guard announces him and swings the door wide.
“Quint,” I say. “Finally.”
“Forgive me, Your Highness,” he says. “The king required my services for much of the day.”
His tone, the formality, draws me up short. I glance behind him at the d
oor that’s falling closed slowly.
“No apologies are necessary,” I tell him. “I wanted to request additional reports on the fevers—”
The door clicks closed.
“What’s wrong?” I whisper.
He doesn’t move from where he stands. “Someone has suggested to your brother that you’re involved with the smugglers.” He pauses. “That you are working with these Benefactors, if not funding them yourself. That you deliberately allowed the prisoners to escape on the day of the riots. That you enabled the attacks last night.”
I go still. It’s very different to hear this from Quint than from my brother. When Harristan spoke of treason, it was between us. Now . . . it’s not. “Someone.” I scowl. “It’s Allisander.”
“It may not be him alone.” Quint pauses. “Some have suggested that you may have confided in me.”
I study my friend. For the first time, I realize he’s not in disarray. His jacket is buttoned, his hair is combed.
His eyes are tense and uncertain.
“Are you unwell?” I say. A flicker of fear ignites in my chest. “Is Tessa unwell?”
“Tessa is fine.” He pauses, then steps toward the table, but he stops before reaching it. His voice is very soft. “Corrick—I’ve kept many secrets for you.”
“For which you have my gratitude.”
“For which I could be executed, if these rumors are true.”
I stare at him. “Quint.” If Harristan has gotten to Quint . . . I’m done for. “Quint, what have you done?”
“No, Corrick. What have you done?” His eyes are intent, piercing mine.
We stare at each other across the room, and the fire snaps in the hearth. Tension holds my heart in a vise grip. I think of every story I’ve ever told Quint, every transgression I’ve ever committed. The names I’ve given him of families near death. The times I truly have allowed prisoners to escape. The homes I’ve broken into when I steal Moonflower petals. The way I’ve evaded the night patrol or the way I get over the wall. All I know about Tessa and every action we’ve taken together.
I was angry that Harristan would believe a rumor like this.
It’s a different feeling that Quint would.
“Shall I call for a guard to take my head right now?” I say flippantly, while inside I’m reeling. “I’m sure Rocco would be willing.”
He stands there and evaluates me. It’s not a good feeling, because I know how much he sees. I know how much he knows.
“You were my confidant, Quint.” I pause. “More than a confidant. You were my friend.”
“Were?”
I tug at my sleeves and don’t look at him. “Did you sell me out to Harristan?”
For the first time, anger flares in his eyes. “Do you think I would?”
I take a step toward him, and it requires effort to keep my voice down. “Do you think I’d help rebels and smugglers while pretending to distribute medicine to those who need it?”
He stares at me. I stare back.
Finally, he sighs. “No. I don’t.” He pauses. “And I didn’t sell you out to your brother when he asked.”
I don’t move. “What did you say to him?”
Quint looks back at me squarely and folds his arms. “I said you’ve never spoken a word of treason in my presence. That you’ve been loyal to the kingdom in every action I’ve seen you take.”
I inhale what feels like the first deep breath in hours. I press my hands together in front of my face and try not to rattle myself apart.
Quint risks his neck by keeping my secrets. He always has, but I’ve had contingency plans for my morning activities. I’ve never been directly accused by my brother. I’ve never been suspected by any of the consuls.
Now . . . now the risk is very real.
“Leave,” I say to him, and my voice is not unkind. “I will not speak to you except in public, and only for official business. I will not—”
“Corrick.” He unfolds his arms and moves to the side table to pour a glass of brandy for himself. “Honestly. I know the risks I take.”
“I’ll take your involvement to my grave, Quint,” I say.
“Well,” says Quint. He drains the glass, which is very unusual for him. “Let’s hope that’s more than a day away.”
“You trust me, then?”
“I’ve always trusted you.” He hesitates, then glances at the door, and his voice grows very quiet. “If you were assisting these smugglers, I know you would have a reason.” He pauses. “I thought perhaps you no longer trusted me.”
“I tell you everything.” My voice grows rough. Some days he feels like my only friend here, the only person who’s ever known all sides. “Everything.”
He pours another glass, and I think he’s going to toss it back as quickly as the first, but instead he holds it out to me. “Then I ask forgiveness for doubting you.”
“You’re probably the only person in the palace who doesn’t need to ask forgiveness for anything.”
He laughs at that. “That’s hardly true.” He pauses and loses the smile. “We’ll have to be careful,” he says. “Tensions are high right now.”
We. We’ll have to be careful. It’s more than I deserve. I drain the glass he gave me.
“I have a plan,” I say huskily.
“Of course you do.”
I hear the tension in his voice, and it makes me hesitate. “Do you want out, Quint?” I pause. “You don’t need to risk your neck for me.”
“It’s not just for you, Corrick.” His eyes hold mine. “Tell me your plan.”
I tell him about Tessa’s suggestion, that we go into the Wilds as outlaws again to see if people will talk about what’s going on and who’s behind the attacks.
When I’m done, Quint strokes at his jaw, thinking. “You’ll have to convince people that you were being held captive in the Hold, and you escaped during the explosions. That will explain your absence.” He pauses. “You can slip out the window as usual, but Tessa’s rooms are along the side wall, and she’ll be visible.”
I can’t invite her here either, because my brother’s guards would definitely report it.
“I’ll see if I can distract the guards for a moment,” says Quint. “Is she as quick and sure-footed as you said?”
My heart pounds. “Yes.”
He pulls his pocket watch free. “Be ready at midnight. I’ll make sure she has a mask.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Tessa
It’s been a day of dresses and curls and lessons and so many curtsies that I want to lodge a protest.
I haven’t seen Corrick.
I haven’t seen the king.
I’ve hardly even seen Quint, and during the few moments he did appear, he seemed tense and distracted. The attacks on the sector have everyone on edge—including me. Rocco hasn’t been outside my door at all, but the guards who replaced him have the same purple and blue royal insignia on their uniform.
The entire day has carried a sense of anticipation. Of waiting. Of something to come.
But now it’s nightfall, and nothing has happened.
I haven’t spoken to the royal apothecaries—though I’m sure the king has more important things to do right now. I have no idea whether Corrick will take a chance as Wes again. Last night, he didn’t give me an answer, and I began to wonder if that’s answer enough, especially as the day wore on.
I’m not a prisoner, but today, I feel like one. Rocco willingly took me out of the palace, but I wonder what would happen if I asked the guards to take me out of the sector. I imagine showing up at Mistress Solomon’s in one of these silly dresses, how surprised she would look. I imagine wrapping Karri up in a hug. She was such a good friend—and then I vanished. I wonder what they think has become of me. Is there gossip in the sector about me breaking into the palace? If so, I’m sure it’s been eclipsed by everything that happened last night. Will there be another attack? Will Consul Sallister stop providing Moonflower to the sectors? Will
he be able to, if his supply runs keep getting raided?
I have so many questions that they tangle up in my thoughts and keep sleep a far distance away.
Jossalyn took down my curls hours ago, leaving me with a hot cup of tea and a tray of baked twists of dough dusted with sugar. A vial of the elixir sits beside it, so much darker than the ones I mix. I swirl the liquid in the vial and wonder how much of this concentrated Moonflower would save families in the Wilds.
But then I consider Harristan’s cough last night. He didn’t have a fever—but he’s still not wholly well. He’s the king of Kandala, so he’s certainly receiving more than enough himself. I don’t understand.
When I climb into bed, I don’t think I’ll sleep, but I must, because a sound wakes me. My room is cloaked in darkness, and the hearth has fallen to embers.
A hand comes over my mouth.
I suck in a breath to scream, but then Quint’s voice says, “We have less than a minute for you to get into Corrick’s quarters. There is no time for questions. Can you run?”
My thoughts spin, but I nod against his hand.
He lets me go. The door is open and unguarded. I run.
The hallway is empty somehow, and I sprint like a ghost. This stupid palace is entirely too big, because Corrick’s room seems to be a mile away, and my bare feet skid on the velvet carpeting.
Just as I hear a male voice saying, “Master Quint, there doesn’t appear to be anything amiss,” Corrick’s door swings open and I run smack into him.
He catches my shoulders and holds me upright. “Quiet.”
I’m gasping for breath. “But—”
“I said quiet.” He shoves me into his room and leans out into the hallway. “Guards! What is going on?”
My heart won’t stop pounding. I hope the guards know what’s going on because I sure don’t.
A male voice calls back, “Master Quint thought he saw suspicious activity in the streets.”
“The sector was attacked last night. Doors should not be left unguarded,” Corrick snaps. “Return to your posts at once.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
He lets the door fall closed, then turns to look at me.
Defy the Night Page 24