Some are cynical, including Lochlan, and that freezes my tongue on any requests for help. I don’t want to give anyone an excuse to start beating him again.
I can’t carry him back to the palace on my back. I can’t carry him back to the palace at all. Not like this.
Earle looks up at the crowd. “Percy. Help me carry him.” He looks at me. “We’ve got a girl here who’s been patching people up.”
They say it as if Corrick has a little scratch, instead of looking like he’s a heartbeat away from a coffin, but I nod.
They lift him carefully, and I stay close. My heart is still pounding, waiting for them to change their minds.
To our left, a few people are jostled, and then a young woman pushes through. I throw up my hands as if she’s going to attack, but then I recognize my friend.
“Karri?” I say, and shock is enough to chase away some of my panic.
“Tessa! Oh, Tessa!” She throws her arms around me, then just as quickly holds me at arm’s length. Her dark-brown eyes trace my features, and I have no idea what she sees.
The men are moving away with Corrick’s body. Lochlan is following.
“Karri,” I say, and my voice is a broken mess. “Karri, I have—I have—I have—”
“Come on,” she says, tucking my hand into the crook of her elbow, then tugging me to follow. “I brought some supplies. Let’s see what we can do.”
My brain refuses to process this. “Wait—you’re—”
“Working with the rebels? Yes.” She glances over again, and her eyes are just as keen and bright as they were when we worked across from each other at Mistress Solomon’s. Her gaze flicks to the men carrying Corrick and then back to mine. “Just like you.”
Corrick’s back isn’t broken, but his shoulder is dislocated. Karri and Earle jerk it back into place, and that’s so painful it brings him around long enough to cry out and try to fight them off. His injuries must catch up with him, though, because he drops fast. We’re in a small lean-to at the edge of the village, hardly bigger than the workshop, but there’s a fire and it’s dry and warm. A small bed sits against the wall, and Earle eases Corrick onto it.
The prince doesn’t move.
I stand beside him, my hand hovering near his face, unsure if I should touch him. His eyes are already shadowed with bruising, and his breathing is too rapid, too rough. I don’t want to hurt him more.
I have to keep my eyes on Corrick, because Lochlan is standing by the door, and if I look at him, I’m going to tear him apart with my bare hands.
A few hours ago, Corrick was promising me he could do better, and now I want to be the vicious one.
“Here,” says Karri. She’s brought a kettle and a low pan, along with some squares of muslin.
I dip one and touch it to Corrick’s brow, where dirt has crusted with the blood along the cut over his eye. He flinches and sucks in a breath, blinking at me before his lids fall closed again.
“Shh,” I say gently. “It’s me. It’s me.”
He nods, and it’s such a tiny movement, such a trusting movement. This time, when I tend to the cut, he holds still.
“It needs stitching,” says Karri from behind me.
I know. I can see that myself.
“I can do it now,” she says, “while he’s barely awake.”
Corrick’s eyes crack open a fraction and find mine before fluttering shut.
“I’ll do it,” I say. “Do you have a needle?”
I’ve stitched people up a dozen times before, but this is different. I’m so uncertain about the people in this room, and very aware that while Earle and Karri are helping, Lochlan hasn’t left, and I have no idea who might be waiting outside the door. I focus on threading the needle, listening to Corrick’s breathing.
Karri stands beside me, taking the muslin scraps to clean his less serious wounds.
“So he’s the father?” she whispers.
I almost drop the needle. “What?”
She glances at my abdomen and back at my face.
“Oh!” I’d completely forgotten the story I told her and Mistress Solomon. “No. That—no. I’m not pregnant. I was never pregnant.” I tie off the knot in the thread. “He made it look like he was captured and killed. I didn’t know he was the prince. He was always Wes to me.”
“He was always Wes to us, too,” says Earle.
“Well, he was always Cruel Corrick to a lot of people,” says Lochlan.
I look at him. “Shut your mouth or I’ll stitch it closed.”
He doesn’t look impressed. “Go ahead and try, girl.”
“Stop it,” says Karri. She casts a glance at the doorway where Lochlan looms, then presses the damp cloth to Corrick’s cheek, dragging the dirt away from the small cuts there.
“How long have you been working with them?” I say quietly.
She doesn’t look at me. “A few weeks.”
“Karri!”
She shrugs. “After the riots in the square, my parents heard of an opportunity to get enough medicine for our whole family.” She looks over to meet my eyes. “We’ve always had enough to support ourselves, but . . . the woman next door broke her leg and couldn’t work. She helped my mother so much when we were growing up. She’s been like a grandmother, really.” She turns back to her work, rinsing the cloth and moving to the rope burns on Corrick’s wrists. “My parents have never been rebels, have never done so much as speak out against the king, and they were too scared to do anything. But I . . . you’d clearly been in love with a rebel, and you’re one of the kindest people I know, so I thought I’d try to help. And here I am.”
Her eyes find mine again. “I kept hearing about Wes and Tessa, how they’d disappeared, and everyone thought you’d been captured by the night patrol. You were so upset at Mistress Solomon’s, and I began to wonder if Wes was the man you wouldn’t tell me about.”
“Oh, Karri. I’m sorry. I . . .” I swallow. I would have told her. I should have told her.
“I’m not my parents,” she says. She cleans another wound with such care. “I think it took me a little while to figure that out.” She nods at the needle in my hand. “Do it before he wakes.”
I look back at Corrick. His eyes are closed, and his breathing has slowed.
I don’t want to hurt him.
Karri is watching me. “I can do it,” she says softly.
“No—it’s all right.” I touch my fingers to the wound, pressing the edges together. Corrick doesn’t move, not even when I press the tip of the needle against his skin. I bite my lip and push through, making more blood flow. I loop the thread quickly, tying off a knot that Karri slices with a knife.
“So you’re doing what we were doing?” I say to her as I place the next stitch. “Stealing to give to people who have nothing?” I want to cast a glance at Lochlan. Corrick said he was one of the men raiding shipments. Is that what he is doing, too?
She nods. “Yes. There’s a wealthy man and woman who’ve been providing silver and Moonflower petals to anyone willing to raid the shipments, but they don’t want the medicine. They just want the attacks.”
“Why?”
“They have a grudge against the throne.” She slices through my next thread automatically. “I don’t know who they are. But many people call them the Benefactors.”
“Karri,” says Lochlan, his tone low with warning. “He’s the King’s Justice.”
“He’s half conscious,” she says.
“I don’t care.”
I place another stitch, but I realize a bloom of sweat has formed on Corrick’s forehead, and his fingers are clutching at the sheet. He hasn’t moved, but he’s not unconscious.
He’s . . . he’s listening.
I can’t decide if this is brave or stupid. Probably both. I put the needle against his skin again, but hesitate. My palm turns damp. I can’t do this if he’s awake. I can’t.
I try not to think about the fact that I already was.
“He’s help
ed us for years,” says Earle. “I’ve heard about what he’s done out there, but I know what he’s done here, for us.” He pauses. “And sometimes people go too far.”
“On both sides,” says Lochlan.
“Are you going to finish?” says Karri, and I almost jump. I push the needle through, and a muscle in Corrick’s jaw twitches. I have no idea how he can stay silent through this, but I can do him the favor of being quick. I loop and tie off the knot, and she cuts the thread.
I take the muslin from Karri and wash the fresh blood away. Corrick doesn’t move. His grip on the sheet has gone slack. I can’t tell if he’s passed out again or if he’s just relieved that I’m not shoving a needle through his eyebrow.
“You all bombed the Hold,” I say.
“There’s a group from Trader’s Landing that brought supplies from the mines,” she says.
“Karri,” snaps Lochlan.
“How did you get in?” I say, as I rinse the muslin and squeeze out the excess water. “The gate guards search—”
A hand closes on my arm, fingers digging into the muscle. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Lochlan. He’s right at my side. I gasp and try to jerk away. “I’m not—I’m not—”
“Let her go,” snaps Karri.
“Lochlan,” says Earle. “Leave her be.”
Lochlan shifts closer to me, until standing turns to looming. He’s no fool. “What. Are. You. Doing?”
I wish I had the needle in my hand again, instead of this useless crush of muslin. I’m ready to punch him in the crotch, but he suddenly cries out and lets me go, falling back a step, colliding with the small side table. A bowl overturns and shatters on the floor. White petals flutter wildly, and some end up on the bed beside Corrick.
Corrick has grabbed hold of Lochlan’s broken wrist where it hung beside the bed, and he’s twisting his grip. His eyes are full of pain and exhaustion but are as cunning and keen as ever.
“You’ll keep your hands off her,” he says, and his voice sounds like he’s speaking through ground glass.
Lochlan is all but doubled over. He’s gasping, making tiny keening sounds with each breath.
Karri and Earle have stepped forward, and their eyes go back and forth as they try to figure out who to help.
“Corrick.” I have to clear my throat. “Corrick. Let him go.”
He lets go, and Lochlan falls to his knees, cradling his arm against his belly. When he glares up at Corrick, his eyes are like fire.
Corrick’s gaze is worse, his blue eyes like ice, carrying a promise of every cruel thought that can make its way through his head. I’d forgotten he can look like that.
Karri surges forward to scoop the Moonflower petals into a new bowl. They remind me of the ones in the workshop, the ones Wes took from Tris. Some are slightly narrower than I’m used to, and even in the midst of everything, my apothecary mind can’t help but wonder why. Have they been cut smaller? Where did they come from? Do the Benefactors have access to a new supply, a new cure? The thought lights me with hope and fear simultaneously.
Corrick puts a hand against the bed and levers himself to sitting. Once he’s upright, he braces his hands against his knees and clenches his jaw. His eyes are shadowed in a way that tells me they’ll be blackened tomorrow, and his jaw is swollen on the left side. He’s hunched over, and I wonder if he has cracked ribs.
Earle takes Lochlan’s arm and helps him stand. For the first time since helping, he looks uncertain. Karri appears at my side with a cup of tea, the air thick with the scent of the herbs she’s added. Ginger and turmeric, along with some lemon and rosemary.
“For the pain.” She hesitates, then bites at her lip. “Your Highness.”
Corrick takes the tea. He doesn’t look like Wes anymore; he looks like the King’s Justice, his eyes shadowed and closed off, even wounded. But he says, “Thank you.”
He doesn’t take a sip. He doesn’t trust her. He doesn’t trust any of them.
I probably shouldn’t either, but I’ve known Karri for years, and I don’t think she’d try to poison him—but then I’d never expect her to be working with rebels either. I’ve lived in the Wilds and worked in Artis side by side with these people all my life. But even though they seem to want to help right this second, Lochlan kidnapped me and Corrick. The crowd tried to kill Corrick, knowing full well who he was.
I suddenly feel like I have a foot planted in each world, and I’m not sure how to move forward.
From the expression on Earle’s and Karri’s faces, I don’t think I’m the only one.
I thought things had turned in our favor, that I’d changed the minds of the crowd, but I’d forgotten, again, that Wes was never just Wes, and Corrick is . . . well, the brother to the king. They can patch him up, but they can’t undo what’s been done.
King Harristan’s voice was so gentle when he spoke to me after the explosions in the Royal Sector, when he said, The King’s Justice cannot be lenient to those who attack a building in the center of the Royal Sector. Surely you know this.
I do know it. I also know the King’s Justice can’t be lenient when he’s been kidnapped and beaten nearly to death. He might agree with the rebellion, and he might be willing to change things from the inside, but that doesn’t mean he’ll turn a blind eye to everything done here.
Even if he would, I doubt these rebels would believe him.
I stopped the attack, but I didn’t stop anything else. They’re still rebels. To everyone here, he’s still the prince whose duty it is to punish them. My pulse tumbles along, begging me for action, but there’s no action to take. I place my hand over his.
Lochlan and Earle exchange a glance.
Karri won’t meet my eyes.
Corrick looks at Lochlan. “Fetch a crossbow. Do it now.” His eyes shift to Earle. “Take Tessa away from here.”
My brain can’t keep up with the sudden onslaught of emotion. “Wait. Corrick—Corrick, no—”
Earle takes my arm. “Come on, Tessa.” His voice is low and sad.
Lochlan has already gone through the door. I struggle against Earle’s grip. My eyes are on Corrick, broken and bleeding, but sitting upright out of sheer force of will.
“Stop,” I say to him, and to my surprise, I’m crying. “Corrick, no. What are you doing?” I twist free of Earle’s grip suddenly, and I throw my arms around Corrick.
He makes a small sound, and I know I’ve hurt him, but I don’t care. “I’m sorry,” I say. “Please—please don’t—”
“Tessa.” He speaks right to my ear, his voice just for me, and it forces me still. He has a plan. He must have a plan.
But then he says, “I told you what they’d do.”
They’d torture me and use me against Harristan.
He did tell me. He sacrifices everything for his brother. This is no different.
I choke on my breath. I can’t let him go. I can’t. I burrow my face against his shoulder.
After a moment, his arms come around me, and I can feel him shaking.
His lips brush against my cheek. “Mind your mettle, Tessa.”
My breath catches, and I draw back to look at him. “I can’t lose you twice.”
He flinches. “Forgive me.”
The door slams, and I jump. Lochlan is back. Earle takes hold of my arm again.
I tighten my grip, and Corrick winces. “Tessa. Please.”
“I can shoot you both,” says Lochlan.
“No!” says Karri.
“Please, my love,” Corrick whispers into my ear. “Please.”
I draw back. There’s nothing cold about his eyes now.
If he can be brave about this, so can I. I allow Earle to pull me back.
“I’m all right,” I say to him, and my voice trembles. “I can walk.”
He lets me go, but I was wrong. I’m not brave. I can’t breathe. I can’t walk.
A shout cries out from outside the shed. Then another. Then a shrill whistle.
; “The night patrol!” someone screams.
Lochlan swears. He lifts the crossbow.
“Wait!” says Corrick.
I throw myself at Lochlan. It’s not like when I did the same in the clearing earlier, when we saved little Forrest. I don’t have a rock. But his shot fires wildly, and the bolt lodges in the ceiling.
He fights for the weapon, but he only has one working arm, and I have two. I jerk the weapon away from him. Outside the shack, more and more people are screaming. I hear pounding hoofbeats and someone official shouting orders.
Lochlan shoves me off him and bolts through the door. Karri and Earle are already gone. I can taste my heartbeat in my throat.
Corrick is off the bed and standing, but he’s gone pale. All of his weight is on one leg. “Tessa.”
“I’m here.” I move to his side. “Lean on me.”
His arm comes around my shoulders. He must be more hurt than he’s letting on, because he feels unsteady against me.
Armed men burst through the door, crossbows aimed, and I jump. It’s not the night patrol—it’s the royal army.
They recognize Corrick, because they lower their weapons almost immediately.
“Your Highness,” one says, and he sounds shocked.
“Lieutenant,” says Corrick. His voice is weaker than it should be. “You have exceptionally good timing.”
“Commander Riley!” calls another. “We found the prince.”
Another man comes through the door, with blue and purple ribbons adorning each shoulder. His eyes go from Corrick to me and back.
“Your Highness,” he says, and he sounds equally shocked.
“The prince is hurt,” I say. “He needs a physician.”
“Yes, miss.” His eyes narrow a bit. “Are you . . . Tessa?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” says Corrick.
“Forgive me, Your Highness.” Commander Riley hesitates. “We didn’t expect to find you here. But since we have . . . I have orders to take you both into custody.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Corrick
I thought I knew the Hold from every angle.
This is the first time I’ve seen it as a prisoner.
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