Chapter no 34 – Tessa

Defy the Night

When Rocco appears at the bars of my cell with a water skin, I think my eyes are playing a trick on me. e stone oor is freezing cold, and even though I tried to sweep the loose straw into a pile, I’ve been shivering for hours. I blink at him, once, twice, then a third time, like my eyes refuse to believe it.

“Miss Tessa,” he says, holding the skin through the bars.

“Rocco.” My mouth is dry. I get to my feet, and it takes more eﬀort than it should. My joints are sore and achy, and my head spins. I have to hold on to the bars to take the water skin from him.

I don’t know why he’s here, and right now, I don’t care. I drain the whole thing in a minute, then press my forehead against the bars, panting.

It takes me a moment to notice there are other royal guards in the hallway. Corrick’s cell door looks to be open, but I can’t see him. I can’t see what’s happening to him.

My heart stops, then restarts itself at twice the pace. “What’s happening?” I say to Rocco.

“e king is speaking with the prince.”

“Speaking, speaking, or . . . or . . .” My words trail oﬀ, because I don’t want to put voice to anything else my imagination is supplying.

“e king is speaking with the prince,” Rocco says again, and I realize that’s all the answer I’m going to get.

I swallow. Corrick said his brother had accused him of treason before we le the palace. We’ve been down here for nearly a full day now, and I have no doubt that King Harristan has known about it. None of that can mean anything good. e smell of this cell has given me a clue to what’s been done within these walls, and I don’t want to think about any of it. I don’t want to think about Harristan ordering those kinds of things done to his brother.

Exhaustion and fear have caught up with me. My throat tightens against my will, and I close my eyes and breathe against the bars.

Please, my love.

A tear slips down my cheek, and I make no attempt to brush it away. Did I prolong the inevitable? Did I save him in the village only to watch him face a worse fate here?

Booted feet scrape against the stone oor, and my eyes ick open. Rocco has stepped back, standing at attention, and to my absolute shock, I nd myself facing the king.

I must be speechless for a moment too long, because King Harristan gives me a quick up-and-down glance before looking at Rocco. “Remain with Corrick. I will send supplies and further orders.” He turns his gaze back to me. “Can you walk?”

I have no idea. Remain with Corrick. I will send supplies and further orders. What does that mean? What has he done? My mouth has gone dry again, and I take a step back from the bars. “I—I—”

He looks at one of his other guards. “orin. Carry her.”

ey open the gate, and I put up my hands before the other man can touch me. I don’t know what’s happening, but I do know I don’t want to be carried into it. “Wait. Stop. I—I can walk.”

“Good,” says King Harristan. “Come with me.”

I don’t know where I expected to go, but that guard, orin, loads me into a carriage just outside the Hold. I’ve completely lost track of time, because I was ready to step out into sunlight, since it was dawn when we were rst taken, but the night sky is ink-black and twinkling with stars. e king must take a separate carriage, because I’m alone with orin in this one. He’s not as friendly as Rocco was, and sits stony-faced across from me.

I clench my ngers in my skirts, which are dusty and stained with Corrick’s blood.

I don’t know if orin will talk to me, but this silence is so full of tension that it’s going to rattle me apart. “Where are we going?” I say.

“To the palace.”

I want to ask why, but I remember Quint chastising me when he said, He is the king. He doesn’t need to say why.

Once we’re there, I expect to be thrown on the oor like I was on the night I was found in the hallway, but to my surprise, I’m taken to my room, where a sleepy-eyed Jossalyn waits to give me a bath. orin stands beside my door—to make sure I obey, I suppose.

Jossalyn ignores him and looks at my face, and then at my clothes, and she frowns. “Where are you injured?”

“I’m not.” I swallow. “It’s not my blood.”

She glances at the guard, then nods to me. “Out of those . . . clothes then, miss.”

I feel like I haven’t slept in days, so when Jossalyn scrubs at my skin, I let her. I wish there were food here, because the water skin woke my hunger with a vengeance, but there’s none. Jossalyn roughly towel-dries my hair and braids it wet, pinning it up in a complicated twist that I’d never be able to replicate. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to say.

What happened between the king and Corrick? Did the king torture him? Will he torture me? I don’t know who to ask. I don’t know how to ask. I wish I could talk to Quint, but I haven’t seen him since the night he helped me into Corrick’s quarters. I’m tired and starving, but in less than thirty minutes, I’m in a royal-blue dress, being escorted back to the room where Corrick and I watched the Hold go up in ames while consuls argued and guards and messengers bustled about.

Tonight, there is no one but King Harristan. He’s standing by the massive windows, backed by the starlit sky. Food has been arranged on the table in the center of the room, and it must have been recently, because everything is still steaming. Roasted poultry and root vegetables, pastries with sugared crusts, sliced breads with little pots of jam and honey. ere’s even a small bowl with Moon ower petals, too, more than enough for half a dozen people, along with a mortar and pestle and a steaming teapot. One plate has already been prepared, silverware sitting ready beside glasses lled with water and wine.

My mouth waters almost instantly, and I have to swallow and press my hands to my abdomen. I can’t tell if it’s the lack of food in my belly or the presence of it in this room, but I feel lightheaded.

Behind me, the door slams shut, and I jump. To my surprise, I’m alone with King Harristan.

He studies me from across the room, but he doesn’t hesitate. “Sit,” he says, and while there’s no warmth in his tone, his voice isn’t unkind. “Eat.”

I sweep my eyes around the room, as if there’s an unsprung trap waiting, but we’re the only ones here. Not even a lone guard or a footman. e king doesn’t move from the window.

I ease into the chair at the table and pick up the fork.

Other people might have stronger willpower, but I don’t. I’m starving. I shove an unladylike amount of meat into my mouth. en half a roll of aky pastry, followed quickly by the other half. I load the fork with vegetables until it won’t hold anymore.

When he approaches the table, I hurriedly set down my fork and wipe at my mouth, then begin to force myself to my feet.

Harristan lis a hand. “Sit,” he says. He takes the chair across from me and gestures to my plate. “Continue.”

I can’t. Not now.

He’s going to want something from me.

“What did you do to Corrick?” I say, and my voice sounds so small and frightened that I want to start over.

But the king blinks in surprise. “To Corrick?”

To my horror, tears ll my eyes, blurring my vision with fear that quickly coalesces into anger. “He said you accused him of treason, and I know—”

“Tessa.”

“—where you found us, but he’s not a traitor; he’s not a smuggler.” I should stop, should shut up, but now that I’ve started crying and talking, the words fall out of my mouth of their own volition. “Corrick is not a villain. He’s—”

“Tessa.”

“—trying so hard to protect you, but you have to know it’s destroying him. And now . . . what? What are you doing to him? Are you torturing him? Are you—”

“Enough.” His voice is sharp, like a slap. “You will not accuse me.”

I go still. His eyes are so hard and cold. My hands are clenched on my silverware. I’m afraid of him and angry at him and hopeful and worried and a whole host of broken emotions that have my stomach tied in knots.

“He’s not here,” I whisper. “I am. What did you do?” My voice wavers on the last words. “What did you do to him?”

He stares at me for a moment, then sighs and sits back. He runs a hand across his face. “Lord, Tessa. He’s my brother.”

e king sounds so much like Corrick in that moment that I startle, forgetting my tears. He says this as if it means everything, and in a way, it does. I’m reminded of the night I rode in the carriage with Corrick, when I demanded to know why he wouldn’t leave this life if he hated it so very much.

I couldn’t leave my brother.

“I didn’t harm him,” Harristan continues. “I wouldn’t have even if he deserved it, which he very well might.” He pauses. “I oﬀered to release him from the Hold, but he refused. When orin brought you here, I had food and supplies sent back for Corrick.”

I frown. “He . . . refused?”

“He says that Consul Sallister would not stand for his release.” He pauses. “And he’s not mistaken.”

I look back at my plate. e worst part is that I can see Corrick saying that. He lay on that bed and let me stitch up his eyebrow so he could listen for more information. Of course he’d choose a cold cell over angering a consul who could endanger the entire country.

“He wouldn’t say much else,” Harristan says carefully. “But I brought you here in the hopes that you would.”

I glance back up and meet his eyes. “at I would what?” “at you would tell me what he’s been doing.”

I go very still. is is the trap.

Harristan is studying me. “I’m not asking you to betray him.” I look away.

“ere are very few people I trust,” he says. “But Corrick is one of them.

He trusts you. at carries weight with me.”

I don’t know what to say. is still feels like a betrayal.

Harristan leans in against the table. His tone is beseeching. “You said yourself that I have to know it’s destroying him. I don’t know. I should know.” He pauses. “Help me to know.”

He means that. I can hear it in every syllable. Corrick doesn’t want to be cruel. is man doesn’t either.

A tear slips out of my eye, but this time there’s no anger behind it. Only sorrow. Oh, Corrick. I don’t know what the right decision is.

“If he’s trying so hard to protect me,” says Harristan, “perhaps I should have the chance to do the same for him.”

at hits me like an arrow. I look up and meet his eyes. “I can only tell you half of it,” I say, and my voice is rough and uncertain.

“Only half?”

I nod. “My half. If you want the whole story . . .” I take a deep breath, hoping I’m not making the wrong choice here. “en you need to send for Quint.”