Chapter no 41 – Tessa

Defy the Night

I was right. e livery is untouched. e streets here are deserted, but the scent of smoke is thick in the air. I can see a red glow beyond the nearest buildings. e searchlights have stopped spinning entirely. I expect the night patrol to be in the streets, or even soldiers, but maybe they’ve all headed for the palace. Even the stables are unmanned.

“People are afraid,” says Harristan, when I comment on it.

ey’re the richest people in Kandala, but they’re hiding from the poorest. All this time I’ve thought that the people within the gates were the most powerful, but maybe I was wrong. We all have power.

I don’t know how to ride, but Harristan swings a leg over the back of a small black palfrey, then pulls me up to sit behind him. I don’t want to do anything inappropriate, but he clucks to the horse and we lurch forward, so I grab the king around the waist automatically.

“I won’t let you fall,” he says, but that’s not reassuring as the cobblestone streets rush by alarmingly fast. I jerk my eyes up.

orin rides ahead, almost invisible on his horse. It’s so dark here. I’ve only been in the palace for a few days, but I’d almost forgotten what the sector looks like in the middle of the night. All silent gray, no color. We’re not too far from the wall here, and it takes me a moment to realize we’re not heading for the palace.

“Where are we going?” I say.

“We’re going to approach the palace from the north,” he says. “We’ll loop around the Circle toward the army station. It’s our best bet to nd guards and soldiers.”

“Do you think they’ll listen to you if you show up with an army?” “Do you think they’ll listen to me if I’m dead?”

I want to disagree with him—but I can’t. I was in the palace when they attacked. e king and his brother may have done terrible things, but this attack on the palace isn’t better.

I think of all the innocent people in the palace. e invisible people.

Jossalyn’s gentle smile ickers into my thoughts, and my breath hitches.

I know the rebels are ghting for change, but they have Harristan’s attention. Now it’s time to forge a better path. Not . . . this.

“Don’t cry yet,” says Harristan, but his voice is more prudent than kind. “We’ve come this far.”

It reminds me of Corrick’s practical voice when we had dinner at the Circle. If you cry, I’ll be forced to comfort you.

e sounds of shouting have grown louder, and Harristan pulls the horse to a halt. I look up in alarm, but this street is as deserted as the others.

en I see the bodies, and I gasp. A man and a woman, crumpled in a doorway. Elites, from the look of their clothing. Blood has already pooled among the cobblestones. e woman is wrapped around the man in a way that makes me wonder if she was trying to protect him—or save him. eir throats are slit.

orin looks at the king, and Harristan points, then makes a circular motion with his hand. e guard nods and heads into the shadows, the darkness swallowing him up.

e king hasn’t made a sound, so I don’t either. I’m sure he can hear my shaking breathing, just as easily as I can hear the steady thrum of his heart, or the way his lungs seem to struggle for every breath. We’re so still and quiet that when orin’s horse trots out of a side street, I jump and give a little yip, causing our horse to shy and prance. True to his word, Harristan keeps the animal under control, but I redouble my grip on his waist.

orin’s voice is very low. “e rebels have taken over the Circle. ey have hostages. Several of the consuls, and half a dozen courtiers and advisers. e army can’t get close.”

“How are they holding the space?” says Harristan.

“ey’re surrounded by re. ey have small weapons that seem to explode with metal and glass when they throw them. e casualties are many.”

I close my eyes and swallow.

I know what I said about lighting the explosives, but I wish I could take it back.

I want to go back to the Wilds. I want to go back to Corrick. I want to go back to Wes and Tessa.

But everyone was sick. People were dying. Everything seemed bad.

is isn’t better.

I take a breath and steel my spine. “Let’s stop this,” I whisper to the king. “Indeed.” He clucks to the horse, and we spring forward.

Hearing about the carnage from orin was vastly diﬀerent from seeing it with my own eyes. Bodies litter the ground as we get closer to the Circle. e

res are massive, lling the air with light and smoke. e rebels keep adding fuel, sending sparks ickering into the night air. e lanterns that seemed so beautiful when Corrick and I had dinner are lit now, and they throw garish colors across the faces of the rebels on the dais. ere are hundreds of them.

At the edge of the dais, two dozen people are on their knees. Many are wounded or bleeding.

Every single one of them is bound, with a blade or the point of a crossbow against their neck.

It’s a macabre re-creation of the execution Corrick was expected to perform.

Hundreds of soldiers stand just outside the reach of the explosives.

“You will bring us the king,” a rebel man shouts. He throws something that glitters in the relight but explodes when it hits the ground, sending glass and aming steel ying into the air. e soldiers closest skitter back.

“e king and his brother!” shouts a woman.

Harristan guides the horse wide, well away from the ames. As soon as the soldiers spot us, a dozen crossbows are jerked in our direction.

“Hold,” says orin, and his voice isn’t loud, but it’s loud enough to stop any triggers from getting pulled. “You face your king.”

e weapons are lowered immediately. e soldiers look from us to the

ames.

“We will begin killing the consuls,” the rebel shouts, and I realize it sounds like Lochlan. “You will bring us the king.”

“If you begin killing consuls,” shouts a soldier, “we will have no reason to hold.”

“Bring us the king!” shouts another rebel. “Bring us the king!”

ey quickly take up the chant. More explosives are thrown.

A soldier steps forward. “Your Majesty,” he says. “Allow us to take you to safety. ey intend to kill you.”

“ey’ve made no secret of that.” Harristan swings a leg over the horse’s neck and drops to the ground. “Bring me armor.” en he holds a hand up to me. “For Tessa as well.”

“Armor?” I say. But soldiers are used to taking orders, and they’re already pressing a steel breastplate to my chest, buckling it in place. e heat from the res is intense, and sweat drips into my eyes. e armor doesn’t help. My breathing is shaking.

e rebels haven’t stopped chanting. Bring us the king! Bring us the king! “I warned you!” shouts Lochlan.

A crossbow snaps. One of the prisoners jerks, then falls. I stop breathing. “It’s Cra,” one of the soldiers says. “Consul Cra.”

e other hostages start screaming. Many are begging.

e army seems to take a collective breath, men readying for violence.

Harristan shouts, “Hold!”

ey hold, but they shi unhappily.

e king’s expression is as hard as granite, his eyes ice-cold. He looks at me. “Amnesty, Tessa? Really?”

I swallow. “Do you want them to forgive you?”

He stares back at me, and I remember his voice when he said, It’s the same to the night patrol.

“Not all of these rebels deserve forgiveness,” I say. “But not everyone who was captured deserved punishment.”

“Bring us the king!” shout the rebels. “Bring us the king!”

Harristan’s jaw clenches, but he nods. “I’ve agreed to your terms. Come.

Let’s make them believe it.”

When he strides forward, I walk at his side. e men of his army yield space, opening up a path for us. e roar of the rebels is loud, pounding into my ears over every step.

When we reach the front of the soldiers, Harristan stops. I didn’t think the heat could get more intense, but I was wrong. e res rage around the

rebels, and I can see sweat dripping from the faces of the hostages. I recognize Consul Cherry and Consul Pelham, whom Corrick suspected were working together—but they look terri ed now. I don’t recognize any of the other hostages—but I recognize plenty of the rebels. My heart is in my throat.

“Bring us the king!” the rebels shout. “I’m here!” Harristan shouts back.

e shock is palpable—even among the army. Clearly not all of the soldiers had even realized we were here. e rebels are silent for a long moment, and then they cheer.

And then their chant changes. “Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!”

“If you kill me, I can’t help you,” he shouts back.

ey throw one of those glistening bombs, and the king jerks me back a few yards before it can land. Glass and shards of steel scatter along the cobblestones.

Harristan glances at me. “Your turn.”

My heart stops in my chest. I don’t know how to do this. I’m no one. is is diﬀerent from when they were attacking Corrick. at was me and him.

is is . . . this is a revolution. I don’t know how to stop a revolution.

I think of what the king said. Far easier to start a war than to end one.

I take a steadying breath and step forward. “Please!” I shout. “Please listen to him! You know me. You know what I’ve done for you all!”

Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!

“Please!” I cry out. “He is willing to oﬀer amnesty. He is willing to pardon you all. He is willing to oﬀer change.”

“Kill him!” they shout.

“He came here to talk!” I gasp and choke on my heartbeat, aware that I’m speaking through tears now. ere are rebels with crossbows leveled at us both, but I take a step forward. “Please. Please stop this.”

A man steps oﬀ the dais, stopping on the other side of the ames.

rough the haze of smoke and ame, I make out his features. It’s Lochlan. He’s got a crossbow in his hands, pointed directly at me.

I raise my hands and take a shaky breath.

“Please,” I say to him. “Please, Lochlan. He came here in good faith.

Please.”

“He came here because we’re killing his consuls.”

“If you kill any more,” Harristan says behind me, “my oﬀer of amnesty is revoked.”

Lochlan’s eyes don’t leave mine. “What a surprise. He’s already changing the terms.”

“He’s trying to stop you from killing any more people.” I take a step closer to the ames. “Which is what you said you wanted to do.”

“So, what? We go back to the Wilds and he goes back to his palace, and we all keep dying? I don’t think so.” His eyes ick to Harristan. “I don’t trust you.”

“But you trust me,” I say desperately. “I know you do.” I glance at the people behind him. “Because they trust me. And they trusted Corrick.”

He studies me through the re. For all the crimes he’s committed, for everything he did to Corrick, I should hate him. But I can’t. We’re on opposite sides of the same coin.

Lochlan straightens. “Prove it,” he says to Harristan. “How?”

“Call oﬀ your army.” “Release your hostages.” “No.”

Harristan’s voice is like steel. “en no.”

I turn to look at him. “Can’t you give them anything?” I hiss. “Can you have the army back oﬀ?”

“I came in good faith, Tessa. He must meet me halfway.” “He’s not shooting you.”

“He’s no fool. If he kills me, this army will eviscerate them all. He’s banking on my wish to save the consuls. It’s literally the only leverage he has.” Harristan looks at Lochlan and raises his voice. “I’ll have my army retreat y yards if you release one hostage.”

“You have archers,” says Lochlan. “Fiy yards is nothing.”

“Are we at an impasse?” Harristan spreads his hands. “I am willing to hear your demands.”

“We want medicine,” says Lochlan. “Medicine for everyone. We want to survive.”

Harristan hesitates.

is has always been the crux of it. Lochlan doesn’t understand. I didn’t understand.

“Is that a no?” says Lochlan.

“I can’t promise medicine,” says Harristan, “but—”

“You can’t move your army. You can’t promise medicine.” Lochlan takes a step back and looks over his shoulder at the rebels trapping the hostages. “Shoot another one.”

“No!” I scream, but it’s too late. e crossbow has already snapped.