By midnight, dinner is long gone, and the sky is very dark outside my brother’s window, clouds obscuring the stars. It’s too hot during the daytime for a fire, so the hearth sits cold, and a warm breeze eases through the room to ruffle the papers on Harristan’s desk.

I’m sprawled in his desk chair. We’ve received early reports from the docks at Artis that confirm ships departed for “exploratory journeys” over thirty years ago—that never returned. After dinner, Harristan sought out Roydan himself, asking more pointed questions that seemed to strain the old man’s memories. Roydan said he does remember many lively debates about the price of iron coming out of Steel City. He said that Barnard Montague, the former consul of Trader’s Landing, used to rant about not getting a cut of the profits when steel had to pass through his sector.

We can’t ask Barnard directly because he was implicated in the assassination that killed our parents—and he died in the attack.

I should be working through all of these details, trying to draw parallels. Trying to figure out all the points of risk and reward. I should be planning. Strategizing. Working

through the risk of traveling to a relatively unknown country, and whether it’s worth the potential reward of bringing more medicine back to Kandala.

Instead, I keep replaying the moments when Captain Blakemore quite obviously captured Tessa’s attention. She’s so clever. So brave. So empathetic.

Unfortunately, he seems to be the same. I saw the way his crew looked at him when he referred to the war. There’s no way to fake that kind of loyalty.

We need steel. You need Moonflower petals. Since apparently your own countrymen are reluctant to provide them.

It’s a harsh contrast to the moment I was holding a dagger to that man’s throat in the candy shop. Or when I had to dash Tessa’s hopes about Laurel Pepperleaf’s interest in her findings.

Thanks, she said. I hate it here.

Me too.

Jealousy isn’t an emotion that lodges in my brain very often. I’m the brother to the king, so I rarely want for anything. I’ve spent years shoving away fear and anger and disappointment to where they can’t be seen. With jealousy, I have no practice.

The emotion isn’t about Captain Blakemore anyway. Not truly. I barely know him.

It’s about everything I can’t be for Tessa. “Corrick,” says Harristan.

His voice calls me back, and I look over. “What?” “I asked if you trust him.”

“I’m not sure. There’s a part of me that wants to.”

I think of the man who strode into the palace this afternoon. He’s charming. Appropriately deferential yet also unwavering in his commitment to his crew and his mission. His story is solid, right down to the flag from his

ship and the ring on his finger. His people have caused no trouble, and Harristan was right: their loyalty is impressive. It does speak to Captain Blakemore’s character

—especially when he’s asked for nothing more than a chance to establish trade between countries. No coins, no jewels, not even a better ship or a bigger crew—and he certainly could have asked for all of it.

“Are you truly unsure,” Harristan says, “or are you worried that he’s caught Tessa’s eye?”

That’s so on point that I frown and look over. “Do you really think he’s caught her eye?”

He sighs and runs a hand down his face. “Cory.”

I give an aggravated sigh myself. “Fine. I don’t distrust him.” I pause. “I’m sure it’s also occurred to you that if he made it here unscathed and unnoticed, this new king could have a whole naval force just waiting to see what we say.”

“Yes. I’ve considered it. I didn’t stop a revolution just to get embroiled in a war.”

A war we wouldn’t win. Not right now. Harristan doesn’t need me to tell him that.

“If you send me,” I say, “it will further complicate matters with the rebels. Tessa can remain here, I suppose, but they already don’t trust us. I’m sure they’ll believe that any Moonflower we receive from Ostriary will go right into the Royal Sector.”

“I considered that, too.” He’s watching me now, gauging my reaction. “Which is why I believe you should bring Tessa, seeing as she’s willing to go.” My heart kicks, but then my brother adds, “Along with the rebel Lochlan.”

“What?” I demand. “Why?”

“Because Captain Blakemore has limited our number to six, and that will allow for three guards. Laurel Pepperleaf will demand to go as well, but I will refuse. I want to send a message to her father that I will not pander to their sector

any longer. If there are other avenues for medicine, we have a duty to explore them, and I will not risk Moonlight Plains interfering in the negotiations when they’re already threatening to halve their production. We will see what Ostriary has to offer, and we will negotiate accordingly. Half the consuls were ready to overthrow the throne, Corrick. This is a delicate balance from all sides.”

“No—I know that. But what does that have to do with Lochlan?”

“He doesn’t represent a sector from a position of authority. For us to extend an invitation to one of the rebels instead of someone in a position of privilege, it will be seen as an extension of trust, and I believe it will go far to convince the people of the Wilds and the wealthy sectors that we are considering the needs of all our citizens.”

I study him. “And it’ll get him out of the way so he can’t plan any attacks while I’m gone.”

Harristan gives me a sly smile. “That, too.”

I don’t smile back. He keeps hiding a cough. The consuls can’t be trusted. We were under attack a few short weeks ago.

I don’t want to leave him alone.

But if Ostriary has medicine, I don’t think we should wait. I don’t think we can wait.

My life, as always, seems torn between poor options.

A hand raps at the door, and we both look up in surprise. It’s after midnight. I wonder if it’s Quint. He’s the only person in the palace who sleeps less than I do—and the only one who might be looking for either of us at this hour.

But a guard calls out, “Your Majesty, Guardsman Rocco has requested an audience.”

That is a surprise. I raise my eyebrows and look at Harristan. Rocco was at the king’s side for most of the day.

“Hasn’t Rocco been off duty for hours?”

“Yes.” Harristan frowns, but he calls, “Send him in.”

The guardsman strides through the doors to stand at attention, but he’s no longer in his palace livery and armor. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him in ordinary clothes, but he’s no less imposing in calfskin pants and a buttoned jerkin.

“Your Majesty,” he says. His eyes flick to me. “Your Highness. Forgive me for interrupting. I know the hour is late.”

“Forgiven,” I say easily, because I’m more curious than annoyed.

Rocco looks to my brother. “I would have sent a message through the guard captain, but I thought it best if I spoke with you directly.”

“Go ahead, Erik.”

I blink, startled. “Is that your first name?” “It is.”

“I don’t believe I’ve ever heard it.” I don’t know why this is startling, whether it’s Harristan’s casual use of it, or the fact that I never considered it. Maybe both. The man saved my life. I feel like I should have known.

Maybe I look poleaxed, because the guardsman gives me an ironic nod and adds, “A pleasure to meet you, Your Highness.”

His tone is so dry that it almost makes me smile. I don’t know any of Harristan’s guards well, but I’ve liked Rocco since the day the palace was attacked. I should probably like him best for saving my life, but that’s not it. It’s that he was willing to obey my order to break Allisander’s fingers to prevent the consul from overthrowing Harristan.

Then again, maybe that says more about me than the guardsman.

Harristan gives me a withering glance. “Go ahead,

Rocco,” he says.

“I understand you will be selecting guards to sail to Ostriary,” he says. “Captain Huxley presumes you will not choose from among your personal guard, but I would like to volunteer.”

“Why?” says Harristan.

“Captain Blakemore is not allowing any sailors from Kandala on board his ship.” Rocco glances at me. “But I believe the risk to the King’s Justice is rather great.”

“So you believe members from the king’s personal guard should go?” I say. “Right now, the risk to Harristan is far greater.”

“I don’t disagree. But a sailor loyal to Kandala should be on board. Someone with the experience to know the route followed, the way the ship is sailed.” He hesitates. “Someone who could bring the ship back if something were to happen to Captain Blakemore.”

“I can’t simply dress up a sailor as a guardsman,” Harristan says.

“No, Your Majesty,” Rocco agrees. “But … you could send a guardsman who knows his way around a ship. I grew up around the docks in Sunkeep. My brother and his wife still sail the trade route along the coast of Sunkeep and Steel City. I joined them when I took a week’s leave last spring.”

Interesting. Harristan and I exchange a glance. “So you’ll be a sailor and a spy,” I say.

“A guard,” he says, a bit ruefully. “I’ll keep you alive, Your Highness—and I’ll be able to ensure your safe passage, regardless of what happens to Captain Blakemore.” The weight of those words sink in as he looks to Harristan. “I wanted to make this offer before you made any announcements so there would be no later changes that might invite questions.”

I watch my brother turn this around in his head, examining it from all angles, looking for points of weakness. When he settles on one, it’s not something I considered.

“This is a good suggestion,” Harristan says. “You didn’t want to discuss this with the guard captain?”

The guardsman hesitates. “Captain Huxley still has not determined how the rebels were able to gain access to the palace during the initial revolt. I’ve already seen how quickly Rian Blakemore and his crew have heard rumors around the Royal Sector—rather specific rumors about you, Your Highness, and Miss Tessa, as well. If I made my skills known to Captain Huxley, I worried that there would be no way to keep them secret.”

He has my full attention now. “Are you saying you think the guard captain is a security risk?”

Rocco glances between me and my brother. He might be in the king’s personal guard, which carries some benefits, but he’s not an officer. Making an unfounded claim against the guard captain could put him out of a job, and he looks like he’s just realized he’s cornered himself.

“Go ahead,” says Harristan. “Answer freely.”

Rocco hesitates again, but then he nods, and I realize that he might not trust the guard captain, but he must trust my brother. “Captain Huxley has been known to accept a bit of coin for gossip about the royal family. If someone started asking questions, I think he’s likely to look the other way if a bit of silver crossed his palm.”

“Are there any other guards with your skills?” says Harristan.

“Not that I know of—but again, I didn’t want to inquire and invite questions.”

Harristan nods. “Very well. I’ll accept your offer. I’ll be sending three guards. Choose the two who you feel would

make the best match for this assignment, and bring me their names when you’re on duty tomorrow. Anyone but Thorin. Don’t go through the guard captain. I’ll tell him I made the selection myself.”

Rocco’s eyes widen in surprise. “Yes, Your Majesty.” “You’re dismissed,” Harristan says.

Once he’s gone, I say, “The guard captain will choke when you don’t involve him in the decision.”

“Rocco has earned the chance to choose his own team.” He pauses. “And I trust him to bring guards who will be loyal.”

I study him. “I don’t like that he doesn’t trust Captain Huxley.” It makes me not want to leave, but I don’t say that. “Why did you tell him not to choose Thorin? He probably would have been his first choice.”

“Because you’re leaving.” For the first time I see the worry in his eyes that I already feel in my gut. “I need someone I can trust, too, Cory.”

It’s late enough when I leave my brother’s room that I expect Quint to be asleep, but when I stride down the hallway to his chambers, I find him up and waiting with a half-finished bottle of wine and a quarter-finished book.

His door was slightly ajar when I arrived, but I push it closed behind me. Quint slips a piece of paper into the book to mark his place, then adds it to the pile of books and papers on his desk. Servants tend his rooms just the same as everywhere else in the palace, so my friend’s quarters aren’t messy, but there’s definitely a good dose of clutter, as if one thing drew his attention before something else claimed it.

I remove his abandoned jacket from the other chair, toss it onto the foot of his bed, then drop into the chair myself. He doesn’t ask if I want a glass of wine; he simply takes one look at me and pours.

“It’s late,” he says. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

I raise an eyebrow. “I’m never asleep at this hour.”

“At dinner, you looked ready to take Captain Blakemore’s head off. I fully expected you to be spending the evening making Tessa forget that a ship even sailed into port.”

I frown and take a gulp of wine. I probably should be. But I was worried that every petty and jealous thought would find its way out of my head. She’s asleep by now anyway.

Probably.

I wish I could stop thinking of that moment in the carriage when she was afraid—and some of her fear was of me.

This is too complicated. I shove the thoughts away and focus on more immediate matters.

“I was discussing Blakemore’s offer with Harristan,” I say.

“Are you going to go?” “Yes.”

His eyebrows go up. Maybe he wasn’t expecting such a definite answer so quickly.

“Tessa was right,” I say with a sigh. “And as much as I hate it, he seems earnest enough. If they’re willing to provide medicine in exchange for steel, we have an obligation to do what we can to provide for our people.” I tell him about Harristan’s suggestions for Lochlan to attend

—and Rocco’s clandestine offer.

“I don’t like this uncertainty among the palace guards,” Quint says. “Especially now.”

“I agree,” I say. I think about the day that Tessa snuck into the palace. She followed some girls right into the servant’s entrance, and even though I had the guard dismissed who overlooked it, this is the first time I examine that moment from a new angle. Could the guard have been prepared—or bribed—to allow a rebel into the palace?

But Tessa herself did it on a whim. She wasn’t an assassin.

Did someone else slip into the palace that day? It’s been too long. There’s no way to know.

I sigh. “Any kind of instability among the guards puts Harristan at risk. I wonder if there are others who feel similarly about Captain Huxley.” I pause, thinking. “I wonder if he’s the only one.”

Quint reaches for one of his little folios and makes a note on the page. “Many of the guardsmen linger with the kitchen girls. I’ll find a reason to be in the kitchens and see what I can find out.” He sets down his fountain pen to look back at me. “You’re not as severe as you used to be. I wonder if that’s emboldened some dissenters.”

I grunt noncommittally. As much as I want to disagree, a man leapt at me with a knife in the middle of a candy store this afternoon. My chest is tight with indecision. I hated being Cruel Corrick, but I hate the idea that not being Cruel Corrick will bring about more problems.

Especially if I’m about to leave.

Tessa once asked me why I couldn’t just step out of my role and lose myself into the Wilds as Weston Lark if I hated the palace life so much.

I couldn’t leave my brother.

That’s what I told her.

And now I’m doing exactly that. Rebels got into the palace a few weeks ago, and we narrowly escaped. Would Harristan be able to escape again, if he were alone? I might

have Lochlan with me, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t a hundred others who could build an explosive.

I wish I could go to Tessa, but I’m terrified of admitting weakness just now, as if putting voice to my fears would make them more real. I’d give anything to don a mask and climb down a rope and find her in the workshop, the way I used to. Now, everything is just as dangerous, and somehow ten times more complicated.

And Weston Lark is dead anyway. I frown and run a hand back through my hair.

“Corrick.”

Quint’s quiet voice snaps me out of my reverie, and I realize it’s the second time that’s happened this evening. “What?”

“As much as I adore being audience to your silent angst, I should remind you that it is late.”

He’s right, and I’m being rude. I sigh, drain my wineglass, and stand.

But then I stop. Quint wasn’t sleeping. He was reading.

His door was open.

There was an empty wineglass waiting.

“You never chase me out of your quarters,” I muse. “I’m hardly chasing you.”

“Quint.” I feign a gasp. “Are you waiting on someone?”

He gives me a look. “Don’t invent drama for me when your own is too much to bear.”

He’s probably right, but now I’ve found a thread to pull, and I want it all to unravel. “Who is it?” I say.

“No one. Truly.”

He’d fool anyone else in this palace, including my brother, but I know Quint far too well. I lean in. “You’re lying.”

He sighs. “You have far more important things to worry about—”

“Please tell me it’s Captain Blakemore, because that would solve the vast majority of my problems.”

“I rather doubt it would.”

“As your friend,” I add conspiratorially, “I do feel an obligation to warn you that I didn’t get the impression that he would be interested in—”

“Corrick.” I stop.

“Honestly.” He gives me a withering glance. “It’s not Captain Blakemore, and it’s nowhere near as salacious as what you’re imagining. But that’s all you’re getting out of me this evening.”

“Fine.” I smile, and for a moment, I’m grateful that he’s given me something to draw my attention away from matters that seem so impossible. “Enjoy your visit.”

I say visit like I mean something else entirely, but Quint doesn’t take the bait. He picks up the book he was reading when I walked in. “Have a pleasant evening, Your Highness.”

“Yes, of course, Master Quint.” My smile turns into a grin. “I’ll leave the door open when I go.”

But at the door I hesitate. A moment of distraction isn’t enough to bury all my worries.

Quint looks up. He knows me as well as I know him, because any teasing disappears from his voice. “I truly wasn’t chasing you out. Sit if you need to sit. A game of chess perhaps?”

I consider it for a moment, but he clearly was waiting for someone, so I shake my head. “You’re right. I should retire.”

But I still don’t move. Quint waits.

“He’s never had to do this alone,” I say quietly. He looks at me steadily. “Neither have you.”

The thought is jarring. But … of course he’s right. I’ve been thinking of all the risks to Harristan. I hadn’t considered that we’ll be apart for the first time since our parents died. I hadn’t considered that I’ll be boarding a boat to negotiate the price of steel with a king I’ve never met in a kingdom I know little about.

I have to force worries out of my head, or I’ll stride right back down the corridor to tell Harristan I’ve changed my mind.

But I look back at my friend, one of the few people in this palace I truly trust. “Take care of him, Quint.”

He nods. “You have my word.”