Lochlan and I sleep till late afternoon. Well, I do. He’s still snoring away, so he might keep going until nightfall, for all I know. It doesn’t matter. We have nowhere to be until tomorrow at midnight, when we’re due to exchange another message with Ford Cheeke.
We’re back in the boarding house for now, but we have more silver from Oren, so we’ve got a bigger space, with two beds and even a sitting room. We arrived so late last night that Lochlan was sure they wouldn’t even open the door, but I told him that a little silver usually takes away anyone’s sour spirits. He didn’t like that, but I was right. They welcomed us in. A basket of pastries has been left outside the door for our breakfast, too, along with a pot of tea that has long since gone cold, a pitcher of water, and a small bowl of cut fruit that has a fly or two buzzing around it. The house is quiet, but it’s obvious the food has been here for a while.
I don’t remember ever sleeping this late in my life, but this might be the first good night’s rest I’ve had since leaving Kandala. I rub at my eyes and carry the food inside.
The sitting room has a larger table than the last, along with a secretary’s kit, filled with paper and pencils and even two fountain pens. I consider what Ford said about passing letters to Rian and wonder if I could send something to Tessa. I’ve been thinking about it since last night. There’s so much I want to say—but none of it needs to be read by Rian’s eyes.
The cynical part of my brain wonders if he’d share my thoughts with her at all.
I take a piece of paper anyway and write without thinking.
Dear Tessa,
I’m coming, my love.
The words look too sentimental, and I want to crumple the paper up at once.
I also want to fold it into a tiny square and carry it close to my heart.
But writing the words gives them a weird sense of permanence, like a promise. Like an oath.
I think of Harristan, and my chest tightens. Below those words, I add more.
Dear Harristan,
I’ll find a way home, brother.
“What are you doing?” says Lochlan from the bedroom.
I look up to find him sitting up in bed, running his hand down his face, blinking in the afternoon sunlight.
“Nothing.” My voice sounds rough, and I clear my throat. “There’s food if you’re hungry.”
He nods and says nothing, then disappears into the washroom.
I stare at my words on the page. My promises that I have no way to keep.
But we’re closer than we were before.
Lochlan comes out of the washroom a few minutes later, so I do fold up the note and put it in my pocket. He watches the movement, and his eyes narrow.
I go tense, waiting for him to ask me about it, but he doesn’t. He just sits down and reaches for the basket of food.
And then we sit in silence.
I keep thinking of the moment he pinned me in that alcove. The way he convinced me to act. The King’s Justice wouldn’t hesitate.
Or the moment not long before that, when he kept me from falling to my death.
Or the way I asked for his advice, and he gave it.
We’re both trying to get out of here, so we’re motivated to work together, but I don’t really hate him anymore.
Perhaps that’s just a good night’s sleep talking.
“Quit staring at me,” he says.
“I’m not.” But maybe I was. I give him a look, then very deliberately shift my chair one inch to the right so I’m at a slightly different angle.
“Why did you fold up the paper?” he says peevishly. “You know I can’t read it.”
I inhale to fire back at him, but I remember again how the little notes I wrote to Tessa during our palace meeting probably needled him, like we were whispering behind his back. I wonder if it feels like I’m hiding something from him now.
I sigh, then withdraw the paper from my pocket and unfold it.
“You’ll mock me,” I say, “but I was writing a note to Tessa. And to my brother.” I hesitate. “I wasn’t going to send it. Obviously. I was just—” I break off and frown. He’s staring at me now. My voice is a little rough again, but I’ve gone this far.
I keep my eyes on the paper and grit my teeth, bracing myself. “It only says—”
He reaches out and folds it over my fingers. “Keep it to yourself, Cory.”
I’m frozen in place, because this is an unexpected kindness wrapped up in aggravation. I really do want to stab him with the fountain pen for continuing to call me that. I fold up the paper and put it back in my pocket, and we sit in silence again while he eats an orange. The scent of citrus fills the air.
If we have to spend the next twenty-four hours like this, I’m going to hand myself over to Oren Crane.
I turn my chair back to the table and reach for another piece of paper. “Do you know your letters?” I say.
“What?”
“Your letters. The alphabet. A-B-C. Did you have any education at all?”
He stops with a slice of orange halfway to his mouth. He looks like he’s trying to figure out if this is the prelude to mockery, but I kept any rancor out of my voice because my question was genuine.
He eventually sets down the orange slice. “It was a long time ago, but I learned my letters. At the forge they used our initials to track our hours on the wall.”
I nod and write an L on the left side of the paper.
Then I raise my eyebrows at him, prompting.
He eats the orange slice and gives me a look. “What are you doing?”
I tap the paper like a patient teacher. “What’s that?”
“An L.” He narrows his eyes at me. “What are you doing?”
I complete the rest of his name in capital letters.
LOCHLAN
Then I look back at him. “Do you know what it says?”
His eyes flick between the paper and me, but he hesitates. I wonder how often he’s seen his name written. I’m sure it’s not often enough for him to be certain, but he clearly wants to guess. He’s worried I’m trying to trick him, though. I can tell.
“I’m not trying to trap you, Lochlan. It’s your name.”
I have no idea what kind of response I expect, but I don’t get any at all. He’s just looking at the paper, eating the orange. I wonder if he thinks I’m mocking him, even though that wasn’t my intent. My cheeks suddenly feel warm, and I wonder if I should just crumple the paper up and leave him alone.
But then he says, “Do Karri.”
I write her name below his, and he stares at that for a moment.
Then, “Tessa?”
I nod and write. Before I’m even done, he says, “Do yours.”
I do, and then we have a list of names below his own.
LOCHLAN
KARRI
TESSA
CORRICK
He studies this for a little while, his eyes tracing over the letters, but then he takes a small biscuit from the basket and sits back. A little frown line has appeared between his eyebrows, and he looks away.
I can’t tell if he’s ashamed at his lack of knowledge or if he’s bored with this altogether.
He eventually scowls and says, “I know the letters, but they don’t mean anything.”
“Oh,” I say. “So each letter makes a different sound. Once you learn what the sounds are, you can read.”
His scowl deepens.
“No, look,” I say, before he can get frustrated. “I’ll show you with your own name. There’s the L, and when it’s at the beginning of a word, it sounds like luh. Then the O, which can sound like oh or ah. Then the C, which . . .” I frown at the ch and run a hand back through my hair. I don’t remember how I learned all this. “Wait, that one’s kind of unusual because it’s with the H—”
“All right, I’m done.” He starts to shove back from the table.
“What?” I demand. “Where are you going?”
“Teach someone else, Your Highness. I’m not your trick pony.”
“I know.” I slam down the pencil and match his scowl. “It’s a real pity, too. A trick pony would’ve been a lot more fun at every turn.”
He startles, then runs his hands over his face and sighs. He drops back into his seat heavily and glares at the paper, his jaw set.
So maybe we are going to have to sit here without speaking.
But he eventually runs his finger over Karri’s name. “I haven’t told her.”
“That you can’t read?”
He nods and pushes the paper away. We sit in silence again, but this time it’s different, and I’m not entirely sure how. He’s not confiding in me, not really.
But almost.
“Do you think she would care?” I finally say.
“Maybe she wouldn’t have. But now it’s been so long that it feels like a lie.”
I go still at those words. “I can understand that.” He scoffs, and I raise my eyebrows. “You don’t think I felt that way about Tessa and Weston Lark?”
He considers that for a while, and I can see him wanting to reject it. But he can’t, because it’s really no different. I’m remembering the early days, the shame I felt for the way the night patrol had killed her parents, all the different ways I tried to figure out a new path to make things better—and failed.
“She’s so smart,” Lochlan says, musing. “She can do better.”
“Undoubtedly,” I say.
“You’re such an ass,” he says, and he kicks my chair.
“Oh, were you talking about Karri? I was talking about Tessa.” I give him a wicked look. “Though I’m not sure my response would change.”
“Maybe we’re meant to be stuck here. Sparing them both. A stupid forge worker who can’t read, and the spoiled prince that everyone hates.”
Ouch.He doesn’t say it with rancor, but the words sting more than they should.
“A lucky turn for Kandala then,” I say, “seeing as there’s currently a dire shortage of the latter.”
Lochlan gives a sharp bark of laughter like I’ve truly surprised him, but then his eyes narrow and he gives me a rueful glance. “I didn’t expect you to ask for his help,” he says.
“Hmm?”
“Ford Cheeke.”
“Ah. Tessa once told me that I turn everyone I meet into an adversary, so I’m trying to change that.”
“Well, your ‘plan’ is full of holes.”
Lord.I don’t need him to tell me that. I look away.
He’s still studying me. “I can’t believe you convinced Crane that you were pretending to be Prince Corrick.”
“Should I have told him you were Prince Corrick?”
“No, I just wish you’d given me some warning. It’s no wonder you were able to run in the Wilds as an outlaw for so long. You’ve got some balls, man.”
This time I’m the one startled into laughter, and he grins.
But it’s like we both realize we’re smiling at the same time, because we sober immediately.
Lochlan says, “There’s no way to be sure Rian will get us back. He could still trap you and hold you for ransom.”
I scrub my hands over my face. “And Oren could still kill me. The fever sickness could still decimate Kandala. Rebels could still swarm the Royal Sector and kill my brother while I’m gone. Shall we list everything that could go wrong?”
“All this food could be poisoned.” He shoves the basket in my direction. “Have a pastry.”
I sigh and take one.
Lochlan does, too, then pours himself a glass of water. To my complete and utter surprise, he fills my glass as well.
“Don’t get used to it,” he says when he sees my look.
“I guarantee I will not.” What a weird truce we’ve formed. I consider what he said about Karri, turning his words around in my head. “And you’re not stupid. Your judgments have been sound at every turn.”
He sets the glass on the table, then sighs. “Not every turn, Cory.”
I scowl at the use of my nickname again. Of course he’s going to ruin it.
He smiles a little deviously. “Sorry. I’ve been calling you that for so long it’s not even on purpose anymore. Not every turn, Your Highness.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not sure your disdain is better.”
“Do you really hate Cory that much?”
“No. Of course not. It’s just—” I break off, digging my fingernail into the wood of the table.
It’s just what my brother calls me.
That sounds so juvenile. But he’s studying me curiously, so I quit squirming like a schoolboy and look at him. “No one ever calls me that but Harristan.”
“No one?”
“My parents. When I was a boy. But not often. And never publicly.” I pause. “And Tessa, too, sometimes. But that’s . . . that’s not the same.” I feel a hint of warmth crawl up my neck at the memory of her quiet voice in those intimate moments. “Even still, it’s quite rare.”
Lochlan says nothing else. His eyes are picking me apart. I feel like a prisoner in the Hold, tense under his scrutiny, and it makes me keep talking.
“For what it’s worth,” I say evenly, “I know how you must envision the life of the ‘spoiled prince who everyone hates,’ and certainly some of it may be correct. But my role as King’s Justice hasn’t exactly inspired close friends and fond nicknames.”
As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I expect him to mock me, because it sounds a little too pitiful, a little too self-indulgent, even for me.
But he doesn’t mock me. Instead he simply says, “I can tell.”
Somehow that’s worse, and I frown—especially since he didn’t say it cruelly.
“But not everyone hates you,” he continues. He looks at the hearth as if this conversation is making him equally uncomfortable. “And you’re not even all that spoiled. I expected you to be a huge pain in the ass on the ship, but you weren’t. I thought you’d be ranting day and night about the food, or the beds, or the coarse talk from the sailors—”
“Oh, please. I spend hours in the Hold. The sailors can’t come close to the language hurled at me on a daily basis. You had a few choice phrases yourself.”
“I remember.”
“I’m certain you do.”
Our voices have gone a bit sharp, and our gazes match. The reminder of the way we met has shifted the conversation again, and I wish I hadn’t mentioned it.
“That day you broke my arm,” he says, “I thought you’d have the guards kill me right there. That consul was telling you to.”
I remember that.
I want him dead, Allisander was saying.
He will be, I said. But I can’t kill him twice.
“It was his mistake to get so close,” I say. “I only broke your arm to get you to stop.”
That’s true, but his eyes are piercing like he doesn’t fully believe me. Our conversation has twisted and turned in a way that keeps making me want to squirm. The air between us goes so silent for so long that I can hear people out on the street, vendors calling their wares.
When Lochlan finally speaks, his voice is very quiet. “You want to know what I think? On the day we escaped your execution, I think you wanted it to happen. I think you were relieved.”
It’s not at all what I expected him to say, and my heart thumps. “No.”
He leans in. “You’re lying.”
I wonder if he wants me to be lying. I hold his eyes, and I keep my voice even. “I’m not.”
“I saw you with Ford. I saw you. You don’t want to do any of this.” He shifts closer. “When we captured you and Tessa in the Wilds, you kept telling me all the times you wished you had killed me. But every single time, you didn’t do it.”
My mood darkens at the reminder. Lochlan kept jabbing me with a crossbow, threatening her life every time he threatened mine. “Oh, I wanted to then, I promise you.”
“But you didn’t kill me. You were relieved that we got away. You wanted us to escape. You traitor.”
“Can I kill you right now?”
“Admit it!”
“I can’t, because it’s untrue.”
He slaps the table. “You were! You wanted us to escape so you wouldn’t have to do your job! Admit it.”
“No! Because you’re wrong!” I shout. “Where’s the relief, Lochlan? Where? You think Sallister was bad after you punched him in the face? You should have heard him after you escaped. You should have heard all of them! I’m the King’s Justice. Your escape wasn’t a relief at all! It meant I was going to have to hunt you down. It meant I was going to have to order your death again.” This time I slap the table. “After your calls for revolution, they wanted me to make it worse.”
He jerks back like I’ve hit him.
“You know it, too,” I growl. “Or was there some other spoiled prince you were going to execute on the night you captured me?”
His eyes are dark and haunted in the afternoon shadows.
“You think I didn’t want to release every single prisoner in the Hold? I couldn’t. There’s never any relief for me,” I snap. “Not ever.”
“There’s never any relief for us either!”
“I know!” I cry. “You don’t think I know? Why do you think I was Weston Lark at all?”
His chest is rising and falling rapidly. So is mine.
I force my hands to unclench, and when I can speak again, my voice is deadly quiet. “I truly care about the people of Kandala. I try to be as fair as I can. I try to be just. You were already sentenced to death for smuggling. That’s why I didn’t retaliate for what you did to Sallister. That’s why I don’t care if people swear at me in the Hold. The cruelty is an illusion. Because you’re right: I don’t want to do any of it.” I pause. “But who else is there?”
It’s a rhetorical question, but he runs a hand across his jaw and seems to consider it anyway. There’s no good answer, though, and he seems to come to the same realization. We fall into silence again, but any amicability between us seems to have evaporated. Maybe it can never really exist for very long. We’ll tolerate each other until we manage to get out of here, and then that will be it.
But he drains his glass and sits back in his chair. When he speaks, his voice is very low, quiet and rough. “My little brother used to call me Lolly.”
I look over. “You have a brother?”
“I used to.”
Oh.I clamp my mouth shut.
“When we were little, he couldn’t say Lochlan, so he started with La-La, which quickly turned into Lolly. He never stopped, even when it would make me crazy. Even when we were way too old for it. It sounds like a name you’d give a dog.” Lochlan rolls his eyes, but there’s fondness in his voice. He shrugs a little. “He died a year ago. He was nineteen. He and Da got the fever sickness, and they managed for a few days, until they just couldn’t breathe anymore.” He pauses. “I was working in the southern part of Steel City then. My mother sent word, but I didn’t make it home in time. When Ma caught it, she went like that.” He snaps his fingers. “Maybe that was a mercy. I don’t know.”
I’ve heard hundreds of stories like this all over Kandala. Maybe thousands.
I inhale to say that I’m sorry for his loss, but Lochlan’s eyes flash to mine.
“Don’t say you’re sorry,” he says sharply.
“I won’t say it.” I pause, and the weight of loss is thick in the air. “But I am. I lost my parents, too. A quick death might be a mercy on the dying, but it’s usually not for anyone else.”
He’s quiet for a moment after that, and he looks into the hearth. “They probably would have gone a lot quicker, but I heard they might have been getting extra medicine from some outlaws who’d make the rounds through the Wilds.”
My head snaps around.
Lochlan puts up a hand. “Don’t. I don’t know if it was you. I don’t know if I want to know if it was you.”
I swallow. “Fine.”
“I only told you because . . . because I didn’t know that. About Cory. I’ll stop.”
As soon as he says it, I feel a jolt in my heart, and I’m not sure what’s causing it. Maybe it’s about us both missing our brothers. Our families. Or maybe it’s the way Lochlan said I can tell when I told him I don’t have a close circle of friends.
Maybe it’s the thought that I might have been helping his family as Weston Lark—only to lock him up for execution as Prince Corrick.
Maybe it’s all of it.
Before I can help myself, I say, “You don’t have to stop. I’ve gotten used to it, too.”
Then I look at the table and dig my fingernail into the wood again because I don’t want to meet his eyes. Everything inside me feels jangled up and uncertain, but I’ve already been too vulnerable. I need to lock these emotions away, but we’ve gone in too many directions, and I’m not sure how anymore.
The air between us is so heavy, and Lochlan must also feel the need to focus on something else, because he reaches for the piece of paper with the names on it. He slides it back in front of himself, then runs a finger over Karri’s name again. He’s frowning at the letters as if he’s trying to read through sheer force of will.
“If the letters all make different sounds,” he says cautiously, “then . . . then why do Karri and Corrick start differently?”
He’s really not stupid at all. “Sometimes they make the same sounds.” I clear my throat, glad for a new task. “Here, we should start with shorter words.”
I shift my chair forward and pick up the fountain pen again. My heart is still thumping, but on a new piece of paper, I write CAT.
As if he can see through me, Lochlan says, “I know you’re still worried about Rian. You might give him Oren Crane, but he could turn on you anyway. He could use you against your brother.”
Those words force me still, because aside from losing Tessa, this is truly my greatest fear. Harristan would give him anything he asked for.
Lochlan is quiet for a moment. “I don’t trust him either. We might hate each other, but I’ve got your back.”
I don’t hate you anymore, I think—but I can’t say it.
Instead, I say, “Rian could have an army.”
He shrugs a little. “Well, I’ve faced an army before.” He holds out a hand. “Still breathing, Cory.”
I give him a nod. “Still breathing.”
Then I reach out and clasp his hand.
