Hours pass. I spend some of them sleeping, and most of that is against my will. The first time I wake, I’m jolted by a barn cat that climbs into my lap. I inhale sharply and look around in a panic, but the barn is still dark, moonlight shining through the windows by the doors.
I shift my leg, and the movement is weak, pain throbbing through the muscle. When I lift a hand to my head, I discover that the blood has crusted to my ear and in my hair, but I can’t tell how bad the injury is.
I blink and remember Maxon, the kindness in his eyes. He was a complete stranger, but he gave me medicine just because I needed it. He tried to lead me away from the night patrol.
And then they killed him. They killed him before I could do anything about it.
I don’t know how Corrick did this for years. Only now do I realize how very much my brother risked. How much guilt he must have carried.
I wish my brother were here.
The thought slips into my brain so quickly that my chest tightens and warmth rushes to my eyes. But I didn’t cry over my parents, and I certainly won’t cry over this.
I can imagine Corrick here in the barn, rolling his eyes at me.
Lord, Harristan, next time just take me with you.
Yes, Cory. Next time.
I sleep again, waking when a rooster crows. Hens are clucking on the other side of the barn. The cat is sound asleep in my lap, a warm weight across my throbbing thigh. Morning sunlight is beaming through the window now.
Morning.
A swell of panic fills my belly. Violet has been gone for too long. Something must have happened.
Was she captured? Delayed? What if one of the guards threw her into the Hold? Am I to sit here waiting for discovery?
And I gave her my ring. I have no way to prove myself now. I’m injured and half soaked in blood. Even if Violet’s family found me and believed me—which is doubtful—I rather doubt the night patrol would.
They shot Maxon. They shot him, and he didn’t even do anything wrong.
You’d do the same, I’m sure.
The words seem to have two meanings now. I clench my eyes closed and try to breathe.
I press my hands into the ground and shift my weight, and the cat uncurls, annoyed, but I ignore the animal and try to get my legs underneath me. I can stand, but I feel lightheaded, dizzy. My trousers are tacky with blood, and I can see through the tear in my pants that the injury is still seeping.
I draw a ragged breath and swear.
Well, I can’t just stand here. I limp into a stall with a cow and attend to human needs. I’m not quite thirsty enough to share the animal’s water trough, but it’s close. Violet’s family has a draft horse, but when I limp to his
stall, I discover that he’s old and sway-backed, and most likely broke for harness, not for riding.
I’m so dizzy that I’m not sure I could stay on top of a horse anyway.
I wish for clothes, but there are none in the barn. I could try to walk toward the Royal Sector, but I gave Violet all of my money, so I don’t even have coins to pay for a ride in a wagon.
I have no idea which is worse: staying here, waiting for discovery, or heading out in the sunlight and praying that no one recognizes me.
I think of Captain Huxley standing with Arella and Laurel.
If you don’t have medicine, then what do you have? Information on the king. On how he’s tricking you.
I’m not tricking anyone. This is more treason and betrayal—and as much as I hate to admit it, I’m a bit shocked it’s coming from Arella Cherry.
Corrick is gone. If I can’t trust my guards, I have no one.
Quint.
But if Arella is working against me, maybe I can’t trust Quint either. Maybe Quint is the one who had Violet locked up, and he’s just now gathering guards and consuls to come take me into custody, to parade me back to the palace in chains for doing the exact same thing Corrick was doing.
A chill crawls up my spine, and I make my way back to the wall of the barn, then slide back to sitting. The deepest, darkest part of me wants to run and hide, to lose myself somewhere. No one would ever know.
But that would mean abandoning my throne. Abandoning my people.
If anyone deserves to escape this role, it’s my brother.
Without warning, I hear hoofbeats, and I freeze. It’s more than one horse, so it can’t be Quint alone.
I struggle to my feet again, then brace a hand against the wall when I begin to slip sideways. My heart stutters in my chest, then bolts, pounding so hard that I feel it in my head. I wish I had a weapon. I don’t know how long or how well I can fight, because the weapons master always goes too easy on me. It makes him nervous when my breathing gets strained.
But I rather doubt I’ll last long. Running as far as I did last night just about killed me.
Then, without warning, the barn doors are rolling open, the sun so bright that I have to blink it away. Figures fill the doorway. I recognize Violet first, because she bursts forward. “Fox!” she cries. “You’re still here!”
“Still here,” I say. My eyes are on the men following her. They step out of the sunlight slowly, and I’m frozen in place. Quint is there, his expression tense when his eyes land on me. I’m not sure it’s a relief, because he didn’t come alone, as I requested. He’s backed by two guards, Thorin and Saeth, and they look as fierce and foreboding as ever.
I keep thinking of Captain Huxley’s words in the clearing last night—or Rocco’s warnings to me and Corrick before he left. Thorin and Saeth are trussed up in weapons and armor. I’m exhausted and injured … and unarmed. They could kill me right now and there’d be nothing I could do about it. My fingers are clutching at the barn wall so tightly that splinters have dug under my nails, and I can hear my breathing shaking. It’s only slightly louder than my heart.
Thorin moves first. He takes a step forward, and my breath catches. I draw myself up and brace against the wall.
But he drops to one knee. “Your Majesty.” An instant later, Saeth and Quint do the same.
A relieved breath huffs out of my chest, and I almost sag against the side of the barn. I have to run a shaking hand over my face. “Rise,” I say, and my voice is rough.
Violet looks from me to them and back. “Am I supposed to do that?” she whispers.
“No.” I study her in the morning light. “You were gone so long. I thought something happened to—” My eyes fall on her bare feet, which are red and blistered, one toe stubbed and bloodied. I snap my gaze up. There are so many more important things to worry about, but I say, “I told you to buy boots, Violet.”
Thorin and Saeth exchange a glance.
Quint looks like he’s not entirely sure what to make of this conversation.
Violet doesn’t even look chagrined. “Well, I was going to, but I wanted to give some extra coins to Toby. Then I kept thinking about how you said you weren’t coming back, and I didn’t want anyone to think the Fox was gone, so I kept leaving a few coins on the other doorsteps. Just here and there.”
Of course she did.
Today, however, I can’t be irritated. It reminds me of the way Maxon gave me his medicine. And Violet likely risked her life.
“Did you run all that way in bare feet?” I say.
“I didn’t run the whole way. It took me a long time at the gate. And then I couldn’t find the palace. It’s not like I’ve ever been inside the Royal Sector. You could’ve told me it was in the middle.”
I look at Quint. “Have a pair of boots sent.”
He opens his mouth, then closes it. He draws a small book from inside his jacket and makes a note. “Of course, Your Majesty.”
I look between him and Violet. “I said no guards.”
She scowls. “I told him that, but he wouldn’t listen.” She huffs. “Gryff wouldn’t listen either. It took hours to convince him to fetch Master Quint. I had to sing until I didn’t think I’d have a voice left.”
I have the sense that I can’t follow this conversation. “You … you had to sing?”
“Yes. He wouldn’t listen. He said your ring was a fake. So I sat down and sang every annoying song I know, and it’s a lot, I tell you—”
“She sang until daybreak,” Quint says. “Meanwhile, when you did not return, I had to alert Thorin. We were beginning to discuss a discreet search party when one of the day maids mentioned the girl singing at the palace steps.” He takes a step forward, but then he seems to think better of it. He glances from my leg to my head, and his mouth forms a line. “Your Majesty,” he says quietly. “Forgive me, but you’re bleeding.” He pauses. “We’ve brought a closed carriage.”
“Good.” I touch a hand to my ear, and I’m surprised when it comes away wet with fresh blood. “Who else knows of this?”
“No one yet,” Quint says. “Sullivan is a person of interest. That’s all.”
I look at Thorin. “Who among the guards?”
“Just us.” He hesitates and glances at Saeth again. “We all know how Huxley has an ear for gossip. We’ve been keeping close ranks.”
Huxley has more than just an ear for gossip, but I don’t say that.
I straighten from the wall, and Saeth steps forward to help me, but I wave him off. I still feel too unsteady, and I want to walk out of here on my own two feet.
“Violet,” I say to her. “Can I trust you to keep this secret?”
As I say the question, I know the answer. Even if she promises, even if she swears, this is too big.
She shakes her head anyway, and I must look fierce, because she throws up her hands. “Well, I had to tell Toby.” Her expression turns somber. “In case something happened to me. I needed someone to tell Ma.”
As if on cue, a boy of about ten years old comes skidding into the barn. He’s barefoot, too, and so quick that Thorin and Saeth both have weapons drawn before he even comes to a stop.
The boy cries out and flails backward, sitting down hard in the straw. But he doesn’t look frightened. He looks fascinated. “I saw the carriage, Vi! Are those real palace guards?”
“Real enough, boy,” says Saeth. “Is anyone else coming behind you?”
“No,” he says. Toby’s gaze skips past them, then looks to me and Quint. His eyes go even wider, and he scrambles to his feet. He bows to Quint, who’s in a half-buttoned red brocade jacket. “Your Majesty.”
“Ah … no,” says Quint. But he glances at the boy’s feet, then draws out his little notebook again and makes a note. He looks to me. “Your Majesty,” he says pointedly. “Perhaps we should depart while it’s still early.”
Toby looks at me, and his face scrunches up. “Him?
Really?”
I’m too tired for this. My night has been too full of fear and loss and uncertainty, and I have bigger worries than anything I’ll find inside this barn. “No,” I say. “Quint. You said you brought a carriage?”
I don’t wait for an answer. I just start limping. Outside of the barn, there’s a carriage and one of the guards’ horses.
“Wait!” cries Violet. “Will I ever see you again?”
No. She won’t. But I can’t look into her desperate eyes and say that.
“I’m the king,” I say wearily. “Everyone sees me.” Before I climb into the carriage, I look at her. “You have my thanks, Violet. Truly.”
She looks so troubled. “We need the Fox,” she whispers. I frown. “Forgive me. Please.” I climb into the carriage.
Quint climbs in behind me. The door slams.
“We need you!” she calls shrilly. She bangs on the door of the carriage. “We need the Fox!”
“Violet!” a woman calls from somewhere distant. “Violet, what are you doing?”
“It was the king, Miss Tucker!” the boy calls. “The king was in your barn!”
I freeze, staring across at Quint. His expression is somber, his eyes searching my face, but he says nothing.
“What is this?” the woman calls. “What is happening?” “A man was hiding in your barn,” calls Saeth. “He was
impersonating the king. We’ve taken him into custody, miss.”
“He wasn’t impersonating him,” calls the boy. “He
wasn’t—”
A whip cracks, and the carriage starts to rattle away.
We need the Fox.
The words hit me almost as hard as Maxon’s death. She ran on bare feet. She sang all night.
And now I’m riding away in a carriage, leaving her behind.
“Your Majesty,” says Quint.
I blink, then look at him. “How did Corrick do this for so long?” I say. “How could he bear it?”
He frowns. “He had Tessa. He wasn’t alone.” I swallow. I’m always alone.
Quint pulls a stoppered bottle of water from a trunk set under the seat, then pulls a handkerchief free. He wets an end, then holds it up. “May I?”
“I don’t need tending, Quint.”
“It’s morning. I can do my best to keep you out of sight, but if you don’t want to raise too many questions, you’ll need to be somewhat presentable to walk into the palace.” He glances at my leg, which is stretched across the space between us, because bending it hurts. “Presuming you can walk at all.”
I glare at him, and while Quint is always respectfully deferential, he’s not easily cowed. He lifts the handkerchief in response.
I scowl. “Fine.” I take the handkerchief from him, but when I touch it to my neck, it comes away with more blood than I expect. I frown and take another swipe, dragging against my ear, and I hiss at the sudden pain.
“Honestly.” Quint shifts across the carriage to sit beside me. “Allow me.” He doesn’t wait for an answer; he just plucks the cloth from my hand, adding more water from the bottle. Diluted drops of blood fall, disappearing in the velvet cushion. When he touches the handkerchief to my neck, I almost jump. Quint isn’t rough, but he’s not quite gentle either. My head aches, and the water stings where it finds broken skin, so I have half a mind to yank the handkerchief back out of his hand. I have to fight not to squirm like an errant schoolboy.
But maybe Quint can tell, because his movements slow, the handkerchief tracing lightly over the injury.
“How often did you do this for Corrick?” I say.
“Tending his wounds or fetching him from the Wilds?”
I don’t like the way he phrases either of those options. “Both.”
He shakes his head. “Neither, really. Corrick was rarely injured.” He pauses. “Aside from the time your soldiers found him with the rebels, he never failed to return of his own accord.” He pauses. “He never went on his nightly runs without a mask. He never even let Tessa know who he was.”
I draw back and turn to face him. “Are you chastising me, Quint?”
“Never, Your Majesty.” He rinses the handkerchief again, then lifts it. When I don’t move, he raises his eyebrows.
I sigh and turn my head. I have to run a hand across my face. Corrick did this for years. Only a few weeks, and I nearly brought down the kingdom.
He’s better at this than I am.
He’s better at a lot of things than I am.
“Maybe you should be,” I say. The water is cold, and I shiver.
“Hmm?”
“Chastising me,” I add. “When I told you I wanted to do this, you didn’t even try to talk me out of it.”
“I’m honored to think I could have talked the king of Kandala out of anything at all.” He pauses, and I wince as he passes the handkerchief over the worst of it. “This will need stitching, I’m afraid.”
“The arrow nearly took me in the face.” “You were very lucky.”
“Lucky.” I should be worried about my consuls and my guards, but instead, I think of Maxon, lying dead in the middle of the woods. My voice has gone rough. To my horror, my chest tightens. I frown and push Quint’s hand away. “Enough.”
He recedes, wrapping up the cloth so it doesn’t drip too badly, and I fix my gaze on the opposite wall of the
carriage. The air between us is thick with silence, and that’s not better. It leaves me with too much time to think.
Information on the king. On how he’s tricking you.
Arella and Roydan have been having private meetings for weeks—but they’ve been reviewing shipping logs. I have absolutely no idea how that could be related to me tricking anyone.
And I still can’t see Arella conspiring with Laurel Pepperleaf and Captain Huxley. He’s a gossip, everyone knows that, but I’ve never thought he was disloyal. Laurel was at the dinner with Allisander, and Arella hates him and everything he stands for. I can’t quite see Laurel and Arella working together either.
But the night patrol showed up, and everyone scattered. Maxon helped me—and then he was killed for it.
My eyes burn and I blink it away. “If I may,” Quint begins.
“No,” I say, and he shuts his mouth.
I don’t like that. I glance up. His red hair is nearly brown in the dim light of the carriage, but his eyes are piercing. We’ve never been friends, so I have no idea how old he is, but he has to be older than I am. He was an apprentice when he first came to the palace, and he’s held his position as Palace Master for years now, so he must be
… twenty-four? Twenty-five? I only ever really kept him on because I know Corrick is so fond of him. Personally, I always found him a bit bothersome: he might be good at his job, but he prattles endlessly about everything, and he seems to enjoy doing so.
It’s only in these recent weeks that I’ve discovered that Quint’s mindless chatter is a front for someone who’s sharp, attentive, and deeply loyal.
Brave, too. He saved my life when the palace was under attack. And cunning, if he secretly helped Corrick for so
long.
“Was that your idea?” I finally say. “To give the impression that the guards were arresting me for ‘impersonating’ the king?”
“Yes,” he says. “Violet didn’t have much of a story, really. If she protests, I rather doubt anyone will listen. It’s a lot easier to believe that a man tricked a few children into thinking he was royalty.”
He’s right, but Violet doesn’t really deserve that. I can’t believe she took the money for boots and used some of it to make people think the Fox was still making rounds. A new thread of guilt joins the first few that are already tugging at my heart. At least I can make sure she has warm feet for a while.
I think of the way Quint glanced at Toby’s feet, too, how he added a note to his little book.
“Forgive me,” I say. “What were you going to say to me?”
Quint blinks at that. “I was going to ask how you were injured.” He pauses. “When we arrived at the barn, you did not seem relieved to see us.”
“How did I seem?”
“With all due respect, Your Majesty—” “Just tell me, Quint.”
“Terrified.”
“Ah.” I run a hand across the back of my neck. Just the memory of … of all of it causes me to shudder. “Well.” I try to draw my leg up, but my knee protests, and I wince and shift my weight. I give up and sigh. “I heard there was going to be a meeting. I wanted to see if I could learn what was said.”
“What did you learn?”
That sending the King’s Justice away has emboldened dissenters, just as we feared.
That sedition and treason still wait in the shadows. That the consuls are still working against me—and they have the support of the palace guards.
That my brother is gone, and I can trust no one. That I am very much alone.
I can’t say any of that. I’m the king. Even the barest utterance of uncertainty can sow discord and distrust.
I don’t even know how much I can tell Quint. I wish I had Corrick.
“Your Majesty …,” Quint begins, but he stops there, as if he expects me to cut him off again.
“Go ahead,” I say. I fix my eyes on the sunlight that streams around the draperies.
“Corrick did not share everything with me in the beginning,” he says. “In fact, it took him quite some time before he saw fit to share what he was doing, even though I had my suspicions.” His voice is very quiet, very serious. “You trusted me enough to tell me that you hoped to help the people in the same way he once did. You trusted me enough to come to your aid this morning.” He hesitates. “Surely you must know your guards will have some suspicions. Corrick did not do this alone.” Another hesitation. “There’s no need for you to do it alone either.”
That draws my gaze back to his. My thoughts keep spinning, and I know now is a time to issue warnings and orders and begin making plans to protect the palace—and the people. I draw a breath to tell him about the consul, about the guard captain.
Instead, I open my mouth, and I find myself saying, “A man died. He was—he tried—” I have to breathe past the lump in my throat that feels ever-present. “His name was Maxon. The night patrol shot him.”
Quint doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t look away. “What happened?”
Corrick did not do this alone.
I don’t know how to do it any other way.
But I draw a slow breath and tell Quint everything. At first, my words are tight and formal. A sterile recitation of events. I expect him to interject with questions or take notes, as if we were sitting in a meeting at the palace and advisers would need a written report later. But he’s quiet and attentive, and as the carriage rolls along, I find myself sharing details I wouldn’t otherwise. The food stall. The crowds. The honey and cheese on warm nut bread. Arella and Captain Huxley and their announcement—followed by the panic over the arrival of the night patrol.
Maxon’s generosity—and his death.
“When you arrived with guards,” I say, “I wasn’t sure what to expect.”
“I didn’t mean to alarm you,” he says, his tone full of contrition. “I apologize.”
“No,” I say. “You don’t need to apologize.” “Will you discharge Captain Huxley?”
“I’ve considered it.” I pause. “If I do, I worry that it may tip my hand too quickly. Anyone he’s working with will better hide their activities.” I think of how Thorin said they know about Huxley’s ear for gossip, how they’ve closed ranks. I wonder how tight that circle is.
“Arella will surely deny all of it,” Quint says. He tsks. “Do you have any idea how they planned to explain how you’re tricking the people?”
“Tessa’s medicine?” I guess. “But Lochlan already implied that the people were worried. They don’t need Captain Huxley to reinforce it. What could the end goal be? To simply spur revolution? The crowd wasn’t organized. They scattered when the night patrol arrived.”
“It takes more than the promise of gossip to unite people,” Quint says. “For as much as Corrick hates
Lochlan, the people were willing to follow the rebel’s lead when he offered a new path.” He pauses. “Just as you allowed him to be a part of your negotiations—and sent him away on Captain Blakemore’s ship.”
That’s all true—and there’s something about that simple leadership that I envy.
“Tessa once said that we could be loved,” I say to him. “She said that we hide the truest parts of ourselves. Do you agree with that, Quint?”
A line forms between his eyebrows, and he looks half- amused, half-sad. “Is this a trick question, Your Majesty?”
“No.”
“Then … yes. I agree with every word.”
When I say nothing, he rushes on. “We’re riding in a carriage after your attempt to hide yourself among the people ended in peril.” He pauses. “After Prince Corrick’s attempts to do the same ended in revolution.”
That’s true enough, I suppose.
“I have another question,” I say. “This one isn’t a trick either.”
Quint nods. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Do you think I hide behind my brother’s viciousness?”
He inhales as if he’s going to offer platitudes, but I hold his eyes, and he goes very still.
That’s answer enough. I speak into his silence. “So you think I’m a coward.”
“What?” He looks a bit incredulous. “No. Certainly not.” His answer is quick, and I frown. “Why not?”
“You have to ask me why? I watched you face down the rebels in the square when they were shooting consuls and throwing fire at you. You were safe in the woods after they laid siege to the palace, and you took one guard to confront them all.”
“In all truth,” I say, a bit chagrined, “I expected to find more on the way.”
He doesn’t smile. “Corrick boarded that ship because he doesn’t want to disappoint you. Before we learned of Violet’s claims, I think Thorin was ready to walk every trail of the Wilds until he found you. Tessa stood by your side because she believes you truly want to better Kandala.” He pauses. “Cowardice does not breed this kind of loyalty.”
“Yet you believe I hide behind my brother.”
“No. I believe you allow his actions to speak for you.” I almost flinch.
“Forgive me,” he begins.
“Don’t apologize,” I say. “I’m glad you’re being forthright with me.”
And I am, I realize. I’ve spent months—no, years— guarding my thoughts and my actions, not allowing a shred of vulnerability to reveal itself. Not even in front of Corrick.
How did I seem?
Terrified.
I study him. When the palace was attacked, Quint took an arrow that was meant for me. “You stayed by my side, too, Quint.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
I run a hand over my face and sigh. “If only I could convince the people to be equally loyal.”
“Well,” says Quint, “perhaps you can.” “How?”
“You’re not a coward,” he says. “You’re not afraid to walk among them.” Quint’s eyes don’t leave mine. “Corrick is gone. Perhaps it’s time to speak for yourself.”
