Dinner in the palace is often a grand affair, served in the vast dining hall behind the salon, with dozens of courtiers and attendants and diplomats creating a cacophony of sound that often becomes exhausting before anyone eats their fill. I don’t mind it much, but Harristan hates being so widely accessible, so I’m not surprised when I hear that we’re dining in the Pearl Room.

It’s an interesting choice, because the room is very fine, but not too fine. The walls are a faint gray, with a dark blue artful swirl that stretches from corner to corner and seems to faintly glisten. As you get closer, you can see a tiny line of real pearls embedded in the design. The table is a block of white marble, topped with a floral arrangement of vibrant blue lilies that exactly match the floral pattern on the seat cushions. Servants stand ready to pour glasses of wine and stronger things. A side table full of delicacies sits beneath the window, which overlooks the rear gardens of the palace. Stonehammer’s Arch is visible, an arc of brightly flaming torches that hang suspended over a pond.

To my surprise, Tessa and I are the first to arrive.

Harristan hasn’t yet appeared. Neither has Captain Blakemore, for that matter.

Tessa stands at my side, resplendent in deep green velvet that clings to every curve, a gown that allows a generous expanse of neckline. Her hair has been curled and fixed to hang down her back, with shining green and silver hairpins in place to tie a bit back from her face. She looks warm and elegant, and every inch of bare skin reminds me of her vulnerability.

When I saw Lochlan looming over her, I really did want to have a guard shoot him with a crossbow.

I don’t know who I’m fooling. I wanted to do it myself.

After seeing her fear in the carriage, I’m glad I didn’t. I wish I could go back and erase the worry from her gaze.

Are you frightened of me?

She said nothing. But that said everything.

I hate this forced distance between us. I should make an official declaration of courtship. Our time together is always too public, too politically charged. Any private moments are too brief, limited to shadowed walks behind the palace, or quiet games of chess before breakfast. But I worry that anything more would weaken our efforts. Everything is already so precarious.

I think of that man in the candy shop. If Tessa and I were openly involved, she’d be more of a target.

Then again, if we were openly involved, I’d drag her into my chambers and we wouldn’t leave for a week.

I need to stop thinking like this. “Wine?” I say to her.

She shakes her head and presses a hand to her abdomen. “If I start drinking wine, I’ll never remember the correct fork.”

I smile and lean in to speak low, then risk brushing a finger along her chin. “In that dress, no one will be looking at your cutlery.”

She flushes, but she gives me a rueful look. “Fine. Maybe one glass.” I gesture for a servant, and Tessa adds, “Mind your mettle, Corrick.”

My smile widens. “Mind yours.”

She takes the glass she’s offered, but the slight smile drops from her face. “Are the consuls attending this dinner?”

I turn to see two consuls approaching: Roydan Pelham, of the Sorrowlands, and Arella Cherry, of Sunkeep. They haven’t been in the palace very much since the rebels attacked, and I rather doubt they’ve been invited to dinner. Months ago, I had speculated about them being involved with the rebellion. They’ve been cleared of any involvement, but that doesn’t make their prior behavior any less suspect. Their sectors both border Trader’s Landing, which lacks a consul, so they’ve shared management of the area, but I’ve told Harristan that needs to change. They’ve had too many secret meetings, too many opportunities for plotting.

They might not have been involved in the last rebellion,

but it doesn’t mean they aren’t plotting their own.

I sometimes find the thought a bit disappointing. Arella often challenges me, but I know it’s done out of a desire to make things better. And Roydan is the only consul who ever showed us a glimmer of kindness after our parents died.

Arella has a hand on Roydan’s arm, though I’m sure it’s more for his benefit than for hers. He’s three times her age, and he walks with a trembling step.

“Consuls,” I say.

Arella offers a brief curtsy, and Roydan gives me a nod.

He’s too old to bow.

“Your Highness,” Roydan says. He gives Tessa a kind smile. “Miss Cade.”

His warmth tugs at me. I just can’t imagine him doing something nefarious.

“Consuls,” Tessa says, her tone a bit shy. I can tell she’s deliberating whether she should move away and give us some privacy, but I want to keep this conversation social, so I rest a hand over hers.

“I didn’t know you were joining us for dinner,” I say to the others.

“We’re not,” Roydan says. “Arella and I will eat in the salon. I was hoping to catch a minute of your time, Corrick. I don’t want to be a bother.”

“You’re not a bother.”

He pats me on the shoulder as if I’m ten years old and I’ve been a good boy. “Harristan asked me if I remembered sending warships to Ostriary. He was concerned about this new captain.”

My eyebrows go up. “I am, too. Do you?”

“I do. Just a bit—though I don’t remember many of them reaching Ostriary.” He gives Tessa a smile. “That said, I’m an old man and my memory isn’t what it used to be.” He pauses. “But I do remember there were squabbles between Steel City and Trader’s Landing. Arella and I have been reviewing the shipping logs, because it seems there have been some inaccuracies going back for decades. Maybe even a century. And it does look as though we were sending tons of steel on a fairly regular basis to half a dozen unfamiliar cities. Not just steel either. Explosives and lumber. Arella and I have been trying to piece it together for weeks, and we’d started to think they were code names for secret destinations, because we couldn’t find those on any maps we have. But then Harristan mentioned that this man claims there are islands on the western side of Ostriary.”

“Yes,” I say. “He does.”

“These shipping records stop,” Roydan says. “Thirty or forty years ago. There’s no further mention of the cities— but I thought perhaps they could refer to the islands this sea captain mentions.” He pauses, then reaches into his coat to withdraw a folded piece of parchment. “I wrote down the names of the cities for you.”

I unfold the paper and look down at Roydan’s shaky handwriting.

IRIS KAISA

ROSHAN ESTAR

SILVESSE FAIRDE

“Do you know how many islands he mentioned?” Roydan says.

Six. This could be a coincidence—or it could be evidence to support the captain’s story. But I don’t want to feed a rumor mill. “I don’t quite recall,” I lie. “Why did the shipments stop?”

“I don’t know.” He gives a little shrug. “And there’s been no one in Trader’s Landing to ask since … well.” His gaze turns a little sad, and he pats me on the shoulder again.

Since our parents were killed by the consul from Trader’s Landing.

I blink away emotion before it can form. I look at Arella because I can’t be icy with Roydan. “Why were you investigating shipping logs to begin with?”

“The longer Trader’s Landing goes without a consul, the more opportunity for corruption,” she says coolly. Her brown eyes don’t flinch from mine. “For example, the explosives used on the palace came right out of that sector.”

I can’t tell if she’s making an accusation or a declaration. “So I’ve heard. Do you know anything about it, Arella?”

“I know desperate people will take drastic measures to survive.”

“Now, now.” Roydan pats her hand. “The prince has business to attend to.”

Anyone else, and she’d smack his hand away. Like me, she has a fondness for Roydan, so she sighs. “We should head for the salon before it becomes too crowded.”

But she doesn’t move, and I know she’s expecting an invitation to join our meal. There’s no disguising the curiosity in her eyes. I’m sure everyone is desperate to meet the emissary from Ostriary.

But if she’s not going to be forthcoming, I’m not going to be either.

“Don’t let me delay you,” I say.

She accepts the defeat and offers another brief curtsy, and they turn away.

I drain half my glass of wine.

Tessa is gazing up at me. “Is that true? Was Kandala sending steel to Ostriary?”

I fold up the parchment and tuck it into my jacket. “Steel and explosives. I can’t tell if that’s friendly or hostile.”

“Maybe both.” She takes a sip of wine, then slowly lowers her glass. “Now Consul Sallister is here.”

I frown and turn to follow her gaze. She’s right. Allisander has slipped into the room. He has a girl on his arm, a young woman I’ve not seen at court before. Much like my brother, he rarely has a companion at his side, but Allisander’s issue isn’t one of trust. Or … not the same kind. He always worries someone is after his money.

They’re certainly not after his charming disposition.

I hope he’ll avoid me, but I’m never that lucky. He makes a beeline right for us, and I try not to sigh.

“Corrick!” he says. “I’d like to introduce Laurel Pepperleaf, the daughter of one of my barons. I’ve insisted that we join you for dinner.”

I inwardly sigh. I’d rather have Roydan and Arella.

I haven’t met Laurel Pepperleaf, but I know of her. She’s the daughter of Landon Pepperleaf, one of the wealthiest landowners in Allisander’s sector. She’s prettier than he deserves, with long, shining blond hair, and lips painted a glossy red. Her dress is yellow satin, with diamonds lining every seam. It’s both expensive and provocative, and I’m intrigued enough to meet her eyes, wondering if she’s with Allisander for her own reasons, or for his. “Laurel,” I say. “A pleasure.”

She offers a slight curtsy. “Your Highness,” she says. Her eyes meet mine boldly, but there’s no disrespect there. “The pleasure is mine.”

“This is Tessa Cade,” I say, because Allisander would fall over dead before he’d acknowledge the girl on my arm. “The king has asked her to act as adviser regarding the Moonflower elixir dosages.”

“I’ve heard about your research, Miss Cade,” Laurel says. “I find it rather intriguing, especially as our production has been cut by half.”

“Oh!” Tessa says in surprise. “I do, too. I’m sorry—did you say your production has been cut by half?”

“Yes,” says Allisander. “As I’ve said, we are having our own challenges from both weather conditions and labor shortages, while you keep promising more medicine for free.”

“Which is why I would love to hear more about your theories,” Laurel says. “I specifically asked Consul Sallister to make an introduction while I was at court.”

“Did you.” I look right at Allisander and take a sip of my wine.

He gives me a level look right back. “And here we are, making an introduction.” He takes a sip of his own.

The door to the room swings open, and I expect my brother, but instead, I get Quint. He strides through to join us. Allisander looks like he wants to snarl at him, so I head that off at the pass. There was a time when the consul could have chased Quint out of a room by virtue of his position, but right now, Allisander is living on borrowed time. I don’t care if I irritate him.

“Quint,” I say. “Join us.” I seize a glass of wine from an approaching servant and offer it to my friend. “Have you met Laurel Pepperleaf?”

“I have, in fact.” He takes the glass, then nods to Tessa and to Laurel. “I’m glad you both could join us. The king should arrive shortly.”

Allisander’s lip curls. “And these boatmen will be joining us, too?”

He sounds like he expects them to drift up to the palace gates on a crudely tied raft. “The emissary?” I say. “Yes. Captain Blakemore and a few members of his crew.”

“I understand they have their own supply of Moonflower. Surely you don’t believe these claims, Corrick. There were thieves all over Kandala. These petals could be from anywhere. This captain could have loaded a ship in Sunkeep, sailed for a day, and turned up in Artis with the exact same story.”

“Tessa examined the petals,” I say. “They’re legitimate.” I pause. “And I rather doubt they came from Moonlight Plains. You were supplanting yours with a faulty supply, were you not?”

He inhales sharply, ready to bluster, but Laurel says, “My father has taken a much greater interest in our

sector’s exports. I don’t believe you will be finding many more faulty shipments, Your Highness.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” I say.

Allisander is scowling. He turns to Laurel. “We should find you some refreshments.” He doesn’t wait for a response, but he just shifts as if to guide her away toward the table.

She’s hardly gone for a second before Quint drops his voice to say, “Baron Pepperleaf has apparently made some remarks that he would like to be considered for consul if Allisander were removed from power.”

“Well, now I understand why she’s making a point to seem like she has him in hand.”

Tessa looks at me. “Has their production really been cut in half?”

I wince. “You heard him during the meeting with Lochlan. We can demand all we want, but if there really is a supply issue, there’s not much to be done about it. I can’t control the weather. What am I going to do, threaten to throw his remaining workers in the Hold?”

“Then having a new consul would be a good thing, right? He could fix things? If he’s opposed to what Allisander was doing?”

“It could be,” I say. She looks so hopeful that I hate to be pragmatic in the face of it. “If he truly is opposed.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I find it hard to believe that Allisander’s wealthiest baron had no idea what was going on.”

Her mouth forms a line. “So … you think he’s just saying what you want to hear while Allisander is in trouble.”

“Yes. And his daughter appearing at court with so much enthusiasm for your findings is a bit much. You’ve seen what happens when people believe I’m courting another.

It’s just one more avenue for deceit.” I roll my eyes and take a sip from my glass.

Tessa says nothing to that. I glance over to discover that she looks wounded, and now she’s truly frowning.

Lord. “Tessa—I didn’t mean—”

“No! No, I know.” Her eyes have gone a bit glassy, but she blinks it away. She huffs a breath, then downs half her glass of wine. “It’s fine. I keep forgetting that there’s a reason you and your brother are so … cynical.”

“Again. Welcome to life at court.” “Thanks. I hate it here.”

I frown. I don’t know if there’s a kernel of honesty in there or not, but I’m not sure my heart could take the truth right now. I tap my glass against hers. “Cheers.”

“Honestly. The two of you.” Quint sighs, looking at Tessa. “Don’t let them make you cynical, my dear.”

“How do you avoid it?” she says.

“Because I’ve already seen the changes you have brought to the palace.”

“Well, I nearly witnessed an assassination this afternoon, so I’m not sure I’m doing much.”

The guards swing the doors open. Again, I expect my brother. Instead, Captain Blakemore walks in, Lieutenant Tagas at his side, along with two other men who must be members of his crew. They’re both older than he is, by at least ten years. I half expected them to return in the seaworn clothes they were wearing during our first meeting, but they’ve clearly been given leave to return to the ship to prepare. Their attire isn’t Kandalan, but it’s not altogether foreign either. Rian is freshly shaved, his hair combed back, his clothes clean and more elegant than I expected. His jacket is leather instead of cloth, and shorter than the current style in Kandala, with buttons situated diagonally across his chest. His boots are buckled instead

of laced. He’s quite obviously the youngest of the group— and just as obviously the one in command.

“Oh,” says Tessa, and there’s a note of intrigue in her voice that I absolutely cannot ignore.

I look at her and raise my eyebrows. “Oh?”

She hesitates. Her voice drops. “The sea captain isn’t what I expected.”

“Hmm.” I drain my glass. A servant immediately hands me another.

“Your Highness,” Captain Blakemore says when he reaches us. “A pleasure to see you again. And Master Quint.” He nods to the Palace Master, then bows to Tessa with perfect courtly manners. “An even greater pleasure to meet your lovely companion.”

It’s a throwaway comment, something I’ve said to a hundred courtiers over the years, but Tessa is so earnest that she takes it to heart. She blushes and takes hold of her skirts to curtsy in return. “I’m Tessa Cade.”

“Miss Cade.” His eyebrows go up. “The apothecary, then.”

“Yes.” She looks surprised—and a bit delighted—that he knows who she is.

His smile warms. “Around the docks, I heard some fascinating stories about an outlaw named Tessa sneaking into the palace to bring news of a better cure.”

“Well,” she says. “You know how rumors are. I just want to help people.”

“I do know how rumors are.” His eyes flick to me before returning to hers. There’s less flirtation and more genuine intrigue in his expression now. “Hopefully we’ll be seated near each other. I’m eager to learn the truth.”

She’ll be seated with me.

I almost say it. I almost growl it. The words sit on the tip of my tongue, hot and possessive. But every syllable would

sound petty and chauvinistic, and I swallow my words with another sip of wine.

“I’m eager to hear about Ostriary,” Tessa says. “Weeks ago, I was asking Corrick if it could potentially be a resource for Moonflower petals.”

“I’m hopeful I can help that come to pass,” he says. “We’ll see,” I say.

He finally looks back at me. “I suppose we will, Your Highness.”

Quint must sense the tension between us, because he says, “Captain Blakemore, I don’t believe we’ve met the other members of your crew.”

“Of course,” Rian continues smoothly, as if there’s no strain at all. “This is Sablo, my second lieutenant.” He indicates a heavily freckled man who’s well over six feet tall, thickly muscled, with a bald head, pink cheeks, and a dense red beard that’s neatly trimmed. “And Marchon, my navigator and quartermaster,” Rian says, indicating the other man, who’s as narrow and swarthy as Sablo is broad and pale. His hair is longer, slicked back and knotted at the back of his neck.

“Your Highness,” says Marchon, and his deep voice carries a rasp, and the same slight accent as Gwyn’s. “We are grateful for the invitation to dine with you this evening.”

Sablo gives me a nod.

“Sablo doesn’t speak,” Rian adds. My eyebrows go up. “By choice?”

“No,” says Rian, and there’s a protective note to his voice that reminds me of how readily he spoke up for his people earlier.

“A pleasure to meet you both,” I say, but I take in Sablo’s size and wonder if he’s more than just a sailor. He carries himself with a certain stillness that speaks to military

training. So does Marchon, now that I’m looking at them. He’s not as big as Sablo, but there’s a breadth to his shoulders that suggests strength. They could be bodyguards—or assassins. Surely the guards searched them for weapons before they came in here.

I cast a glance at the wall, where the guard captain has only stationed four guards. There will be more once Harristan arrives, but not too many to overwhelm the room, since this is supposed to be a casual dinner.

I stop these thoughts in their tracks.

Maybe Tessa and Quint are right. Maybe I am too cynical.

Across the room, Allisander is looking at the sailors with a curled lip. I don’t know if he’s more annoyed that they might have access to Moonflower—and might cut into his profits—or if he’s such a snob that he finds them beneath him. Knowing Allisander, it’s probably both.

But I look back at Rian, because Roydan gave me an idea.

“Captain,” I say. “One of our consuls has found some aged shipping logs from a southern sector that may confirm part of your story.”

His eyebrows raise. “That’s good news.”

“I hope so.” I pause. “You said there were five islands on the western side of what we know to be Ostriary.”

He regards me carefully, as if he suspects a trap. “There

are islands. But I said there were six of them.” “Name them.”

He looks startled by the command, but he holds out his left hand, palm down, then rotates his wrist so his fingers are pointing to the left. He taps the back of his hand. “If you imagine this to be the main island—Fairde—each finger is roughly where the others sit.” He ticks off each one,

starting with his thumb. “Iris, Kaisa, Roshan, Estar, and Silvesse.”

Beside me, Tessa lets out a breath, and I know she recognizes the names from the list as clearly as I do. But I study Rian carefully. There’s no hint of guile in his expression.

I don’t know what this means—but it is meaningful.

His eyes narrow slightly. “Did I pass your test, Your Highness?”

A herald bangs his halberd near the main door. “His Royal Majesty, King Harristan.”

Everyone turns to face the door, to greet my brother. But I lean close to Rian. “Not yet.”