The White Room is one of my favorite spaces in the palace. We’re on the top oor, and the windows are massive, allowing the best view of the entire Royal Sector. Sunlight oods the room during the day, while the moon and stars gleam among a wide swath of blackness during the night. e walls are all white, but hung with abstract paintings in every color: swirls and slashes of yellows and reds in one, ickers of black and shades of pink in another. Wide stripes of gray and green and blue coat a wide canvas that hangs above the hearth. e room always seems to gather quiet and calm, a space for peaceful re ection.
When we were young and Harristan was in poor health, he would sit
bundled by the replace, and our mother would paint with whatever colors he requested. I would grow bored and beg to leave, but he would sit for hours.
Harristan rarely comes here anymore. He says the room reminds him of what it felt like to be weak. I think the truth is what makes him feel weak: this room reminds him of our mother and what we lost.
Tessa turns a page, and I have to remind myself to focus. I had servants bring the stacks of paperwork here because the table is large and the lighting abundant—but my thoughts are full of uncertainty, and now I wish we’d remained in my chambers.
My attention should be on these documents. On the disparity between the deaths in far southern sectors like Sunkeep, versus those that lie closer to the Royal Sector like Artis, Steel City, and Trader’s Landing. On Tessa’s notes, and whether we can convince people to adjust their dosages. On Allisander’s threats, made in the open air of the Circle. On the prisoners still waiting to be questioned.
My attention should be on Harristan, on whether his medicine is truly working.
Instead my focus is on Tessa, bent over a sheaf of papers in the drawing room, wisps of caramel hair coming loose from her pinned curls. My attention is on the tiny yet precise movements of her fountain pen as she takes down information as she reads. My attention is on the so pink of her mouth and the gentle curve of her cheek and the determined look in her eyes.
My attention is on the fact that, out of every diversion available in the palace, she asked to read dry, boring documents.
My attention is on the fact that, instead of claiming escape, she stayed in the carriage.
Likely, neither of these choices have anything to do with me. But still, she stayed.
“is would go a lot faster if you were reading, too,” she says.
“I am reading.” But I’m not. I have no idea how long it’s been since I’ve turned a page.
“Hmm.” Her pen keeps moving.
I can’t decide if I’m amused or irritated. “Are you accusing me of something else?”
She ignores me and shuffles through the papers she reviewed earlier. “Sunkeep receives less medicine than the other sectors.”
“Consul Cherry’s sector has fewer people.” She frowns. “And signi cantly fewer deaths.”
“Some speculate that the high heat somehow staves off the fevers.”
She looks back at her notes. “But there are fewer deaths even in the winter months. If heat had anything to do with it, there would be fewer deaths in all sectors during the summer months. Artis seems to fare the worst in the summer.”
“I didn’t say it was my speculation.”
She taps at her mouth, thinking. I can almost see the wheels in her brain turning, and the familiarity of it tugs at my heart. I have to shove the emotion away.
Aer a moment, she glances up again. “Consul Cherry. Arella.” “Yes.”
“e girls were gossiping about her, how she was seeking additional funding for her sector.”
“Gossiping? What girls?”
“On the day I was able to get into the palace. Serving girls. ey said that Consul Cherry and Consul Pelham had to be hatching a plot to eece silver from the king.” She pauses. “I didn’t know who they were at the time.”
I want to roll my eyes at the idle gossip, but something about this lodges in my head for examination later. “All the consuls seek additional funds for their sectors. ey expected Harristan to grant a funding request to Artis to build a new bridge, but it was declined, so I’m expecting them all to scramble to put a request together.”
“You don’t want Artis to build a bridge?”
My voice is dry. “Not one that costs four times as much as it should.”
Her mouth twists as she considers the implications of that, but then she looks back at the papers in front of her. “So Sunkeep has few deaths, but Emberridge and Moonlight Plains seem to have a healthier population—”
“Because they control the medicine. Allisander can’t guard his entire wall with dying soldiers.”
She looks up. “I’ve spent two hours reading all this to come to the same conclusions everyone here already knows, haven’t I?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I pull my pocket watch free. “You’ve spent three hours.”
She glances at the pitch-dark window, then at the brightly lit chandelier overhead. “It’s a wonder anyone here ever sleeps, when you can chase the night away.” She sti es a yawn.
“You should retire.”
“I thought you said this was going to take all night.”
“I said it was going to take me all night.” I set my own papers on the table. “I’ll see you to your room.”
“No!” She grabs hold of the armrests like I’m going to physically wrestle her out of her seat. “is is important.”
“I know.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “You knew people here were taking more medicine than they needed. Why didn’t you do something about it?”
“For one thing,” I say, “I don’t know that. Not with certainty. You’re the apothecary, not me.”
“You do know it. You’ve seen it.”
“Yes, I’ve seen it.” I pause. “And I’ve still seen people die, Tessa.”
She stares back at me, and I feel as though a wall of ice has formed between us.
“I’m not challenging your knowledge,” I say. “But it wasn’t enough. I didn’t have proof. And where would I say I’d gotten it? Do you think the King’s Justice could suddenly have suggestions on dosages and additives? We get hundreds of messages at the palace gates every day. A good portion of them declare the fevers are some kind of plot to keep the people subdued. Many promise miracle cures. None work.”
Her eyes narrow further. “Mine isn’t a miracle cure. It’s better medicine.” “I know. But the Royal Sector is rationed just like all the others. Anyone
who takes more than their allotted dose is spending their own silver. I can’t control what people want to spend their money on.”
“Your brother can.”
“Oh, you think so?” My eyebrows go up. “I cannot simply take a hypothesis, snap my ngers, and have my brother turn it into a royal decree.”
She frowns.
I lean in against the table. “Can you imagine the outcry if Harristan told his subjects they couldn’t purchase as much as they want? Can you imagine Allisander’s reaction? Or . . . anyone’s, really? e hoarding, the panic? Every sector has pockets of wealth. Every consul purchases more than their allotment. ere is too much fear already. Even if you are able to prove that we can make the medicine stretch further, it may not matter.”
“But your brother is the king! Why can’t he make Allisander provide more?”
“By law, the consuls can set the prices on their sector’s exports. But say Harristan overturned that law, and suddenly Moon ower petals were free. Who pays the thousands of people who harvest the petals in Allisander’s sector? What motivation does Allisander have to keep his elds in good condition?” I pause. “And then, what’s to stop other sectors from hoarding their goods in fear that we’ll seize those assets as well?”
I see her expression and sigh. “We buy what we can from the taxes we
collect, and we distribute it among the people. But there is never enough: not enough silver, not enough Moon ower. Ruling a country takes more than just medicine, Tessa. We’re stretched thin everywhere. Jonas asked for
too much money to build his bridge—but he surely still needs one. His people are just too sick to efficiently build it.”
Her frown deepens. “So you think this is hopeless.”
“Sickness has plagued Kandala for years. If royal physicians and advisers have not been able to discover a pattern as to who is affected by the fevers, then we are unlikely to overturn it in this room in the dead of night.”
She picks up her piece of paper again, sighing through her teeth. “Well, they haven’t had to.”
I’ve been in this room and gone through documents just like this many times. I’ve seen the same glimmer of hope that shines in her eyes die in a dozen others. I could call for the physicians and advisers to join us right this minute, and I’d watch it again.
I think of the way Harristan read every single request for leniency on the day we were to execute the eight prisoners, or the way he sent me all of these documents and granted Tessa an audience with the royal apothecaries. I’ve been thinking he was indulging me for keeping her here, but maybe it’s something else.
“Harristan doesn’t think it’s hopeless,” I say. Her eyes li. “How do you know that?” “Because you’re here.”
She bites at her lip, considering that—but then she sets down the papers and rubs at her eyes. “Well. Like you said, I don’t think the answer is in these documents.”
“Very well.” Aer the way she clutched at her chair, I didn’t expect her to give up so easily. I’m surprised that I don’t want her to give up so easily. “I’ll see you to your quarters.”
“Oh, I’m not done.” She taps the table decisively. “I need to see a map.”
 |
Sleepy servants bring half a dozen maps, as well as a tray of black tea and warm muffins, with pots of honey, milk, jam, and sliced berries arranged around a small pot of pink and lavender blooms. ey set cups and saucers in front of us both, but Tessa ignores everything in favor of the rst map. It unfurls across the next table, and she slides her ngers along the edge, surveying it.
“Tell me your thoughts,” I say.
“Maybe it’s not the weather in Sunkeep that makes a difference. ey have the greatest exposure to the ocean.” She points to the southernmost sector, running her nger along the lengthy border. “Which makes me wonder if there is something about the ocean that has some kind of . . . preventive effect.”
“Emberridge, Artis, and Steel City also border the ocean,” I say.
She makes a face. “Well, yes.” She points to the eastern border, running her nger along the edge. “But these are cliffs along the oceanside of Emberridge and Artis, right? So they don’t have as much access to the water.”
“at’s true.” I pause, surveying the map. “But Steel City and Artis share a port where the Queen’s River joins with the ocean.” I point to it. “And the Queen’s River runs straight through both Emberridge and Artis.” I point to the western side of Kandala. “Here, the Flaming River runs alongside Moonlight Plains and the Sorrowlands and also joins with the ocean. Nearly every sector has direct access to free- owing water.”
She looks at me. “Except the Royal Sector.”
“To prevent an attack by sea—but the Royal Sector is just as affected by the fevers, despite our water sources.” Unbidden, my thoughts turn to Harristan. I’ve hardly seen him today, so I have no idea if his cough has returned. A small spike of fear enters my heart and lodges there.
He was ne when he came to my chambers. He must be ne now.
One servant has lingered, fastidiously wiping a drip of tea from the silver platter. Hoping to catch an earful of gossip, no doubt. “Leave us,” I snap.
He jumps, then offers a quick bow and leaves. I look back at Tessa. “Continue.”
Her eyes are dark with reproach. “You don’t have to be so cruel.”
I drop into a chair. Worry for my brother has caused my mood to sour. “I didn’t kill you and Allisander threatened to stop shipments of the Moon ower, so I beg to differ.”
She glares at me.
I glare right back. “Continue.”
She looks at the map, then back at me. e censure hasn’t le her eyes.
“I bring nightmares to life,” I say. “If you think a dark look will affect me, you will quickly learn otherwise.”
She hesitates, then sighs. “Perhaps there is something different about the sea life, then.”
It takes me a moment to realize she’s talking about Sunkeep again. “Mistress Solomon uses ground seashells in one of her fever lotions,”
Tessa continues. “It’s ridiculously expensive because the shells have to travel so far, but it is one of her few concoctions that actually seems to make a difference. I always thought it might be the white willow bark, but maybe—” “Wait.” I sit straight up. “Something other than the Moon ower can cure
the fevers?”
“Well—no. But the lotion does seem to make the fevers more manageable, so the Moon ower elixir is more effective.” She grimaces. “Maybe. Honestly, I think that all she’s really selling is a cheaper version of hope to desperate people.”
Desperate. Like I just was. I sit back in the chair and run my hands over my face. e room is so silent I can nearly hear the gears shi in my pocket watch.
I need to move. If I keep sitting here, I’ll spin worry into a frenzy. I shove away from my chair and move to the window. e sky above is dark and thick with stars, but the Royal Sector makes for a ne match, random candles and electric lights twinkling throughout the city. e Hold is a massive rectangular building, easily spotted because torches burn all night beside the men standing guard. In the distance, the spotlights sweep along the wall.
Fabric rustles as Tessa leaves her chair and moves to join me. Her voice is very low, very quiet. “You’re worried for your brother.”
“e king needs no one’s worry, least of all mine.” She hesitates. “Others must suspect he is sick.”
“He’s not sick.” I want my voice to be hard, to scare her away from this line of conversation, but it’s not. I sound petulant. Worse: I sound so. Weak and afraid.
Without warning, her hand closes on mine, and she gives it a light squeeze.
I look at her in surprise, but her eyes are on the city lights, and she lets go of my hand so gently that it feels like I imagined the touch.
Especially when her voice is all business again as she says, “What about Ostriary?”
I blink. “What?”
Ostriary is the kingdom on the opposite side of the Flaming River, which runs along the western side of Kandala. e river is rough, fast- owing, and wide—over een miles wide in spots—which would make trade difficult in the best of conditions. But on the opposite shore, Ostriary’s terrain is dense marshland in the south and mountainous in the north, making for treacherous travel. We don’t have a hostile relationship with Ostriary—but thanks to the difficulty of travel, we don’t have a very good one either. Our father had just begun sending emissaries into the region to see whether it would be worthwhile to try to establish trade routes, but then he was killed and Harristan was le to deal with a dying population.
“Are they affected by the fevers?” says Tessa. “I don’t know,” I say.
“Don’t you think it’s worth nding out?”
I inhale to reject the notion—but it’s not a bad question. I look at her. “Maybe.”
“If the Moon ower grows in the north here, maybe it grows in the north there. And if they’re not sick there, maybe you’d be able to get it for—”
“ese are a lot of ifs and maybes.” I pause, mentally tabulating how much silver it would take to out t ships that could withstand the river current and hire people willing to take on the task of traveling and mapping unknown terrain. “It would be costly, too. I’m not sure Harristan would be able to justify the expense.”
at said, Allisander would hate the idea. at alone makes me want to draw up a funding request this very minute.
Tessa sighs. I sigh.
I wish she hadn’t let go of my hand so quickly. e motion was meaningless, I’m sure of it. e same momentary compassion she would give to a worried mother when we wore masks and tried to help the few we could.
You don’t have to be so cruel.
She may have felt something for Weston Lark, but she hates Prince Corrick.
“It’s worth discussion,” I offer.
She turns to look up at me in surprise, her eyes lighting up. “Really?”
She’s so heartfelt about everything she does that I nearly smile at her reaction. “You’re at court now, so you shouldn’t be so earnest.”
“What on earth does that mean?”
“You should say, ‘If that’s the best you can do, Your Highness.’ ” I say this with an intonation that sounds a lot like how I mock Allisander in my head. “Or, ‘I suppose that will do for now,’ with a heavy sigh so it’s clear you’re unsatis ed.”
She folds her arms across her chest and looks back out at the city. “Well, that’s just ridiculous.”
I laugh.
She startles, then frowns.
A weight drops between us again, hot and sudden. I don’t know what just happened.
Tessa swallows. “You remind me so much of Wes when you laugh.” Her eyes gleam. “I can’t tell who’s real and who’s the illusion.”
ose words carry so much pain that I nearly inch. I hold my breath for a moment.
I reach out and touch her hand the way she just did to me. e way we did a hundred times in the woods, when the nights were too difficult.
I wait for her to pull away, but she doesn’t. I close my ngers around hers, and we stare out at the lights of the city.
“You see through all my illusions,” I say, and my voice is rough.
She turns to look up at me, and I hate that there’s hope in her eyes. It reminds me so much of our last night in the woods, when I promised to return—and then I didn’t. I’m destined to disappoint her. ere’s a prison full of smugglers that are proof enough of that.
Even still, I can’t let go.
I li my other hand to touch her face, tentatively at rst, but then more sure when she doesn’t pull away. “You remind me of how it felt to be Wes.”
Her breathing shakes, and her eyes fall closed. “I hate you.”
“I know.” My thumb strokes across her mouth, and her lips part. We’re closer somehow, all but sharing breath.
en her eyes open, and she gasps. She puts her free hand in the gap between our faces, her ngertips against my mouth. Her eyes blaze into mine.
I want to take her hand and push it out of the way. I want to press my mouth to hers. I want my hands on her waist, on her back, on every inch of skin this gown leaves bare—and some inches that it does not. I want her scent in my head and her taste on my tongue and her arms wound around my neck.
I can’t move. I want her to want those things, too. “You’re not Wes,” she whispers.
e words hit me like an arrow, and I step back. e distance between us is suddenly immeasurable.
Light and sound explode outside the window, so bright and loud that I jerk her away from the glass. We stumble back six feet, but nothing comes close to the palace. Fire has erupted a few blocks away, at the Hold, ames billowing high into the night. I can already hear shouts from distant parts of the palace, and people running in the streets down below.
“What—what’s happening—” she begins.
“Guards!” I shout. e door to the room swings open, and guards burst in.
Another explosion in the city makes the windowpanes rattle. Near the Hold again. e ames are three stories high. e alarms in the sector start blaring.
Another explosion. I don’t inch this time. Another.
A guard is speaking to me. “Your Highness. You should move away from the windows.”
But I can’t. I can’t look away.
e Royal Sector is on re.
