Scorched bricks and splintered wood litter the oor, and remnants of smoke form a haze around the one remaining torch in this part of the Hold. Guards removed the bodies a while ago, but they haven’t returned. is part of the Hold isn’t usable, and I’m sure they think I’m long gone.
Allisander is. He didn’t last ve minutes.
I’m glad. I don’t want him here. I don’t want anyone here.
When we walked in, the prisoners were bound on the ground. For a moment, I thought both men were dead, because their faces were black with soot and their clothes were charred. e scent of burned esh was sickly sweet in the small space. It was obvious why they’d been caught so quickly.
ey probably hadn’t made it out of the Hold.
But then I saw the rise and fall of one’s chest, and the other made a pathetic keening sound.
Allisander was right behind me.
I wished they were dead. I wished they’d escaped. I wished Harristan would call a halt to all of this, instead of leaving me to prove how vicious we could be. I wished I were Wes, free to help, instead of Corrick, trapped by circumstance.
I wished. I wished. I wished.
All the while, Allisander was waiting.
I’m not usually the one with the blade or the arrow or the ax. I give the order and someone else provides the action. But tonight my thoughts were wild and scattered and if I opened my mouth to give an order, I worried I’d unravel everything my brother has worked so hard to hold together instead.
So I took a blade from the guard and cut their throats.
I held the weapon out for the guard to take it, but I kept my eyes on the consul. “Satis ed?” I asked him. My voice was rough, my hands sticky with
blood.
He was breathing hard, his nostrils aring like a panicked horse. Maybe he didn’t expect me to be so quick—or so brutal. Maybe he expected me to shy away from the violence.
“Yes,” he said.
“Good.”
en he was gone, and the guards were dragging the bodies out.
I’m sitting in the dust against the wall now. My hands are dark with dried blood, thick and black around my ngernails. e air feels thin and hard to breathe—but maybe that’s my chest, which has been gripped with dread since the moment I heard Tessa cry out for me to stop.
Here, you can only be Prince Corrick. You can only be the King’s Justice. I know, Quint. I know.
I press my ngers into my eyes. As always, I envy Harristan. Not for his throne, but for his ignorance of all this. His distance. His privilege.
Maybe that’s the same thing.
I keep telling myself that at least eight of them escaped, so it was only two. I keep telling myself that these men wouldn’t have lived much longer. I keep telling myself that what I just offered was a mercy, not cruelty, but I don’t know for sure.
I wish my head would empty itself of thoughts, that I could wrap my mind up in the darkness that lets me be who I need to be. Every time I try, I think of Tessa, her eyes dark with censure.
She’ll never forgive me. She’ll never let me touch her again.
I’ll never be free of this. Of who I am. is will be my life as King’s Justice: Cruel Corrick, the most feared man in the kingdom, and somehow also the most alone.
I want to scoff, but to my shock, my eyes prick and burn. I blink hard and swipe at my face. is is ridiculous. I haven’t cried since the day our parents died. I don’t want to cry now.
A tear falls anyway. I drag a sleeve across my face. It’s damp, and I realize I’m dragging blood across my cheek.
I bring nightmares to life, I said to Tessa. I’m very likely the living equivalent.
Somewhere in the darkness, a boot scrapes against the stone oor, and I jerk my head up. One of the guards must be returning.
I scramble to my feet. Swipe at my face again. Grit my teeth against everything I feel.
A new thought enters my brain, almost worse than the sorrow and dread. Prisoners escaped. ere was an attack on the Hold. is might be someone other than guards. I reach for my blade automatically.
It’s not there. I gave it to Tessa.
Alarm chases away the anguish. I grab a rock from the rubble and pull back into the shadows, peering through the hazy dimness, wondering if I’ve been very foolish in remaining here.
But then the light strikes a bit of silver and the shine of a black boot, and I recognize the palace guard uniform. I recognize Rocco, one of my brother’s personal guards.
My breath catches. Has Harristan come looking for me? He’s come here, to the Hold?
Relief hits me so fast and sudden it’s like a blast of wintry wind against all the hot sorrow. I nearly leap out of the shadows. For once, I won’t be alone here. I won’t be alone in . . . this.
I drop the rock and start forward. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but so much emotion has clawed its way up my throat that I’m worried I’m going to fall on my knees, clutch at my brother’s hands, and beg for a release from all this.
But it’s not my brother following the guard.
I stop short. My heart feels like it wants to explode from my chest. Every muscle tenses. at cool wind of relief turns into a hot wash of shame and vulnerability.
Tessa has stopped short, too, and I can tell from the shi in her expression that I was right: I am a living nightmare. Her lips part and her eyes widen and she sucks in a breath. “Oh,” she whispers. “Oh no.”
I want to be indifferent. I want to not care. I want so much that I can’t have.
I look at the guard. “She shouldn’t be here,” I say viciously. “Why would you bring her here?”
“I asked him to,” says Tessa—and for the rst time, her voice isn’t full of censure, it’s . . . mollifying. She steps toward me.
I step back. I keep my glare xed on Rocco. “Take her back to the palace.
Now.”
“No.” Tessa steps forward again. “Just—”
“Stop.” I pull back again. I can’t meet her eyes. “You shouldn’t be here.” “Please. It’ll be—”
“Go,” I snap. “Or I’ll lock you down here forever.” “No, you won’t.”
She reaches for me, and I jerk away. My boot catches on that rock I dropped, and I stumble back, tripping over a splintered beam of wood. My shoulders slam into the wall, and my ngers curl into sts. I’m breathing hard like a cornered animal.
She has the good sense to stop pursuing me. We stand there in the
ickering torchlight. Her hair is loose over her shoulders, her face clean- scrubbed, her clothes so simple I’m surprised she found them in her closet.
I’m wearing the same ne jacket I wore to dinner, but every inch of me is streaked with dirt and soaked in blood.
“No illusions now,” I say.
“No,” she agrees, her voice even.
I glance at Rocco who’s waiting not far behind her. “How did you get him to bring you here?”
“I asked him to nd you.”
“Where is Harristan?” I look at the guard, and a new worry lances my heart. “Why aren’t you with the king? What has happened?”
“His Majesty ordered that I attend to Miss Tessa,” he says impassively. “Your brother is ne,” says Tessa, and her voice is careful. Again, she’s seen
through me. “He had a coughing t aer you le, but he doesn’t—” I push off the wall. “He what?”
“He’s ne. No fever. I gave him some tea with honey and vallis lilies.” Her hand closes on my forearm and gives a gentle squeeze. “He’s ne.”
Something about her touch forces me still. My breathing slows fractionally.
Her eyes are piercing, though, and I worry she’s going to ask what I’ve done. She’ll ask, and I’ll tell her, and I’ll destroy any remaining ickers of . . . whatever is between us.
I was ready to kneel at my brother’s feet and beg for release. I’m ready to kneel at Tessa’s and beg forgiveness.
She slides her hand down my forearm and laces her ngers with mine. She doesn’t inch at the blood. My chest tightens at the thought of her
touching it.
Please, I think. Please don’t ask. Please don’t hate me anymore.
I hate myself enough.
I start to pull away, to draw back into the dark and shadows. Her grip on my hand forces me still.
“Walk with me?” she says.
I inhale to refuse. I want to sit in the dark and pray for the earth to swallow me whole.
Instead, I nod. She leads and I follow, and we step out of the crumbling bloodstained room and into the bright lights of the Royal Sector.
