The king makes for an intimidating audience, even with Quint at my side. It doesn’t help that the Palace Master looks as anxious as I feel. I speak haltingly at rst, the crackling of the re underscoring my words, but King Harristan says nothing as I tell him the story of my parents again, how they were killed by the night patrol—and Corrick stopped the same thing from happening to me. I tell him about the workshop, and the people we helped, and how I didn’t know who Prince Corrick really was until the night I was captured in the palace.
e king listens to all this patiently, and when I nally fall silent, he says, “How did you come to be in the rebel camp?”
I swallow. “Consul Sallister was threatening to withhold medicine if Corrick didn’t put a stop to the attacks on his supply runs. We’ve heard some whispers about the Benefactors, and I thought . . .” My mouth goes dry. “I thought people might talk to us if we returned as outlaws.”
He considers this for a moment. “And how did you leave the palace without being seen?”
My eyes ick to Quint before I can stop myself.
e king follows my gaze.
Quint inhales like he’s going to spin this, but King Harristan’s gaze is unyielding, and Quint sighs. “I helped.”
“And not for the rst time, I’m assuming,” says Harristan. “Or Tessa would not have asked for you to be here.”
Quint glances at me. “No, Your Majesty,” he concedes. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“is is not a time for apologies,” says Harristan. His eyes are on Quint now. “For how long?”
“For . . . years.”
“Years,” echoes Harristan. He frowns. “Why, Quint?”
“In the beginning . . . well, simply because Prince Corrick is the King’s Justice.” He says this as if it explains everything, and in a way, it does. “I wasn’t helping so much as turning a blind eye to his mysterious early morning absences. But then came a morning when he didn’t show for a breakfast with one of the consuls. I went to inquire, and his guards said he hadn’t le his quarters all morning. When I knocked, he let me in, and he was . . . in a state. He was lthy, with blisters on his hands. He’d watched a child die. A baby who coughed so hard she couldn’t breathe.”
“I remember that,” I say soly, and I do. e mother had the fever all through her pregnancy, but she kept taking the teas we brought, and the baby was born perfectly healthy. But within a week, the infant had a fever, and she succumbed to the cough right in front of us. I swallow. “He was
lthy because he helped the father dig a grave.”
“Yes,” says Quint. “He told me. He told me everything.” He glances at Harristan. “He was helping his people, Your Majesty. How is that treason?”
e weight in the room is potent.
Harristan runs a hand over the back of his neck. “I hate that he wouldn’t tell me.”
“He couldn’t—”
Harristan silences me with a look. “I know,” he says evenly. “I know what he risked.” He looks at Quint. “You should have told me.”
Quint says nothing. He doesn’t look afraid. He looks resigned.
I glare at the king. “You don’t make it easy to tell you anything at all,” I say. “Tessa,” breathes Quint.
“I’m not just talking about Quint,” I continue. “I’m talking about Corrick, too. You said you know what he risked, but I’m not sure you do. He let those rebels beat him nearly to death because he didn’t want to be used against you. He was willing to sacri ce his life to protect you. He doesn’t want to be cruel. He doesn’t want to kill anyone. He does these things to spare you from doing them. He wants to be honest and he wants to be just and he wants to be better. Not just for you. For all of Kandala. And you—well, you are a—”
“Tessa.”
It’s not Quint’s voice this time. It’s Corrick’s. He stands in the doorway, Rocco at his back. He’s a bit pale, the bruises on his face stark in the arti cial
light here in the palace. His hand is braced on the doorframe, his knuckles white where he grips the wood.
“Corrick,” I whisper.
He limps to the table, and I stand to help him, but he stops by my side. He brushes the back of his uninjured hand against mine, looping our ngers together, causing my heart to skip a beat. But his eyes are on the king. “You should be questioning Arella and Roydan, not chasing down my pastimes.”
Harristan looks from Corrick to Rocco. “What happened? Why are you here?”
“Allisander came to my cell. He said he plans to force you to make an example of me, or he and the other consuls will stand against you. He says he has enough of a force to pull it off.”
e king’s expression darkens. “He grows too bold.” “I agree. Which is why he’s locked in a cell.” “Corrick! You cannot—”
“is is beyond bold, Harristan. is is revolution, and it’s coming from all sides. I don’t know who he’s working with, but he’s talking about an attempt to remove you from power. e rebels in the Wilds have explosives from Trader’s Landing. We have no idea how they were able to get enough into the sector to attack the Hold, which means they could attack any other part of the sector, including the palace. We have no idea which consuls will ally with Sallister—or if they would even stand with us against a rebellion.”
I glance between him and the king. “You said Consul Sallister has his own army.”
“He does,” says Harristan. “Consul Marpetta has quite a force protecting Emberridge as well, but Lissa has always seemed content with the status quo.” He looks at Quint. “Which consuls are in the palace?”
“Nearly all of them,” says Quint. “Lissa Marpetta is the only one who returned to her sector.”
“e people of Artis are struggling,” I say. “I don’t know of any military force, and when I worked for Mistress Solomon, we would have heard of such a thing.”
“He wanted silver for a bridge,” says Corrick. “Allisander said we should have granted it. Remember when you told me that in public is all that matters? You were talking about me and Allisander—but I think they’re pretending to hate each other. I think Jonas is working with him.”
e king looks at him. “But they do—” He breaks off with a cough. His
ngers grip the edge of the table.
All the men exchange a glance, and Harristan doesn’t miss it. He glares at Corrick. “Stop it. I’ve told you before, I don’t need—” He coughs again.
“Here,” I say. I seize the teapot and pour hot water into a china cup, then add honey. I don’t have a scale, but I toss a few petals into the mortar bowl to grind them up. But as soon as I see the petals against the stone, I hesitate.
Harristan coughs again. “Tessa,” says Corrick.
“Hold on. I need to think.” I glance up, surveying the array of food. ere are no vallis lilies this time, but there are sprigs of thyme on the edge of one of the platters.
I shake the petals out onto the dark tablecloth, grind the thyme, and add it to the cup with the honey. “Here,” I say to Harristan. “Drink that.” en I look back at the white petals.
“What are you doing?” says Corrick.
“e petals are different.” I quickly divvy them up. “Look.” I point. “ose are clearly Moon ower. ose are . . . I’m not sure.”
“ey are very similar,” says Quint. Even Rocco draws close for a look. “e petals were like this in the rebel camp, too,” I say. I feel like I’m close
to guring something out, but I’m not quite there. “e ones they would have gotten from the Benefactors.”
Corrick’s expression is grave. “Or the ones they would have gotten from stolen shipments.” He pauses. “ey’re very close, Tessa. is could be a growing anomaly, or—”
“No! You were never the one to grind and measure. But there’s never been a . . . a growing anomaly.” I pause. “Corrick, you once said you never stole from the palace. Maybe—maybe—” My thoughts trip and stumble as I try to
gure this out. “I need my books. My father used to keep track of new herbs.”
Harristan coughs again, but it’s not as strong. “What does this mean?” “You drink the elixir here three times a day. What if . . .” My thoughts
churn. “What if someone realized you don’t really need as much? If you were sickly as a child, maybe you really do need more to keep the fevers at bay, but if someone is tampering with your supply . . .” I let my voice trail off.
“Wake the consuls,” says Harristan. His voice is rough. “We need to determine which shipment these petals came from. We need to determine if the supply was contaminated, or if someone—”
A shout echoes from the hallway, and he freezes. Another shout, followed by a crash, and then splintering wood. en a woman’s scream.
Harristan and Corrick exchange a glance. Rocco goes for the door.
An explosion rocks the palace, causing the oor to shake and the china to rattle. e lights are with blinding brightness before dying altogether, plunging the room into sudden ickering shadows from the hearth. Shouts and screams erupt in the hallway before another explosion occurs, somehow closer, making the windows rattle.
“Guards!” a man is shouting, but my heartbeat is so loud in my ears that everything is muffled. I’m distantly aware of a hand closing over my wrist, pulling me through the shadows. Something is burning, somewhere, a scent distinctly different from wood smoke, a bitter taste in the back of my throat.
Another explosion, and the windows shatter. I jump and scream.
Hands catch me, pulling me close. “Tessa.” Corrick’s voice in my ear, low and urgent. “Tessa, we have to run.”
en I hear the voices, the shouts in the hallway. Many are panicked, people terri ed of the explosions.
Some are not.
“Find the king,” a man yells, and I’m not sure how I can tell, but it’s not a guard.
“Shoot anyone you see,” calls another.
Smoke is lling the hallway now, and I hear glass shattering. A woman’s scream is abruptly silenced. Corrick tugs at my hand, and I follow into the darkness.
