I’d envisioned climbing the walls or returning through the tunnel with the king, but instead of heading toward the Royal Sector, Harristan chooses to head deeper into the Wilds. He said he wants to enter the sector through the gates, to have more guards at his back before we step into the fray. He le his jacket over his brother and stripped the rings from his ngers, then traded his jeweled dagger belt for the less adorned one that Quint wore. orin still has his weapons, but he’s also in his shirtsleeves because Harristan didn’t want anyone to see the royal insignia. In the dark, no one will know him. Hopefully, no one will look at us twice.
I’ve traveled these paths a million times with Corrick, but it’s entirely
different to walk with Harristan. e horns in the sector have gone quiet, but I can see the searchlights skipping over the wall at regular intervals. I keep glancing over at the king as if he’s going to vanish, like maybe everything has been a dream up till this point. e rst shadow of beard growth has grown to cover his jaw, making him look younger, less intimidating somehow. I consider Lochlan and some of the others, and I don’t know if that’s a good thing. e farther we walk, the more I become aware of the sound of his breathing, the wheeze that’s not quite a cough but sounds like it needs one.
“Do you need to rest?” I ask carefully, then quickly tack on, “Your Majesty?”
He glances at me. “No. Do you?” I frown but keep walking.
“And you can’t call me that,” he says. “Not here.” “Of course. I’m sorry.”
“What did my brother call himself?”
I almost don’t want to tell him, because for a eeting moment, I’m worried he’ll want to adopt it for his own, and Corrick’s secret persona is
something precious that only belongs to me. But that’s silly, and I’m too tired to think of a good lie, so I say, “Wes. Weston Lark.”
e king startles. “Really.” He gives a so laugh. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”
“Why?”
“Because that was his name when we would sneak into the Wilds as children.” He’s quiet for a moment, probably remembering it. “Do you know
—well, I suppose you wouldn’t. Weston and Lark were the names of Father’s hunting hounds.”
I giggle in spite of myself. “He named himself aer dogs?” “He did indeed.”
“What was your name?”
“Sullivan, aer the fastest horse in the stable. Corrick used to call me Sully for short.”
e fastest horse in the stable. I almost snort before catching myself. ey were such boys.
e thought, once it strikes me, is surprising for some reason. I’ve seen it in a dozen ways since I rst snuck into the palace, but their closeness is still startling. It’s the most humanizing thing about them. It’s the most . . . gentle thing about them.
“Tell me your thoughts, Tessa,” says Harristan, and because he doesn’t say it like an order, I do.
“I was thinking that you could be loved,” I say soly. “Even if your people are sick.”
He looks over at me and says nothing.
I blush and turn my eyes forward. “I was thinking that you’re not horrible, not really. And he’s not cruel. I have no idea what it was like to lose your parents, but I know what it was like to lose mine. I can’t imagine having to . .
. to rule a country aer that. When my parents died, I hated the night patrol. Who did you hate? Everyone in the palace?”
“Yes,” he says simply. His eyes are in shadow now, but the memory of loss is thick in the night air. “Well. Almost everyone.”
Corrick.
I reach out and touch his hand, giving it a sympathetic squeeze. It’s automatic, the way I’d do for Corrick—or anyone, really.
But the king looks at me in surprise, and I let him go. “Forgive me, Your— ah, Sully. Sullivan.”
I swallow.
He says nothing. orin, walking at our back, says nothing.
When my parents died, I had Corrick. In a way, he had Quint, and he had me.
Corrick hid so much of himself from his brother. To protect him, for sure, but it created a barrier between them. When their parents died, I wonder who Harristan had. I wonder if he had anyone at all.
When I glance at him again, he’s still watching me. “I’m the king,” he says. “I don’t deserve anyone’s pity.” “I don’t pity you.”
“You’re a terrible liar, Tessa.” He shakes his head and looks forward—then stops short so suddenly that orin draws a blade behind us.
But the king is merely staring. We’ve reached the clearing before the gates. It’s deserted—which isn’t too surprising for the middle of the night. e sound of shouts and screams echo from farther into the sector. But here, the gates have been blown off their hinges, and they’re lying in mangled twists of steel on the ground. e guard station is deserted.
e bodies that once hung beside the gates are gone, replaced with huge white sheets painted with one word.
Revolt.
“I’d hoped for guards,” King Harristan says. He looks at orin. “Advise.”
e guard takes no time at all to consider. “We can travel through side streets, though we don’t know how much damage has been done to the sector. ere may be looters.” He pauses. “I don’t like the idea of being on foot. We could try for horses at Fosters’ Livery—but it’s not far from the palace, and it will be a risk if the rebels have been there rst.”
“I don’t think rebels will go for the horses,” I say, and they both look at me. “Not many people in the Wilds know how to ride—and I didn’t see evidence of horses in either of the rebel camps I saw.” I pause. “It wouldn’t occur to me to get a horse. People in the Wilds are used to doing everything for ourselves—including walking.”
e king nods. “Fosters’ Livery it is.”
