Idon’t know what’s more embarrassing: that I couldn’t stab him, or that I threw up on him.
Either way, I’ve been given some time to figure it out, because Rian needs to change his clothes. Or at least his boots. We’ve been invited into the palace, left to wait in a grand room that was probably designed for hosting balls or parties or fancy galas. The ceiling stretches high above us, unlit chandeliers strung from glistening silver chains everywhere I look. The walls are all painted in stunning murals that span the width of the room, featuring landscapes that must display each of the islands of Ostriary. This must have been a stunning room at one time, but signs of war have crept in here, too: burn marks mar one of the windowsills, blades have slashed through one of the painted walls, and there are stains in some of the woodwork that I don’t want to examine too closely. Even the furniture is surprisingly sparse, as if much of it has been removed. There are only a few low chairs and a table near the windows, though there are signs of fading on the parquet floor, indicating spots where rugs and furniture once sat.
Loss clings to this room as tightly as it clung to the harbor outside.
You must understand.
I don’t want to understand.
But I think I do.
Two guards have followed us in, but they remain by the door. Rocco stays closer to me, but he takes a place by the wall, and I realize he’s positioned himself so he can watch me while also seeing most of the room—windows and all.
I want to ask if he’s nervous, but I don’t want the guards to hear me. It hasn’t escaped my notice that his crossbow has a bolt loaded.
I’m probably supposed to leave him alone, to allow him to be an invisible guard the way the king or Corrick would, but I can’t do that. When I shift close to Rocco, his eyes stay on the room.
“Throwing up on him probably wasn’t the most elegant way to start things,” I whisper.
He doesn’t smile, but the skin around his eyes crinkles a little. “I guarantee it was unexpected.”
“I’m too angry at him,” I say. “I don’t know if I can talk to him.”
“Even if you can’t convince him to return us to Kandala, it would be better to leave here alive, so please remind your anger that I can’t fight off a hundred guards alone.”
That’s sobering. “They took my dagger.”
He finally pulls his eyes off the room and looks at me. “Again, there is more than one way to fight, Miss Tessa.”
I look back at him and nod.
Footsteps echo from the other side of the room, and I turn with my heart in my throat, expecting Rian. But it’s not him—it’s a woman carrying a tray of food, with a little girl skipping along beside her.
“Dabriel,” I say in surprise, recognizing the cook from on board the Dawn Chaser. The little girl beside her is Anya, the daughter of Rian’s first lieutenant, Gwyn Tagas.
Well, at least she said she was his first lieutenant. I have no idea if anyone was who they said they were.
But Dabriel gives me a brisk nod and sets the tray on the table. “Tessa,” she says a bit gruffly. “I’m glad you returned so soon. One more day and I would’ve had to pay Tor.”
“I . . .” I blink. “What?”
Little Anya grabs hold of my hand before I get an answer. “Miss Tessa,” she says solemnly. “I know you were gone because you were very sad, but I’m glad you came back.”
Without waiting for a response, she hugs me around the waist, her sleeves drawing back to reveal the scars along the brown skin of her arms.
“I am very sad,” I whisper, but there’s something so earnest in the way she’s hugging me, and somehow it doesn’t summon my tears.
“Me too,” she says.
But then Dabriel says, “Tor didn’t think you’d ever talk to him again. I bet him a week’s pay you’d be here by tomorrow, and it looks like I was right.”
She was gruff and no-nonsense on the ship, and it seems like that hasn’t changed on land. “I’m . . . glad I could help,” I say.
“I brought some coffee and warm bread,” she says. “Real milk this time, no powder.” She hesitates, then glances at my stomach. “But if you’re in a different way and you’d like something else, let me know.”
“ ‘In a different way’?” I echo.
She stares at me and flicks her eyes at my abdomen again.
Anya pulls back, then pats my belly. “Dabriel said that babies make you feel like you’re seasick sometimes, so—”
“No!” I say quickly, and I practically shove the little girl’s hand away from my belly. “No, I’m not pregnant.”
Dabriel looks back at me, then arches an eyebrow. “There’s no little princeling in there?”
“Absolutely not! We never—he never—” My cheeks must be on fire, and I clench my jaw. “No. There is not.”
“Then why did you vomit on Rian?”
“Because I hate him.”
The words echo in the vastness of the room, the intensity of my emotion seeming to fill the space. Dabriel and Anya stare at me for a long moment as the last reverberations of my words fades.
Then Rian speaks from somewhere behind me. “Dabriel. Anya. Thank you for bringing some food. I’ll speak with Miss Cade alone.”
The heat on my cheeks stays right where it is—but my hands curl into fists. I can’t turn to look at him. All my emotions are still colliding.
“Send word if you need anything else,” Dabriel says. She gives me a nod, then turns to leave. Little Anya goes skipping after her.
But before she reaches the door, Anya stops and turns. “Don’t hate him, Miss Tessa,” she calls, followed by, “I don’t hate you, Rian.” But then Dabriel must shush her, because there’s a muffled sound, followed by an echoing silence.
In it, I can hear every beat of my heart.
After a moment, I hear the shift of Rian’s boots, too, as he comes around to face me. I don’t want to meet his eyes, so I focus on his jaw, on his throat, on the stitched leather collar of his jacket.
“You should probably stay out of reach,” I say.
“I’ll take my chances,” he says. “Come. Sit. Have some coffee.” He pauses. “If you think you can stomach it.”
That draws my gaze up. “Would you all stop?” I snap. “I am not pregnant.”
“I didn’t mean to imply you were. I was just being kind, Miss Cade.” He pauses. “And possibly self-preserving. I do have a limited supply of boots.”
I hate that he’s being so mild. Every muscle in my body just wants to claw at him.
“Please,” he says. “Come. Sit.”
Fine. I’ll sit.
He doesn’t offer again. He just pours me a cup of coffee, then adds milk and sugar the way he did on the ship. The scent is heavenly, and I want to ask him to pour some for Rocco, too, but I remember what the guardsman said about my position. I don’t want to weaken myself.
He sets the coffee in front of me, then serves me a slice of the bread, which looks to be crusted with cinnamon and sugar.
I don’t touch either.
He serves himself some, then sits and takes a sip of coffee. “What do you think of Fairde?” he says, as if I’m here on a social call and there weren’t deaths and betrayals between us.
Fine. I can play this game.
“It’s very warm here,” I say.
“Warmer than your Royal Sector, I’ll agree.” He takes another sip. “Did you have a pleasant journey?”
I think about Olive and the way she said she didn’t trust him, but I keep that to myself. I’m not sure I want to lead with the fact that we were shot at. It doesn’t seem smart to lead with vulnerabilities.
“Pleasant enough. It was a long walk.” I consider what Rocco said about horses and how long it took to get here. “Last week you offered horses and livestock, and I declined, because we hadn’t had time to consider.” I smooth my hands on my skirts and fix my gaze on the collar of his jacket again. Speaking to King Harristan was always a bit terrifying because he was so intense. Rian is nothing like that, but I’m desperate to regain some footing after the way we arrived here. “I’ve had time for some reflection, so I’d like to request both to be delivered to the house as soon as possible.”
His eyebrows go up. “Was this reflection on your part, Miss Cade?” His eyes flick to Rocco, standing quietly along the wall.
“Yes, after discussion with my guard,” I say.
Those words land with a bit of weight, and Rian’s eyes don’t leave Rocco’s position. After a moment, his gaze returns to me. “Your guard?”
Maybe I shouldn’t be calling him mine, but I don’t want to backpedal. “Yes.”
Rian’s expression turns a little more coolly assessing, and I wonder if he’s going to ask what kind of person begins by trying to stab him, then starts asking for favors.
But he doesn’t. “Very well,” he says. “I can outfit you with two horses and a wagon to return, and enough silver to buy chickens and a goat when you pass back through town. Dabriel can give you the names of some vendors, or I can ask her to accompany you. Would that be sufficient?”
I hesitate, and it takes everything I have not to look at Rocco for confirmation. “Yes,” I say again. “Thank you.”
As soon as I say the words, I wish I hadn’t. I don’t want to thank him for anything.
I wait for him to demand something of me, but he doesn’t. He simply nods. “You’re welcome, Miss Cade.”
Miss Cade.He keeps calling me that, though he called me Tessa before I tried to hit him.
But it makes me think of his name, and I study the line of his jaw because I still don’t want to meet his eyes. “I don’t know what to call you.”
He frowns a little. “You can call me Rian, as before. Everyone does.”
“Is it really your name?”
He nods. “I didn’t lie on the ship. It is a nickname from childhood, a shortened form of my middle name. I didn’t lie at dinner with King Harristan either. My father—the last king—had a complicated family tree, and there was no clear heir to the throne. I was named Galen after my mother’s brother, and Redstone was her surname. I was a captain on a ship before I ever made a claim for the throne, so I’ll never expect anyone to address me as royalty. It still takes me by surprise when people do it.” He pauses for a long moment, then leans toward me. “I tried not to lie about much at all. Truly.”
I keep my eyes locked on that spot on his collar, studying each individual thread. “You lied about enough.”
He sits back in his chair. “I offered Prince Corrick the truth, before he died. I’d offer you the same, if you’re ready to hear it.”
Before he died.My heart gives a lurch, and I clench my hands in the fabric of my dress to keep from shuddering. I wish I still had the dagger. Maybe it’s better that I don’t.
Rian’s voice softens. “But it doesn’t need to be today.” He leans forward again. “Please. I know you’re grieving. I don’t want to be your enemy.”
“You killed him!” I shout, and for the first time, I really look at him. “Corrick, and Lochlan, and Kilbourne, and Silas—”
“No!” His voice is just as angry, and just as loud, and it shocks me still. “I didn’t.”
The echo of our voices reverberates like a bell, and I can feel my fingernails nearly drawing blood from my palms.
“Your lies convinced us to get on that ship,” I say, seething.
“Well, his lies put us in danger. Again, I told him to stay out of that room, but you took it upon yourself to break the lock. I told him that it would be a risk for ships to attempt to follow us, and brigantines were on the horizon by the third day. I told him—”
“You were keeping a girl prisoner.”
“Yes, so we would have leverage to get past Oren Crane safely. And because she was lost in the attack, we didn’t.” His eyes, so much lighter than Corrick’s, are so fierce. “I lost people, too, Tessa. My people died, too. Because of his lies. Because of your actions.”
“Don’t you see that the lies began with you?” I demand. “Don’t you see that you set everyone up to fail?”
“Is that what you think? From Ostriary’s point of view, the lies have always come from Kandala. You can’t even deny it! Your entire country is a breeding ground for treason and insurrection. I said no sailors, and he brought a sailor. Hell, he brought one of the leaders of your revolution onto my ship. The citizens of your country are being poisoned by Moonflower, and you say I set everyone up to fail? Why is it all right for your prince to lie and cheat and steal to protect his people, but you hold me to a different standard? Your people might have been dying—well, so were mine.” He smacks the table so forcefully that it echoes.
I’m breathing so hard. Tears might be on my cheeks.
Rian takes a deep breath, then lets it out slowly. He presses his palms together in front of his face.
But then his gaze flicks up. “If he’s your guard,” he says roughly, sitting back in his chair, “call him off.”
That makes me startle, and I turn my head to see that Rocco has moved away from the wall to stand at my shoulder.
“Rocco,” I say, and my voice is just as rough and shaky as Rian’s. “Stand down.”
I have to force my fingers to unclench from my skirts. I hate that Rian is right about so much of what he said. Corrick was also to blame for a lot of what went wrong.
So am I.
But my apothecary brain has seized on one word in the middle of his lecture, because it’s possibly the only word that would break through all my grief and rage and fear. I have to roll it around in my head to make sure he really said it, because out of everything, it’s the one part that doesn’t make sense.
“Wait.” I sit up straight, then swipe the tears out of my eyes. “Did you say poison?”
