The first knock at the door comes at midnight, and it makes me immediately regret my promise of any time.
The small house is dark, the fire still burning in the tiny hearth, throwing shadows everywhere. It’s so quiet that for a moment, I sit up in bed and wonder if I dreamed the sound of the knock.
But then the shadows shift and Thorin appears beside the door. He looks to me. “Your Majesty?”
I run a hand over my face, then nod. “Go ahead. Open the door. I did say day or night.”
“Wait!” Quint hisses from the other side of the room. “A moment, please.”
I think he must be in some state of undress, but he’s not. Instead, he strides across the room, fetches my tunic from where I tossed it at the end of the bed, and holds it out to me.
I stare at him.
He doesn’t falter. “I thought you might not want to greet your people shirtless,” he says, and my eyes narrow.
Another knock sounds at the door, louder this time.
I snatch the tunic out of Quint’s hand. “Go ahead,” I say to Thorin again. As I pull the tunic over my head, I realize we’re the only three in the dimly lit room. “Has Saeth not returned from patrol?”
“No,” says Thorin, and in that one word, I can hear his concern. But then he opens the door.
I’m wondering if it will be another group of men with axes and hammers, but I’m surprised to find a middle-aged woman on the doorstep. Her graying hair is in a long braid hanging over her shoulder, and she’s wringing her hands.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I know it’s late—”
“It’s fine,” I say. “Come in.”
Quint is already lighting the candles on the table, drawing the chairs back. The woman hesitates in the doorway, glancing from me to Thorin and then to Quint. Her handwringing turns to fingers gripping knuckles, and she appears ready to flee.
“I shouldn’t be here,” she says quickly. “My husband didn’t want me to come. I—I had to wait for him to fall asleep. I—I’ll just—” She backs through the door.
“Wait,” I say, but she’s already off the small porch. By the time I make it to the doorway, she’s in the yard, scurrying into the darkness. “Please,” I call. “Wait. I’ll hear whatever you have to say.”
She stops before she reaches the trees. “I heard that you granted amnesty to those who held the Royal Sector.”
I step down off the porch, but as soon as my bare feet touch the dirt, she looks like she might bolt, so I just nod. “I did.”
“I wasn’t there. That night. I—I wasn’t there.”
I frown. I’m not sure what she’s trying to tell me. “But you were a part of it?”
She takes another step closer to the trees, until she’s almost invisible in the darkness. “I’m not admitting anything.”
Talking to people in the Wilds is so very different from talking to people in the palace. In the Royal Sector, everyone always has a hidden agenda. Words are barbed like weapons, and every syllable is calculated. I’m generally good at sensing when the consuls are lying to me, to say nothing of the courtiers who simper at dinner every night. I have no hesitation in cutting through their nonsense. If I’m not decisive and sharp, it’s seen as weakness. They circle me like sharks who sense blood in the water.
If I’m sharp with this woman, there’s a good chance I’ll never see her again, so I sit down on the step. “Are you worried I’ll punish you if you were?” I say quietly. “Amnesty wasn’t just for people who were there that night. I know you were all desperate. I said I wanted things to change, and I meant it. You can speak freely.” I lean forward, then brace my forearms on my knees. “Besides, it may not be obvious, but I’m currently without a throne. Truly, you have nothing to fear.”
She’s silent for a while, considering that, but she eventually draws closer, pulling her shawl tightly around her shoulders. I glared at Quint when he offered me the tunic, but now I’m glad for it, because there’s a chill in the night air. My bare feet are freezing against the ground, but I’m worried she’ll bolt again if I stand up.
I gesture beside me. “Please. Sit.”
She regards me for a moment, then eases forward to gingerly perch on the step beside me.
“What’s your name?” I say.
“Annabeth, sir. King? Your Majesty.” She frowns and tugs her shawl closer, then bites her lip. “I—I don’t know what to call you. A lot of people have been calling you the Fox.”
The Fox.Violet started that, when I was an outlaw leaving coins on steps and stumps and windowsills. Now that I’m living among them, I wonder if it’s easier to think of me as someone separate from the king. As if I’m not the man who, in their eyes, simply lazed about the palace and allowed his brother to execute people for stealing medicine they needed to survive.
A lot of them used to call me Horrible Harristan, the way they called my brother Cruel Corrick.
Annabeth didn’t show up with an ax, so she can honestly call me whatever she wants.
I glance over. “You don’t have to be formal. Fox is fine.”
A bit of light flares behind us, and I realize Quint is lighting the lanterns.
And in that light, I notice there are tears on Annabeth’s cheeks.
“Please,” I say. “You came here to talk to me. I’ll listen.”
She takes a slow breath, and her voice trembles. “I know the men are ready to charge the Royal Sector like they did before. But they wouldn’t have been able to do it if we hadn’t hit critical parts of the city. It was the women who figured out where to lay the explosives.”
I’m glad I have a lifetime of experience at keeping any hint of emotion off my face, including every gruesome execution Corrick forced me to witness, so I don’t even blink.
“How?” I say.
“My cousin is a day maid in the palace,” she says quietly. “She snuck us some uniforms. Piece by piece. We made more. We’ve been able to slip inside.”
I keep my breathing very slow and even, but my heart feels like a galloping horse. The people in the Wilds speak openly about revolution, but this is the first time someone has directly admitted their own specific role in what happened during the attack on the sector.
“Who is your cousin?” I say.
She says nothing. It’s clear she still doesn’t trust me. I’m shocked she offered this much. I know they don’t have any explosives left. “The Benefactors” have stopped providing money and medicine, and I ordered that any shipments from Trader’s Landing be thoroughly searched following the attacks. They’re not getting any more.
“You had to be working with the guards,” I say. “They know the maids. A stranger wouldn’t have been able to sneak in, even with a uniform.”
Though Tessa snuck in, I remember.
“No.” Annabeth hesitates. “Though—”
A shadowed figure steps out of the trees, and her head snaps up in alarm. A boot scrapes on the porch behind me, and I realize Thorin has spotted the figure, too. I’m frozen in place, remembering the crowd who showed up with axes, but then enough light reveals Saeth. A bit of the tightness in my chest loosens. “It’s all right,” I say. “My other guard is just returning from patrol.”
But Annabeth has been spooked, and she’s already off the step and into the shadows. “I need to return before my husband realizes I’m gone.”
“Please,” I say. “At least tell me—”
But she’s slipped into the trees.
“I can go after her,” Thorin says quietly.
“No,” I say. She barely trusted me enough to reveal this much. I’ll wait and see if she comes back.
Saeth has drawn closer, and now I can see stains on his tunic, and a dark streak across one side of his face.
I’m on my feet in an instant. “Are you hurt?” I demand.
“No, Your Majesty.” He grimaces. “Well. Not badly. The night patrol started searching homes a few miles south of here. I picked a fight to give them a different quarry. Then I had to wait for them to stop chasing me.”
A few miles south.That’s close. Possibly too close.
At my back, Quint says, “Were they searching for the king?”
“No, they were looking for smugglers.” Saeth has moved close enough to the light that I can see bruising along his jaw now, and blood on his lip. He’s not very old, probably not much more than thirty, but his eyes are shadowed and tired, and sweat threads his hair. “I led them into Steel City and through the merchants’ quarter, then lost them somewhere after we crossed into Artis.”
That’s a lot of ground to cover, and my guards haven’t been going out on horseback. We’re hamstrung in so many ways. “On foot?” I say.
Saeth nods.
“Sit,” I say, gesturing to the step. I glance behind me. “Quint, fetch him some—”
But when I look, Quint already has a cup of water, along with a damp rag. Saeth drops onto the step, his movement heavy with exhaustion, and he takes both. He runs the rag across the back of his neck, then drains the water without taking a breath.
I want to give him time to recover, but if the night patrol is searching for me, we don’t have time. I ease onto the step beside him.
“Advise,” I say quietly. “Do we need to move?”
He shakes his head. “No, Your Majesty. I lost them miles ago. I doubled back through the creek half a dozen times to cover my tracks.”
But still. That was very close. “If they came this way once, they’ll do it again.”
He nods, then wipes the rag against his cheek, wincing when it finds broken skin. “I don’t remember the night patrol being that determined.”
“Someone is paying them to be more determined.” I imagine it’s Allisander, or one of his barons. I keep thinking of Arella Cherry working with the head of the palace guard, though. I still don’t know how or why they’re tricking people into thinking I’m poisoning them. “They know I’m out here somewhere.”
Saeth nods and looks out at the night, but he says nothing to that.
As always, there are so many people, so many angles, so many worries to consider. I have all of Kandala to think of, but when I’m sitting here in the dark, it’s hard to cast my concerns beyond the people in front of me. Like Annabeth, who came to tell me about her means to sneak into the palace. Like Quint, who’s whisked away Saeth’s water cup to refill it without being asked.
Like the man at my side, who must have run for miles tonight, just to protect me.
All while worried about a family that he hasn’t seen in more than a week.
When I was first crowned king after my parents’ assassination, I had to choose my own personal guard. It would have been easy to use the same men my father had used. As the crown prince, I knew them all, and was familiar with each one of them.
But my mother and father had died on their watch, and in the days after it happened, I found I didn’t trust any of them.
So I discharged them all.
When it came time to interview applicants to staff my own personal guard, however, I found it more challenging than I expected. It didn’t help that I had years of hearing little remarks about my illnesses, little snickers about my frail health, little moments of mockery behind my back when I would pass. Comments that weren’t quite soft enough for me to ignore—especially when they were coming from the hall guards themselves. Comments that would have been petty to address but sat under my skin for weeks.
I would sit across the table from each man and woman and try to remember if it was someone who’d mocked me behind my back, or if it was someone I could trust with my life. Until our parents were slaughtered right in front of us, we rarely faced any threats. But suddenly I was trying to discern which guards would truly risk their life to save mine, when a week before I was trying my best to ignore them.
But for some reason I’d remembered Saeth from when he’d been among the general guard. I don’t remember what he said during his interview, and it probably didn’t matter. When he sat down at the table, he’d looked familiar, and it only took me a second to remember why. He’d been a hall guard when I was younger, and some footmen were whispering when I passed. Saeth had snapped at them to stop.
He was one of the first guards I chose.
I should’ve known he had a family.
It’s quiet and cold and dark, and I think Quint and Thorin have gone back in the house, so I say, “Ben told me about your wife and children. That you’ve been worried.”
Saeth goes absolutely rigid, and his head whips around, but he doesn’t look at me. He’s looking for Thorin.
“He didn’t betray you,” I say.
“He shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Saeth. Adam. I asked him. I should’ve asked earlier.”
He glares at the door, then gives an aggravated sigh and runs the rag over his neck again. “Leah knows the risks. She’s a brave girl. She’ll take care of them, Your Majesty. You shouldn’t have to trouble yourself.”
Every word of that sounds like he’s trying to convince himself.
“If I could give you leave to return home,” I say, “I would.”
“I’d be arrested,” he says. “I’m sure they’re watching her.”
“No doubt.”
His throat jerks as he swallows, and his jaw is set, his eyes fixed on the trees. “I won’t abandon Thorin either.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” I pause. “If we could manage it safely, would you be willing to bring them here?”
He goes still again.
“Thorin suggested approaching two of the younger members of my personal guard,” I say. “Reed and Sommer. You know them?”
He nods. “Yes.”
“Karri is gone, but it could be some time before we hear back from any of the consuls. We need more insight from inside the palace. From the Royal Sector. The men here are ready to fight, and it’s time to make a small move. We have a plan. If the men can quietly bring Reed and Sommer without notice, I would ask them to bring your wife and children, too.” I pause. “If you’re willing. This is not without risk either.”
Saeth hasn’t moved. He’s still staring out at the night. Eventually, he looks at me.
“You don’t need to risk yourself for my family,” he says.
“Why not? You’re risking yourself for me.”
He lets out a breath, then shakes his head. “I can’t ask for this.”
“You’re not asking. I’m offering. Are you willing or not?”
“I’m willing,” he says, and his voice is very quiet. “Thank you.”
He shouldn’t be thanking me. Not yet. I have no idea if any of my decisions are the right ones. So many wrong ones led me to this point.
But Saeth hasn’t looked away, and I have to say something. I gesture toward the door. “You should rest. You’ve earned it.”
“Thorin and I agreed we wouldn’t leave you alone,” he says.
“His Majesty is not alone,” Quint says from behind me, and I turn my head to realize he never left the porch. He’s seated against the wall, his little book open on his lap while he writes, a lantern beside him on the boards.
He turns a page and continues writing. “I can certainly shout for one of you if more trouble appears.”
Saeth looks like he wants to object, but he really must be exhausted, because he says, “Yes, Master Quint,” and then he disappears into the house as well.
It leaves me alone on the porch with the Palace Master.
Or . . . whatever Quint is, now that we’re no longer welcome in the palace.
I rub a hand over the back of my neck and sigh, then shift so I’m leaning against the post that supports the roof. I’m tired, and I need to return to bed, too, but I’m also somewhat rattled. I don’t know what Annabeth really wanted, but if she planted explosives, she could have knowledge that might be useful later. I don’t know if we’ll be able to retrieve more guards and Saeth’s family—or if we’ll all be in the Hold by this time tomorrow.
Or maybe the men who showed up to confront me won’t think this plan is worth their time, and they’ll kill me themselves.
All of these thoughts make me feel sour and prickly and nowhere near ready to sleep again. I look at Quint. “You don’t have a family, too, do you?”
I mean for the question to be genuine, but somehow it sounds a bit argumentative. His eyes flick up from his little book. “Your Majesty, I lived in the palace.”
He says this like it’s obvious, and it is, and it makes me feel like an idiot.
I scowl and look out at the night. “I know. There could still be someone you’re . . . missing.”
“It’s kind of you to ask. But no.”
With that, he looks back at his book.
It feels dismissive. On the first day we had to flee the night patrol, Quint mentioned that Corrick asked him to look after me. It annoyed me then, and something about this moment, of the way Quint is remaining on the porch, reminds me of it.
Much like the way he put his hand down on the piece of paper, or the way he thrust a tunic at me before I answered the door.
Like I’m a child who needs minding, not the king of Kandala.
For some reason, that turns my mood even pricklier.
“What on earth are you writing?” I demand.
His eyes flick up again, and he closes the book. “I was making an accounting of what Annabeth said, in the event you query it later. Then your offer to Saeth as well, as you had not made your plans with Thorin known. I wanted to remember—”
“I didn’t know I needed to consult with you,” I say sharply.
“You don’t, of course, but now I’m aware. Reed and Sommer are a decent choice. I see no reason to question their loyalty. I was also making note to discuss lodging with Beatrice, because if you intend to bring two more guards here, as well as Saeth’s family, we will need more than a two-room house.” A line appears between his eyebrows, and he flips the book open again. “On that note, I should also—”
I roll onto my knees and snatch the book right out of his hands. His pencil goes streaking across the page.
It’s possibly the most childish thing I’ve ever done.
For the barest moment, a flare of challenge hangs in the air. I think he’s going to snatch the book back, that we’re going to tussle for it. It’s a weird sense of anticipation, because I can’t remember the last time I ever tussled with anyone for anything. Not even Corrick.
But then he must remember his place, even though I seem to have forgotten mine. He draws his legs up to sit cross-legged, and he straightens to sit upright against the wall. “Your Majesty?”
The light from the lantern flickers off his features, turning his red hair gold. He was always lax about shaving in the palace, and he’s even more so now, leaving a dusting of red to coat his jaw.
I frown and sit back on my heels, then hold out the book. “Forgive me.”
He takes it, but he doesn’t look at it. “It’s not private,” he says. “You could have asked.”
“Don’t chastise me, Quint.”
“I’m informing you. It’s simply palace notes.”
Much like the moment I thought we were going to fight over the book, this quibbling has a weirdly anticipatory feel to it. We would sometimes bicker in the palace, but Corrick would always interject.
“Are you arguing with me?” I demand.
His eyes glint in the light. “I fail to see how I could be.”
I inhale sharply, but the door opens, and Thorin stands there. He looks down at me, and then at Quint—and then back to me. “Is all well?” he finally says.
And then I realize that I’m kneeling on the porch, glaring at Quint petulantly, and there’s no way to undo it without drawing more attention to my position.
Thorin’s expression doesn’t give away a single hint of surprise or judgment, but I doubt it’s escaped his notice.
“All is fine,” I say evenly.
“The king simply wished to debate semantics,” says Quint. He opens his little book and goes back to writing as if the last three minutes didn’t happen.
Now I want to snatch the book back and hit him with it.
As soon as the thought occurs to me, I realize that none of my agitation is with Quint at all.
Thorin glances between the two of us again, then says, “Forgive me,” and he closes the door.
I shift to sit against it, then draw my legs up to sit cross-legged too. Everything inside me is so jumbled up. I shouldn’t be bickering with anyone, but I’m just so angry and sad and worried and a whole host of emotions I probably couldn’t name.
I rub my hands over my face and sigh, then look out at the night. “Lord, I miss my brother.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. I do, too.”
I turn my head and look at him. Again, I’m a fool. Of course there’s someone Quint is missing. He’s probably as lonely as I am. He and Corrick were always close.
A part of me envied that, especially once I learned that my brother had Tessa as well. I never had anyone.
“Corrick would be better at all this,” I say.
Quint laughs as if I’ve startled him. “No.” Then he sobers, and his pencil goes still for a moment as he reconsiders. “Well.”
I sigh. “Exactly.”
“Prince Corrick is always quite good with details,” he says. “And his experience in the Hold gives him an edge that you lack. I rather doubt Francis would have dared to come near him with an ax, of all things.”
“I wasn’t sure it was possible to feel worse, Quint. Thank you.”
He resumes his writing. “Though it may be worth considering that Annabeth likely wouldn’t have found the courage to speak to Prince Corrick at all.”
I’m not sure what to say to that.
Eventually, he sets the pencil down, then begins flipping through the book, going back a few pages. He holds it open near the light so I can read. “Here. The day after you agreed to send them to Ostriary, you chose to send Lochlan instead of Laurel Pepperleaf, as a measure of goodwill for the people, as well as a means of protection, so he could not launch another revolution in Corrick’s absence. You had me draft a letter to Baron Pepperleaf in appreciation for his daughter’s offer to attend the journey, but insisting on declining for her protection.”
I look at his brief notes to that effect, then back up at his face. “I remember.”
He flips back a few pages. “On the day you suspected Corrick of conspiring with the rebels or the Benefactors, you sent the army into the Wilds to collect him.” His hand runs down the page, then stops somewhere near the center. “Look. You specifically gave orders not to arrest the people. Corrick only. Tessa if she was with him. You did not want the army’s presence in the Wilds to stoke revolution.”
I frown. I don’t understand why he’s showing me this.
Quint keeps flipping. “Here. Jasper Gold wanted a special tax on trade routes through Mosswell, but he’d conspired with Sallister to make sure they both got a cut. When you approved it, you ensured the tax went to the benefit of the sector, not to line either of their pockets.” He taps at the page. “I did enjoy the look on his face when he realized what you’d done.”
This page is full of tightly packed notes. It must have been from a meeting with the consuls. Quint’s handwriting is small and hard to read, full of shorthand. Messy too, because he was writing quickly. It takes me a moment to figure out that he refers to the consuls with their initials. AC for Arella Cherry, RP for Roydan Pelham, and so on. It looks like many of them protested the tax outright. I remember that meeting now, because Corrick had been the one to identify that the tax was somewhat justified, but I wanted to make sure the money was going where it was needed.
I take the book from Quint, because it’s hard to read in the flickering lantern light.
He shifts a bit closer, then leans over to tap a finger over two words. “I rarely editorialize, but . . . well.”
JG annoyed.
I smile, remembering. “Jasper Gold. He was annoyed.”
“Yes. He asked me to have a porter call for a carriage the very instant the meeting was over.” He pauses. “Prince Corrick never fails to take action in the moment, but you always look out for the entire kingdom. Do not doubt yourself. I don’t know that he could calm and rally the people the way you have.”
That makes me look up, and I realize that we’re very close, almost tucked around the lantern, the book held between us. Quint’s eyes are on the pages, and when he goes to turn another, his fingers brush mine.
It’s a bare touch, brief and meaningless, but somehow it contains the force of a lightning strike. It’s so startling that I nearly draw back. I have to swallow, to force myself still while he turns another page.
I don’t know how he has the talent to annoy me to no end—and then sit beside me in the dark and offer encouragement so offhandedly.
Quint has worked in the palace for years, so we have a thousand moments between us. Maybe a million. Some have been absolutely interminable, like when he demands that I weigh in on the color selection of table linens, when I absolutely could not care less. But others have been downright intimate, from the time I dressed his wounds, to the time when he dressed mine. When Tessa’s friend Karri stitched up my thigh after I’d been shot by the night patrol, he let me clutch his hand until I thought I might break his fingers.
My thoughts are scattering dangerously, and my cheeks feel warm. I need to remember myself. It was easy in the palace because I was surrounded by protocol. When I was younger, I could escape the Royal Sector and forget myself for a time, but once I was crowned king, I knew what was expected of me. I had rigid rules to follow, and deviating from them could mean disaster.
Here, I have nothing. I’m wearing patched broadcloth and wool, sitting outside in the middle of the night. It was bad enough when I snatched the book out of Quint’s hands, when that spark of challenge hung in the air. I should go back inside before I do anything else.
I don’t.
Quint continues turning pages as I watch. I’m not sure what he’s looking for, but his notes go on forever. Several apply to meetings I was a part of, but most of the time, I have no idea what his scrawled shorthand is even about.
Linens -24?
Geo -morning
Heath -discuss tea leaves
Pr Corr -interrupt dinner
I stop his turning and tap that one. “What was this?”
He leans close to read, and he has to think for a moment. “Prince Corrick was dining with Hugh Jansson.”
Hugh Jansson is old and fond of telling stories that last for ages and are more boring than watching snails crawl through grass. He’s the kind of man who talks with his mouth full and has a tendency to spit when he enunciates.
He’s also one of the wealthiest barons of Emberridge, so everyone puts up with it.
I stare at Quint, fascinated. “Corrick asked you to interrupt him?”
He draws back. “Ah . . . yes, Your Majesty. Rather urgent matters requiring the King’s Justice.” His expression turns sly. “Of course it happened every single time, but surely the baron would understand the sheer demand for the prince’s attention. Couldn’t be helped, really.”
I burst out laughing. “Brilliant. I should have employed you to interrupt my dinners.”
“Gladly.”
Now that I’ve discovered this, I take over, flipping through more quickly, looking for more. “What other secrets have you kept?”
“You know what secrets I’ve kept.”
He’s right, I do, but there’s an intriguing note to his voice. I want to look up, but the book has flipped to the front, and it’s just a list of dates that have clearly been added to over time. Some are widely spaced, by a span of weeks, while others are divided by only a matter of days. “What’s this?”
“A list of dates.”
There’s a tone in his voice I can’t quite parcel out. “I can see that. What does it mean?”
“It’s nothing,” he says. “Simple recordkeeping for my needs.”
It doesn’t quite feel like a lie, but I’m too practiced in the double-speak at court to know that it’s definitely not the entire truth. I’m not sure why I care. I don’t even know why a list of dates might matter.
I finally turn my head to look at him. He’s very close, and like before, I can’t decide if I’m annoyed or intrigued—or something else entirely. “Are we going to argue over semantics again, Quint?”
His eyes hold mine, gleaming in the flickering light. “If it pleases you.”
My heart gives a little stutter. I have to look back at the page because I don’t know what to do with it. I feel flushed and uncertain and off-balance, and I haven’t felt like this since . . . I don’t know when.
At my back, the door clicks, and I jump a mile.
Thorin stands over us. “I should take a post by the trees if you’re going to remain outside, Your Majesty.”
“No. It’s late. I should retire.” I sound like I’ve been eating sand, but my heart won’t stop pounding. I drop the book beside the lantern and practically scramble up from where I was sitting. “Thank you for the debate, Master Quint.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” His voice is so calm, so composed. There’s no spark in the air, no blush on his cheeks, which makes me feel foolish. Like my heart got twisted up with my imagination.
Over Quint, of all people.
I need to stay focused. Too much is at risk here. I move to follow Thorin into the house.
But before the door falls closed, I notice Quint flip open the little book, just turning back the cover to that list of dates.
At the bottom, he adds one more.
