For an eternity, I hear nothing. It’s so quiet in the house that I begin to piece together sounds from the night: the distant waves lapping at the shore, the insects in the trees outside. It’s warm, and a drip of sweat has worked its way down my spine. Erik put this sack over my head, but he didn’t tie it around my neck. It still reminds me of the night I was bound in the palace, waiting to face the King’s Justice.
Corrick would want me to fight. He’d want me to plunge this dagger into Oren Crane, too.
It was one of the first things I said to Erik after Corrick died: I want you to teach me to fight.
But I’m not a killer. Not really. Even the night I snuck into the palace to kill Harristan and Corrick, I couldn’t do it.
Just now, the memory makes me feel immeasurably weak.
I keep thinking of the way Bella came exploding out of that room on the ship, sweating and sick because Rian had been poisoning her. Am I fighting on Rian’s side because he’s right, or am I fighting on his side because he got to me first?
But I trust Olive. I trust her opinion of Oren. That helps steel my resolve.
I wish I knew where Erik went. I don’t even know if he’s still in the room with me. I don’t think so. Earlier, he whispered that he’d be checking the other windows periodically because he didn’t want us to be taken unawares—and he still doesn’t trust Rian.
The silence goes on for so long that time seems to stretch into infinity—and when sound finally comes, I nearly jolt out of the chair.
It’s a grunt and a scuffle in the hallway somewhere behind me, then the clear sound of a punch being thrown. Glass breaks somewhere, and a man utters a muffled curse. My heart leaps into a gallop, and I jerk at my loose bindings automatically.
Then a hand brushes my arm, and I cry out. I hear a sharp, indrawn breath, but I’m already scrabbling for the dagger. My hand closes around the steel hilt, and I pull it free with a ragged cry.
Suddenly, my thoughts don’t matter. My reasonings don’t matter. I’m being attacked, and I fight back. Just like I’ve practiced, I swing that dagger down with all my strength.
I strike nothing, and instead, I’m wrenched out of the chair sideways, landing on the floor on my back. It nearly knocks the wind out of me, but I kick hard, relieved when I make contact. I try again, but his weight lands on top of me, grabbing my wrist and smacking my hand against the floorboards until I let go of the blade. I don’t know if this is Oren Crane or one of his attackers, but I’m pinned to the floor underneath his body, and my fingers scrabble desperately, seeking the dagger.
“No,” I say, because tears are already burning my eyes. I struggle against his grip, wishing I could see. “No—please—Erik—help—”
My assailant goes still. Completely frozen.
I take advantage of his stillness to redouble my struggles, my fingernails clawing at the floor. Steel brushes my knuckles, and I twist my wrist, grabbing hold of the dagger.
His grip loosens the tiniest fraction. I squeal in rage and lift my arm to drive the blade into whatever I can reach.
But he catches my wrist again. There’s no violence to it, just a secure grip.
The man is breathing so hard I can feel it against my chest.
Then he says, “Tessa?”
My heart stops. I can’t breathe. The dagger falls out of my hand and clatters to the floor.
It’s impossible.
Without warning, the sack is yanked off my head. Cool air rushes in to soothe my tear-stained cheeks.
But there he is, right in front of me. Blue eyes and a smattering of freckles and those sharp features that I’d recognize no matter how many shadows cloak the room.
“Oh, Corrick,” I whisper, and my breath hitches.
He’s staring down at me in wonder, as if I’m the one who’s been dead all this time. My thoughts refuse to believe that he’s here, that this is real, that this is possible.
“Am I dead?” I say, and my voice breaks.
“No, my love.” He takes my hand, and he brings it to his face. He kisses my fingertips, then presses my palm to his cheek. “Very much alive, I promise you.”
I blink, and his face goes blurry before clearing. A tear rolls down my cheek. I’m afraid to move, I’m afraid to breathe, like this is a dream. Like I’ll touch him and the illusion will shatter.
His heart is beating against mine, though, and I can still feel each breath he inhales. I finally let my fingers move, running my thumb along his lower lip. My vision goes blurry again, and my breathing shudders so hard that I can’t catch myself, but I don’t want to blink the tears away this time.
“I don’t want you to disappear,” I say, and then I realize I’m crying in earnest.
“I won’t,” he says. “Never again. I swear it.” He leans down to kiss me. “I swear to you. Never again.”
And then I’m glad that he is the one who moved, because this feels real, the brush of his lips against mine, the way he kisses the tears off my cheeks, the scent of his skin, the rasp of his voice in my ear. “We really do have to stop meeting like this.”
It makes me huff a laugh through my sobs, and I grab him around the neck, clutching him fiercely. “And to think I almost killed you.”
“That was a good strike,” he murmurs against my neck.
“I’ve been practicing,” I say, and my breath refuses to stop hitching.
“I can tell. I’m very glad you were blindfolded.”
I know I need to find out what happened in the hallway, or where Erik went, or why Corrick is a part of this—but I can’t stop clutching at him. Inhaling his breath. Feeling him.
But then he sits up, pulling me with him, tugging me into his lap. Before I can ask him anything at all, his hands find my cheeks, and his mouth lands on mine. Every emotion pours through his kiss, and this is what finally convinces me he’s real. I can feel his longing. His loss. His worry. His fear.
His love. His hope.
For the first time since arriving in Ostriary, I feel settled, like my world has been righted. I have Corrick back, and I can face any challenge.
Then he breaks free, his blue eyes filling mine. His hand presses to my cheek, his thumb brushing along my lip. “Don’t fight him. I’ve told you before what people will do with me.”
A jolt goes through me. “What?”
But he’s looking up, past me. “Are you still going by Captain Blakemore? Or should I address you as Your Majesty? I have a hard enough time keeping track of my own identities, honestly, so you’re going to need to help me with yours.”
I scramble out of Corrick’s lap to see that Rian is in the doorway of my bedroom, a crossbow leveled. Sablo is beside him, an identical weapon in hand.
“Call me whatever you want,” says Rian.
Corrick climbs to his feet more slowly than I did. “I rather doubt you want me to do that.”
“Do it anyway,” a strained male voice calls from the hallway, and I’m shocked to realize that the male voice I heard earlier was Lochlan. “It’ll make you feel better.”
“Was this a trap for me the whole time?” says Corrick.
Rian shrugs. “Only since I knew it was really you.”
A cold wind blows through me at those words. “What?” I whisper again.
“So you double-crossed me?” says Corrick. “I shouldn’t be surprised.”
“I’m not sure you’re in a position to be pointing fingers. I’ve heard a dozen reports that you’ve been torturing people for Oren Crane.”
“You’ve heard wrong,” says Corrick. “Any torture has been by his own hand. I specifically spared the man he told me to execute.”
A muscle twitches in Rian’s jaw. “I know who you are. I know what you’ve done in Kandala. I don’t believe that for a minute.”
I’m not even listening to him. “Did you know?” I demand. “Did you know he was alive?”
Corrick looks to me. “He knew. I specifically asked him to tell you, to verify my words.”
I think back to the day we met Rian on the road. He pulled that parchment out of his pocket—but he never showed it to me.
I don’t even need to ask what it said. I know exactly what Corrick would have written to prove it was him. “So I really was bait,” I finish.
“You volunteered,” says Rian.
Corrick looks at me in surprise. “You volunteered?”
I lift my chin. “In exchange for passage back to Kandala. Someone needs to warn your brother about the Moonflower poison.”
Corrick glares at Rian. “He was never going to give us passage back to Kandala. He’s going to use me against Harristan.” He pauses. “I admit to being a bit surprised that you didn’t take the opportunity to grab Crane while you could. You wanted me that badly?”
Rian swears. “No, you jackass. I want steel that badly. I want to help my people. So I told my uncle that if he sent you here, I’d deliver his daughter to him. He could keep Silvesse.”
“I’ve seen what he’s doing to the people of Silvesse,” Corrick says. “You sacrificed an island just to get me? That doesn’t exactly sound like you’re caring for your people.” He pauses. “And what are you going to do when you have no daughter to deliver?”
“It doesn’t matter. I already have you. He only has one island. I have the other five. I’ve bought myself time.”
Outside the house, some commotion has gone up, but I can’t make sense of it. Maybe Rian’s soldiers have drawn closer now that Corrick has been caught.
Rian takes a step toward Corrick. His eyes are so angry. “You thought you would trap me, and you failed.”
“No,” Corrick says. “I offered you exactly what you wanted. Again, you rule like a despot, with double dealings and empty promises and lies. I offered you a solution to the crimes ravaging your country, in exchange for a return to my own. If you wanted steel so badly, you could’ve worked with me, trapped Oren Crane, and again, I would have been willing to negotiate with my brother on your behalf.” He takes hold of my hand. “Now, I will not.”
“I know what Kandala has done,” Rian snaps. “Your own consuls have been working against the people for years. No one here trusts you.”
“You’re wrong about the people of Ostriary,” says Corrick. “Many people on Silvesse were desperate for Kandala’s help. You’re just too angry to see it.”
“Many people here, too,” I say.
“Say what you want,” Rian replies “I have plenty of detail from Ford Cheeke about what you’ve been doing in Silvesse.”
“Is that the same Ford Cheeke who was kidnapped by Oren Crane before I was dragged here?” says Corrick.
Rian looks like he’s been hit by a fist. “Oren got to Ford?”
“Maybe you’re not the only one capable of double-crossing.”
Outside, a woman gives a ragged scream, and it chills my spine.
From the hallway, Erik says, “Olive.” Then I hear the clear sounds of a scuffle again.
“What’s going on?” Rian calls.
Olive comes pushing through the people to get into the room. Her face is streaked with tears. “What have you done?” she screams at Rian. She shoves him in the chest, hard. “What have you done?”
“What?” he whispers. “What happened?”
A soldier has followed her, breathless and sweat-streaked. There’s soot in his hair. “I rode here as fast as I could,” he says. “It’s the palace at Tarrumor. You need to return at once. Oren Crane is attacking.”
