The streets of Silvesse are hot, and the air smells like fish no matter where we go. By the time Lochlan and I find our way into the thick of the city, the sun is high overhead, and sweat has collected under my clothes. I’ve snuck through the Wilds of Kandala in the dead of night as an outlaw, but I’m somewhat shocked to realize that I’ve never really walked through a city as a commoner. In Kandala, as Prince Corrick, I’d be backed by guards, and people would yield a path without being asked. Here, the roads are crowded, and sea-worn sailors and sweat-stained laborers must not be too foreign. No one gives us a passing glance. I can almost forget who I am.
Thieves might be common here, so I’ve tucked my five silvers into an inner pocket of my jacket, right up against my heart. I have no idea what Lochlan did with his. There was a part of me that expected him to take his coins and bolt the very instant we were out of sight of the pirates.
But he hasn’t left my side.
He hasn’t said a word either, which is probably smart, though we’re going to have to talk at some point. But I’d forgotten that our Kandalan accent is going to paint us as outsiders the instant we open our mouths. The Ostrian accent is different, with round vowels, and I’m not sure I could imitate it without practice. I can’t even imagine what type of story we could tell to explain it away.
Then again, maybe it doesn’t matter if people question our accents. We just need to find one man and kill him.
The thought makes my heart trip and stall over and over again. Can I kill a man who’s never done anything to me? To anyone I know? Lina worked for Oren, and she was helping to keep us prisoner. My skin still crawls from where she touched me. I didn’t want to kill her, but I almost did it. I would have done it if Lochlan hadn’t stopped me. But it was a means to escape. A step toward rescuing Tessa. A step toward home.
Ford Cheeke is a complete stranger.
Oren is the one demanding it. Is this simply another means to escape?
This is worse than when I was acting as King’s Justice, when no good options lay in front of me, but I had to choose what would cause the least harm—even if that meant someone had to die. As King’s Justice, I had to maintain order, because when the sickness wasn’t killing people, they were killing one another over access to medicine.
But in this case, I’m not protecting a kingdom. I’m protecting myself.
I hate the path of these thoughts. Maybe I’m the one who should take the coins and run.
Lochlan grabs hold of my sleeve and gives it a tug. “Come on,” he says, his voice low. “We can’t just walk all day.”
I blink and look up, startled to discover that he’s dragging me into a clothier’s shop. I’ve never been inside one of those either. When we need apparel in the palace, Quint sends a summons, and tailors and seamstresses and fabric merchants come to us. Once we cross the threshold, the odors of fish and sweat remain in the street, replaced by fresher scents: cotton and linen and what appears to be a small fragrant candle burning on a low table. A middle-aged man and a woman are sitting together, both stitching fabrics while they talk in low tones.
When they look at us, they fall silent. The man’s eyebrows go up. The woman frowns.
I didn’t realize we looked that bad.
The man recovers first, and he stands. “Ah . . . gentlemen,” he says. “How can we help?”
“We need some clothes,” Lochlan says.
“If you please,” I add, because clearly his early lessons didn’t include manners.
The man and woman exchange glances.
I have no idea whether that’s about our appearance or if our accents took them by surprise, but I step toward a rack where a linen tunic is hanging, and the woman swoops out of her chair before I can touch it. “Please, sir, allow me. I’ll find something to fit. We wouldn’t want you to . . . ah, trouble yourself.” Then she whisks the tunic away.
“Perhaps a recommendation for a place where we could rent a room to wash up as well,” I say.
Lochlan looks at me and hisses under his breath. “Just how much money do you think we have?”
“You can stay filthy if you like,” I whisper back. I’m rarely cavalier, but we can’t hide what we sound or look like, so I smile at the woman. “Forgive our appearance. We’ve fallen off a ship from Kandala, so we’re not at our best. But we do have silver to pay.”
The man starts, then coughs, then offers a choked laugh as if he can’t decide whether I’m kidding. “Well. Yes. Of course. Right this way. I’m sure we can find you both something suitable.”
While the man starts asking Lochlan about whether he prefers wool or broadcloth for his trousers, the woman shifts close and peers at me. “Are you serious about the ship from Kandala?” she says quietly.
She’s staring at me earnestly, her lips slightly parted. I’m not sure what to make of it, but I want to figure it out.
“I am,” I say.
She glances at Lochlan, who’s telling the man that we’ll take whatever is cheapest, and moves closer. “Your accents are real?”
“They are.”
She swallows and glances at the door, then drops her voice further. “So Galen Redstone made it to Kandala. Was he able to negotiate for steel?”
Galen Redstone.My chest tightens at the mention of Rian’s real name. I inhale to tell her no, that Galen Redstone is a lying, cheating scoundrel who should be lashed to the bottom of his own ship and run across a bed of rocks, and I’ll do it myself after I break every bone in his body.
But then she swallows thickly and says, “Please. We’re so desperate.”
The emotion in her voice tugs at me. I’ve heard that kind of desperation before.
“Yes,” I say. “He made it to Kandala.”
She grabs hold of my hand, heedless of my appearance now. “You said you fell off a ship. Was it Crane? Did he attack? Was the king able to get past?”
The king.Even now, it’s so hard to think of Rian in these terms.
Her fingers are pressing into my hand so tightly. “Please,” she says. “If there’s any news you can share . . .”
Across the room, Lochlan is staring at me. I can’t read his expression, but no matter what I think of Rian, there’s nothing to be lost in telling this woman the truth.
“He made it past,” I say. “The ship was under fire from Crane’s people, but your king was able to sail on.”
She kisses her fingertips, then presses them over her heart. “Oh, such a relief. If he made it past Silvesse, then he should have been able to make it to Fairde.” Her eyes lock on mine again. “If you’re here, then he must have reached an agreement with the king of Kandala. We’ve been so worried. Everyone knows your King Lucas is callous and spiteful—”
I jerk back. “He was not,” I say hotly. I’ve spent years hearing every possible insult hurled at myself and Harristan, but I wasn’t ready to hear someone say that about my father.
Lochlan coughs. “Wes. It’s all right. You know how rumors are.”
Wes.I have to shake myself. And he’s right. I do know how rumors are.
The woman is staring at me. “I’m sorry. I’m speaking of your king. We—we just know what damage he caused here.”
Supposedly my father didn’t honor a trade agreement and sent ships to attack theirs. I didn’t believe it when Rian first talked about it, but I forgot that people here would see Kandala as an aggressor.
I remember Rian standing at the helm, glaring at me, proclaiming that he hadn’t lied about much of anything.
I can hate him, but maybe that was true.
I take a breath. “King Lucas is dead. His son, King Harristan, is in power now.”
The man seems to have formed a pile of clothes for Lochlan, and he’s approaching us with a pile for me, too. His voice is equally quiet. “It’s a relief to hear that the king made it back. My brother lives on Iris, and they haven’t been able to rebuild yet.”
The woman nods. “All the lumber keeps getting diverted to Roshan and Estar, and I heard that half the freighter ships were damaged in the war.” She squeezes my hand. “But you haven’t said. Was Redstone able to come to terms with this King Harristan? He must have, if he brought people from Kandala back with him.” But then she draws back, looking worried again. “I don’t want to speak ill of your king, but can he be trusted?”
The question pricks at me. I stare at the shop owners, and I’m not sure what to say.
Your king is the one who can’t be trusted. Harristan will never come to terms with him.
Galen Redstone is a dirty liar who approached us under false pretenses.
I’m going to find him and make him regret setting foot on Kandalan soil.
But it’s hard to look into their desperate faces and even think those things. They really put their hope and faith into Rian.
Just like Tessa did.
I can’t decide if they’re all naive, or if Rian genuinely did want the best for these people, and he just went about everything the wrong way.
The most cynical part of my brain wants to believe the former, that he duped them all.
My heart is relentlessly insisting it’s the latter.
I tell my heart to shut up.
“My brother has four children,” says the man. “Iris has a lot of livestock, and Crane’s people destroyed many of their buildings in the war. They get the worst of the summer storms. They’re struggling without access to building materials. It would be a blessing to know that hope was on the horizon.”
I glance at Lochlan, wondering if he’ll have another quip to keep me in line, but he’s studying me just as hard as they are, as if their emotion has caught hold of him, too. For all our differences, Lochlan was also desperate, also trying to do what he could to protect people. He wants to hear what I’m going to say.
Despite the warning a moment ago, he’s not looking at Weston Lark right now. He’s looking at Prince Corrick, as if he knows any words I say will have the weight of the Crown behind them.
Ugh.Fine.
I run a hand across the back of my neck, then offer the woman as much truth as I can. “I know the stories you’ve heard. I can’t speak to the past. But King Harristan is a good man. He stands by his word, and he’ll do whatever he can to help people in need.”
The words are true, but they feel empty—like a vague promise. Something I’d say at court. But her eyes well, and she stands on her tiptoes to kiss me on the cheek. “Thank you,” she whispers.
It shocks me still. No one has ever kissed Prince Corrick on the cheek. I don’t even know if anyone’s ever done it to Weston Lark.
“You’ll have to be careful if you’re intending to book passage to Fairde,” the man is murmuring. He casts a glance at the doorway. “Oren Crane has people all over Silvesse. If you have silver you can get space on a boat, but if he learns there are survivors from Kandala onshore, he’ll want to get a hold of you. I’ll write down some names for who you can ask at the harbor.” He heads back toward his table.
“We’ve already learned about Crane,” says Lochlan.
“What about the bridges?” I say. “Is it possible to walk to Fairde?”
“No,” says the man. “The bridges from Fairde were the first to be destroyed in the war. You can walk to Iris, but it would take a day at least, and it’s a less populated island, so there aren’t as many ships coming and going. You’d have a harder time finding passage.”
The woman tugs at my hand and pulls me toward the front window. “Look,” she says, pointing down the street toward a squat building with a blue door. “There’s a boarding house there, not too expensive. I’m friends with Harlow, the girl who works the door. Tell her we sent you, and she’ll set you up with some soaps and towels, and probably a meal, too.”
“That’s very kind of you,” I say to her.
The man has wrapped up the clothes and tied them together with a bit of twine, and he slips a roll of leather under the knot. “I’ve added a shaving kit, too,” he says, holding out the bundle.
Lochlan glances at it warily. “How much?”
The man shakes his head. “Nothing. For the kindness of your king.”
Lochlan looks relieved, and he gives them a nod. “Thank you.”
But I pull three silvers out of the pocket over my heart and press them into the woman’s hand.
Her eyes go wide. “No! This is far too much, sir! This is—”
I press her fingers closed around the money. “Weston Lark,” I say. “And these are for your kindness.”
“Thank you,” she whispers.
Lochlan is staring at me like I’m a bigger fool than he ever realized. Quite the shift after he was staring at me like the King’s Justice.
I sigh and barely glance at him. “Did you get the names? Let’s go.”
Out in the street, the sun is just as hot as it was before. Lochlan folds up the slip of paper with the names and shoves it into his pocket.
“You could’ve just given her one silver,” he says.
“I know.”
“You’re not Prince Corrick here. You don’t have an endless supply of coins in your bedroom.”
“For what it’s worth, I never did.”
“You have no idea how much it’s going to cost to buy passage to Fairde.”
“True, but even if we kept all ten,” I say, “I rather doubt Oren gave us enough.”
He says nothing to that. After a minute, he gives an aggravated sigh, digs a hand into his pocket, and thrusts a coin at me.
I shake my head.
“Take it,” he snaps.
We’re nearing the boarding house, and I wait for a break in the crowds in the street so we can cross. “No.”
He leans close and growls, “I’m going to force-feed you this coin in a second—”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Lochlan.” I stop in front of the blue door and knock. I hate the curl of fear in my gut that’s warning me that he’s right, and I should’ve held on to the coins. “If you want to make it up to me so badly, just use it to pay for the room.”
He inhales sharply to protest, but the girl opens the door, and Lochlan does exactly what I said.
We asked for a private room and we got one, but there’s only one bed and one washroom, and a small table with two stools in the corner. We won’t be here long, and there’s no sense wasting a coin on a second room. The woman from the clothier’s shop was right, and Harlow gave us a basket of towels and soaps when Lochlan handed over his silver. A small bowl of fruit and dried biscuits sits on the table, too, along with a pitcher of water. Once we’re inside, Lochlan tosses the bundle of clothes onto the bed, and I tell him to take the washroom first. I expect him to argue about that, too, but he doesn’t. He slips the shaving kit free from the bundle of clothes and disappears behind the door.
Then I’m alone.
Much like the moment we walked into the city, that’s a bit jarring. I can’t remember the last time I was alone. We spent so many days locked in the cave together. We didn’t talk much at all, but until this very second, I didn’t realize how weirdly accustomed I’ve grown to his company. I don’t think I’ve ever spent so many hours in the presence of anyone, including my own brother.
I unbuckle my jacket and toss it on the bed, then sink into one of the chairs and run a hand over the back of my neck.
I should be making a plan, but I keep thinking about the man and woman in the shop. I wonder if everyone here is as desperate as everyone in Kandala, just in a different way.
Not like I can do anything about it.
And now I’m supposed to go kill someone I’ve never met. Someone who might be just as desperate. Someone who’s helping Rian help these people.
Tessa would hate everything about this.
I know, my love. I’m trying.
I have to choke back emotion before it can form. If Lochlan comes out here and finds me on the verge of tears, I’ll perish on the spot. I wonder if Ford Cheeke is on the list of names. I should’ve asked Lochlan before he went into the washroom.
There’s a flaw in the wood on the table, and I pick at it absently while I think. Again, I should be plotting, planning, strategizing, but instead I just keep seeing Tessa. I hope she’s safe. For as much as I hate Rian, I don’t think he would hurt her. I remember the way he sat across from her at dinner in the palace, mocking me and flirting with her all at the same time.
He’s exactly the man Weston Lark would be, if he were real.
I swallow and it hurts. She thinks I’m dead. Rian might not harm her, but what I’m imagining him doing is a whole lot worse.
The washroom door opens sooner than I expect, and Lochlan emerges with his black hair damp and slicked back, his skin pink and scrubbed, his face freshly shaved—cleaner than I’ve ever seen him, and that includes the day he was invited to the palace to meet with the king. He has a towel wrapped around his waist, held in place with a clenched fist.
“Your turn,” he says.
“All right.” My thoughts are still tangled up with Tessa and Rian and nothing I want to imagine. Maybe I should just drown myself in the bathtub.
Lochlan tosses his old clothes onto the bed beside my jacket, then looks at the new bundle, still tied and bound with twine. His expression turns peeved, and he calls out to me before I close myself into the washroom. “You couldn’t unwrap the clothes, you idiot?”
He’s right. I probably should have done that. It would have been better than poking at an old wooden table and torturing myself.
“Unwrap them yourself.” I close the door in his face.
The water is very hot, and the soaps smell like oranges, but I hold myself under the water for far longer than I probably should. I soak away the sweat and filth and aches of a week of sleeping on the ground, holding my breath until I can’t bear it anymore. I barely recognize my face when I look in the small mirror over the washbasin. My skin is a shade darker, and I’ve earned a lot more freckles from my time in the sun. The pinkish-white scar over my eyebrow—courtesy of Lochlan’s mob—is much more evident now. Brown stubble coats my jaw, too. I don’t think I’ve ever gone this long without shaving. No one would mistake me for royalty now.
You’re not Prince Corrick here.
It feels oddly rebellious. The shaving razor is in my hand, but I set it back down without using it. I tie my own towel in place and go to fetch my own clothes.
Lochlan is fully dressed, sitting in the same chair I abandoned. He’s in an oatmeal-colored tunic and simple dark brown trousers that fit well enough. He doesn’t even look over when I emerge.
I grab what’s left of the clothes. “Was Ford Cheeke’s name on the list of people they gave us?”
He hesitates, his eyes on the window, then shrugs. “I don’t know.”
I roll my eyes. I guess we can both be useless. I affect his tone from when he mocked me about the wrapped clothes. “You couldn’t read the list, you idiot?”
“No, Your Highness.” He finally looks at me, then takes an apple from the bowl on the table. His eyes bore right into mine. “I couldn’t.”
I freeze. Oh.
An odd weight settles over the room as I realize the impact of what he’s telling me. I know there are a lot of people in the poorer parts of the sectors who never learn to read, especially in the Wilds, but I’ve never been confronted with it before. It’s never really seemed to matter before. I was only echoing his words about the clothes, but now mine seem arrogant and soaked in privilege.
You couldn’t read the list, you idiot?
A flush has surely crawled up my neck, and I’m glad I’m clutching the new clothes against my chest, because it’s likely that all of me is turning red. Despite everything I’ve done, I’m not usually cruel in this way. After all that’s happened between me and Lochlan, I shouldn’t care. A few words are the least of the injuries we’ve offered each other.
But a wash of shame has swelled in my gut anyway. “Lochlan,” I say roughly. “I didn’t—I didn’t mean—”
“Whatever you’re going to say, I don’t want to listen to it from a naked King’s Justice.” He takes a bite of the apple. “Go put your clothes on.”
That makes my flush deepen, but I’m grateful for the chance to hide in the washroom. I pull the clothes on, then lean back against the small table with the basin.
When Lochlan came to the palace to meet with me and Harristan, I remember his belligerence when he sat at the table, glaring at everyone. He kept snapping at Quint, which I found particularly annoying, because Quint isn’t just a close friend, he’s one of the most considerate men I know. It made me want to punch Lochlan in the face.
But just now, I consider what Lochlan was saying when he was being so surly.
What is he writing?he was demanding. What are you doing?
Quint was recording the details of the meeting so there would be a record of what was said. He turned the papers around for Lochlan to see, because . . . well, because he’s Quint. I’m pretty sure he even offered to have a copy of his notes made right then and there.
But now I evaluate that moment differently. Quint could have been writing anything he wanted, and Lochlan wouldn’t have been able to do anything about it. Later, during that same meeting, I wrote a small note to Tessa in my own folio. It was nothing, just a few words between me and her, but I wonder how that looked to Lochlan—that we could speak privately, of sorts, but he could not.
He already didn’t trust us. He already thought we were trying to trick him out of the medicine we’d promised.
Without knowing, we likely made it worse.
I finally open the door. He’s still sitting there, eating the apple, his eyes on the window. But the slip of paper from the shopkeeper is beside the fruit bowl now, still folded neatly.
I move to the table and stop there. “May I join you?”
He snorts a laugh, but not like anything is really funny. “We’re not in the palace. You can do whatever you want. Did someone have to drill these manners into you?”
“Yes.” I drop into the chair and take an orange from the bowl. “A governess with a switch.”
That jerks his attention away from the window. “Really?”
I nod. “When you’re not the heir, your primary job is to look pretty and not embarrass anyone.” I peel the skin off the orange in pieces and let them fall to the table. I wonder if he wants to let the moment pass, to forget what I said. But he placed that note on the table, and it’s obvious that I’m going to have to be the one to read it, to determine whether we should seek any of these people or if we should continue on our morbid path toward Ford Cheeke.
I don’t want to let it go.
“Lochlan,” I say. “Please. Forgive me. I didn’t know—”
“Shut up.”
I draw myself up. “Would you—”
“I told you to shut up.”
“At the very least, allow me to—”
“Lord, you are the worst,” he snaps. “Fine then. Apologize. Do it on your knees and beg.”
“I will do no such thing.”
He takes another bite of the apple. “Then shut up.”
I clench my jaw and snatch the piece of paper from beside the fruit bowl. If Oren Crane wanted me to kill Lochlan, I don’t think I’d have any hesitation whatsoever.
I scan the list of names.
No Ford Cheeke.
“Well?” Lochlan prompts.
I’m tempted to toss it at him and say, Read it yourself, asshole, but I don’t.
“His name isn’t on here,” I say. “I don’t really know what that means. Oren said he worked for Rian, but maybe he’s too high-ranking. Maybe the shopkeepers don’t know him.”
“But if he works for Rian, any of these people should know him.”
I nod.
Lochlan finally looks at me steadily. “Are you really going to kill him?”
“I don’t know.”
His voice drops. “You were really going to kill Lina, though. I could see it in your face.”
I have to look down. “I just want to find Tessa. I just want to go home.” I pause. “I’ll do whatever is necessary.”
Lochlan reaches out and taps the paper. “We could try to find these people and see if it’s possible to barter passage to Fairde. That’s where Rian would be, right?”
“So he can take me prisoner and hold me for ransom against Harristan? No thank you. You heard those people in the shop. Rian is surely desperate right now—and surely surrounded by people. You and I can’t take him on alone. We’re going to need Oren and his pirates, at least for a little while.”
Lochlan takes another bite of the apple and thinks about this for a minute.
While he does, I consider that it’s entirely possible that he’s realizing he could just kidnap me and hand me over to Rian himself. He overpowered me in the cave because I was starving and dehydrated, but that doesn’t mean he couldn’t do it again right now.
As if he has the same thought at the same moment, Lochlan stops chewing.
I go tense immediately, and I can’t help the way my eyes flick to the window, to the hearth, seeking potential weapons and escape routes.
“Oh, relax,” Lochlan says. “If I work against you now, I’d never escape a hanging in Kandala. I want to go home, too.”
I glare at him. I hate that I was so transparent.
But then Lochlan says, “Are you sure you want to help Oren go after Rian?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You gave that woman so much money. I know she got to you. She got to me, too. They trust Rian. Redstone. King Galen? Whatever. They love him. They put a lot of hope in him, and they did that for a reason.”
“I know.” I sigh. “On the Dawn Chaser, once we knew the truth, he kept insisting that he hadn’t told many lies. After speaking to the tailors, I find myself thinking that perhaps Rian truly was working in earnest for his people. He simply went about it in the wrong way.”
Lochlan shrugs and finishes the apple. “Sounds familiar, Weston Lark.”
My eyes narrow. I cannot believe I’m trapped with him for a companion. “You’re the worst, too, Lochlan.”
He wipes his hands on his trousers like an absolute savage. “Quit stalling. You told Crane you were an assassin.” His eyes are piercing. “Let’s go find this man so you can do what you do so well.”
