I’m always surprised how quickly things can happen when people have money in hand. When I worked for Mistress Solomon, I remember she once had to wait four weeks to have a shipment of creams sent to a buyer in Sunkeep, just because she wasn’t willing to pay a wagoner to make a special trip. I thought for sure the creams would go rancid from sitting out in the summer heat, but Mistress Solomon sent them anyway, saying it wasn’t her fault that the buyer wasn’t willing to pay a premium for a faster delivery.

But in the Royal Sector, it seems like all someone has to do is make a decision, and they can have whatever they want at their door in a few hours. For the king, it’s sometimes a matter of minutes. After meeting him, I never considered Harristan to be a frivolous man, but there are times that he requests something offhandedly, completely oblivious to the time and effort it must take to fulfill his wishes. He’ll call for tea, and it’ll appear more quickly than it’s possible to boil water. He’ll order an assessment of steel shipments across Kandala over the last fifty years, and advisers will have stacks of paperwork to review within an hour.

The king agreed to this mission to Ostriary, and the traveling party was arranged and outfitted within a few days. My trunks were packed before I was even aware that I was going. I don’t know many of the details, because Harristan and Corrick have been tied up for much of the week, but it’s clear that I’m to be included. Eagerness keeps making my heart skip.

But now it’s dusk on the third day since the ship arrived, and I’ve hardly laid eyes on Corrick since the dinner with Captain Blakemore. The prince’s tension was so potent at the table. It’s obvious he doesn’t like the other man, but it’s hard to argue with a supply of Moonflower petals when people are still dying and rebels are still calling for revolution. I know Corrick has been embroiled in planning with the king, but it’s left me with a lot of time to stare at the ceiling and replay the conversations over and over again. I keep remembering Rian’s voice when he said, You have to force your sectors to provide medicine?

The captain is so principled. His people are so loyal.

Kandala’s people are terrified of Prince Corrick. In the candy shop, for a spare moment, I was terrified of Prince Corrick. I wonder what that says about his character.

And my own.

I often wonder what my parents would think of where I am now. I know they would have supported the way I was stealing medicine to distribute among the Wilds. They were doing it first, after all. But then I ended up in the palace. I ended up working for the prince, and sometimes I wonder if I’m helping anyone at all.

I don’t like the direction of these thoughts. They always seem to travel in directions I don’t want to explore.

But I do think my parents would be proud of what I’m doing now. I’m going to Ostriary. To help negotiate for medicine. I once stood in the shadows with Corrick and told

him we should start a revolution—and later, I helped the king stop one. But since then, I’ve been stuck in stuffy rooms, working with physicians or trying to negotiate with Lochlan. Everything is so … so slow. So ineffective. I’ve missed my nightly runs with Wes so much that I sometimes wake in the middle of the night and worry that I’m going to be late to the workshop, before remembering that I’m in the palace—and Wes doesn’t exist.

A knock sounds at my door, and my heart leaps. Maybe he’s finally found some time to see me. As usual, my future feels so uncertain. I need to look into Corrick’s blue eyes and hear the warmth in his voice. I need to erase the memory of the man on the floor of the candy shop, Corrick’s dagger stealing blood from his throat. I need to remember why we’re doing this together—why I trust him at all.

But a guard calls out, “His Royal Majesty, King Harristan.”

WHAT.

I have to slap a hand over my mouth to keep from saying it out loud. The king never visits me personally. If he wants to see me, he sends a summons.

I all but choke on my breath and call out, “Come—come in!” I barely have a chance to get to my feet before the door swings wide, and then the king is in my room.

“Your Majesty,” I say, offering a curtsy.

The door swings shut behind him, and I can’t help but stare. We’ve always had a bit of an odd relationship. Even though we hiked through the Wilds together and faced down the rebels side by side, I sometimes forget all of that when he’s here in the palace being … the king. He’s Corrick’s brother, but he’s still the most imposing man I know. I don’t think I’ve been alone with Harristan since … well, ever.

Harristan doesn’t seem to notice—or care—because he wastes absolutely no time. “The winds have turned,” he says without preamble. “Captain Blakemore worries that a storm is brewing, and at this time of year, it could last for days. My advisers concur.” He pauses. “Rather than waiting to see how the storm manifests, you will be leaving this evening.”

I stare at him. This evening. I wish I could read something in his voice. I twist my hands together. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“I will expect you to ensure everyone from Kandala continues to receive the correct measure of Moonflower elixir each day,” he says. “Quint is arranging for your apothecary tools to be on board the ship, along with a supply of Moonflower from the palace stores.” He pauses, and a new weight enters his voice. “I am entrusting you with this, Tessa.”

I take a deep breath, but nod. “Yes, of course.”

“We are all hopeful that Captain Blakemore has access to medicine that works equally as well, but we’ve been tricked before.”

“I understand.”

“The materials will be kept locked in your room. You will not allow anyone else to prepare the medicine. Is this understood?”

There. I hear it in his voice. The fear. I nod quickly. “Yes. I understand.”

“I will have four weeks of medicine provided. You will attend with Prince Corrick, of course, along with Lochlan Cresswell.”

My eyebrows shoot straight up. “You’re sending

Lochlan?”

“Yes. If we are sending a contingent from Kandala to determine a better source for the Moonflower, I felt it could

be beneficial to send representatives of all my people.”

Wow. I don’t know what to say. I’m staring at him like he told me the sky is green.

“Do you disagree with my choice?” he says. “No. I … I’m surprised.”

“I’m hopeful that it will go far to gain trust with the rebels. Three guards will be joining you. Rocco and Kilbourne, of my personal guard, as well as Silas of the palace guard.” He hesitates. “If you have any concerns about the medicine, about the captain, about anything at all, you are to bring them to Corrick himself, or to Rocco. No one else. Not even the other guards. Am I understood?”

I study him, trying to figure this out. There’s more to all of this than he’s saying.

He’s not offering more information, so I swallow and nod. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Harristan studies me back, and his scrutiny is intimidating. Sometimes, when I’m in his presence, I simultaneously want to yell at him to do something, while I also just want to give him a hug.

Because he’s the king, I can’t do either.

Harristan’s voice drops, just a bit, until there’s no danger of him being overheard outside this door.

“In reviewing records and shipping logs, we’ve been able to corroborate some of Captain Blakemore’s story,” he says. “But this is not a journey without risk, Tessa. Captain Blakemore appears to be very forthright in his desire to help both Ostriary and Kandala, but this could still be a means to separate me from my brother, to an end that no one has foreseen.”

Sending Prince Corrick is such a risk, but I know why the king wouldn’t send someone else.

Harristan doesn’t trust anyone else.

The king is always stoic, even in the moments when he should be vulnerable. I remember Corrick sitting in the carriage telling me why Harristan never has a companion by his side, and it’s a bit heartbreaking. If anyone needs a little gentle care, the king should probably be at the top of the list. I think about the royal brothers’ lot in life often, and I wonder if they would have ruled entirely differently if, after their parents were killed, the consuls had found the patience to show them a moment of grace, instead of bickering over the throne and who could volley for most power.

“I have one more request for you,” the king says. “And

this is a request I would like to keep between us.” He pauses. “Just us. Not even my brother.”

I hesitate. “Am I allowed to ask what it is before I agree to that?”

“I would like for you to prepare a month’s worth of elixir,” he says. “For me alone.”

I frown. “You distrust your physicians?” I say quietly.

“I’m worried the disloyalty in the palace runs deeper than any of us realize. There are very few people I trust, Tessa. Three of you are climbing aboard a ship tonight.”

Now I understand why Harristan wants to keep this a secret. If Corrick knew his brother was this worried, he wouldn’t go.

I frown. “I can’t make medicine that would last for a month. It wouldn’t be effective.” Storm clouds fill his eyes, so I rush on, “You once said you spent a lot of time with the palace physicians. If I put together the pieces, maybe you could mix everything together yourself each day?”

He’s studying me, but for a bare instant, a flicker of fear and uncertainty crosses his features.

“It wouldn’t be difficult,” I say. “I can create vials with most of the mixture, but you’d have to grind the

Moonflower yourself, then add the powder. I can separate petals so you wouldn’t have to weigh them. Do you have somewhere to hide everything?”

“Yes. I’ll send Quint to fetch whatever you can prepare.”

Quint. I’m sure Corrick will miss his friend, but I’m glad the Palace Master will be here to look out for Harristan. I nod briskly. “I’ll do it right now. I’ll label everything.”

He nods and takes a step back, and that flicker of fear and uncertainty crosses his features again. I almost reach out to squeeze his hand.

But then it all smooths out, and he’s the forbidding king once again.

“Farewell, Tessa,” he says.

I curtsy again. “Farewell,” I say, and the word carries so much more weight than it should. “Your Majesty.”

Without another word, he opens the door, and the king disappears into the hallway.

 

 

I’ve lived in Artis all my life, so I’m familiar with the docks on both sides of the Queen’s River. My parents used to travel by ferry across the river once a week to tend to workers at both harbors. I remember gaping up at some of the larger ships that would transport wealthy citizens up and down the river, or the massive cargo vessels that were always stacked high with crates of goods from all over Kandala. Flags and sails are always snapping in the wind, workers calling out instructions from every direction. Dozens of shops line the streets around the harbors, so it’s a bustling, busy area, especially in the summertime.

The fever sickness always runs rampant along the river,

and I’ve never been able to determine whether it’s from the close quarters shared by the workers, or if it has more to

do with the constant contact with other illnesses that might make boatmen more susceptible to the fever. My father used to say that everyone at the harbor would end up with a fever and a cough eventually.

It’s late when my carriage draws up to the docks, but more people are about than I expect. Oil lamps line the crowded walkways, and someone has installed a few electric spotlights to point at the pier where the wealthiest vessels have been moored.

When I step down from my carriage, I spot the ship at once, because there’s no mistaking a vessel that has a full contingent of royal guards surrounding the gangway, awaiting the arrival of the King’s Justice. Harristan is bidding his brother farewell at the palace in some kind of brief public ceremony, but I was sent ahead to ensure the medicinal supplies are as they should be. I don’t mind, because it gives me a chance to look up at the ship without all the guards and fanfare that Prince Corrick will bring with him. Clouds hang heavy in the sky, so the sails are wide and gray in the filtered moonlight, fluttering in the wind. The name Dawn Chaser has been painted in swirling white script along the hull. It’s not as big as many of the other ships, but it’s much larger than I expected after Captain Blakemore refused to take any more than six people.

Then again, the captain is clearly worried, too. That’s

why he didn’t want any sailors or navigators on board. This journey is requiring trust on both sides.

I intend to wait with the carriage, but Rocco and Kilbourne are off to the side of the guards, standing at attention, waiting like the others. They’re in palace livery stitched with blue and purple, with a few weapons at hand, but unlike the other guards, they wear no armor.

I think of the king telling me that I can only bring concerns to Rocco, not any of the other guards. He must trust the others to some extent if he’s sending them on this trip—but the warning still gives me pause.

When I approach, Rocco glances at me and gives me a nod. “Miss Tessa.”

“Rocco,” I say. “I’m really glad you’re coming.” I mean it, too. Most of the palace guards are formal with me, but Rocco has always been kind, and a bit more open. He and Thorin saved all of our lives when the palace was under attack, and that’s created a bond among us all that seems to transcend rank and title.

Rocco nods to the man standing beside him. “Kilbourne will be with us as well. Guardsman Silas is already on board.”

Kilbourne isn’t as tall as Rocco, but he’s easily as broad across the shoulders. He’s a bit older, too, probably close to thirty, with short blond hair and ruddy cheeks.

“Kilbourne,” I say. “I’m glad to make your acquaintance.”

“As am I, Miss Tessa.” He smiles. “I’m honored to be chosen for the journey.”

There’s an interesting weight to the way he says that, and I’m trying to puzzle it out, when Rocco says dryly, “He means it’s good pay. Kilbourne’s wife is expecting their first child.”

Well, that’s charming. “Congratulations!”

His smile widens, and his cheeks redden further. “I didn’t want to leave her, but Sara all but shoved me out the door. I want to buy her a house before the baby comes.”

He looks as aloof and indomitable as the rest of the king’s personal guard, but when he talks about his wife and future baby, his eyes sparkle, and I can hear the affection in his tone. Not just affection: excitement.

“When is she due?” I ask. “Late autumn, we think.” “And she’s feeling well?”

His eyes soften even more, and he nods. “Very well, thank you.”

I like him. I’m glad he’s coming. There’s something very calming about his presence that has already eased my nerves.

“No armor?” I say to them.

“It’s traveling with us by chest,” says Rocco. “We’ll have it once we arrive in Ostriary.”

A male voice speaks from behind me. “If an armored guardsman goes overboard, he turns into an anchor.”

I turn to find Captain Blakemore striding down the gangway leading to his ship. His dark hair is a bit windblown, and his eyes are in shadow, but despite all the guards, he looks more relaxed here than he did at dinner. He’s clearly at home on his ship. His jacket is unbuttoned, revealing a short dagger belted at his waist.

“Miss Cade,” he says, then offers me a bow.

As I curtsy in return, my cheeks warm in spite of myself. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to anyone treating me with courtly manners, especially outside the palace. “Captain Blakemore.”

“The guardsmen won’t be going overboard,” Rocco says, and there’s a note in his voice that somehow makes it sound like a warning.

“I rather hope no one will be going overboard,” the captain says brightly. He offers me his arm. “Miss Cade, would you like to come aboard?”

“I have things that I need to keep with me.” I pause. “I can wait for a porter.”

“As you like. But I hate to leave you in the rain when some of the others have already selected their rooms.”

Oh.

I’m not sure what to say or do.

Captain Blakemore’s eyes search mine. “Ah, forgive me. Will you be sharing quarters with Prince Corrick? If you’d like for him to be present to choose, I can offer—”

“Oh! No. I—we—he’s—I—” I break off and flush again, because I wasn’t expecting a question like that—and I’m definitely not ready with an answer. I can’t imagine Corrick would expect us to room together. “I’m here as an apothecary. I will have my own quarters, Captain.”

He watches the emotions play out on my face, then straightens. “Of course, Miss Cade. I apologize. My assumption was too bold.” He pauses. “Once again, I sense that I have asked a question that might … put you at risk.”

“No! I’m not—he’s not—” I break off. His expression is so earnest. It makes all my stammering feel foolish.

Rocco saves me. “Miss Cade has earned the king’s favor,” he says. “And his protection.”

Again, the words carry a hint of warning, and the captain’s eyes spark with intrigue. “Noted.”

I’m not sure what to say to that either. A lick of wind carries across the dark water to swirl between us, ruffling his hair and swirling my skirts. A few drops of rain nip at my cheeks.

“There’s a storm coming,” I say. “Is it safe to leave at night?”

“The winds will put us well ahead of it.” He smiles. “Water is water, Miss Cade. Tonight won’t be our only night at sea.”

“Oh. Yes, of course.” Wind whips between us again, stronger this time, and I shiver as more rain strikes my cheeks.

Behind me, Rocco says something too quiet for me to hear, but a moment later, I realize Kilbourne is pulling my

apothecary trunk from the carriage.

“I can ensure your things reach your quarters,” he says.

He nods to the captain.

I open my mouth, then close it. “Well, I—I suppose we can get out of the rain.”

The captain offers his arm again. After a moment, I take

it.

The gangway isn’t very long, and as we draw close to

the top, I see lanterns have been hung along the main deck, and figures in shadows are tying ropes and moving crates. I recognize Lieutenant Tagas and the others who were at dinner, but there are a few people I haven’t seen before. They’re calling orders and directions to each other, and there’s a sense of hurried preparation. No animosity, just a lively camaraderie. These are sailors who are used to working together. No, it’s more than that. These are sailors who like working together. It’s very different from the wary tension among the guards on the dock. The same wary tension that clings to the palace.

That knot of worry in my belly eases, just a bit.

The main deck is broad, with three masts supporting heavy sails, two of which are already unfurled. The largest mast is in the middle, nearly thirty feet high, with a crossbeam and crow’s nest at the top. The ropes lashing the ship to the dock strain and creak as the wind catches the sails. At the front of the ship, there’s a raised area leading to the prow, which is empty, but the back half—the aft, I think—has a set of doors that must lead into the officers’ quarters. Ropes and chains and rigging seem to be everywhere, and two men are lugging crates toward an open panel on the deck that must lead to a ladder. The boat shifts in the wind, and the younger one slips on the newly wet deck. The crate drops, cracking onto the planks. Wood creaks and splinters, but the crate stays together—barely.

The older man swears loudly, then growls, “I told you to have these in the hold an hour ago.”

“And I told you that—”

Captain Blakemore gives a short, sharp whistle through his teeth. “Gentlemen.”

They startle, then look over. The older one looks a bit mollified. “Sorry, Captain.” His Ostrian accent is thicker than the people who joined us at dinner. He gives me a nod. “Miss.” But then he turns a glare on the other man and grabs hold of the crate. “Try not to break my foot this time, Brock.”

Brock takes hold of the other side and snorts derisively. “Once these crates are loaded, I have a mind to break your face.”

All right, maybe not everyone likes working together.

The captain looks at me, and his eyes are bright, but his voice is sedate. “Forgive my crew. They can be a bit rough- spoken.”

I notice that he has a hint of their accent, too. I didn’t hear it at dinner. I wonder if it’s stronger now that he’s back among his shipmates. Something else he picked up in his six years in Ostriary, I suppose. “I grew up around the docks,” I say, waving off his concern. “I’m no stranger to the mouth of a sailor.”

The ship rocks hard against the dock, and my fingers dig into Captain Blakemore’s arm until I catch my balance. But then a second gust tilts the deck in the opposite direction, and I stumble forward, right into his chest.

He catches me easily, keeping me upright, seeming to have no trouble with the motion of the ship. I inhale sharply, because it puts us very close. His eyes are so dark in the shadowed moonlight.

At my back, Kilbourne clears his throat.

I struggle to right myself. “I’m sorry. It’s windy.” Another gust tugs at my skirts, and I nearly do it again. I wish I’d had the good sense to wear trousers. “What—ah, what were we saying?”

The captain smiles. “You were saying that you’re no stranger to the mouth of a sailor.”

In a second I’m going to have to throw myself

overboard. “I meant—”

“I know what you meant.” He’s still smiling, but his gaze has turned a bit appraising. “So you’re familiar with a ship then.”

“Oh! No. Well, a little. I was raised here in Artis. My father was an apothecary, though. We used to treat the dockworkers.” I shiver. “I’ve seen it all. Sun poisoning, the Rose Rash in the winter, the Saltwater Cough in the summer months, the rope burns from the—”

The ship sways, nearly knocking me right into his chest again. Even Kilbourne staggers sideways with my trunk.

“Sorry,” I say again. “I’m sure I’ll find my sea legs in no time.”

Captain Blakemore catches my arm, but this time he glances at the sky, then frowns. The easygoing look vanishes from his eyes.

The two men from earlier are emerging from below the deck, and the captain looks to them. “Brock, check that rigging.” He looks across the deck, then whistles. “Gwyn!” he calls. “Drop that main sail. I want to shove off as soon as the prince is on board.” Without missing a beat, he looks back at me. “Come, Miss Cade. Let’s get you under cover.”