The east wing of the palace has signi cant smoke and re damage, and it is uninhabitable, but the west side fared much better. ere were many casualties, but due to the late hour of the attack, many of the palace staff had already le for the night. By the time we return to the palace with Tessa and the consuls, I’m shocked to discover that Quint has already given orders and had rooms prepared—before apparently collapsing on a chaise longue in the dimly lit salon.

e consuls shuffle off to their rooms, but Harristan hesitates in the hallway. He studies Quint, sound asleep to the point where he’s almost drooling.

“I’ll wake him,” I say.

“No. Let him sleep.” Harristan shis his eyes to me.

I can’t read anything in his expression, but his eyes are piercing. We may have stopped the rebels—for now—but there is a lot le unsaid between us. I want to collapse onto that chaise beside Quint, but I brace myself.

Harristan inhales, but Tessa holds up a hand. “Tomorrow,” she whispers. My brother shuts his mouth, but now his gaze shis to her.

Tessa almost falters, but then she steels herself. “Tomorrow. Your Majesty.

If you please. If . . . ah, if I may add to my list of demands.” “You may,” he concedes.

I look at her, and even battle worn and road weary, she’s more lovely than I’ve ever seen. “Your demands?”

She blushes, then bites at her lip.

Before she can say anything, Harristan claps me on the shoulder. “You heard her, Cory. Tomorrow.”

 

 

Tomorrow comes, but Harristan doesn’t visit my chambers. Not the following day either. He sends me a message to rest, to recover, to wait. I hear from the guards that he is meeting with each of the consuls individually, discussing plans to move forward. Lissa Marpetta has retreated to her sector, and Harristan has sent an army regiment to bring her back to the palace to answer for the fraudulent Moon ower petals.

Consul Sallister attempted to leave, but he was stopped at the gate. Every message he sends is scrutinized. Every shipment of Moon ower petals is inspected before it’s distributed.

Tensions in the sector haven’t lessened. e people are afraid of the rebels

—and they’re afraid that the supply of medicine will stop. ere’s a nervous hum to the city that’s very different from before.

But I hear of no attacks. I hear no alarms.

I hear of no one in the Hold either. No summons for the King’s Justice.

Quint doesn’t visit me much, but he’s as busy as my brother, arranging for tradesmen and carpenters and steelworkers to rebuild the east wing.

Tessa visits me oen. Every break during her time with the palace physicians, every dinner, every spare minute. I teach her to play chess, and she immediately beats me in a game. She tells me that the palace apothecary was killed in the attack, but there are rumors that he was working with Lissa Marpetta.

I soak up every bit of gossip, and I worry for my brother. I worry for Kandala. I worry that we won’t have any way to move forward, that we’ll hit the end of the eight weeks and we’ll be no closer to a solution.

Tessa worries about the same.

I send my brother messages, requests, inquiries. Demands.

His response is always the same: Tomorrow. At rst, I enjoyed the respite.

By the seventh day, my ankle doesn’t pain me, and most of my bruises have faded. I’m ready to don my mask and hat and stride into the woods as Wes, just for a chance to break the boredom.

When yet another deferral is delivered to my chambers—Tomorrow, Cory, if there is time—I crumple it up and toss it into the replace.

en I stride down the hallway to his room.

Rocco is on duty, and while my brother’s guards have never stopped me from entering Harristan’s quarters, I wonder if things have changed.

But Rocco gives me a nod. “Your Highness. e king is dining with Master Quint.”

“Marvelous. I’ll join them.” I grab hold of the door handle.

Harristan is talking and Quint is writing when I barrel into the room.

ey both look up at me in surprise.

Quint stands at once. “Your Highness.”

“Corrick,” says Harristan. “I sent word that we could meet tomorrow.” “Hmm.” I move to the side table and pour myself a glass of brandy. “I

believe I’ve heard that before.”

“Shall I allow you a moment of privacy?” Quint says. He gathers his papers.

“Yes,” I say.

“No,” says Harristan. “Corrick, we can meet tomorrow—”

“I am the King’s Justice,” I snap, “and half the consuls were embroiled in a treasonous plot against you, Harristan. I should be a part of your meetings.” I step close and slam my glass down on the table. “I should be interrogating them. I should be reviewing their holdings and their dosages and their—”

“Enough.” Harristan puts up a hand. “You’re right. e King’s Justice should be doing those things.” He pauses, and there’s no censure in his voice. “But from what I’ve learned, you were unhappy in that role.”

My brother’s voice is quiet, but full of weight. e room seems to tilt, just for a second.

I don’t know what to say.

I don’t know what I want to say.

To my horror, my chest tightens, and I have to look away.

Quint nishes gathering his papers. “I will have another meal sent.” But as he approaches the door, he stops beside me. “Before you went to the Circle with Tessa, I said you can only be the King’s Justice.” He pauses. “I was wrong. You should be Corrick.” He glances at Harristan and then back at me. “Especially here. Especially now. You’ve come too far.”

I have to swallow. “ank you, Quint.”

“Always.”

en he’s gone, and I’m alone with my brother.

I take a long breath, then down the glass of brandy. I move back to the side table to pour another.

Harristan appears at my side, and he takes the bottle out of my hands. “Cory.”

“Who will you choose in my place?” I say, and my voice is harsher than I expect. “You know, Rocco is more savvy than I gave him credit for, and he wouldn’t inch from violence—”

“I’m not replacing you.”

“Ah, so you’re going to leave me to rot in my chambers?”

“No.” He sighs. “I was trying to see if I could understand what it is that you do.”

I freeze. “What does that mean?”

“It means I’ve been interrogating the consuls. I’ve been to the Hold. I’ve been—”

“You’ve been to the Hold?”

“Yes. You were correct about prisoners using chairs as weapons.” Against my will, that makes me laugh. “I told you.”

He doesn’t smile. His eyes search mine. “I’m not replacing you. But I don’t want to return to the status quo. I don’t want to hide behind the King’s Justice.”

“You never hide, Harristan.”

“Father did.” He pauses. “And I wonder if that’s part of why they were killed.” Another pause. “ere are very few people in the palace whom I trust. I would never replace you.”

at sentence doesn’t sound complete, so I raise my eyebrows. “But . . . ?” “But . . . I do not want you to think you must hide your true intent from

me.” His voice sharpens. “I do not want to think that you would lie to me.”

I swallow and look away. I think of that moment in the Hold when Allisander declared that my brother was not my friend, that he le me in the Hold for an entire day. He wasn’t wrong about that moment—but the choices that put me there weren’t Harristan’s. e blame was mine. “Forgive me.”

He hesitates, then reaches out to ruffle my hair, the way he did in the Hold. “You’re forgiven.”

I roll my eyes and duck away. “So . . . you don’t want me to be Cruel Corrick anymore?”

He grimaces. “ere is so much gossip and unrest. If even a fraction of it is true, I think you’ll have plenty of opportunities to be Cruel Corrick. But . .

. we have focused on the crimes of those who have little, those who commit crimes of desperation. e true insurrection was here in the Royal Sector. With us.”

“Do you have any ideas?”

“I was giving them to Quint before you burst in here.” He sighs and pours himself a glass of brandy, then smacks my hand away when I reach for the bottle. “I still have no idea why Roydan and Arella have been meeting secretly to review shipping logs. And we’ll have to do something about Leander Cra’s sector. I can’t have two sectors without a consul. ose explosives came out of Trader’s Landing, so we’ll need to discover how they were smuggled out. I suspect we may have more traitors in our midst than just Allisander.” He runs a hand through his hair. “We’ll need to appoint someone to oversee—”

A knock sounds at the door. “Your Majesty,” a guard calls. “Another meal has arrived.”

I smile at my brother. “Let’s get to work.”