“Every day,” Enver says. “It’s been over twenty years. The spring is gradually purging the poison on its own, but it’s taken its toll. You may have noticed everything seems…stretched thin. Asterans have been a little sicker, our crops a little less abundant—even the shells you like so much, Princess, they’re not quite as lustrous now.”
“Is that why you decided to allow foreign citizens on the mainland now?” Cressien breaks his thoughtful silence.
Enver shrugs dejectedly. “Indeed. The damage has alreadybeen done. It seems if Astera is to make a true recovery…we may need help from beyond our shores.”
And if these people really are—were—his parents, it’s all their fault.
“You’re sure they were my parents?” Eugene can’t help asking.
Enver’s stony expression erodes a fraction. “I didn’t know they had a son. Still, you are almostexactlylike Andreas. He’s in your eyes, your voice, even the”—he waves a hand—“motions. But…I daresay you have your mother’s nose.”
Eugene feels it, then, as decisive as the gallows: The dream is over, and he can’t deny reality anymore.
He thinks he might throw up.
When he ventures a look at Rapunzel, she’s frowning—but not in the shocked or dismayed way he expected. There’s a telltale tip of her head, the one she gets when she steps back to assess a painting’s composition.
“Thank you for your trust,” she says carefully. “I know how important a secret like this is, and you can count on us to protect it.”
“Including Fitzherbert.” Those are perhaps the last words Eugene expected from Minister Cressien, but he says them nonetheless. “Whatever his parentage may be, it has no bearing on his upbringing.”
“ ‘Whatever’ isn’t the ideal word choice there, is it?” Eugene grumbles.
Cressien gives him aSo help me, I will turn this defense of youaroundlook and continues, “Is the guards’ surveillance truly necessary?”
Enver rubs his brow. “I suppose…not within the palace. If the boy wishes to go outside, Hughes will still supervise. We didn’t stamp out the entirety of the People’s Dagger, and if they recognize him as Andreas’s son, they may attempt to make contact.”
They’d have to get in line, Eugene thinks grimly.
Then—he remembers the brief glimpse of Torch’s hand as they wrestled with the bag.
The tiny tattoo at the base of their thumb: a dagger.
Your parents didn’t abandon you, Eugene.
My stars, but the resemblance is uncanny.
The People’s Dagger doesn’t have to get in line. Not when they were the first in the door.
“His Majesty’s compassion is without peer,” Cressien says. Then he gives Eugene another sharp look.
Eugene gets the message loud and clear. The words still stick in his throat. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
Enver just nods, curt. He leads them toward the door. “Verette goes into the city with Councilor Savary once a week to provide aid to Asterans still suffering the long-term impacts of the Night of the Poisoned Dagger. If you wish, I can ask for you to join them so you can see for yourself.”
“Whatever you need,” Rapunzel says immediately, because that’s just who she is. Eugene hides a wince. It’s not a bad thing that she never hesitates to throw herself into fixing someoneelse’s problems. And he knows it’s an instinct she learned in Gothel’s tower.
He just hopes that someday soon, she sees that people love her for more than what she can do for them.
“Eugene, do you want to come with?” Rapunzel asks.
He starts to think of an excuse not to go—then it occurs to him that, if he can shake Hughes, this could be an opportunity to return to the storefront.
There has to be more to the Night of the Poisoned Dagger. Maybe…they can clear his parents’ names. It’s a foolhardy idea, but Eugene knows exactly who he is when he’s desperate: a relentless, single-minded fool.
“You know what,” he says slowly, “I would love to.”
Eleven
