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That tempers some of my flames.
He tugs at the chains to stop the flow of water, then turns around to lean back against the basin. “If there’s an underground network of smugglers funded by these Benefactors, they’re too well hidden. No one will admit anything to the night patrol. No one will speak to me, certainly.”
Funny how that happens when you kill everyone. The words sit on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t say them. I don’t think he needs me to.
I don’t want to stare at him—well, my traitorous eyes do, but that’s not going anywhere good. I turn away and find a soft towel on a shelf, then turn to bring it back.
He’s standing right behind me.
I suck in a breath and shove it against his chest. “Here.”
“Thank you.” But he doesn’t move.
“What will Allisander do now?” I say.
Corrick shakes out the towel and drags it across his skin. “He vomited in the hallway of the Hold, so hopefully I was convincing that I’ll take a hard line on any further attacks.”
“Which means you think there will be more.”
“Yes.” He finally meets my eyes. “I think there will be more.” He pauses. “And I think, after today’s attacks, they will be more violent and even better planned. Word will spread quickly that this rescue mission was successful. The people will be emboldened. This isn’t just about funding rebels. If we have organized attacks on supply runs in addition to calls for rebellion in the streets, well . . .” His voice trails off.
“You think Allisander will stop supplying the Moonflower.”
“No. I think we’ll face a full-on revolution.”
What did Harristan say? It’s easy to love your king when everyone is well fed and healthy. A bit harder when everyone is not. He’s not wrong. But seeing things from this side makes it all so much more complicated. Revolution will mean more deaths—not just from violence, but from the fevers as well, as medicine becomes restricted.
I look into Corrick’s eyes and remember how I stood in the darkness with him and begged for revolution. I begged him to stand at the front with me—but I didn’t have a plan. I don’t have one now.
Now I understand what he was telling me that night. Rebellion won’t stop the fevers, Tessa.
A revolution might remove Harristan and Corrick from power, but it won’t stop the illnesses. It won’t force Allisander to provide more medicine. If anything, it’ll be harder to come by.
And if the king is busy fighting a revolution, he won’t be able to spare the expense to look for alternate ways to cure the fevers. Kandala will tear itself apart.
“Roydan and Arella have already begun to have secret meetings,” Corrick says. “It’s possible the other consuls have, too. Allisander and Lissa have a private army. If this comes to revolution, it might not just be the people against the throne.”
“It might be sector against sector,” I whisper. “It really is hopeless.”
Corrick nods.
“But if we stop the attacks—”
“It won’t stop a rebellion. Again, that’s a big if. I can hardly stop them now.”
He’s right. I know he’s right. And like he said earlier, if royal advisers haven’t been able to solve the problem, it’s unlikely we’re going to solve it in the dead of night in a washroom.
The blood is gone, and Corrick’s hair is slicked back, but the haunted look hasn’t left his face. I watched his eyes light up when he saw Rocco in the Hold. Was he hoping for Harristan? Is the king not involved in what Corrick is tasked with doing? Does he deliberately keep himself at a distance, or does Corrick try to shield him from it? I can’t decide which is worse, but I watched his eyes fill a few moments ago, and I think both options are horrible.
“The night patrol will be more brutal now,” I say quietly.
He looks back at me for the longest moment, his expression inscrutable—then scrubs his hands over his face and makes a sound that’s half aggravation, half anguish. “I can’t call them off, Tessa. I can’t. Allisander would stop his shipments. Harristan would—”
“I know.”
“—never be able to back it. The rebels set fire to the sector—”
“I know.”
