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CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Corrick
It’s nearly dawn by the time I crawl into bed, but that doesn’t stop the guards from rapping at my door at an hour past dawn, announcing that Consul Sallister has arrived.
“I believe we were to play chess, were we not?” Allisander calls.
I wish I could order his execution.
But we play in my quarters, the fire snapping in the hearth, a serving girl bringing us sugared pastries and boiled eggs and pouring cup after cup of black tea. I expect Allisander to be full of demands, seeking promises, but he’s oddly quiet. Tension hangs over the room, and I can’t tell if it’s between me and him, or if it’s all in my head. Every move we make on the chessboard feels like a precursor to battle.
I think of Tessa’s censorious eyes last night, and I have to shake off her judgment. As much as I hate Allisander, I need him. Kandala needs him.
Fornow.
The thought makes my heart pound. Harristan can’t undermine his consuls, but if we can stop the attacks and find out the source of funding—if we can ease some of the tensions in the sectors—then maybe we can formulate a new way to move forward.
But tensions are higher than ever, and the night patrol is on high alert. If Wes and Tessa return to the Wilds, the risk would be immense.
I look at the self-indulgent man in front of me. The risk is immense either way. The Benefactors have to be connected to someone from the Royal Sector—I just don’t know who else would have the silver to spend on revolution. But the consuls are all close to Harristan. I can’t imagine any of them paying citizens to revolt when any of them would have an opportunity to put a knife in my brother themselves. It would be cheaper. Simpler. Faster.
I think of that stack of letters Quint brought to Harristan on the day we were set to execute eight smugglers. Nearly two hundred letters—a lot of unhappy people crying for change.
Arella’s was among them. Her feelings about the executions have been made quite clear. She would never attack Harristan.
But she’s got a soft spot for the people, for those who are suffering.
And she’s been having secret meetings with Roydan.
They all ask for money when someone is denied funding. Allisander implicated Jonas Beeching—but Arella was pretty quick.
I’ve fallen so deep in thought that I’m startled when Allisander speaks into the silence. “I’m surprised you had time for a game, Corrick.”
“I made you a promise,” I say breezily.
“You make a lot of promises.”
My hand goes still on a chess piece. There’s a note in his voice I can’t quite figure out, and it draws my gaze up from the board. “I do my best to keep them all.”
“Indeed? To whom?”
He looks . . . ?smug. Or something close to it. He’s honestly a terrible chess player, but I’ve been letting him win for the last half an hour simply because I didn’t think it would be a good idea to poke at his pride.
Now feels like a good time to stop.
“I don’t know what you mean.” I move my rook in position to capture his king. “Check.”
He moves his king one square to the right. “I’ve looked into this girl of yours.”
My blood goes cold, but I shrug and study the board. “She is not mine.”
He leans in, his eyes seeking mine with vicious intensity. “She isn’t an apothecary. She works for a charlatan who peddles cheap skin remedies.”
I’m frozen in place. I don’t know what to say. I knew Tessa was her real name, but the shop where she works is outside the Wilds, well away from here. She never worried about anyone we were helping identifying her, surely.
Or maybe she never worried because she wouldn’t have been at risk the way I was.
I move my rook again. “Regardless of her employment, she has brought theories to Harristan. Theories that may—”
