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I meet his eyes. “I’m very glad you sent the soldiers,” I say, and despite everything, I mean it.
He holds my gaze for a long moment, and I can feel every question he’s not voicing. “Quint has been in my face much of the day, too,” he says, his tone musing.
I’ve been worried about Quint since the instant I was locked in this cell, but I’ve been afraid to so much as breathe his name. “You’ve loved every moment of it, I’m sure.”
“He insists you’ve never had one truly treasonous thought cross your mind.”
Only Quint could think of the perfect way to phrase that to Harristan, because every syllable is absolutely true. “He’s right.”
“He says that every secret you keep is an effort to protect me.”
I should double Quint’s salary—if I ever get out of prison. My throat feels tight again, and to my absolute horror, I feel a tear make its way through the dirt on my cheek. “He’s right about that, too.”
Harristan waits, but I say nothing. I swipe the tear away, and no more dare to follow.
My brother sighs, then reaches out to ruffle my hair affectionately, like I’m a boy.
“Ow,” I say.
He stops with his hand on my head and levels me with his eyes. “Tell me the truth.”
I hesitate. “I think Arella and Roydan are funding the rebels. It would explain their secret meetings—”
“Corrick,” he snaps. “I meant the truth about you.”
“I know what you meant.” But the truth won’t help him, and it certainly won’t help me.
“Don’t be a fool. I can’t bring you back to the palace if I don’t know what you’re doing.”
“I was apprehended in a rebel camp,” I say. I want to shake him. And he wonders why I keep such secrets. “Harristan, you can’t bring me back to the palace at all. How would you appease Allisander? How?”
A muscle in his jaw twitches as he sits there regarding me, but he must see the truth in that, because his shoulders droop and he runs a hand across his jaw. “Very well. But I can make sure you’re fed.” He looks at the cut over my eye. “And treated.” He casts another glance around. “And perhaps provided with a chair, at the very least.”
“The prisoners use furniture as weapons.”
He looks startled, and I shrug.
When he stands, I do as well, and I limp behind him to the doorway. He hesitates, but I slam the gate closed between us.
He looks at the lock and then back at me. “I will leave Rocco to ensure you are left unharmed.”
“Ah! My best friend.”
He gives me a look. “Mother and Father tried to protect me, too,” he says.
“I remember. So does the pony.”
“You might think you’re the clever and brave one, little brother, but don’t forget.” He smiles. “I found a way around them both.”
