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CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Corrick
The east wing of the palace has significant smoke and fire damage, and it is uninhabitable, but the west side fared much better. There were many casualties, but due to the late hour of the attack, many of the palace staff had already left 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.
The 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 shifts 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 left 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 shifts 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 Moonflower petals.
Consul Sallister attempted to leave, but he was stopped at the gate. Every message he sends is scrutinized. Every shipment of Moonflower petals is inspected before it’s distributed.
Tensions in the sector haven’t lessened. The people are afraid of the rebels—and they’re afraid that the supply of medicine will stop. There’s a nervous hum to the city that’s very different from before.
ButI 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 often. 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 first, 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 fireplace.
Then I stride down the hallway to his room.
