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Roydan Pelham. Some at court might think the old man was after Arella because she’s young, cultured, and beautiful, but I’ve known Roydan my entire life, and no one is more devoted to his wife than he is. He’s also played court politics for so long that he wouldn’t be seen climbing into a carriage with Arella unless it meant something. “Their sectors border one another.”
“Exactly.” He pauses. “It’s a risk to stand against Allisander. Especially now.”
“Arella’s people have always fared the best against the fevers,” I say. “Maybe she feels like she has less to lose.”
Harristan runs a hand across his face. He wants to pardon the prisoners. I can see it in the set of his jaw. I don’t know what about them has drawn his sympathy, whether it’s the number of captives, or the quantity of requests we received, or if it’s simply that he’s as tired of violence and treachery as I am, and he longs to be kind to someone. Anyone.
Kindness killed our parents.
Harristan coughs behind his hand, and my attention sharpens. I go stock-still.
His breathing sounds fine. His color is good. He’s fine.
I think it again, more emphatically, as if I can will it to be true. He’s fine.
“If they go free,” I say slowly, “Allisander will see it as the Crown taking a stand against him, too.” Again, I think. “We aren’t just talking about affecting the supply to the palace, Harristan.”
“I know.”
“We’re talking about the entire Royal Sector. We’re talking about all of Kandala.”
“I know.”
“We can’t side with criminals,” I say. “This is the first time we’ve seen a larger group attempt to organize. If we’re lenient, it will lead to more raids, to more thefts, to more—”
“Cory.” His voice is quiet. “I know.”
I say nothing. We’re in agreement, then.
We’ve come to an understanding.
I sigh. So does he.
My brother pulls his pocket watch free. “We’re two hours from midday. You never did tell me how you’re going to do it.”
My thoughts turn dark, a black cloak already dropping across my mind to stave off any emotion. I do what needs to be done.
“Wait and see.”
