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CHAPTER TEN
Corrick
For as harried as he always seems, Quint is rather good at chess. It seems like the kind of game that would frustrate him, as so much time is spent sitting quietly and waiting on an opponent, but maybe it gives him an excuse to be still. Tonight, I’m the one who needs something to force me into stillness. I’m restless and antsy and troubled.
My windows are dark, and the fire burns low beside us, meaning I should probably be sleeping. So should Quint. My brother went to bed hours ago.
I rarely resent Harristan, but every now and again I wish he could bear the weight of this role, that he could be the one to look every prisoner in the eye as they take their last breath or say their last words or beg for everything I can never give them.
I shift my rook forward and wait, watching as Quint surveys the board.
He’llwin. He usually does, but tonight I’m distracted and unsettled, so Quint has an advantage. Allisander and Lissa left after dinner, which should be a relief. With evidence of smugglers running loose and whispers of revolution in the street, it’s not. I can’t remember a time when the Royal Sector felt as if it held its breath like this, waiting, but the anxiety has bled into the palace, sharpening tempers to a razor’s edge.
A knock sounds at my door, and I pull my pocket watch free. It’s an hour till midnight.
“Enter,” I call.
The guard swings the door wide. “Your Highness. Consul Cherry requests an audience.”
Quint looks up from the board. “Should I send her away?”
It’s tempting, but Arella has never come to my chambers, and I’m curious. “No.” I run a hand across my jaw and sigh. “Send her in,” I tell my guard.
Allisander always blows into my room like a thunderstorm wrapped up in silken finery, bringing demands disguised as requests, so I’m surprised when Arella eases in like a breeze, stepping quietly, her dark hair unbound, her body encased in a simple velvet gown that reveals every curve yet leaves plenty to the imagination. She curtsies to me, her fingers gracefully lifting the heavy velvet of her skirt. “Your Highness.”
I don’t move. “Arella.”
Quint stands and offers her a nod. “Consul Cherry.”
Allisander would ignore him, but Arella nods back. “Master Quint.” Her eyes fall on the chessboard. “Do forgive me for interrupting your game.”
I trace a finger over the top of my wineglass. “We’ll see.”
Quintis waiting to see if I’m going to send him out. He knows everything that goes on in the palace, and there are no secrets between him and me, but many of the consuls act like he’s a nuisance and ask for privacy.
Arella doesn’t. “I’ve seen the display you left at the gate.”
“I’m hoping everyone has seen it. That’s why I left it there.” I glance at Quint. “It’s still your move.”
He eases back into his chair. He glances at me and then back at the board.
He might be the only one in the palace who knows how very much I hate this. All of this.
Arella isn’t easily distracted—or put off. “Someone will climb up there and steal the flower.”
“Good. Then we’ll have a second body. My brother is disappointed we don’t have three strung up there already.”
In all honesty, I actually think Harristan was disappointed we caught one so very quickly. As much as he wants to appease his consuls and offer a show of strength, he doesn’t like the thought of rebellion. When the smugglers were hiding in the darkness, it was easy to see them as criminals, as individuals clearly doing wrong.
It’s hard to bring down the sword of justice on a thousand citizens who scream for rebellion and mercy in the bright light of day.
Arella appears to be choosing her words carefully, so I speak into the silence to say, “You’ve been spending a great deal of time with Consul Pelham.”
I watch her for a reaction, but she offers none. One perfectly manicured eyebrow lifts. “Jealous, Corrick?”
“Of an eighty-year-old man?” I smile. “Maybe.”
She doesn’t smile back. “I find we have similar goals.”
