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“I am,” I say. “If you want information, they need to be in a condition to give it.” I turn for the stairs.
He’s not following me. “First you bring an assassin to your room, and now you’re caring for prisoners? Why isn’t that girl down here in a cell, too, Corrick?”
I ignore him and look at Stanton again. “Have the guards who were assigned to the supply run report to the palace. I’d like to speak with them.” Then I step close to Allisander, and I shove every thought of Tessa out of my head. I send my thoughts to the dark place that reminds me of how I felt after my parents were killed in front of me. “Would you like me to prove that I haven’t turned soft, Consul?”
My voice is cold, but he doesn’t back down. He may have been friends with Harristan, but his relationship with me has always been a bit more politically weighted. I sometimes think he avoids my brother, as if their standoff from so many years ago still stings, but he and I have always met on a level playing field. But now he looks like he wants to challenge me, and that is unlike him. I wonder how much gossip is already swirling in regard to Tessa. I wonder if the fact that prisoners escaped during the riots is being seen as a weakness on my part. I wonder if I’m going to be forced to do something terrible, just to quiet the rumors.
Without warning, my thoughts summon the image of Tessa on the floor of my room, shaking and terrified. Her thoughts are always of the people. Mine are too, but not the way hers are. She used to look at Weston—at me—with such devotion. I didn’t deserve a moment of it then, and I deserve it less now.
The thought comes as a blow.
Something must flicker in my expression, something that exposes a flash of vulnerability or weakness, because Allisander steps forward and says, “Yes, Corrick. I would.”
“Very well. You are banned from the palace until you can remember that I am King’s Justice, and you are Consul of Moonlight Plains. You will not countermand my orders with guards I provided for your protection, and you will not—”
“You cannot ban me from the palace.” He looks like he wants to knock me into the wall.
“Shall I find you a cell among your friends? They seem crowded. Perhaps you could share.”
His hands have formed fists, and his eyes are cold. “No,” he says through gritted teeth.
I raise my eyebrows.
“No,” he says again, “Your Highness.”
“Remember that,” I snap. “Yours is not the only sector with the Moonflower.” I turn and head for the stairs without waiting to see if he follows or not.
I’ve been waiting for Harristan for twenty minutes, and I’m about ready to tear the wallpaper from the walls. Instead, I’m looking at stacks of paperwork that are accumulating in front of me: detailed accountings of each sector’s medicinal allotment, along with the most recent census per town, as well as death records and health records and crime records. More information than I could ever care to need.
“What is all this?” I ask a page as he carries yet another stack into my quarters.
“By order of the king, Your Highness,” he says, before offering a quick bow and leaving the room—just to reappear minutes later with more. He looks at the laden table doubtfully.
I want to tell him to toss it all in the fireplace.
“Just stack it on the floor,” I say.
I sent word to Quint, hoping he’d bustle through my doorway with information about Tessa’s meeting with my brother, but apparently he’s been dealing with some kind of issue with the kitchen staff.
I have no idea what Harristan is doing—or why he’d send me all this. I sent word to him, too, and my brother’s response was a terse, “Later.”
I move to the side table and pour a glass of wine.
The page returns with another stack. Lord. I pour the wine back into the bottle and switch to brandy.
I enjoy details, and I’m not opposed to digging through mountains of documents, but this . . . ?this is a bit much. I’m not even sure of the purpose.
I want to send word to Tessa, but I can’t think of anything to say that won’t be read and gossiped about—and I need to know how her meeting with Harristan went so I can decide how I want our interactions to be viewed.
I also can’t stop thinking about these Benefactors, and what that means. Is someone behind these attacks, these raids? For the people to take such a risk would require funding of some sort. Or medicine. Otherwise the risk to the people is simply too great.
If these attacks continue, Allisander will slow his shipments. The risk to Kandala is too great.
Onmy final night as Weston Lark, I asked Tessa if she knew who they were, and she didn’t. She wouldn’t have lied to Wes. I wish we’d had one more night, one more chance to talk to the people.
But of course I’ve undone any chance of that.
I drag my hands through my hair. I’m exhausted, and it’s hardly the middle of the afternoon.
