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“See her to her room,” the king says.
Just like that, I’m dismissed. A moment later, my hand is on Quint’s arm, and we’re in the hushed quiet of the hallway. To my surprise, the guard Rocco follows a short distance behind. Probably to make sure I get where I’m supposed to be going.
Every hour I spend here seems to turn my thoughts upside down and inside out, until I have no idea what’s right and what’s wrong. Maybe Quint can sense that, because he’s not talkative as we walk.
Or maybe he’s as tired as I am.
I can’t decide whether I want to ask if he knows what Corrick is doing to the prisoners, and before I can make up my mind, we’re at my door. Rocco speaks quietly to the guards standing there, and they disperse.
Quint turns to face me. “Jossalyn will have your agenda at daybreak,” he says.
The very thought is exhausting. I can barely remember why anything felt like progress with Corrick when we reviewed the maps—because everything unraveled when the fires began outside the window and he marched off to kill prisoners. Much like this morning, I want to clutch at Quint’s sleeve and beg him to stay, but I know there are much more pressing matters right now.
I force the thought out of my head and bite back a sigh. “Thank you.”
He nods and turns away.
I pause with my hand on the doorknob. I look at Rocco, who’s taken the place of the guards he sent away. My eyes flick across that royal insignia on his uniform. Maybe the regular palace guards are all busy chasing down escaped prisoners.
“It’s your turn to make sure I can’t get out?” I say to him.
His eyebrows lift. “To make sure you can’t get out?” he echoes.
“You replaced the guards. You’re my new jailor?”
“Ah. No.” He reaches for the doorknob and holds the door wide for me. “You acted to protect the king,” he says. “As such, you’ve earned his favor.”
I glance at the door, at his hand, at the empty hallway. “I . . . ? don’t understand.”
“You’re not a prisoner. You’re not confined to your quarters.”
“I’m not.”
“No, Miss Tessa.”
“Then . . .” I hesitate. My tired brain is too tangled up. “Then what are you doing here?”
“I’m a guard.” He smiles. “I’m here to make sure no one gets in.”
“Oh.” I look at the door again. “Oh.” I step across the threshold. “Thank you.”
He nods and pulls the door closed, sealing me in with the silence.
I walk to the window. I can’t see the sector as clearly as I could before, but it looks like the fires have been brought under control. The alarms in the sector have been silenced, and the searchlights don’t spin as frantically.
Somewhere in the darkness, Corrick is executing prisoners. I turn away from the window.
I should hate him, but I can’t. I don’t know what that says about me, and I’m not sure I’m ready to examine it too closely.
I wonder what my father would think of Prince Corrick, of the king and Allisander and this struggle among the elites that seems to cause the most suffering among the poor, who don’t deserve it.
I wonder what my father would think about me, safe in the palace while the sector burns below.
I move to the closet and unwind the ribbons from my arms and pull the dress over my head, but my thoughts are far outside this room. The day Mistress Solomon made us attend the execution, I remember standing in the crowd and wishing Wes were there. I didn’t know it then, but he was. I thought Prince Corrick was horrible, and in some ways he is, but maybe he was standing on that stage feeling as distressed as I was.
Then execute them. Right now.
He didn’t even look at me before he left the room.
