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But maybe Quint can tell, because his movements slow, the handkerchief tracing lightly over the injury.
“How often did you do this for Corrick?” I say.
“Tending his wounds or fetching him from the Wilds?”
I don’t like the way he phrases either of those options. “Both.”
He shakes his head. “Neither, really. Corrick was rarely injured.” He pauses. “Aside from the time your soldiers found him with the rebels, he never failed to return of his own accord.” He pauses. “He never went on his nightly runs without a mask. He never even let Tessa know who he was.”
I draw back and turn to face him. “Are you chastising me, Quint?”
“Never, Your Majesty.” He rinses the handkerchief again, then lifts it. When I don’t move, he raises his eyebrows.
I sigh and turn my head. I have to run a hand across my face. Corrick did this for years. Only a few weeks, and I nearly brought down the kingdom.
He’s better at this than I am.
He’s better at a lot of things than I am.
“Maybe you should be,” I say. The water is cold, and I shiver.
“Hmm?”
“Chastising me,” I add. “When I told you I wanted to do this, you didn’t even try to talk me out of it.”
“I’m honored to think I could have talked the king of Kandala out of anything at all.” He pauses, and I wince as he passes the handkerchief over the worst of it. “This will need stitching, I’m afraid.”
“The arrow nearly took me in the face.”
“You were very lucky.”
“Lucky.” I should be worried about my consuls and my guards, but instead, I think of Maxon, lying dead in the middle of the woods. My voice has gone rough. To my horror, my chest tightens. I frown and push Quint’s hand away. “Enough.”
He recedes, wrapping up the cloth so it doesn’t drip too badly, and I fix my gaze on the opposite wall of the carriage. The air between us is thick with silence, and that’s not better. It leaves me with too much time to think.
Information on the king. On how he’strickingyou.
Arella and Roydan have been having private meetings for weeks—but they’ve been reviewing shipping logs. I have absolutely no idea how that could be related to me tricking anyone.
And I still can’t see Arella conspiring with Laurel Pepperleaf and Captain Huxley. He’s a gossip, everyone knows that, but I’ve never thought he was disloyal. Laurel was at the dinner with Allisander, and Arellahateshim and everything he stands for. I can’t quite see Laurel and Arella working together either.
But the night patrol showed up, and everyone scattered.
Maxon helped me—and then he was killed for it.
My eyes burn and I blink it away.
“If I may,” Quint begins.
“No,” I say, and he shuts his mouth.
I don’t like that. I glance up. His red hair is nearly brown in the dim light of the carriage, but his eyes are piercing. We’ve never been friends, so I have no idea how old he is, but he has to be older than I am. He was an apprentice when he first came to the palace, and he’s held his position as Palace Master for years now, so he mustbe … twenty-four? Twenty-five? I only ever really kept him on because I know Corrick is so fond of him. Personally, I always found him a bit bothersome: he might be good at his job, but he prattles endlessly about everything, and he seems to enjoy doing so.
It’s only in these recent weeks that I’ve discovered that Quint’s mindless chatter is a front for someone who’s sharp, attentive, and deeply loyal.
Brave, too. He saved my life when the palace was under attack. And cunning, if he secretly helped Corrick for so long.
“Was that your idea?” I finally say. “To give the impression that the guards were arresting me for ‘impersonating’ the king?”
