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Somehow, I do end up seated across from Captain Blakemore, but it doesn’t allow for much conversation. Harristan has been grilling the sea captain and his lieutenant on Ostriary and their infrastructure. It’s probably for the best anyway. I’ve been smarting a bit since Corrick told me that Laurel’s interest in my methods might be a farce to help put her father into power. It makes me glad I’m not seated next toher.
At the opposite end of the table, Quint has Allisander and Laurel engrossed in conversation about the demand for Kandalan silk coming out of Trader’s Landing, and it’s so detailed yet innocuous that I highly suspect that he’s been charged with keeping the consul occupied for as long as possible. Sablo sits beside Captain Blakemore, and he’s easily as imposing as Rocco, my favorite member of the king’s personal guard. Sablo is listening to every word that’s said, watching Corrick and Harristan as if he doesn’t trust them. Tohisleft, Marchon the quartermaster looks bored by Allisander’s blustering with Quint, but he’s just a bit too far for me to engage in casual conversation.
So I sip politely at my soup spoon and wonder how something that should be sosimple—providing more medicine to sick people—could get so wound up in political negotiation and palace intrigue.
I want to pull on my homespun skirts and climb over the wall so badly that my feet almost twitch with the need to run.
“You look a bit sad, Miss Cade.”
I glance up to find Captain Blakemore studying me, and there’s a warmth in his gray eyes that’s tough to look away from. I expected someone older and stuffy, not a younger man with sun-kissed skin, black hair that gleams, and a set of shoulders that whisper of strength.
“Not sad,” I say. “I just don’t have much to offer when it comes to the demand for silk”—my eyes flick to the end of the table—“or the supply of steel.”
“I don’t have much interest in silk either,” he says with a small smile. “But when it comes to steel, I know Ostriary needs it. Badly. After the war, many cargo ships were damaged. The country is trying to rebuild, but without ships and bridges, transporting goods has become a massive challenge.”
“And you want to help?”
“I do.”
Corrick would hear that with a skeptical ear, just like his doubt over Laurel’s enthusiasm for my work. That means I probably should, too. But unlike Laurel, whose father is just one more man volleying for power in Kandala, Captain Blakemore has nothing to gain here. He’s not making demands, and he’s not backing anyone into a corner with empty promises and imperious threats.
I know there are political levers at work. He’s asking for steel on behalf of Ostriary, and offering Moonflower petals in return. But somehow he’s made it simpler than that. He’s asking forhelp—and he’s offering it in return.
“I want to help, too,” I say.
“I know. As I said, I heard stories around the docks. Anyone who could break into the palace with a plan tohealpeople instead of harming them must be very brave indeed. Especially considering the harsh penalties for breaking the law here in Kandala.”
“I don’t know about brave,” I say, but I can’t stop the warmth that floods my cheeks. “Just determined.”
“They’re pretty much the same, don’t you think?” He takes a spoonful of his own soup, and it robs the sentiment of too much weight. “I was young when my father was sent to Ostriary, but from what I recall, the punishments issued by the Crown were never quite as severe as they are now.”
“Kandala was a different place six years ago,” Corrick says, and I’m startled to realize we’ve drawn his attention.
“In a lot of ways, it seems.” The captain takes another spoonful. His eyes return to mine. “Do you think the actions of the King’s Justice have been an effective means of keeping the peace?”
Beside me, Corrick goes still. He knows how I felt about the King’s Justice, well before I ever knew that the benevolent outlaw Weston Lark was the same prince who was executing thieves for smuggling and treason.
I hate the prince, I often said to him as Wes—followed byI hate you, once I knew he was Corrick.
The room has gone very quiet, as if the question, spoken gently, drew everyone’s attention just by virtue of the weight behind it. Even Allisander is watching me, waiting to hear what I’ll say.
My mouth is frozen, my thoughts spinning.
“I’d like to hear your thoughts,” says Harristan, and his voice isn’t harsh. One of my favorite things about Harristan is that when he asks me for my thoughts, he really wants them. But he’s still the king, and he never has to be harsh to make my pulse jump. I set down my spoon and smooth my hands over my skirts.
“I think the King’s Justice was doing the very best he could,” I say, “during a very challenging time.”
Under the table, Corrick’s hand finds mine, steady and warm. He gives it a squeeze.
Captain Blakemore offers a wan smile and takes another spoonful of soup. “I didn’t intend for my question to make you uncomfortable.” He pauses. “Or to put you at risk. Forgive me, Miss Cade.”
I’m not at risk, but maybe it would be impolitic to say so. This conversation is like walking a tightrope.
“You haven’t been here, Captain,” Corrick says. “You haven’t seen the desperation for medicine, or what people were willing to do to get it.”
“I see that the people within this sector’s walls seem rather healthy, while those outside are not.” Captain Blakemore doesn’t look away. His tone is just as unruffled as when he was speaking to me. “I see that I have brought youmedicine, something you claim to dearly need, and you treat me with suspicion and hostility.”
Corrick draws himself up. “You’ve returned to Kandala for less than a day and you’re being openly critical of your king? You certainly don’t do much to demonstrate loyalty to your home country.”
