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I’ve been on this ship for less than an hour, and I’m already exhausted. “Just tell me.”
“He said the king placed him on the ship for the purpose of making him disappear. He said you were a liar who deserved to be tied to the rudder.” He hesitates. “He said you brought Miss Tessa along for … ah, companionship.”
My jaw is tight.
“In the bedroom,” he adds.
I give him a look. “Thank you, Kilbourne. I made the connection.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
I sigh and close myself back into my quarters. No wonder she started demanding to know my intentions—especially when I did nothing to put her fears to rest. Instead, I probably stoked them.
I need action, but I’m not in the right frame of mind to go find it. I really would wring Lochlan’s neck. I crouch beside the first chest and unlatch it. The clothes on top are a bit damp from where rain has snuck past the leather stitching of the trunk, and I sigh, then move to hang them from hooks in the wardrobe. I could call for someone to do this for me, but now that my hands are buried in the fabric, I’m reminded of the scents of the palace, so different from the scent of seawater and fish that seems to cling to everything on board theDawn Chaser. I’m sure Geoffrey, my valet, chose each piece carefully, because everything is practical for a journey by sea, with a few more regal pieces, surely intended for once we reach Ostriary.
But then, at the bottom of the chest, I find a worn leather riding jacket that’s jarring with familiarity, though I’m sure I haven’t seen it in years. My brows flicker into a frown, because I can’t imaginewhat inspired Geoffrey to add it to my trunks. It’s fine leather, with detailed stitching, a belted waist, and buckles across the chest, but I have little use for riding attire on a ship. Honestly, I’m rather certain this used to be Harristan’s, anyway—
I freeze, struck by a memory. I was fourteen, so Harristan was eighteen. It was late autumn, and our parents were still alive. We were visiting the consul of Trader’s Landing. My parents wanted Harristan to travel by carriage, because the colder air always seemed to make his breathing worse, but by then he’d reached an age where he could refuse. He’d ridden beside me through miles of leaf-strewn trails—and he’d paid the price. By the time we reached the consul’s estate, Harristan couldn’t speak a full sentence without gasping halfway through.
He recovered quickly once we were inside, but after hours at tea and luncheon and afternoon gossip in front of a fireplace, I grew bored with all the royal protocol. I left my brother and my parents and slipped into the dimness of the stables. I heard the low rumble of voices in the tack room, but I didn’t think much of it, until I realized what the stablehands were doing: mocking my brother.
“I’m going—” A feigned wheeze. “—to—” Another. “—I’m—” The boy launched into exaggerated coughing.
“What’s that, Your Highness?” another laughed. “You’re going towhat?”
I didn’t think. I just tackled one of them. I wasn’t even sure which one. My fist was swinging before I was aware of who I was hitting.
The stables were mostly deserted, and I’m sure they didn’t expect the younger prince to come strolling through. They definitely didn’t realize who I was at first, because the boy was older and bigger and shoved me into the dirt before one of the others grabbed his armand stopped him. They all stared at me in panic, and I remember thinking that they were either going to finish me off—or run away.
I probably would have tackled them again, but Harristan appeared in the doorway to the tack room.
He looked from me, with my lip already swelling, to the stablehands, and his gaze had darkened. Tension clung to the room for the longest moment, and I felt the other boys weighing their fate.
“Cory,” Harristan finally said. “Mother sent me to find you. Consul Montague is preparing for dinner.” He glanced at the stablehands. “Let’s allow them to get back to work before Father comes looking.”
The implications of that were clear. I got to my feet, and the boys scattered, finding dutiesquickly.
I wiped a hand across my jaw, and I was surprised to find blood on my knuckles. Harristan sighed, then pulled a handkerchief to wipe the blood off my mouth. “You can’t fightallmy battles, little brother.”
I wanted to brush off his tending, but I knew from experience that Mother would be furious if she found evidence of brawling on my shirt. “You heard them?”
He shrugged and rolled his eyes. “You think I don’t hear it from our own servants?” He didn’t wait for an answer; he just unfastened his jacket. “Here. Put this on. You’ve ripped your shirt. Mother will come undone.”
I put on his jacket and buttoned it closed.
His jacket.Thisjacket.
I’d forgotten all about that moment.
Now, my fingers stroke across the lapels. Geoffrey wouldn’t have packed this.
Which means my brother did.
I think of the way he slipped into my carriage tonight. I dig at the pockets, in case Harristan has slipped a note into one of them, but there’s nothing.
I sit on the edge of the bed again and inhale deeply. The jacket smells of oiled leather and sweet hay, with just the tiniest undercurrent of equine sweat. I sigh and lay back on the bed, feeling the motion of the ship beneath me, listening to the rattle of rain against the porthole window. I pull the jacket to my chest and close my eyes.
You can’t fightallmy battles, little brother.
