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It draws his gaze to mine, and he offers a small nod, but the worry in his eyes doesn’t vanish. I wish I could rest a hand over his or whisper a reassurance, but neither would be welcome. Everything is so uncertain. I don’t want to weaken him.
Finn is setting a cup of tea before each person at the table, along with a small plate featuring a delicate pastry that’s been drizzled with chocolate, a wedge of apple beside a tiny pot of honey, and a thinly sliced strawberry that’s been dusted with pink sugar.
Karri is staring at the plate, her eyes wide. I remember doing the same thing.
Lochlan is glaring at the food.
Allisander looks bored.
The king has taken a sip of his tea, and it seems to have staved off his cough. I wish he wouldn’t hide it. He doesn’t want to be seen as weak, I’m sure, but I believe the opposite would be true: it would endear him to the people to see that he’s just as vulnerable as they are.
Then again, I understand why he doesn’t want that. Harristan and Corrick’s parents were assassinated right in front of them, so I can appreciate their worries.
Mine were too.
Karri looks like she’s afraid to touch the food, so I give her a smile, then pick up my apple wedge and dip it in the honey. “The apples are the best,” I say to her.
She smiles back, then picks up her own piece of fruit.
Lochlan hesitates, but maybe the lure of the decadent food is too much, because he does the same. It’s not a concession, but it feels like one.
Out in the hallway, voices echo, but the doors are closed, and we can’t make out the words. Even still, it’s unusual for anyone’s voice to be raised when they near a room where the king is residing. Aside from the guards in here, half a dozen more are on the other side of that door. Maybe more.
Harristan glances down the table at Corrick, who looks to one of the guards, and then to Quint: a bizarre silent communication that always seems to speak volumes in the space of time between heartbeats.
Quint sets his pen to the side and rises from the table. “I will return in a moment.” One of the guards joins him by the door.
Karri looks at me. “What’s happening?” she whispers.
I don’t want to be alarmed, but my heart is kicking in my chest. I was here when the rebels bombed the palace the first time. “I … I don’t …”
Corrick rests a hand over mine. “A palace matter,” he says smoothly. “Nothing concerning.”
Despite his words, I can feel the tension in his hand.
No one is eating now. Even Consul Sallister looks apprehensive.
Luckily, Quint returns in less than a minute. He leans down to say something softly to the king. Harristan is too well schooled in court politics, so his expression reveals nothing. But his eyes find Corrick’s again.
“It seems we may need to postpone our meeting,” Quint says evenly. “A matter has arisen requiring the king’s attention.”
“What matter?” demands Lochlan.
“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say—”
“It took two weeks to arrange this meeting. I won’t be tricked into waiting longer.” He glances around the table. “Especially since I’m pretty sure everyone else in this room will hear what’s so important.”
Quint inhales sharply, but Harristan lifts a hand. “You’re right. Not just everyone in this room. If the ship docked hours ago, rumors have likely already reached the Royal Sector.”
“Ship?” says Corrick. “What ship?”
“An emissary,” says Harristan, “has just arrived from Ostriary.”
I jerk my head around to look at Corrick. Ostriary is the country directly to Kandala’s west, sitting on the other side of a wide, dangerous river. Due to the difficulty of travel and the severity of the fevers, there’s never been any kind of trade agreement between countries. Weeks ago, I asked Corrick if there were a chance that Ostriary could provide medicine, and he said it would be nearly impossible to find out. At the very least, it would be expensive to eventry.
He glances at me briefly, and I know he’s remembering our conversation. “Ostriary sent an emissary?”
“Not quite,” says Quint.
