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“Theydidn’t send an emissary.” Harristan runs a hand across the back of his neck, the first sign of strain from him. “Apparently, six years ago, we did.”
CHAPTER THREE
Corrick
My world was very sheltered when I was a child, but never so much as Harristan’s. As the often ill heir to the throne, he was coddled and protected, with nurses and physicians never far off. Fires were kept roaring if he was in the room, and he was always given the most reliable horses, the least drafty carriages, the most genial tutors and instructors. As the second-born son—as thehealthyson—I wasn’t guarded so closely. I could ride along for hunts through the densely wooded parts of Kandala, galloping behind other nobles on mounts that were far too spirited for royalty. Riding in a carriage? I never bothered. Schooling? Tutors could rap my knuckles. In the training arena, I could spar with anyone I liked, because no weapons master ever had to worry about leaving a bruise.
But I was still protected. Surrounded by guards and advisers who kept my leash very short, even though sometimes I wasn’t aware of it.
Harristan knew, though. He was the one who first taught me tosneak out of the palace and lose myself in the Wilds. That’s part of why it was so hard to keep my nightly adventures with Tessa a secret.
I’m often surprised he never guessed. He was always more savvy than our parents realized.
He’s savvy now, too. I thought he’d want to go immediately to the throne room to greet our new visitors, but he told Quint to make this “emissary” comfortable, and then invited me to his private quarters.
“Do you think it could be true?” I say to him.
He drops into a chair by the table, then looks at the window. “If it’s true, he was sent by Father.”
“Six years ago, you were seventeen. Do you remember any mention of ships making it to Ostriary?”
I expect him to give me a withering glance, followed by a long-suffering sigh.I know how old I was, Cory.But he’s silent, considering for a while, a line between his eyebrows as he studies the sunlight. He’s unsettled.
“No,” he finally says. “Father didn’t bring me in onallaffairs of state.”
But he was brought in on most of them. I remember. I didn’t start joining them until I was fourteen, and by then, I was desperate to know what kinds of fascinating work was done at those meetings. I quickly learned that they were interminably boring.
Well, until a year later, when assassins burst into the room and our parents were slaughtered right in front of us.
“Allisander remembers that emissaries were discussed, but he doesn’t know of anyone being sent to Ostriary,” Harristan says. “But his father was consul then. I’ve sent word to the others, to see if any of them remember Father arranging for such a thing.”
“I’ve heard nothing about this since you took the throne,” I say.“Some of the consuls have changed, but a missing diplomat seems like something that should have come up once or twice.”
“I agree.” Harristan thinks about this for a while. “And I have no idea who he could have sent. Most shipbuilders consider the Flaming River to be near uncrossable. I don’t know that we have many sailors who’d be willing to chance it without a chest full of silver to make it worth their while.”
That’s true enough. Weeks ago, Tessa asked me directly if Ostriary could be a new resource for the Moonflower. I remember the hope in her eyes, how it cost me something to dash it away. In the Wilds, I was able to be a hero. As Prince Corrick, my hands are often tied by a dozen different knots.
I told her it would be costly—and difficult—to arrange a way for anyone to make the journey to Ostriary. Crossing the river has been done, but it’s rare. The northern half has deep rapids and ice floes. The southern half has unexpected rocks beneath the water that have torn so many ships in half that there’s a drinking song about how the Flaming River turns longing lovers into widows.
“The emissary docked at Artis,” I say. “He didn’t come across the Flaming River. He would have had to travel the Queen’s River.”
“Then you believe he came from Ostriary by way of theocean? That’s even harder to believe. And if so, why sail into Artis at all? There are ports in Sunkeep and Trader’s Landing. From Ostriary, he’d have to sail halfway around Kandala and up the Queen’s River toreachArtis.”
All true. I think for a while. “Artis holds the closest port to the Royal Sector. Quint said he sailed right into the port and announced himself. That’s a rather bold entrance for nefarious purposes.”
“I’ve sent guards to retrieve the logs from his ship,” Harristan says. “And his flag. It should be aged if it’s been so long. There should be proof that he came from Kandala originally.”
He inhales to say more, but instead, he coughs into his elbow, then frowns.
“You’re still coughing,” I say. “I noticed during the meeting.”
“I’m fine.”
I rise from my chair. “I’ll fetch Tessa. She’ll talk some sense into you.”
“I’ll send her right back out. We have more pressing matters.” He coughs again, but lightly, then glares at me when I don’t sit back down. “Truly, Corrick. This emissary couldn’t have come at a worse time. After the way Allisander conducted himself with the rebels, Lochlan will be returning to the Wilds with stories of how we’re planning to use the poor to test wild theories.”
“I don’t think Lochlan will say anything of the sort,” I say.
