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This is too complicated. I shove the thoughts away and focus on more immediate matters.

“I was discussing Blakemore’s offer with Harristan,” I say.

“Are you going to go?”

“Yes.”

His eyebrows go up. Maybe he wasn’t expecting such a definite answer so quickly.

“Tessa was right,” I say with a sigh. “And as much as I hate it, heseems earnest enough. If they’re willing to provide medicine in exchange for steel, we have an obligation to do what we can to provide for our people.” I tell him about Harristan’s suggestions for Lochlan to attend—and Rocco’s clandestine offer.

“I don’t like this uncertainty among the palace guards,” Quint says. “Especiallynow.”

“I agree,” I say. I think about the day that Tessa snuck into the palace. She followed some girls right into the servant’s entrance, and even though I had the guard dismissed who overlooked it, this is the first time I examine that moment from a new angle. Could the guard have been prepared—or bribed—to allow a rebel into the palace?

But Tessa herself did it on a whim. She wasn’t an assassin.

Did someone else slip into the palace that day?

It’s been too long. There’s no way to know.

I sigh. “Any kind of instability among the guards puts Harristan at risk. I wonder if there are others who feel similarly about Captain Huxley.” I pause, thinking. “I wonder if he’s the only one.”

Quint reaches for one of his little folios and makes a note on the page. “Many of the guardsmen linger with the kitchen girls. I’ll find a reason to be in the kitchens and see what I can find out.” He sets down his fountain pen to look back at me. “You’re not as severe as you used to be. I wonder if that’s emboldened some dissenters.”

I grunt noncommittally. As much as I want to disagree, a man leapt at me with a knife in the middle of a candy store this afternoon. My chest is tight with indecision. I hated being Cruel Corrick, but I hate the idea thatnotbeing Cruel Corrick will bring about more problems.

Especially if I’m about to leave.

Tessa once asked me why I couldn’t just step out of my role and lose myself into the Wilds as Weston Lark if I hated the palace life so much.

I couldn’t leave my brother.

That’s what I told her.

And now I’m doing exactly that. Rebels got into the palace a few weeks ago, and we narrowly escaped. Would Harristan be able to escape again, if he were alone? I might have Lochlan with me, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t a hundred others who could build an explosive.

I wish I could go to Tessa, but I’m terrified of admitting weakness just now, as if putting voice to my fears would make them more real. I’d give anything to don a mask and climb down a rope and find her in the workshop, the way I used to. Now, everything is just as dangerous, and somehow ten times more complicated.

And Weston Lark is dead anyway. I frown and run a hand back through my hair.

“Corrick.”

Quint’s quiet voice snaps me out of my reverie, and I realize it’s the second time that’s happened this evening. “What?”

“As much as I adore being audience to your silent angst, I should remind you that itislate.”

He’s right, and I’m being rude. I sigh, drain my wineglass, and stand.

But then I stop. Quint wasn’t sleeping. He was reading. His door was open.

There was an empty wineglass waiting.

“You never chase me out of your quarters,” I muse.

“I’m hardly chasing you.”

“Quint.” I feign a gasp. “Are youwaitingon someone?”