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My brother looks up. “You don’t?”

“No. I think it’ll be worse.” I cross my arms and lean back against the table. “He’ll tell everyone that we don’t care about their plight, that their efforts were wasted, that we have no plans for real change, only deceit and trickery.”

Harristan looks exasperated. “Oh, isthatall?”

“Of course not. He’s probably calling for revolution already.”

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “We’ll be back where we started.”

I should disagree—but I can’t. He’s right.

Tessa has been so hopeful, but nothing about this situation is simple or easy. If it were, we would have solved it long ago. She once implied that my brother could snap his fingers and turn his desiresinto laws. I wish he could. I wishIcould. I don’t want life in the palace to burn out her hope just like it’s done to so many others.

Harristan’s expression is grave. I’m sure my own isn’t much better.

“Shall we go find out what news this emissary brings?” I say. “Perhaps he has a ship full of Moonflower petals and we can toss Allisander from the palace roof.”

I’m joking, but he doesn’t laugh. He makes no move to rise either. His gaze falls on the window again.

Anyone else might think he was stalling on purpose. I know better. He’s the king, and the world has a way of turning at his whim, but Harristan never uses his station as a means of manipulation. As the silence stretches on, I wonder if there’s more to my brother’s decision to comehere, instead of immediately addressing our visitors.

“Do younotwant to meet with this emissary?” I say quietly.

“I don’t trust this,” he says.

“Why?”

He shakes his head faintly. “It’s too much time. Too … unexpected. Why now?” He pauses. “We were attacked once already. Father and Mother were caught unaware, too.”

I say nothing. I remember.

A guard raps at the door, and Harristan calls, “Enter.”

The door swings wide, and the guardsman there says, “Master Quint requests an audience, Your Majesty.”

“Send him in, Thorin.”

Harristan’s tone is mellow, which shouldn’t take me by surprise, but somehow it does. Quint has been a close friend of mine for years, so my brother has always grudgingly tolerated him for my sake, butthey’ve never been friends. I’ve been present on more than one occasion when Harristan has told Quint in no uncertain terms togo away. Quint sometimes comes across as a bit scattered and melodramatic, and many people in the palace find him to be a bit …much.

I can count on one hand the number of times that my brother has said, “Send him in,” without at least demanding to know what the Palace Master could wantnow.

This ship from Ostriary really does have him unsettled.

Quint strides into the room. If he’s surprised, it doesn’t show. “Captain Rian Blakemore has been shown to the White Room along with his first officer.” He flips open the little book of notes that he always carries with him. “A Lieutenant Gwyn Tagas.”

Captain Rian Blakemore.It’s not a family name I know, and I know everyone of consequence in the Royal Sector. I glance at Harristan to see if the name sounds familiar.

He meets my eyes and shakes his head. To Quint, he says, “Have the guards returned with his ship’s logs?”

“No, Your Majesty.” Quint snaps his book closed. “Captain Blakemore indicates that he has a small crew as well, all of whom remained with the ship. I’ve asked the guards to confirm.”

“Does he seem forthright?” I say.

“He does, in fact. His initial claims have not changed: he went to Ostriary six years ago as part of a contingent to determine whether relations with the Ostrian court would be a possibility. He is now returning with news of his journey.”

“What news?” says Harristan.

Quint clears his throat. “He says he’s been instructed to meet with the king alone.”