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CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Tessa

It’s been a day of dresses and curls and lessons and so many curtsies that I want to lodge a protest.

I haven’t seen Corrick.

I haven’t seen the king.

I’ve hardly even seen Quint, and during the few moments he did appear, he seemed tense and distracted. The attacks on the sector have everyone on edge—including me. Rocco hasn’t been outside my door at all, but the guards who replaced him have the same purple and blue royal insignia on their uniform.

The entire day has carried a sense of anticipation. Of waiting. Of something to come.

But now it’s nightfall, and nothing has happened.

I haven’t spoken to the royal apothecaries—though I’m sure the king has more important things to do right now. I have no idea whether Corrick will take a chance as Wes again. Last night, he didn’t give me an answer, and I began to wonder if that’s answer enough, especially as the day wore on.

I’m not a prisoner, but today, I feel like one. Rocco willingly took me out of the palace, but I wonder what would happen if I asked the guards to take me out of the sector. I imagine showing up at Mistress Solomon’s in one of these silly dresses, how surprised she would look. I imagine wrapping Karri up in a hug. She was such a good friend—and then I vanished. I wonder what they think has become of me. Is there gossip in the sector about me breaking into the palace? If so, I’m sure it’s been eclipsed by everything that happened last night. Will there be another attack? Will Consul Sallister stop providing Moonflower to the sectors? Will he be able to, if his supply runs keep getting raided?

I have so many questions that they tangle up in my thoughts and keep sleep a far distance away.

Jossalyn took down my curls hours ago, leaving me with a hot cup of tea and a tray of baked twists of dough dusted with sugar. A vial of the elixir sits beside it, so much darker than the ones I mix. I swirl the liquid in the vial and wonder how much of this concentrated Moonflower would save families in the Wilds.

But then I consider Harristan’s cough last night. He didn’t have a fever—but he’s still not wholly well. He’s the king of Kandala, so he’s certainly receiving more than enough himself. I don’t understand.

When I climb into bed, I don’t think I’ll sleep, but I must, because a sound wakes me. My room is cloaked in darkness, and the hearth has fallen to embers.

A hand comes over my mouth.

I suck in a breath to scream, but then Quint’s voice says, “We have less than a minute for you to get into Corrick’s quarters. There is no time for questions. Can you run?”

My thoughts spin, but I nod against his hand.

He lets me go. The door is open and unguarded. I run.

The hallway is empty somehow, and I sprint like a ghost. This stupid palace is entirely too big, because Corrick’s room seems to be a mile away, and my bare feet skid on the velvet carpeting.

Just as I hear a male voice saying, “Master Quint, there doesn’t appear to be anything amiss,” Corrick’s door swings open and I run smack into him.

He catches my shoulders and holds me upright. “Quiet.”

I’m gasping for breath. “But—”

“I said quiet.” He shoves me into his room and leans out into the hallway. “Guards! What is going on?”

My heart won’t stop pounding. I hope the guards know what’s going on because I sure don’t.

A male voice calls back, “Master Quint thought he saw suspicious activity in the streets.”

“The sector was attacked last night. Doors should not be left unguarded,” Corrick snaps. “Return to your posts at once.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

He lets the door fall closed, then turns to look at me.

I’m still a bit winded. He’s dressed in finery again, all velvet and leather and brocade, which is quite a shame after I’ve seen him shirtless. His eyes are as cold and hard as the first night I arrived, which makes me want to back away.

He sure doesn’t look ready to play the role of Wes.