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I don’t know why I’m even thinking like this. I know what men like Lochlan will do with me.

“You can’t possibly think you’ll be able to collect a ransom,” I say. “Harristan will never yield to your demands.”

“I don’t care about a ransom.” He jabs me so hard that I stumble and nearly go down.

The rain intensifies, beating down, making me shiver against my will. I try to listen for Tessa behind me, but the hiss of rain through the trees makes it impossible to hear anything that’s not right next to me. I peer up at the sky through the trees, and it’s pitch-dark with clouds and rainfall. Sunrise is still hours away, but I rather doubt I’ll be climbing that rope back into my quarters.

I hope Quint returns to his rooms. I hope that he claims ignorance.

I hope Harristan doesn’t grant this man one single request.

I hope they let Tessa go.

I hope. I hope.

My father once said that hope can be powerful, but it’s worthless without action. If Lochlan doesn’t want money, what else could he want? A pardon? He has to know that would never work.

“Tell me what you want,” I grind out.

“I want you to shut up.”

“You’ll never get anything out of the king without my participation.”

He punches me right between the shoulder blades, and this time I stumble freely, slamming face-first into the mud so hard that it rattles my jaw. I roll to my side, but he’s already got the crossbow pointed down at me. “All I want is for the King’s Justice to stop sentencing people to death.” He glares at me. “Guess I’ll get what I wanted.”

“Corrick!” Tessa shouts worriedly from somewhere in the darkness behind him. “Corrick, are you all right?”

Ispit blood at the ground. “Oh, I’m doing splendidly, thank you.”

Lochlan kicks me in the stomach. I don’t even see it coming, but that doesn’t help. His boot plows into my midsection, and I’m suddenly choking on nothing. Stars fill in my vision. I don’t even realize that Lochlan has grabbed hold of my shirt until he slams me back against the ground. I’m wheezing in the rain, blood on my tongue.

He holds me there, his eyes like fire as he glares down at me. “I should just kill you right now,” he says, his voice low and cruel.

“I should have killed you when you attacked the consul.” I load my gaze with every ounce of brutal promise I can muster. “I should have killed you on the dais before the crowd. I should have killed you in the village an hour ago.”

I expect him to step back and pull the trigger on his crossbow, or maybe kick me again, but he doesn’t. His eyes narrow. “Why didn’t you?”

Because I don’t want to be a killer.

I don’t say it. I don’t think I need to.

“Hey,” says a man behind him. “Lochlan. What are we doing?”

Lochlan lets go of the crossbow to hang at his side, then grabs my arm with his uninjured one. “Get up,” he says. “Walk.”

I get up. I walk.

I’ve lost my hat in the scuffle, and half my face is slicked with mud. Something must have broken the skin, because every drop of rain stings when it strikes my cheek. The mask has twisted the tiniest bit, narrowing my field of vision by half an inch. It’s enough to add another dose of misery when everything is awful.

“Let Tessa go,” I say.

“I told you to shut up.”

“You must want something from Harristan,” I say. “If you let her go, I can intercede for you—”

“This is what’s wrong with all of you in that sector,” he sneers. “You think everything is about money. You think everything is about what you can get.”

“Again,” I say, “you’re a smuggler.”