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She glances at the guard, then nods to me. “Out of those . . . ? clothes then, miss.”

I feel like I haven’t slept in days, so when Jossalyn scrubs at my skin, I let her. I wish there were food here, because the water skin woke my hunger with a vengeance, but there’s none. Jossalyn roughly towel-dries my hair and braids it wet, pinning it up in a complicated twist that I’d never be able to replicate. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to say.

What happened between the king and Corrick? Did the king torture him? Will he torture me? I don’t know who to ask. I don’t know how to ask. I wish I could talk to Quint, but I haven’t seen him since the night he helped me into Corrick’s quarters. I’m tired and starving, but in less than thirty minutes, I’m in a royal-blue dress, being escorted back to the room where Corrick and I watched the Hold go up in flames while consuls argued and guards and messengers bustled about.

Tonight, there is no one but King Harristan. He’s standing by the massive windows, backed by the starlit sky. Food has been arranged on the table in the center of the room, and it must have been recently, because everything is still steaming. Roasted poultry and root vegetables, pastries with sugared crusts, sliced breads with little pots of jam and honey. There’s even a small bowl with Moonflower petals, too, more than enough for half a dozen people, along with a mortar and pestle and a steaming teapot. One plate has already been prepared, silverware sitting ready beside glasses filled with water and wine.

My mouth waters almost instantly, and I have to swallow and press my hands to my abdomen. I can’t tell if it’s the lack of food in my belly or the presence of it in this room, but I feel lightheaded.

Behind me, the door slams shut, and I jump. To my surprise, I’m alone with King Harristan.

He studies me from across the room, but he doesn’t hesitate. “Sit,” he says, and while there’s no warmth in his tone, his voice isn’t unkind. “Eat.”

I sweep my eyes around the room, as if there’s an unsprung trap waiting, but we’re the only ones here. Not even a lone guard or a footman. The king doesn’t move from the window.

I ease into the chair at the table and pick up the fork.

Other people might have stronger willpower, but I don’t. I’m starving. I shove an unladylike amount of meat into my mouth. Then half a roll of flaky pastry, followed quickly by the other half. I load the fork with vegetables until it won’t hold anymore.

When he approaches the table, I hurriedly set down my fork and wipe at my mouth, then begin to force myself to my feet.

Harristan lifts a hand. “Sit,” he says. He takes the chair across from me and gestures to my plate. “Continue.”

I can’t. Not now.

He’s going to want something from me.

“What did you do to Corrick?” I say, and my voice sounds so small and frightened that I want to start over.

But the king blinks in surprise. “To Corrick?”

To my horror, tears fill my eyes, blurring my vision with fear that quickly coalesces into anger. “He said you accused him of treason, and I know—”

“Tessa.”

“—where you found us, but he’s not a traitor; he’s not a smuggler.” I should stop, should shut up, but now that I’ve started crying and talking, the words fall out of my mouth of their own volition. “Corrick is not a villain. He’s—”

“Tessa.”

“—trying so hard to protect you, but you have to know it’s destroying him. And now . . . ?what? What are you doing to him? Are you torturing him? Are you—”

“Enough.” His voice is sharp, like a slap. “You will not accuse me.”

I go still. His eyes are so hard and cold. My hands are clenched on my silverware. I’m afraid of him and angry at him and hopeful and worried and a whole host of broken emotions that have my stomach tied in knots.

“He’s not here,” I whisper. “I am. What did you do?” My voice wavers on the last words. “What did you do to him?”

He stares at me for a moment, then sighs and sits back. He runs a hand across his face. “Lord, Tessa. He’s my brother.”

The king sounds so much like Corrick in that moment that I startle, forgetting my tears. He says this as if it means everything, and in a way, it does. I’m reminded of the night I rode in the carriage with Corrick, when I demanded to know why he wouldn’t leave this life if he hated it so very much.

I couldn’t leave my brother.

“I didn’t harm him,” Harristan continues. “I wouldn’t have even if he deserved it, which he very well might.” He pauses. “I offered to release him from the Hold, but he refused. When Thorin brought you here, I had food and supplies sent back for Corrick.”

I frown. “He . . . refused?”

“He says that Consul Sallister would not stand for his release.” He pauses. “And he’s not mistaken.”