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CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Tessa

Iwas right. The livery is untouched. The streets here are deserted, but the scent of smoke is thick in the air. I can see a red glow beyond the nearest buildings. The searchlights have stopped spinning entirely. I expect the night patrol to be in the streets, or even soldiers, but maybe they’ve all headed for the palace. Even the stables are unmanned.

“People are afraid,” says Harristan, when I comment on it.

They’re the richest people in Kandala, but they’re hiding from the poorest. All this time I’ve thought that the people within the gates were the most powerful, but maybe I was wrong. We all have power.

I don’t know how to ride, but Harristan swings a leg over the back of a small black palfrey, then pulls me up to sit behind him. I don’t want to do anything inappropriate, but he clucks to the horse and we lurch forward, so I grab the king around the waist automatically.

“I won’t let you fall,” he says, but that’s not reassuring as the cobblestone streets rush by alarmingly fast. I jerk my eyes up.

Thorin rides ahead, almost invisible on his horse. It’s so dark here. I’ve only been in the palace for a few days, but I’d almost forgotten what the sector looks like in the middle of the night. All silent gray, no color. We’re not too far from the wall here, and it takes me a moment to realize we’re not heading for the palace.

“Where are we going?” I say.

“We’re going to approach the palace from the north,” he says. “We’ll loop around the Circle toward the army station. It’s our best bet to find guards and soldiers.”

“Do you think they’ll listen to you if you show up with an army?”

“Do you think they’ll listen to me if I’m dead?”

I want to disagree with him—but I can’t. I was in the palace when they attacked. The king and his brother may have done terrible things, but this attack on the palace isn’t better.

I think of all the innocent people in the palace. The invisible people. Jossalyn’s gentle smile flickers into my thoughts, and my breath hitches.

I know the rebels are fighting for change, but they have Harristan’s attention. Now it’s time to forge a better path. Not . . . ?this.

“Don’t cry yet,” says Harristan, but his voice is more prudent than kind. “We’ve come this far.”

It reminds me of Corrick’s practical voice when we had dinner at the Circle. If you cry, I’ll be forced to comfort you.

The sounds of shouting have grown louder, and Harristan pulls the horse to a halt. I look up in alarm, but this street is as deserted as the others.

ThenI see the bodies, and I gasp. A man and a woman, crumpled in a doorway. Elites, from the look of their clothing. Blood has already pooled among the cobblestones. The woman is wrapped around the man in a way that makes me wonder if she was trying to protect him—or save him. Their throats are slit.

Thorin looks at the king, and Harristan points, then makes a circular motion with his hand. The guard nods and heads into the shadows, the darkness swallowing him up.

The king hasn’t made a sound, so I don’t either. I’m sure he can hear my shaking breathing, just as easily as I can hear the steady thrum of his heart, or the way his lungs seem to struggle for every breath. We’re so still and quiet that when Thorin’s horse trots out of a side street, I jump and give a little yip, causing our horse to shy and prance. True to his word, Harristan keeps the animal under control, but I redouble my grip on his waist.

Thorin’s voice is very low. “The rebels have taken over the Circle. They have hostages. Several of the consuls, and half a dozen courtiers and advisers. The army can’t get close.”

“How are they holding the space?” says Harristan.

“They’re surrounded by fire. They have small weapons that seem to explode with metal and glass when they throw them. The casualties are many.”

I close my eyes and swallow.

I know what I said about lighting the explosives, but I wish I could take it back.

I want to go back to the Wilds. I want to go back to Corrick.

I want to go back to Wes and Tessa.

But everyone was sick. People were dying. Everything seemed bad.

Thisisn’t better.