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CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Corrick

We’re able to find horses on the outskirts of the sector, but the army stops us before we can get close to Tessa and Harristan.

We can hear their shouts to the rebels.

We can hear the crossbow snap when Lochlan says, “Shoot another one.”

The army surges forward, but Harristan calls for them to hold. The tension in his voice is potent. I saw Leander Craft fall earlier, the consul from Steel City. This time it’s a young woman in a sleeping shift, and it takes me a moment to place her. She’s the “niece” Quint saw with Jonas Beeching—confirmed when Jonas screams in rage.

It’s a calculated strike. Another dead hostage, but not a consul.

I draw up the reins of my horse and look at Quint and Rocco. Quint is a bit pale, and he’s gripping his side. I turn to one of the soldiers. “Help Master Quint down from his horse. He needs a physician.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Quint doesn’t protest, which tells me he’s more hurt than he’s letting on.

I look at Rocco. “Let’s go.”

“Go?”

“Harristan isn’t going to make any headway like this. He needs something tangible to offer them.”

“What can he give them? The consuls are already held hostage.”

I cluck to my horse. “Not all of them.”

Many of the Hold guards have abandoned their posts, either out of fear or necessity, but a few still stand. The prison is dark and quiet as I limp down the staircase to the lowest level where Allisander is locked in a cell.

He scrambles to his feet when he sees me.

“Corrick,” he seethes. “I cannot wait to see you at the end of a rope.”

“Same,” I say. “Rocco. Go in there and break his arms.”

Allisander stumbles back from the bars so quickly that he trips over his feet and falls down. I must be pretty convincing—or Rocco’s lack of hesitation is—because the consul keeps shoving himself backward through the straw.

“Enough,” I say, and Rocco stops with his hand on the gate.

Allisander freezes but then gets to his feet. If his eyes were weapons, I’d be impaled.

But I think of Tessa and Harristan facing down the rebels and I want to break his arms myself. I hook my fingers on the cell bars and hold his gaze. “You said you’ve allied with other consuls to overthrow Harristan. Who?”

“I’m not telling you anything.”

“Do you recall asking if I torture prisoners during questioning?” I say, and I feel that familiar cool distance wind through my thoughts, the one that allows me to do what needs to be done. With Allisander, I hardly need it. “Would you like to find out?”

He steps forward like he’s going to attack the bars, but Rocco is through the gate and stops him before I can blink.

He twists Allisander’s left arm up behind his body, probably using a little more force than necessary, because the consul gasps and hisses a breath through his teeth.

Based on the look on Rocco’s face, I don’t think I’m the only one who doesn’t like this man.

“Tell me,” I say.

“No.”