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A murmur goes through the crowd, both the army at my back and among the people on the dais.

“Lies,” says Lochlan, but for the first time, his voice falters.

“You have to have noticed,” I say. “Tris said it herself, that the people have grown more desperate.” My voice breaks. “There are more fevers, aren’t there?” I say to him. “Aren’t there?”

Another murmur goes through the crowd.

A boot scrapes against the cobblestones, and the king himself appears beside me. “Eight weeks of medicine. Real medicine. Enough time to form a new plan. A better plan.” He pauses. “And I will not just meet with my consuls. You are not the only ones who have been tricked. I will meet with you as well. A council of the people.”

Lochlan hasn’t moved. He’s not staring at the king. He’s staring at me.

I glance at Harristan. “Amnesty,” I whisper.

Hetakes a heavy breath. “If you release your remaining hostages and agree to leave the sector peacefully, I will have my army stand down. I will grant amnesty up till this very moment, but not one second longer.”

Lochlan glances at Karri, then back at me.

But still he doesn’t concede.

Shadows on the dais shift and move beyond the fire. Someone has approached Lochlan. After a moment, I realize it’s Earle, with little Forrest beside him. My heart kicks. There’s so much violence here, so much danger.

But then Earle says, “Tessa.” His voice booms over the crowd. “When you spoke for Wes—for Prince Corrick—you spoke of all the things he did for us.”

“Yes,” I say. “Yes, he did it for you.”

“Even while he did all of that, he was still the King’s Justice.”

I have to swallow past the lump in my throat. “Yes.” My voice breaks. I can feel the sudden tension in the army behind me. This is all going to unravel again. They have no reason to trust King Harristan or Prince Corrick. “Yes. I know.”

“But you weren’t,” Earle says.

I hold my breath. “What?”

“You were . . . just Tessa.”

A woman approaches them, and I almost don’t recognize her through the soot on her sweaty cheeks. Bree, the young widow. “Tessa.” Her voice isn’t as loud as Earle’s, and I lean in to hear her. “You spoke of all the things Wes did. But . . . ?but you never talked about the things you did.” Her voice breaks. “You set my boy’s arm when he broke it falling from the tree. You showed me how to make a poultice.”

“You saved Forrest,” says Earle. “From the night patrol.”

Another man steps forward. “You stitched up my hand when I sliced it on the ax.”

An older woman. “You brought me blankets when the mice chewed through mine.”

One by one, more rebels approach the edge of the dais, each one announcing something I’ve done to help them.

“You brought us medicine.”

“You helped me birth that calf. I thought I was going to lose the cow.”

“You taught me how to salve a burn.”

My throat is tight, and a tear streaks down my face, but they keep going.

“You showed us how to make the medicine last.”

“You helped us save ourselves.”

“There are so many of us here. Because of you.”