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“Maybe you can.”

We glared at each other over the basin.

“I’m waiting, General.”

He stabbed a finger at me. “That’s it right there. You expect me to lead your army and you won’t even tell me what’s so important about Given of Sithistra that you had to drag her across the Rift and parade her in front of the whole fucking court.”

I gripped the sides of the basin and looked at the ceiling. “We settled this,” I told no one in particular, “and yet it continues to come up.”

“So you’re not fucking her. Congratulations. Why the hell is she here? And don’t say it’s to embarrass Rolund. There are a thousand other ways you could have done that. You’re scheming and I want to know why.”

Anger punched through me, bright and spiky. “Careful, Varick. You overstep.”

“Even if she’s not spying for her brother, this could drag us into war.”

“She’s not a spy—”

“You imperil the realm.”

I shoved the basin, sloshing water. “I’m trying to save the realm!”

His eyes widened. Water droplets clung to his chest. Some had spattered as high as his cheeks. He ignored them. “What do you mean?”

I straightened. Scrubbed a hand over my face. When I lowered it, he still watched me. Waiting. He’d stand there forever. Stubborn didn’t begin to describe Varick.

We were alone, but I lowered my voice anyway. “I know you take the stories that come out of Wesyfedd seriously. You consider the Thicket our biggest threat. But there are other threats…bigger ones. Like the Deepnight.”

His brow furrowed. “The Deepnight is protection. Nor Doru’s greatest weapon.”

“It moves south.”

“A good thing,” he said, sounding like the soldier he was. “It puts Rolund on his heels. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“And what happens if it continues to shift? When the Sithistrans grow sickly from lack of sunlight? When their crops wither and die? If they run out of food, we run out of blood.”

“So pull it back. You’re the king.”

I said nothing. Water dripped from the wooden stand that held the basin. Immediately, the sound made me want to squirm. As swiftly as the thought entered my head, I heard my father’s voice growling at me to stand still. Could almost feel his fingers digging into my shoulder to hold me in place. I’d been thinking of him a lot more lately. I had the fucking Deepnight to thank for that too, I supposed.

“Laurent?” Varick prompted.

“I’ve tried everything,” I said quietly. “I’ve worked with the priests. Tried every rite. Prayed to every god.” I huffed a bitter laugh. “I’ve prayed to all the gods. The last time you were on patrol, I spent the night on my knees on the floor of the Sanctum.”

He looked like he’d seen a ghost. In a way, maybe he had. “What are you saying?” he asked.

“I’ve lost control of it.” These were words I’d never said aloud to anyone—not even the handful of priests who were aware of my problem. “I’ve bled over every altar in the Sanctum. It won’t fucking move, Varick. Controlling the Deepnight is the king’s most sacred duty. And I can’t do it anymore.” And I don’t know what it means.

But in the back of my mind, a little voice whispered that I knew all too well what it meant.

Varick knew too. For a brief moment, it showed on his face.

He covered it quickly. He gave his head a little shake, like he refused to accept what I was saying. “You bound the thralls. The whole court saw you perform the rite.”

“My father performed rites too. Before—”

“No.” He shook his head more firmly. “This is not that.”

I drew a breath.