“I used to.”
Oh.I clamp my mouth shut.
“When we were little, he couldn’t sayLochlan, so he started with La-La, which quickly turned into Lolly. He never stopped, even when it would make me crazy. Even when we werewaytoo old for it. It sounds like a name you’d give a dog.” Lochlan rolls his eyes, but there’s fondness in his voice. He shrugs a little. “He died a year ago. He was nineteen. He and Da got the fever sickness, and they managed for a few days, until they just couldn’t breathe anymore.” He pauses. “I was working in the southern part of Steel City then. My mother sent word, but I didn’t make it home in time. When Ma caught it, she went like that.” He snaps his fingers. “Maybe that was a mercy. I don’t know.”
I’ve heard hundreds of stories like this all over Kandala. Maybe thousands.
I inhale to say that I’m sorry for his loss, but Lochlan’s eyes flash to mine.
“Don’tsay you’re sorry,” he says sharply.
“I won’t say it.” I pause, and the weight of loss is thick in the air. “But I am. I lost my parents, too. A quick death might be a mercy on the dying, but it’s usually not for anyone else.”
He’s quiet for a moment after that, and he looks into the hearth. “They probably would have gone a lot quicker, but I heard they might have been getting extra medicine from some outlaws who’d make the rounds through the Wilds.”
My head snaps around.
Lochlan puts up a hand. “Don’t. I don’t know if it was you. I don’t know if Iwantto know if it was you.”
I swallow. “Fine.”
“I only told you because . . . ?because I didn’t know that. About Cory. I’ll stop.”
As soon as he says it, I feel a jolt in my heart, and I’m not sure what’s causing it. Maybe it’s about us both missing our brothers. Our families. Or maybe it’s the way Lochlan saidI can tellwhen I told him I don’t have a close circle of friends.
Maybe it’s the thought that I might have been helping his family as Weston Lark—only to lock him up for execution as Prince Corrick.
Maybe it’s all of it.
Before I can help myself, I say, “You don’t have to stop. I’ve gotten used to it, too.”
Then I look at the table and dig my fingernail into the wood again because I don’t want to meet his eyes. Everything inside me feels jangled up and uncertain, but I’ve already been too vulnerable. I need to lock these emotions away, but we’ve gone in too many directions, and I’m not sure how anymore.
The air between us is so heavy, and Lochlan must also feel the need to focus on something else, because he reaches for the piece of paper with the names on it. He slides it back in front of himself, then runs a finger over Karri’s name again. He’s frowning at the letters as if he’s trying to read through sheer force of will.
“If the letters all make different sounds,” he says cautiously, “then . . . then why doKarriandCorrickstart differently?”
He’s really not stupid at all. “Sometimes they make the same sounds.” I clear my throat, glad for a new task. “Here, we should start with shorter words.”
I shift my chair forward and pick up the fountain pen again. My heart is still thumping, but on a new piece of paper, I writeCAT.
As if he can see through me, Lochlan says, “I know you’re still worried about Rian. You might give him Oren Crane, but he could turn on you anyway. He could use you against your brother.”
Those words force me still, because aside from losing Tessa, this is truly my greatest fear. Harristan would give him anything he asked for.
Lochlan is quiet for a moment. “I don’t trust him either. We might hate each other, but I’ve got your back.”
I don’t hate you anymore, I think—but I can’t say it.
Instead, I say, “Rian could have an army.”
He shrugs a little. “Well, I’ve faced an army before.” He holds out a hand. “Still breathing, Cory.”
I give him a nod. “Still breathing.”
Then I reach out and clasp his hand.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
