He ate an hour ago, so he really doesn’t need to. His little book sits on the table, but there isn’t much light, so he’s not flipping through notes either. He’s quiet, watchful, not quite watching me, but not . . .noteither. It shouldn’t be different from the thousand other times we’ve sat at a table beside each other, but it is. Earlier, there were no walls between us, no barriers, but now an entire day has passed and I don’t know how to proceed again. The idea of courtship is something I put so far from my mind that I never considered the mechanics of it.
Of all the reasons I wish for my brother’s presence, this is an area where I could desperately use his counsel.
But he’s not here, and I can’t sit here in silence. Now that I’m not panicking over warships, it leaves too much room for new worries to crowd into my head.
“Has there been no word from Karri or the runners yet?” I say.
“No.”
I frown. Jonas Beeching, the consul of Artis, was the closest, and also the likeliest ally. The fact that we haven’t heard fromhimis concerning.
I try to shake it off, but thinking about Artis makes me think about the last time I saw my brother at the docks. “If Corrick survived the warships, he would suspectsomethingis amiss in Kandala. He’d attempt to return quickly, don’t you think?”
Quint nods. “If he returns with Captain Blakemore, they’re walking right into a hornet’s nest.”
I mentally play that out in my head. We originally had no warning that Captain Blakemore’s ship was arriving at port, because theDawn Chaserhad a Kandalan flag. Would Corrick sail under the same? That might give him an advantage—though the Ostrian king would no longer feel the need to send a spy.
Then again, if they were trailed by warships, I rather doubt the Ostrian king was happy about it. The man might send back his whole navy to attack Kandala. I remember what Captain Blake-more said about Kandala’s history with Ostriary.
For one shining second, I want to leave it all to Consul Sallister and the others.
Go ahead, I think.Enjoy ruling while the country is at war.
But no. I could never do that to my people. Sallister would hand over the keys to the kingdom if it meant he got to hold on to his silver.
As always, there are too many variables, and there’s simply no way to know when—orif, I think grimly, despite whatever I feel in my heart—Corrick will return.
But still, we should be cautious. I look at Quint. “If we don’t have word from any of the runners within the next few days, we’ll need to station people at the docks to listen for gossip. We need to hear if any unfamiliar ships are coming to port, if any brigantines set sail, if there’s any talk at all of sailors from Ostriary. Let’s talk to Violet. Maybe she can take some of the children for walks along the water.”
Quint reaches for his book. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
I watch him write that down, the firelight turning his hair gold. I think of the way he kept pushing the food in front of me, when he knew I hadn’t eaten.
I think of the little flinch in his eyes when I spoke too sharply. How there must have been a thousand such moments between us that I never noticed—yet he stayed by my side through every single one.
My chest clenches. I wish I could undo them all.
His eyes flick up. I’m staring again.
I clear my throat and glance away. “I’m sure word has spread about the guards we killed. The consuls will use this to strengthen their claims. We need to undo the harms they’re causing. I need my people back.”
He nods. “Do you have a course of action?”
Little Ruby kept staring at me, her eyes so big. “Food,” I say. “They’re starving. We need to find a way to feed them.” I hesitate, wondering if the men who wouldn’t feed Sommer would be willing to risk their lives to feed guards who might be just as willing to kill them to get at me. “I’ll need to talk to the people in the morning to convince them.”
“You will. I have no doubt.” He says this so offhandedly while he writes.
I watch, entranced. I simply cannot comprehend how he manages to be so kind and so vexing and so determined—and so optimistic.
He’s the impressive one, truly.
“If I may,” I begin, and his eyes flick up again, the pencil going still. My tongue stalls when his eyes meet mine, and the silence hangs between us for a moment.
“You may,” he prompts.
It makes me blush and smile in spite of myself, and I try not to stumble over my words. “Whydo you write everything down?” I say. “Your predecessors didn’t.” I frown a little, trying to remember. “At least . . . ?I don’t think they did.”
He closes the book and sets it on the table. “They may not have, but I find it suits my needs.”
