That takes me by surprise, and I frown. “My father was never severe.”
Now they’reallsilent.
“Talk,” I say. “We’re nearly at the end.” I pause, softening my tone, making it less of an order. “Please. I want to understand.”
“King Lucas was well loved by the people,” Quint says, “and well loved byyou. But much as Corrick handles anyone relegated to the Hold during your reign, Micah Clarke handled anything punitive for your father. There may not have been smugglers to interrogate, but your father had no tolerance for failure or dissent within the palace.”
Micah Clarke was the King’s Justice when my father sat on the throne. He was killed when my parents were assassinated.
I knew crimes were committed and that Micah Clarke . . . ?handledthings, of course, but much like discovering that the guards were turning a blind eye to my teenage antics, this is a completely new angle I’ve never imagined.
Suddenly Quint and the guards come into dim view as the first threads of moonlight reach into the tunnel from the end.
I stop and look at them. My heart is beating hard, and I don’t want to ask this question, but I rather desperately want to know the answer.
“Was he horrible?” I say quietly. “My father?”
Thorin and Saeth exchange a glance—and say nothing.
Lord, I think, and I have to run a hand across my face. I’m remembering a conversation I once had with Corrick, where I told him that what somethinglooks likewas all that mattered. I wonder if I’ve fallen victim to the same exact thing. I wonder if my parents were well liked by the people because they gave the impression of a loving, joyous family—while behind closed doors my father had people in his employ who allowed him to secretly be callous and cruel.
But as I think about it, other moments click into place. Like the time my father forced me to publicly humiliate Allisander for daring to ask a question. It ruined our friendship—and ultimately led to his role in the revolution.
I consider the fact that I was desperate to escape the palace at all. The way I took my brother with me every time.
Maybe I knew my loving family was an illusion we presented all along, but I just didn’t want to accept it.
No wonder the consuls had no problem conspiring against me and Corrick. They probably spent my father’s entire reign doing the same thing to him.
Captain Blakemore and his first lieutenant sat with me in the palace on the day of their arrival, talking about how Kandala was seen as an aggressor in Ostriary. I thought it was ridiculous at the time.
All of a sudden, I’m not so sure.
I look up at Quint and my guards. They still haven’t answeredmy question. I don’t have the courage to ask ifIwas horrible, so I don’t.
But then I consider the way Saeth and Thorin blocked me from leaving the porch—from risking mylife—when they weren’t willing to stop me from leaving the palace years ago.
My chest feels tight. There are too many things to say, and dwelling on any of this won’t help me tonight.
I don’t force them to answer. With a start, I realize I don’tneedthem to answer. They’ve been answering for weeks now.
I turn back for the opening. “Stay low,” I say, and my voice has gone a bit rough.
When we emerge into the night air, I’m struck by the sense that something is vastly different, and at first I think I’ve come through a different tunnel than I originally planned. But of course that’s ridiculous, because I know each access point, each wall of the palace, each guard placement, each door and window that will allow me to slip back inside without being discovered.
I inhale deeply, my eyes sweeping the vast grounds, and then I realize what’s wrong.
“Stonehammer’s Arch,” I say, staring toward where the lit archway of torches usually stretches over a pond behind the palace. It’s been burning for my entire life, kept alight by a complex system that provides lantern fuel to all of the different branches. Corrick and I used to dare each other to climb across when we were boys. “It’s gone dark.”
I don’t know why, but the lack of fire stretching across the pond seems to drive home the treachery from the consuls more clearly than anything that the rebels ever did. The glow from the fire was supposed to defy the night eternally, a symbol of love built by my great-grandfather for his wife.
I shake off the loss. “It doesn’t matter. Come.”
When we reach the wall of the palace, I’m gratified to see that no guards are stationed out here, just as before. They’re still stationed on the outer wall. My heart settles a bit to knowsomethings are the same. I look up at the window that used to be mine, not far from my brother’s. It’s after midnight, so almost all the windows are dark. Only a few lights are lit, and most of them are farther down the wall.
“Should we head for the servant quarters?” says Thorin.
“No,” I say. “I’ll throw down a rope.” Then I grab hold of a brick, boost myself up, and Saeth swears.
