I’ve pressed a forearm to my mouth, but there’s a part of me that’s beginning to wish the earth would open up and swallow me whole. Maybe Thorin could give Francis back the ax so he could end this misery. This torment. This humiliation.
Just when my coughing slows, a hand takes hold of my arm, and I think it’s Thorin or Quint, ushering me back into the small house. But then Francis says, “Here, King. Sit.”
My vision has already gone a bit spotty, and my breathing feels thin, so I obey. I sit down a little too hard, and my body reflexively moves to press my forehead into my knees.
Francis catches my shoulder. “No,” he says. “Sit up. Open up your chest.”
His voice is gruff, but not unkind. Again, I obey, but in a way, it’s worse. My coughing has slowed, but air whistles into my lungs, and now I can see that no one from the crowd has dispersed. If anything, there are more people.
They’re all staring. I can feel the weight of their concern, like a hundred held breaths. I wonder if they all thought I might die right here.
Francis is sitting on the step beside me, and he says, “Maybe tell your guard not to put a knife in my back if I touch you again.”
His voice is mild, and I can’t tell if he’s entirely serious, but I can just imagine how Thorin is reacting to this chain of events. This man was just shouting at me with an ax in hand. Thorin probably does have a weapon drawn.
“Thorin,” I say, and my voice is barely a rasp between my shallow pants. “Don’t.”
Francis must be satisfied with that, because without hesitation, he reaches over and puts a hand against my forehead. He does it so casually that I’m not sure how to react. I don’t know what I expected him to do, but . . . ?it wasn’t that.
His palm is dry and cool, and he smells faintly of a farm, some combination of hay and livestock. He’s an older man, probably twice my age, in stained overalls and worn boots. I wonder if he has children among the gathered crowd, too.
“No fever,” he says. He sits back.
“No. I don’t—” I break off and take a wheezing breath. “I don’t often have the fever anymore.”
He goes still at those words, and for a moment, I don’t realize what I’ve said, and then he says, “Often? Anymore?Are you sick a lot?”
The people gathered seem to lean in, as if they want to hear the answer.
I’ve hidden this for so long that I don’t know what to say.
I think of Tessa standing before me.You could be loved. Even if your people are sick.
I don’t want to be a sick king. It feels like weakness. I remember the mockery when I was a boy. No one would say it to my face, butI would still hear it. Corrick got into more than one scrape trying to defend me.
I loved him for it, but I hated it, too.
Quint speaks from behind me, and his voice is low. “Prince Corrick and Tessa took off their masks. It may be time to let them see you, too, Your Majesty.”
I didn’t want to run from their axes and hammers, but I want to run fromthis.
My breathing is finally steady, so I say, “I’ve been sick since I was a child. Since before the fever sickness even started. The Moonflower elixir helps, but it never goes away.” I hesitate. “If I’ve been hiding anything, I’ve been hiding that.” I look out at the others. My voice is so rough now that I can’t shout, but I try. “If you want proof that I’m not poisoning you, I have no better than that. If I was, I was poisoning myself, too.”
A low murmur takes up in the crowd as word spreads.
I look back at Francis. “I know you want action,” I say quietly. “I know you all want to attack the Royal Sector. But we need to be strategic. If I can determine some allies within the sector, I’ll be able to get more information, and potentially stoke some dissent. But if you storm the sector now, theywillkill you. You have no leverage. Worse, it might trigger raids on the Wilds. We can run from the night patrol, but the army has longbows and skilled trackers. Armored men on horseback. I know you think I’m just writing letters, but I promise you, a letter can have more impact than a weapon. We won’t have many opportunities to take the sector. I am begging you to not waste our chance.”
Francis stares at me, and the few men at his back who heard all my words whisper among themselves.
I consider what he said about the food, and I feel guilty when Irealize they’ve probably been giving us far more than we need. So I add, “I also don’t want to take from my people. If you need the house back, I will sleep in the woods with my guards. If we are taking too much food, I insist that you give us less. I do not want more than our fair share. That was never my intent in coming here. I truly do want to help all of you.” I glance at the others. “Sometimes helping takes time.”
Francis grunts and looks away. “I’m not going to make the king sleep in the woods.”
“You came at your king with an ax,” Thorin says.
Francis draws himself up, and I think that one remark is going to spark another fight, but then he lets out a breath and runs a hand over the back of his neck and looks a bit sheepish. “I was just going to break down the door.” He jerks his head at Quint. “Hewouldn’t let us talk to you.”
My heart pounds a little to consider how close we came to that type of interaction. “Well,” I say evenly, “in the future I urge you toknock, because I am willing to hear from you if you have concerns.” I glance out at the crowd of people who’ve gathered, many of whom have pressed closer to listen. “That goes for all of you. If you come to me peacefully, I will speak to any of you.” I look up at Quint. “Make sure the others know. Anyone, at any time. Day or night.”
