But then we draw closer to the dock, and I’m able to make out individual faces. Just as I recognize my best friend standing with a group of people, Lochlan sucks in a breath.
“Karri,” he says, and the relief in his tone is obvious. “But who’s that she’s standing with?”
Corrick says nothing.
I glance up at him. His eyes are ice cold and fixed on the shore.
I reach out and take his hand. For an instant, he doesn’t move, and his fingers simply tremble in mine. But then he grips tight.
“Corrick,” I whisper.
He says nothing. I don’t think he’s breathing.
“Miss Karri stands with Consul Beeching,” says Rocco, when no one answers Lochlan’s question. “Along with Thorin and Saeth of the king’s guard.”
Thorin!My eyes jerk back to the dock, and I realize he’s right. Thorin is there beside Consul Beeching, along with Saeth, who I barely know.
I can’t make out their expressions from here, but neither of them are in their guard livery.
A bolt of fear pierces my chest.
Corrick’s fingers are gripping my hand as if it’s all that’s keeping him tethered to the deck of the ship. I don’t think he’s taken a breath in more than a minute. His jaw is like granite, his eyes harder than I’ve ever seen them.
But when he speaks, his voice is so even and cool that he could be a stranger. “We need to dock immediately.”
“Corrick,” I say again, but he doesn’t look at me. His cold eyes are fixed on that dock, on his brother’s guards, on the complete lack of blue and purple anywhere at all.
It reminds me of the night that Consul Sallister forced him to execute the prisoners. This is the most distant Corrick of all.
But his hand stays tight on mine. It seems to take forever for the ship to be tethered to the moorings, for a gangway to be rolled out. Corrick is quiet and still the whole time, his eyes never ceasing the search along the shoreline. I know who he’s looking for. I don’t say a word, but I look for him, too. So does Lochlan.
None of us find any sign of the king. No sign of Quint. No other guards.
Then the ship is rocking against the dock, and Rocco is indicating that we can disembark. Corrick has been frozen in place for so long that I don’t think he’s going to be able to move, but he does. His stride is strong and sure—but his hand trembles against mine again, his fingers suddenly fluttering in my grip.
“It’s all right,” I whisper, but it’s a lie. Nothing is all right.
“Keep breathing,” says Lochlan, and Corrick’s head shakes, almost imperceptibly.
Then we step onto the bridge to shore, and the people begin to applaud.
For an instant, Corrick’s step falters, but Lochlan puts a hand on his shoulder. I grip his hand more tightly. The applause growsin strength, but I don’t hear it. I don’t feel my feet striking the narrow bridge. I only feel the weight of expectation, of fear, of dread.
As soon as our feet land on the solid ground of Artis, the people send up a cheer, and so many of them try to press close that I’m worried we’re going to be overrun. The sound is deafening. But Rocco is there, and to my surprise, Mouse is at our back. Even still, there’s too much noise, too much shouting, and I can’t make out the words. I can’t make sense of anything.
But then I realize that people are beginning to kneel, in a slow, rippling outward fashion, the way they do for King Harristan.
And then I realize what they’re saying.
Long live the king.
My breath catches and freezes in my throat. Beside us, Rocco has put a hand over his heart, and he’s dropped to one knee himself. So has Lochlan.
So has everyone.
I look up, and Corrick’s eyes are finally on mine, and for a blazing second, he looks terrified, before the cool blue ices over and I realize I’m the only one standing.
Oh, I’m such a fool. A sob chokes free of my lips, and I begin to drop to one knee myself.
