But then the door swings open, and I’m facing Adam Saeth, in a loose tunic and trousers, with a little girl clinging to his neck. She’s clutching a torn doll that’s a bit filthy, but clearly well loved.
“Your Majesty,” Saeth says in surprise. He glances at Tessa and the guards and carriage, and concern flickers through his expression. “What—why—?” He frowns and whispers something to the little girl, then sets her on her feet. “How may I serve?”
“I am here to call on Mistress Saeth, if she is receiving visitors,” I say. “I have strict instructions from my brother to visit her, in her home, every week.”
He stares at me.
“He was quite firm on this point,” I add.
Saeth doesn’t move.
After a moment, the little girl tugs at his tunic and whispers, “Da? Should I fetch Mama?”
“Ah . . . yes,” he says.
But before the little girl can go anywhere, a voice calls out from behind him. “Adam? Adam, is it the young man from the bakery again? Tell him I simply do notneedany more raisin bread—”
“Leah,” says Saeth, a touch too sharply, and then his wife appears.
She’s holding a baby against her shoulder, and she takes one look at me and goes as wide-eyed as her husband.
“Oh,” she gasps.
“Ourking,” says Saeth, with gentle emphasis, “was told by his late brother to visit you every week.”
Now it’s her turn to stare at me. I’m uncomfortably aware of how many people have gathered in the street now.
“He didn’t saywhy,” I add solemnly—though, seeing their family, I believe I’m beginning to understand some of it. “But if my brother made a promise, I’ll keep it.”
Mistress Saeth takes a step forward, and to my surprise, her eyes glisten, just a bit. Her voice is very soft when she speaks. “Your brother was a very good man, facing a horrible time. He had to make terrible choices. I am so sorry he’s gone.”
Her emotion catches me before I’m ready, and my chest tightens dangerously. I could listen to people sob at my feet in the Hold and not crack, but when people talk about Harristan, I can barely keep it together.
Her eyes hold mine, and whatever she sees there makes a solitary tear spill down her cheek. She reaches toward my face, beforecatching herself. “I’m sorry.” She casts a worried glance at her husband. “I’m sure I’m not allowed to touch you.”
I’m so aware of the people, of the ache in my heart. Harristan would never let anyone touch him. I wouldn’t either, honestly. There was a reason I didn’t mind when people called me Cruel Corrick, that I allowed the illusion of the heartless executioner to form. Displaying vulnerability would be reckless. In moments like this, I wish I could go back to my nights of donning a mask as Weston Lark.
But Tessa reaches out and squeezes my hand, and I remember something she said to me months ago, during one of our countless talks about how I wanted to make things better for Kandala.
Corrick, you hid everything that you are.
No more hiding.
I give Mistress Saeth a nod. “You can touch me,” I say.
I don’t know if I expect her to put a hand on my shoulder or against my face, but she doesn’t do either. She thrusts the squealing baby at her husband, then wraps her arms around me in a hug.
It’s so unexpected, but the warmth and empathy in the motion is so real. To my surprise, it doesn’t summon more emotion, but it helps settle something inside me. It lets me breathe, chasing back my tears instead of summoning more.
“I must have lookedtrulymiserable,” I say against her shoulder.
She gives a little laugh, then kisses me on the cheek before letting go.
Like the moment it happened on Silvesse, I’m struck by the motion, and I freeze.
Mistress Saeth blushes a bit. “Forgive me. I forgot myself, Your Majesty.”
I shake my head. “I appreciate your compassion. And I’m very glad my brother sent me.”
