CHAPTER ELEVEN
Tessa
Idon’t know what’s more embarrassing: that I couldn’t stab him, or that I threw up on him.
Either way, I’ve been given some time to figure it out, because Rian needs to change his clothes. Or at least his boots. We’ve been invited into the palace, left to wait in a grand room that was probably designed for hosting balls or parties or fancy galas. The ceiling stretches high above us, unlit chandeliers strung from glistening silver chains everywhere I look. The walls are all painted in stunning murals that span the width of the room, featuring landscapes that must display each of the islands of Ostriary. This must have been a stunning room at one time, but signs of war have crept in here, too: burn marks mar one of the windowsills, blades have slashed through one of the painted walls, and there are stains in some of the woodwork that I don’t want to examine too closely. Even the furniture is surprisingly sparse, as if much of it has been removed. There are only a few low chairs and a table near thewindows, though there are signs of fading on the parquet floor, indicating spots where rugs and furniture once sat.
Loss clings to this room as tightly as it clung to the harbor outside.
You must understand.
I don’t want to understand.
But I think I do.
Two guards have followed us in, but they remain by the door. Rocco stays closer to me, but he takes a place by the wall, and I realize he’s positioned himself so he can watch me while also seeing most of the room—windows and all.
I want to ask if he’s nervous, but I don’t want the guards to hear me. It hasn’t escaped my notice that his crossbow has a bolt loaded.
I’m probably supposed to leave him alone, to allow him to be an invisible guard the way the king or Corrick would, but I can’t do that. When I shift close to Rocco, his eyes stay on the room.
“Throwing up on him probably wasn’t the most elegant way to start things,” I whisper.
He doesn’t smile, but the skin around his eyes crinkles a little. “I guarantee it was unexpected.”
“I’m too angry at him,” I say. “I don’t know if I can talk to him.”
“Even if you can’t convince him to return us to Kandala, it would be better to leave here alive, so please remind your anger that I can’t fight off a hundred guards alone.”
That’s sobering. “They took my dagger.”
He finally pulls his eyes off the room and looks at me. “Again, there is more than one way to fight, Miss Tessa.”
I look back at him and nod.
Footsteps echo from the other side of the room, and I turn with my heart in my throat, expecting Rian. But it’s not him—it’s awoman carrying a tray of food, with a little girl skipping along beside her.
“Dabriel,” I say in surprise, recognizing the cook from on board theDawn Chaser. The little girl beside her is Anya, the daughter of Rian’s first lieutenant, Gwyn Tagas.
Well, at least shesaidshe was his first lieutenant. I have no idea if anyone was who they said they were.
But Dabriel gives me a brisk nod and sets the tray on the table. “Tessa,” she says a bit gruffly. “I’m glad you returned so soon. One more day and I would’ve had to pay Tor.”
“I . . .” I blink. “What?”
Little Anya grabs hold of my hand before I get an answer. “Miss Tessa,” she says solemnly. “I know you were gone because you were very sad, but I’m glad you came back.”
Without waiting for a response, she hugs me around the waist, her sleeves drawing back to reveal the scars along the brown skin of her arms.
“Iamvery sad,” I whisper, but there’s something so earnest in the way she’s hugging me, and somehow it doesn’t summon my tears.
“Me too,” she says.
But then Dabriel says, “Tor didn’t think you’d ever talk to him again. I bet him a week’s pay you’d be here by tomorrow, and it looks like I was right.”
She was gruff and no-nonsense on the ship, and it seems like that hasn’t changed on land. “I’m . . . ?glad I could help,” I say.
“I brought some coffee and warm bread,” she says. “Real milk this time, no powder.” She hesitates, then glances at my stomach. “But if you’re in a different way and you’d like something else, let me know.”
