Harristan
Our return to the Wilds is in the dead of night, which is a bit of a relief. We’re only welcomed with silence. No one is out and about to stare, to shout, to publicly chastise me for every single failure.
That will happen tomorrow, I’m sure.
I’m relieved to find Quint unharmed and waiting for us, again sitting on the porch of the house beside a lantern, writing in his little book. He stares at the wagon as we roll back into sight, and I can read in his expression that he senses how much has gone wrong. He’s always good at creating distractions in the face of a crisis, however, so I’m not surprised when he snaps his book shut, and instead of asking questions, he begins telling the guards which homes are now ours.
All ofhisduties in our absence were successful, of course.
I shouldn’t feel bitter and resentful about that, but it only serves to highlight everything I’ve done wrong. Since we were expecting to bring back more guards, he’s been able to secure and outfit twohouses near the one we’ve been using—far more space than we really need.
But at least I can finally have some privacy. After tonight, I’m desperate for it.
“Saeth’s family can have a house to themselves,” I say. “Quint and Thorin can share the other. I’ll stay where we were.”
Francis is awkwardly dragging Sommer off the wagon, wincing as he does it. Nook is hovering near him, looking lost.
“You swear you can keep him confined, Francis?” I say.
He nods. “I’ll see if I can get some shackles from Marcus Orthrop and put him in my cellar for tonight.” He jerks his head at the boy. “Nook will help me. Then I’ll find someone to stitch up his arm.”
Nook looks surprised by this, but he nods quickly, then moves forward to join Francis. Maybe he needed a task.
“Take a crossbow,” I say. “If he tries to escape, shoot him.”
Nook blanches at that. So does Sommer. He’s still bound and gagged, but he shakes his head vigorously.
I have to look away. There’s still too much emotion in the air, and I just want to be behind the closed door of the house so I don’t have to face any of this anymore.
But I’m the king, and I don’t have that luxury. There’s no King’s Justice. There’s no one else.
“We’ll question you at daybreak, Sommer,” I say. “Then we’ll decide what to do with you.”
He swallows, then nods.
I turn for the steps and grab hold of the door. But before I cross the threshold, I remember something else, and I look back at Francis. “Make sure you give him a meal. He did this because he was starving.”
Then I close myself inside before I have to face anything—anyone—else.
The house is quiet and warm, a relief since I’ve been shivering in my wet clothes for the last hour. The nights aren’t cold, but a fire has been laid in the hearth anyway—surely Quint again, prepared for the weather—and there’s a hot kettle on the stove, too. Only one lantern is lit, and I know we should conserve the candles and oil, but I’m tense and rattled and I’ve had enough darkness. I light a few others.
I hang my cloak on a hook by the fire to dry, then add my sodden tunic beside it. I should bend to untie my boots next, but I catch sight of my hands in the light, and I realize it’s not just dirt in the creases of my knuckles. There are flecks of blood as well. I move to the washbasin in the corner and pump water from the well to scrub them clean.
As I watch the dirt and blood swirl free, all of Lennard’s accusations slam into my thoughts at once.
The instant they found proof, you ran.
They’re wrong. I know they are. I’ve never poisoned anyone. I’ve never turned on my people.
Maybe I’m a fool. I don’t know what proof they could have, but maybe they do have something. Maybe these traitors have worked against me so effectively that my own ignorance will be my downfall. Without information, there’s no way to know.
Not long ago, Arella was in the Wilds, telling the people that Prince Corrick’s ship was a farce, that it would never make it to Ostriary. I didn’t believe that either, but maybe it’s true.
Maybe all of this is futile.
I abandon the basin, then drop into a chair and press my hands into my eyes again.
Now it’s little Ruby’s voice in my thoughts.I saw you crying. Are you very sad?
