“I’m not scared of him either.” He pauses. “But he’s lost the king’s trust. As I said, something has happened with the queen. The rumors at court are … exceptional. I don’t know what to believe, but I don’t know what Tycho will do now that he’s been stripped of his magic and sent away.”
I study him. “So you think he’s working against the king, too?”
Alek snorts disdainfully. “No. I think Tycho would cut his own throat if the king asked him to.” He hesitates. “He knows I’ve painted a target on his back—but it’s not as if he didn’t give me the opportunity. He’s not happy about it. Even a lapdog knows how to bite.”
I remember the first day I met them both, how the tension in the bakery shot to a point of discomfort. “Why do you hate him so much?”
“At first, it wasn’t personal.” He shrugs. “I hated everyone the king brought with him. They represented a country that stole too much from ours. But after he and the king killed my sister, Tycho took an active role in trying to make sure I had no place at court. As ifhehad a right to be there. I had to fight my way back in.”
I consider that for a while. I remember thinking about the nobility, how their problems seemed petty and far distant from Briarlock. But I hear the current of pain riding below Alek’s glib words, and I realize that we’re all affected by grief and loss, even if we’re from wildly different stations in life.
“I’m sorry, Alek,” I say.
He gives me half a smile. “You don’t have to be sorry. You’ve done nothing wrong. You’re helping me put things to rights for our queen.” He glances at the window again, then lifts his book meaningfully. “Now sleep.”
My thoughts are swirling. I don’t think I’ll ever sleep again.
But he’s so quiet, and it’s so late, and I’m so tired. I do.
When I wake, the room is cold and full of sunlight, and he’s gone.
Beside me on the bed are two pieces of paper.
The first is a folded note, sealed with a broad circle of green-and-black wax, the silver stars in the seal familiar.
The second is the crumpled slip of parchment that has the tax collector’s handwriting on one side.
Alek has written a note on the other.
Callyn,
Lady Karyl will arrive for this letter in a matter of days. Take care. This message isn’t for your eyes, but it’s not about fabric orders at all.
Hopefully this tiny admission is enough to buy a bit of your trust.
Yours,
Alek
My heart is pounding.
Yours. It’s meaningless. Meaningful. I can’t tell. Like we’ve moved away from the business of passing messages, and now my heart is on the line. Much like when he calls me “lovely,” it lights me with joy and inserts a spike of worry in my chest.
Something has happened with the queen.
I am but a soldier for the cause.
As I think back over all our words, I realize that he answered many questions—which is why I didn’t notice how he so skillfully dodged others.
You’re helping me put things to rights.
I think about everything he didn’t say, and I realize I don’t know if that’s true at all.
I remember discussing the queen with Tycho and Nora, how my sister was spinning in circles and imagining the baby as if she’d bewelcoming her own little sister. Alek said the queen was very sick and the king wasn’t using his magic to heal her. We hear so many stories here, though. I’m not sure what to believe—orwho. I know my father believed everything said about the king. It’s part of why he participated in the Uprising—and part of why I agreed to work with Alek. I often think my mother would be doing the same.
But I touch my fingers to this pendant. Would she be part of the Uprising? My mother was loyal to the queen. I know that much for sure. She took great pride in her role as an officer in the army.
Alek, too, keeps declaring his loyalty to Syhl Shallow, to the queen.
