I shake my head, not meeting his eye. The sound of Fergustan’s head as it tumbled echoes again and again. Damien claimed the Elf was abusing his magic but didn’t even let him speak.Did Fergustan really use his Talent to harm others? Or is he just a casualty of Verdish ignorance?
I will never know, because Fergustan didn’t have a chance to defend himself.
If it had beenmein those shackles, would Finn have done anything different?
“Could we take a walk together?” Finn offers, his voice drawing me back from my inner turmoil. “And I can try to explain?”
Take me home, I want to say. Instead, I mumble, “Sure.”
He grasps my hand and steers me through the moonlit garden, far from the music and the patch I obliterated. My thoughts are a world away. I’m planning my escape route: the horse I’ll need, the path I’ll take out of Crown City…
Finn leads us out of the hedge maze, over a lawn, and through the swaying rose gardens. We pass between twin statues of dragons and through an ivy-covered door before arriving at a secluded lake. At the water’s edge is a massive willow tree with gold blossoms decorating the sweeping branches. It’s breathtaking, almost otherworldly. If I weren’t so distraught, I would ask about it.
“My brothers and I used to call this place the swan garden,” he explains. “We liked to hide here from our parents.”
I say nothing back.
Finn sprawls out near the water’s edge. It’s an uncanny re-creation of our trip to the waterfall that makes my guts twist. I gingerly sit down beside him, making sure we don’t touch. I wrap my arms around my shoulders and gaze at the wobbling reflection of the stars.
“Where were you?” I ask. My Talent is still fighting for control, so I am desperate for something else,anythingelse, to focus on. “What was so important that it drew you away?”
Finn looks guilty. “I got orders to ride east practically the second I got home. My job, it’s…it’s special. I can’t say much about it, but it required me to go to Sulnik. I couldn’t refuse.”
“Sulnik?”
“We’re on thin ice with them. No pun intended. Sebastian is engaged to their crown prince, which should go a long way toward mending fences. But the Sulish king hates my father, and he’s closely allied with the king of Ursandor. Neither of them wants a united Midlands.”
“What do you want?” All my muscles tighten, waiting for his answer.
“Peace,” Finn says simply. “I want peace, and I want everyone I love to be safe.”
“You call what just happenedpeace?” There’s venom in my tone, and it makes Finn frown.
“Have you ever actually set foot in the Republic of Sontaag?” he asks. “Because I have, and they’re amess. They call themselves free cities, but there’s nothing free about them. The magistrates like Fergustan live in opulence while their people starve in the slums. I’m the first to criticize my father’s tactics, but when I look around Crown City, I don’t see people suffering.”
“Then maybe you’re not looking closely enough,” I snarl back. “Or maybe you just don’t consider everyonepeople.”
A cold, heavy space widens between us. I think back to the cottage and all the conversations we shared. We touched very little on politics, and what I’ve just implied might be considered treason.
“I’ve told you from the very beginning that I don’t see eye to eye with my father,” Finn says slowly, breaking the long silence. “I don’t think being Elven makes someone evil. I don’t think being Verdish does, either. And using magic doesn’t make you a bad person any more than sitting in a chapel makes you a good one. I didn’t start this war. It’s bigger and older than either of us, and all we can do is our best at the role we’ve been given.”
I feel a little relief hearing confirmation that Finn doesn’t share his family’s prejudices. But his words are far fromsatisfying. “You could change things,” I argue. “If you don’t agree with the war, you should advocate to end it. That’s yourduty. You’re the prince!”
“I’maprince,” he corrects me. “One ofthree. And in case you’ve missed it, none of us have crowns on our heads.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, confused.
“My father hasn’t chosen an heir. And until he does, if I want to have any shot atanypower to makeanychanges, I need to convince him I don’t actually have dog shit for brains.”
I blink. “But isn’t Sebastian the heir?”
“No,” he huffs. “It’s supposed to be confirmed at sixteen. He’s twenty-two now. When my father didn’t crown him, everyone said it was going to be me, and like anidiot, I believed them.”
All at once, his story about the fyrehound finally makes sense. “That’s why Damien freaked out after his name day,” I deduce, almost whispering. “It wasn’t about a portion of the inheritance…. He thought he was going to be named heir.”
Finn nods, looking agonized. “You see why I’m on such a short leash?”
I fall quiet, trying to process this. Anger and disgust fights against the all-too-familiar reality of a soul-crushing pursuit of parental approval. It’s hard not to see fragments of myself reflected in Finn.
