Defend the Dawn (Defy the Night #2)(30)

It’s a harsh contrast to the moment I was holding a dagger to that man’s throat in the candy shop. Or when I had to dash Tessa’s hopes about Laurel Pepperleaf’s interest in her findings.

Thanks, she said. I hate it here.

Me too.

Jealousy isn’t an emotion that lodges in my brain very often. I’m the brother to the king, so I rarely want for anything. I’ve spent years shoving away fear and anger and disappointment to where they can’t be seen. With jealousy, I have no practice.

The emotion isn’t about Captain Blakemore anyway. Not truly. I barely know him.

It’s about everything I can’t be for Tessa.

“Corrick,” says Harristan.

His voice calls me back, and I look over. “What?”

“I asked if you trust him.”

“I’m not sure. There’s a part of me that wants to.”

I think of the man who strode into the palace this afternoon. He’s charming. Appropriately deferential yet also unwavering in his commitment to his crew and his mission. His story is solid, right down to the flag from his ship and the ring on his finger. His people have caused no trouble, and Harristan was right: their loyalty is impressive. It does speak to Captain Blakemore’s character—especially when he’s asked for nothing more than a chance to establish trade between countries. No coins, no jewels, not even a better ship or a bigger crew—and he certainly could have asked for all of it.

“Are you truly unsure,” Harristan says, “or are you worried that he’s caught Tessa’s eye?”

That’s so on point that I frown and look over. “Do you really think he’s caught her eye?”

He sighs and runs a hand down his face. “Cory.”

I give an aggravated sigh myself. “Fine. I don’t distrust him.” I pause. “I’m sure it’s also occurred to you that if he made it here unscathed and unnoticed, this new king could have a whole naval force just waiting to see what we say.”

“Yes. I’ve considered it. I didn’t stop a revolution just to get embroiled in a war.”

A war we wouldn’t win. Not right now. Harristan doesn’t need me to tell him that.

“If you send me,” I say, “it will further complicate matters with the rebels. Tessa can remain here, I suppose, but they already don’t trust us. I’m sure they’ll believe that any Moonflower we receive from Ostriary will go right into the Royal Sector.”

“I considered that, too.” He’s watching me now, gauging my reaction. “Which is why I believe you should bring Tessa, seeing as she’s willing to go.” My heart kicks, but then my brother adds, “Along with the rebel Lochlan.”

“What?” I demand. “Why?”

“Because Captain Blakemore has limited our number to six, and that will allow for three guards. Laurel Pepperleaf will demand to go as well, but I will refuse. I want to send a message to her father that I will not pander to their sector any longer. If there are other avenues for medicine, we have a duty to explore them, and I will not risk Moonlight Plains interfering in the negotiations when they’re already threatening to halve their production. We will see what Ostriary has to offer, and we will negotiate accordingly. Half the consuls were ready to overthrow the throne, Corrick. This is a delicate balance from all sides.”

“No—I know that. But what does that have to do with Lochlan?”

“He doesn’t represent a sector from a position of authority. For us to extend an invitation to one of the rebels instead of someone in a position of privilege, it will be seen as an extension of trust, and I believe it will go far to convince the people of the Wilds and the wealthy sectors that we are considering the needs of all our citizens.”

I study him. “And it’ll get him out of the way so he can’t plan any attacks while I’m gone.”

Harristan gives me a sly smile. “That, too.”

I don’t smile back. He keeps hiding a cough. The consuls can’t be trusted. We were under attack a few short weeks ago.

I don’t want to leave him alone.

But if Ostriary has medicine, I don’t think we should wait. I don’t think we can wait.

My life, as always, seems torn between poor options.

A hand raps at the door, and we both look up in surprise. It’s after midnight. I wonder if it’s Quint. He’s the only person in the palace who sleeps less than I do—and the only one who might be looking for either of us at this hour.

But a guard calls out, “Your Majesty, Guardsman Rocco has requested an audience.”

That is a surprise. I raise my eyebrows and look at Harristan. Rocco was at the king’s side for most of the day. “Hasn’t Rocco been off duty for hours?”

“Yes.” Harristan frowns, but he calls, “Send him in.”

The guardsman strides through the doors to stand at attention, but he’s no longer in his palace livery and armor. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him in ordinary clothes, but he’s no less imposing in calfskin pants and a buttoned jerkin.

“Your Majesty,” he says. His eyes flick to me. “Your Highness. Forgive me for interrupting. I know the hour is late.”

“Forgiven,” I say easily, because I’m more curious than annoyed.