Defend the Dawn (Defy the Night #2)(5)

“I don’t really care what happens to people in the Wilds,” says Allisander. “If you want more medicine than what I’m being forced to provide, buy it.” He glances at the rebel’s left arm, still splinted and bandaged from the day Corrick broke it in the prison. “Ah. I suppose you can’t work in the forges now, can you? So you need to beg? Under this pretense of helping—”

Lochlan lunges across the table.

Or he tries to. Two of the guards grab him before he can get a hand on the consul, but not before he knocks over two glasses that send water streaming along the polished wood of the table. Allisander lifts an aggrieved eyebrow and shoves his chair back a few inches, but otherwise makes no effort to stop the mess. An attendant moves away from the wall with a cloth ready.

The guards are wrestling Lochlan back, and he swears. They must twist his injured arm because his voice cuts off with a gasp, and a bloom of sweat breaks out on his forehead.

“Do something,” I whisper to Corrick.

His blue eyes meet mine. “Hang them both?”

“Corrick,” I breathe. I’m not entirely sure he’s teasing.

“They’re both at fault here,” he says pointedly, for all at the table to hear. “We’ll never make any headway if the two of you are content to attack each other.”

“Fine,” Lochlan grinds out. “Let me go.”

Karri has risen from her seat, and she glances between Lochlan and me. The guards look to the king.

“Release him,” says Harristan. He looks at Allisander. “You will keep your silence, Consul. If you cannot speak in good faith, then you will not speak at all.”

“I am speaking in good faith, Your Majesty.” Allisander’s words are full of contempt. “You can ban me from your meetings and lower my dosages and make all the arrangements you like, but on this point, the brute and I agree. The sectors will not accept a hypothesis you’ve tested on those who have nothing to lose. Those who would be motivated to lie if it’s a means to more handouts. It is not only the rebels whose trust you need to earn.”

Corrick and Harristan exchange a glance. Quint never stops writing.

“The people won’t lie,” says Karri, and there’s heat in her voice.

Allisander turns his disdainful glare her way. “You people were willing to burn down the entire sector. I doubt lying is beyond anyone’s capabilities.”

As much as I hate Consul Sallister, he’s not entirely wrong. This isn’t just about getting the rebels to trust Harristan and Corrick and … well, me. Everyone needs to.

Lochlan jerks his clothes straight and drops into a chair. “No one is lying. We also came here in good faith, remember?”

“Because you narrowly escaped an execution?” Allisander sniffs.

“So did you,” Lochlan snaps.

“Enough,” says Harristan, and there’s a pulse of anger in his voice. He takes a thin breath, then clears his throat. Twice.

I watch Corrick’s attention zero in on his brother. The king has been hiding a cough for months. At first, I thought it was because he truly needed more medicine than everyone else due to a lingering illness from his childhood. Allisander admitted to cheating the palace of pure Moonflower petals, but that problem was solved weeks ago. His cough should be gone.

It’s not.

Quint’s pen stops. He looks up, assesses the situation quicker than a heartbeat, and says, “Finn, I believe everyone could do with some refreshments.”

A footman moves away from the wall, and the king’s cough is covered by the sudden rattle of china and silver.

Corrick is still staring at his brother. A flicker of worry crosses his expression, almost too quick to notice.

I pick up my own pen, then reach over and circle the words he wrote earlier.



It draws his gaze to mine, and he offers a small nod, but the worry in his eyes doesn’t vanish. I wish I could rest a hand over his or whisper a reassurance, but neither would be welcome. Everything is so uncertain. I don’t want to weaken him.

Finn is setting a cup of tea before each person at the table, along with a small plate featuring a delicate pastry that’s been drizzled with chocolate, a wedge of apple beside a tiny pot of honey, and a thinly sliced strawberry that’s been dusted with pink sugar.

Karri is staring at the plate, her eyes wide. I remember doing the same thing.

Lochlan is glaring at the food.

Allisander looks bored.

The king has taken a sip of his tea, and it seems to have staved off his cough. I wish he wouldn’t hide it. He doesn’t want to be seen as weak, I’m sure, but I believe the opposite would be true: it would endear him to the people to see that he’s just as vulnerable as they are.

Then again, I understand why he doesn’t want that. Harristan and Corrick’s parents were assassinated right in front of them, so I can appreciate their worries.

Mine were too.

Karri looks like she’s afraid to touch the food, so I give her a smile, then pick up my apple wedge and dip it in the honey. “The apples are the best,” I say to her.

She smiles back, then picks up her own piece of fruit.

Lochlan hesitates, but maybe the lure of the decadent food is too much, because he does the same. It’s not a concession, but it feels like one.

Out in the hallway, voices echo, but the doors are closed, and we can’t make out the words. Even still, it’s unusual for anyone’s voice to be raised when they near a room where the king is residing. Aside from the guards in here, half a dozen more are on the other side of that door. Maybe more.