Defend the Dawn (Defy the Night #2)(6)

Harristan glances down the table at Corrick, who looks to one of the guards, and then to Quint: a bizarre silent communication that always seems to speak volumes in the space of time between heartbeats.

Quint sets his pen to the side and rises from the table. “I will return in a moment.” One of the guards joins him by the door.

Karri looks at me. “What’s happening?” she whispers.

I don’t want to be alarmed, but my heart is kicking in my chest. I was here when the rebels bombed the palace the first time. “I … I don’t …”

Corrick rests a hand over mine. “A palace matter,” he says smoothly. “Nothing concerning.”

Despite his words, I can feel the tension in his hand.

No one is eating now. Even Consul Sallister looks apprehensive.

Luckily, Quint returns in less than a minute. He leans down to say something softly to the king. Harristan is too well schooled in court politics, so his expression reveals nothing. But his eyes find Corrick’s again.

“It seems we may need to postpone our meeting,” Quint says evenly. “A matter has arisen requiring the king’s attention.”

“What matter?” demands Lochlan.

“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say—”

“It took two weeks to arrange this meeting. I won’t be tricked into waiting longer.” He glances around the table. “Especially since I’m pretty sure everyone else in this room will hear what’s so important.”

Quint inhales sharply, but Harristan lifts a hand. “You’re right. Not just everyone in this room. If the ship docked hours ago, rumors have likely already reached the Royal Sector.”

“Ship?” says Corrick. “What ship?”

“An emissary,” says Harristan, “has just arrived from Ostriary.”

I jerk my head around to look at Corrick. Ostriary is the country directly to Kandala’s west, sitting on the other side of a wide, dangerous river. Due to the difficulty of travel and the severity of the fevers, there’s never been any kind of trade agreement between countries. Weeks ago, I asked Corrick if there were a chance that Ostriary could provide medicine, and he said it would be nearly impossible to find out. At the very least, it would be expensive to even try.

He glances at me briefly, and I know he’s remembering our conversation. “Ostriary sent an emissary?”

“Not quite,” says Quint.

“They didn’t send an emissary.” Harristan runs a hand across the back of his neck, the first sign of strain from him. “Apparently, six years ago, we did.”





CHAPTER THREE

Corrick

My world was very sheltered when I was a child, but never so much as Harristan’s. As the often ill heir to the throne, he was coddled and protected, with nurses and physicians never far off. Fires were kept roaring if he was in the room, and he was always given the most reliable horses, the least drafty carriages, the most genial tutors and instructors. As the second-born son—as the healthy son—I wasn’t guarded so closely. I could ride along for hunts through the densely wooded parts of Kandala, galloping behind other nobles on mounts that were far too spirited for royalty. Riding in a carriage? I never bothered. Schooling? Tutors could rap my knuckles. In the training arena, I could spar with anyone I liked, because no weapons master ever had to worry about leaving a bruise.

But I was still protected. Surrounded by guards and advisers who kept my leash very short, even though sometimes I wasn’t aware of it.

Harristan knew, though. He was the one who first taught me to sneak out of the palace and lose myself in the Wilds. That’s part of why it was so hard to keep my nightly adventures with Tessa a secret.

I’m often surprised he never guessed. He was always more savvy than our parents realized.

He’s savvy now, too. I thought he’d want to go immediately to the throne room to greet our new visitors, but he told Quint to make this “emissary” comfortable, and then invited me to his private quarters.

“Do you think it could be true?” I say to him.

He drops into a chair by the table, then looks at the window. “If it’s true, he was sent by Father.”

“Six years ago, you were seventeen. Do you remember any mention of ships making it to Ostriary?”

I expect him to give me a withering glance, followed by a long-suffering sigh. I know how old I was, Cory. But he’s silent, considering for a while, a line between his eyebrows as he studies the sunlight. He’s unsettled.

“No,” he finally says. “Father didn’t bring me in on all affairs of state.”

But he was brought in on most of them. I remember. I didn’t start joining them until I was fourteen, and by then, I was desperate to know what kinds of fascinating work was done at those meetings. I quickly learned that they were interminably boring.

Well, until a year later, when assassins burst into the room and our parents were slaughtered right in front of us.

“Allisander remembers that emissaries were discussed, but he doesn’t know of anyone being sent to Ostriary,” Harristan says. “But his father was consul then. I’ve sent word to the others, to see if any of them remember Father arranging for such a thing.”

“I’ve heard nothing about this since you took the throne,” I say. “Some of the consuls have changed, but a missing diplomat seems like something that should have come up once or twice.”