Defend the Dawn (Defy the Night #2)(83)

But maybe Quint can tell, because his movements slow, the handkerchief tracing lightly over the injury.

“How often did you do this for Corrick?” I say.

“Tending his wounds or fetching him from the Wilds?”

I don’t like the way he phrases either of those options. “Both.”

He shakes his head. “Neither, really. Corrick was rarely injured.” He pauses. “Aside from the time your soldiers found him with the rebels, he never failed to return of his own accord.” He pauses. “He never went on his nightly runs without a mask. He never even let Tessa know who he was.”

I draw back and turn to face him. “Are you chastising me, Quint?”

“Never, Your Majesty.” He rinses the handkerchief again, then lifts it. When I don’t move, he raises his eyebrows.

I sigh and turn my head. I have to run a hand across my face. Corrick did this for years. Only a few weeks, and I nearly brought down the kingdom.

He’s better at this than I am.

He’s better at a lot of things than I am.

“Maybe you should be,” I say. The water is cold, and I shiver.

“Hmm?”

“Chastising me,” I add. “When I told you I wanted to do this, you didn’t even try to talk me out of it.”

“I’m honored to think I could have talked the king of Kandala out of anything at all.” He pauses, and I wince as he passes the handkerchief over the worst of it. “This will need stitching, I’m afraid.”

“The arrow nearly took me in the face.”

“You were very lucky.”

“Lucky.” I should be worried about my consuls and my guards, but instead, I think of Maxon, lying dead in the middle of the woods. My voice has gone rough. To my horror, my chest tightens. I frown and push Quint’s hand away. “Enough.”

He recedes, wrapping up the cloth so it doesn’t drip too badly, and I fix my gaze on the opposite wall of the carriage. The air between us is thick with silence, and that’s not better. It leaves me with too much time to think.

Information on the king. On how he’s tricking you.

Arella and Roydan have been having private meetings for weeks—but they’ve been reviewing shipping logs. I have absolutely no idea how that could be related to me tricking anyone.

And I still can’t see Arella conspiring with Laurel Pepperleaf and Captain Huxley. He’s a gossip, everyone knows that, but I’ve never thought he was disloyal. Laurel was at the dinner with Allisander, and Arella hates him and everything he stands for. I can’t quite see Laurel and Arella working together either.

But the night patrol showed up, and everyone scattered.

Maxon helped me—and then he was killed for it.

My eyes burn and I blink it away.

“If I may,” Quint begins.

“No,” I say, and he shuts his mouth.

I don’t like that. I glance up. His red hair is nearly brown in the dim light of the carriage, but his eyes are piercing. We’ve never been friends, so I have no idea how old he is, but he has to be older than I am. He was an apprentice when he first came to the palace, and he’s held his position as Palace Master for years now, so he must be … twenty-four? Twenty-five? I only ever really kept him on because I know Corrick is so fond of him. Personally, I always found him a bit bothersome: he might be good at his job, but he prattles endlessly about everything, and he seems to enjoy doing so.

It’s only in these recent weeks that I’ve discovered that Quint’s mindless chatter is a front for someone who’s sharp, attentive, and deeply loyal.

Brave, too. He saved my life when the palace was under attack. And cunning, if he secretly helped Corrick for so long.

“Was that your idea?” I finally say. “To give the impression that the guards were arresting me for ‘impersonating’ the king?”

“Yes,” he says. “Violet didn’t have much of a story, really. If she protests, I rather doubt anyone will listen. It’s a lot easier to believe that a man tricked a few children into thinking he was royalty.”

He’s right, but Violet doesn’t really deserve that. I can’t believe she took the money for boots and used some of it to make people think the Fox was still making rounds. A new thread of guilt joins the first few that are already tugging at my heart. At least I can make sure she has warm feet for a while.

I think of the way Quint glanced at Toby’s feet, too, how he added a note to his little book.

“Forgive me,” I say. “What were you going to say to me?”

Quint blinks at that. “I was going to ask how you were injured.” He pauses. “When we arrived at the barn, you did not seem relieved to see us.”

“How did I seem?”

“With all due respect, Your Majesty—”

“Just tell me, Quint.”

“Terrified.”

“Ah.” I run a hand across the back of my neck. Just the memory of … of all of it causes me to shudder. “Well.” I try to draw my leg up, but my knee protests, and I wince and shift my weight. I give up and sigh. “I heard there was going to be a meeting. I wanted to see if I could learn what was said.”

“What did you learn?”

That sending the King’s Justice away has emboldened dissenters, just as we feared.