Defend the Dawn (Defy the Night #2)(84)

That sedition and treason still wait in the shadows. That the consuls are still working against me—and they have the support of the palace guards.

That my brother is gone, and I can trust no one.

That I am very much alone.

I can’t say any of that. I’m the king. Even the barest utterance of uncertainty can sow discord and distrust.

I don’t even know how much I can tell Quint.

I wish I had Corrick.

“Your Majesty …,” Quint begins, but he stops there, as if he expects me to cut him off again.

“Go ahead,” I say. I fix my eyes on the sunlight that streams around the draperies.

“Corrick did not share everything with me in the beginning,” he says. “In fact, it took him quite some time before he saw fit to share what he was doing, even though I had my suspicions.” His voice is very quiet, very serious. “You trusted me enough to tell me that you hoped to help the people in the same way he once did. You trusted me enough to come to your aid this morning.” He hesitates. “Surely you must know your guards will have some suspicions. Corrick did not do this alone.” Another hesitation. “There’s no need for you to do it alone either.”

That draws my gaze back to his. My thoughts keep spinning, and I know now is a time to issue warnings and orders and begin making plans to protect the palace—and the people. I draw a breath to tell him about the consul, about the guard captain.

Instead, I open my mouth, and I find myself saying, “A man died. He was—he tried—” I have to breathe past the lump in my throat that feels ever-present. “His name was Maxon. The night patrol shot him.”

Quint doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t look away. “What happened?”

Corrick did not do this alone.

I don’t know how to do it any other way.

But I draw a slow breath and tell Quint everything. At first, my words are tight and formal. A sterile recitation of events. I expect him to interject with questions or take notes, as if we were sitting in a meeting at the palace and advisers would need a written report later. But he’s quiet and attentive, and as the carriage rolls along, I find myself sharing details I wouldn’t otherwise. The food stall. The crowds. The honey and cheese on warm nut bread. Arella and Captain Huxley and their announcement—followed by the panic over the arrival of the night patrol.

Maxon’s generosity—and his death.

“When you arrived with guards,” I say, “I wasn’t sure what to expect.”

“I didn’t mean to alarm you,” he says, his tone full of contrition. “I apologize.”

“No,” I say. “You don’t need to apologize.”

“Will you discharge Captain Huxley?”

“I’ve considered it.” I pause. “If I do, I worry that it may tip my hand too quickly. Anyone he’s working with will better hide their activities.” I think of how Thorin said they know about Huxley’s ear for gossip, how they’ve closed ranks. I wonder how tight that circle is.

“Arella will surely deny all of it,” Quint says. He tsks. “Do you have any idea how they planned to explain how you’re tricking the people?”

“Tessa’s medicine?” I guess. “But Lochlan already implied that the people were worried. They don’t need Captain Huxley to reinforce it. What could the end goal be? To simply spur revolution? The crowd wasn’t organized. They scattered when the night patrol arrived.”

“It takes more than the promise of gossip to unite people,” Quint says. “For as much as Corrick hates Lochlan, the people were willing to follow the rebel’s lead when he offered a new path.” He pauses. “Just as you allowed him to be a part of your negotiations—and sent him away on Captain Blakemore’s ship.”

That’s all true—and there’s something about that simple leadership that I envy.

“Tessa once said that we could be loved,” I say to him. “She said that we hide the truest parts of ourselves. Do you agree with that, Quint?”

A line forms between his eyebrows, and he looks half-amused, half-sad. “Is this a trick question, Your Majesty?”

“No.”

“Then … yes. I agree with every word.”

When I say nothing, he rushes on. “We’re riding in a carriage after your attempt to hide yourself among the people ended in peril.” He pauses. “After Prince Corrick’s attempts to do the same ended in revolution.”

That’s true enough, I suppose.

“I have another question,” I say. “This one isn’t a trick either.”

Quint nods. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Do you think I hide behind my brother’s viciousness?”

He inhales as if he’s going to offer platitudes, but I hold his eyes, and he goes very still.

That’s answer enough. I speak into his silence. “So you think I’m a coward.”

“What?” He looks a bit incredulous. “No. Certainly not.”

His answer is quick, and I frown. “Why not?”

“You have to ask me why? I watched you face down the rebels in the square when they were shooting consuls and throwing fire at you. You were safe in the woods after they laid siege to the palace, and you took one guard to confront them all.”