Defend the Dawn (Defy the Night #2)(99)

I let out a long breath. “Thorin. Check the path ahead. We’ll follow.”



It’s only been a matter of weeks, but the trail leading to the workshop is overgrown, and once we get inside, we discover that a thick layer of dust clings to everything. I run a finger along the work table, then stifle a cough as a plume of dust lifts into the air. It’s clear no one has been here since the night the rebels attacked the palace.

It made for a good hiding place then, and it makes for a good one now.

A narrow cabinet is bolted into the wall near the cold hearth, and Quint is checking the drawers. I order Saeth to tether the horses and walk a perimeter, then call for Thorin to join us in the workshop.

When he does, I waste no time. “This is another act of insurrection,” I say. “Though this one appears to be more insidious. Do you think Saeth could be involved with whoever is working against me?”

If he’s surprised, it doesn’t show. “No.”

“Are you certain?”

“As certain as I can be. Saeth and I have served together for over five years now. We were chosen for your personal guard together.” He pauses. “If he were working against you, he could have aided the guards at the gate and they could’ve taken the carriage. There were four of them.”

I work that through in my head, trying to think of any reason why it would be more advantageous to allow me to escape, and I come up with nothing.

I run a hand across the back of my neck again, then take a long breath.

We can’t stay here forever.

I need information.

I glance from Thorin to Quint and wonder how far rumor has spread. They’ve only been out of the palace for a few hours, but clearly Arella, Laurel, and Captain Huxley were able to take advantage of my notable absence. Quint might have been able to leave quietly, but if anyone came looking for me …

I sigh. My leg is throbbing again, and I can’t seem to think past it. I can’t remember the last time I had water, or anything to eat.

I drop into the chair gracelessly, and I must be a bit woozy, because I land clumsily, then bite back a yelp as my wound strikes the arm of the chair. I’m gritting my teeth so hard I can taste blood.

Or maybe I’ve bitten the inside of my cheek. A bloom of sweat breaks out on my forehead. I inhale slowly through my teeth because the alternative is to start swearing and never stop.

Quint steps away from the cabinet, takes one look at me, and glances at the guard. “See if there’s fresh water in the rain barrel, Thorin. You and Saeth should strip your palace livery. Is there anything nearby? We’ll need food, at the very least.”

“Yes, Master Quint.” The door hinges creak in protest, and then he’s gone.

I close my eyes and let out that breath. The tiny workshop is suddenly very silent.

But then Quint speaks, and his voice is closer than I expect. “Your Majesty,” he says quietly. “You’re bleeding again.”

My eyes blink open, and I look down. He’s right. Along the tear in my trousers, fresh blood has soaked through.

“Tessa had more rolls of muslin in the cabinet,” Quint says. “We should bind the wound.” He hesitates. “If I may …”

I shift my weight and wince. “Go ahead.”

As he wraps the bandage, he says nothing, and I grow very aware of his closeness. It’s a weird kind of intimacy, and not altogether uncomfortable.

I once bound his wounds as well. Just like this, in this very workshop.

Now we’re even, I think.

But Quint looks up, and his hands go still, and I realize I’ve said the words aloud.

He confirms it when he says, “What was that?”

I don’t repeat it. “You ignored my order in the carriage.”

He inhales like he’s going to protest, but then must think better of it. “I’ll await your judgment, Your Majesty. But I promised Corrick that I would look after you—”

“Look after? Quint, I’m not a child.”

He tugs the bandage tight, and I hiss a breath through my teeth.

He meets my eyes, but he doesn’t apologize. “I am well aware.”

Then he knots off the bandage and straightens, moving away.

I feel off-balance, off-kilter, like too many people have confused me in succession. Before I can puzzle it out, Thorin returns with a bucket of water from the rain barrel. He’s in his shirtsleeves now, but no less armed.

“Saeth is going to walk toward Artis,” he says. “He’s got a pocket full of coins, so he’ll see if we can purchase some food. But I don’t think we should stay here for long. They’ll eventually discover the carriage. We’ve had days of rain. Our tracks won’t be hard to follow.”

“I don’t know which consuls are working against me,” I say. “If I try to find sanctuary with any of them, we might as well hand ourselves over right now.”

Quint lights the tiny stove in the corner and pours water into the kettle, then sets it to boil. “We can’t return to the Royal Sector, surely.”

“If they’re spreading word that there’s a reward for capturing the king,” Thorin adds, “we’ll be hard-pressed to find sanctuary anywhere.”

Because people will do anything for silver—or access to medicine. I know that better than anyone.