Defend the Dawn (Defy the Night #2)(11)

His voice is calm, lacking tension, but it’s the second time he’s mentioned his crew. Again, I don’t know if the tension is on our side or his.

“Yes,” says Harristan. “I’ve sent guards to the shipyard to ensure they’re left in peace.” He doesn’t touch his food, but he takes a sip of tea.

“And so they cannot leave,” says Rian.

It’s another tiny barb, but Harristan isn’t one to be baited. “Yes.”

“You still haven’t offered much by way of explanation,” I say to Rian. “I feel as though our definitions of immediate would be in conflict.”

He smiles, though there’s an edge to it, then stabs his fork into a bit of pork that’s been rolled with sliced ginger and a sliver of cheese. “I’m determining where to start. I did not arrive prepared to lecture the king of Kandala on his country’s own history.”

Harristan sets down his cup and traces a finger around the rim. “We have that in common, then. I did not arrive to hear a lecture. You say we once had a relationship with Ostriary.” His gaze falls on Rian’s crewmate. “Perhaps a representative from the country itself can speak for her countrymen. Is this true, Lieutenant?”

“Your Majesty,” she says, and now that she’s not hissing warnings at her captain, I hear a faint accent to her words. “I am of the understanding that Ostriary once had a trade agreement with Kandala that went sour.”

“When?” he says. “It was not during my lifetime.”

“In fact,” says Rian, “I believe—”

Harristan puts up a hand. “I asked the lieutenant.”

For as quiet as she’s been, she doesn’t back down either. She meets Harristan’s gaze evenly. “Before Captain Blakemore’s ship docked in Ostriary six years ago, we had not seen a ship from Kandala in over thirty years,” she says. “I was only a girl then. I still remember the last ship.” She reaches out and taps the tattered flag. “I remember the colors strung from her main sail.”

That would be thirty-six years ago, at least. I try to do the math in my head. My grandfather was still ruling then. On the other side of the table, Quint is scribbling notes. He’ll be calling for dock records the instant we’re done, I’m sure of it. Artis is close, so we’ll have them quickly, but if ships sailed out of the other two ports, it’ll be a matter of days.

Still, thirty-six years isn’t very much time. I’m nearly twenty, so I feel like I would remember stories of ships that made it across the river. Surely there would be sailors who would remember.

But then I consider the ring on Rian’s finger. The letter we knew nothing about.

Maybe not. Maybe that ship thirty-six years ago was sent under clandestine means, too.

“What happened to that ship?” says Harristan.

Lieutenant Tagas hesitates.

“It was set ablaze,” Rian says, and his voice is not without weight. “The entire crew perished.”

At that, Quint looks up from his writing.

“There were disagreements,” says Lieutenant Tagas. “Between our kingdom and your own. Again, I was young. My mother was a quartermaster on a merchant ship. We were not privy to all of the court gossip. But I remember that ship sailing into our waters, because our naval fleet set upon it so quickly. They shot flaming arrows into the sails. The fire rained down on the sailors below. Anyone who jumped into the water was shot.”

Her voice is quiet, and, like Rian’s, not without weight. Harristan is staring at her.

“Why?” he says.

“My mother said there was a scandal between our king and yours. But there was talk around the docks about a trade agreement that went sour.”

“A trade agreement,” says Harristan. “For what?”

She inhales, but Rian lifts a hand. It’s a tiny movement, just a bare lifting of his fingers, but she stops.

Rian looks at Harristan, and then at me. “I am sensitive to the fact that this room is not very private.”

Harristan glances across the table. “Quint,” he says. “Clear the room.”

All of the servants exit without any urging. Most of the guards leave, but four of Harristan’s personal guards remain. Rocco and Thorin stand along the wall behind the table, close to my brother and me, while Kilbourne and Grier stand closer to our guests.

Quint pulls the door closed behind him when he goes. He’ll learn everything from me within the hour, if he doesn’t hear it from Harristan himself. There’s nothing that goes on in the palace that Quint doesn’t hear about.

The room is very silent once the door clicks shut.

Rian doesn’t look away from Harristan. “Do you trust your guards, Your Majesty?”

“I do.”

“And do you trust your brother?”

“I do,” says Harristan—but the question pricks at my thoughts and lodges there. It takes me a moment to figure out why.

I’m remembering a moment in the Hold with Allisander, when I’d been locked in a cell after being caught as the outlaw Weston. Allisander was threatening me, saying anything to get under my skin, but he poked at my relationship with Harristan. I’d always thought my brother and I were close, but there was something Allisander said that has sat with me for weeks.