We’re all dying. You’re just killing them quicker. Show mercy.
I skip to the next one.
Free the rebels from Steel City.
I flip through a few more. Some are hastily written, some are more eloquent, but they all beg for the same thing.
“Pardon requests,” I say hollowly. We always get a few—but never to this extent.
“How many are there?” says Harristan.
Quint hovers by the doorway. “One hundred eighty-seven.”
I set down the letters and look at my brother. “As I said. A spectacle.”
“One is from Consul Cherry,” says Quint.
That gets Harristan’s attention. “Arella?” he says. “I thought the smugglers were captured in Steel City.” That’s firmly Leander Craft’s territory, while Arella speaks for Sunkeep, far in the south.
“They were.” I push aside the thinner parchments and scribbled pleas until I get to the folios at the bottom. Arella’s is black leather, the cover stamped with Sunkeep’s sigil in gold: half a sun descending into a rolling sea.
To His Royal Majesty, the Esteemed King Harristan,
I write to you in regard to the men and women imprisoned on charges of smuggling and illegal trade.
While I recognize that true crime deserves punishment, these men and women are not criminals.
They are acting out of desperation to help their families during a time of need. I humbly request that you might find it in your heart to pardon them.
We of Sunkeep are willing to welcome them into our territory if you will grant clemency.
Yours in service,
Consul Arella Cherry
I read it out loud, and Harristan looks at Quint. “You dragged me through twenty minutes of nonsense when this was sitting on the table?”
My brother’s voice could cut steel, but Quint doesn’t flinch. If anything, he looks somewhat incredulous. “I brought a day’s worth of issues to you and attempted to fit them into nine minutes. As per your request.”
Harristan swipes the leather folio out of my hands, but he’s still glaring at Quint. “I gave you ten.”
Quint opens his mouth to argue, but I have no desire to see him as the ninth victim today, so I say, “Did Leander issue a request?”
“No,” says Quint.
Harristan scans the letter I just read, then snaps it shut and looks back at the Palace Master. “Anyone else of importance? Or were you going to tell me tomorrow?”
“The usual elites from the Royal Sector,” Quint says. There are a few families who request a pardon for every captive. They’re always denied, but they always ask.
Quint glances at the pile. “A few others are from influential families. Many requests came from the Wilds. No other consuls.”
I look at the folio in Harristan’s hands. I’m surprised Arella submitted her request this way, instead of coming to speak with me directly. “Is Arella still here?” I say.
“She left at dawn,” says Quint. He pauses. “She and Roydan shared a carriage.”
Harristan goes still at this news. After a moment, he says, “That’s enough, Quint.” He sets the folio on the table.
“Your Majesty.” Quint offers a quick bow, then escapes the tension of the room.
We sit in the silence for a long moment, until Harristan eventually eases into the chair across from me. He picks up one of the pardon requests, reads it, gently sets it aside. Then another. Then another.
I wait.
He reads them all.
He’s been the fierce king for so long now that I sometimes forget how he was when he was the beloved crown prince, the boy who was sheltered and coddled and doted upon. I remember he once told me he was glad that Father took me along for hunting trips, because he’d go pale at the sight of blood, and he hated the idea of putting an arrowhead into a living creature.
When he finally looks up, I see a glimpse of that boy in his eyes.
I lean in against the table. “Allisander was already going to raise his prices before this happened. You have nearly two hundred pardon requests sitting here, but I imagine you’d have three times as many decrying their crimes.”
He holds my gaze. “Arella requested a pardon for smugglers on the same day Allisander claimed his supply chain is being attacked. He won’t be happy. It pits her against him.”
I snort. “Who’s not against Allisander?”
“You,” he says.
I lose any shred of humor. “Only in public.” I frown. “And you well know that.”
“In public is all that matters.” He pauses. “It likely pits her against Lissa Marpetta, too. I find it interesting that she shared a carriage with Roydan.”
Roydan Pelham. Some at court might think the old man was after Arella because she’s young, cultured, and beautiful, but I’ve known Roydan my entire life, and no one is more devoted to his wife than he is. He’s also played court politics for so long that he wouldn’t be seen climbing into a carriage with Arella unless it meant something. “Their sectors border one another.”
“Exactly.” He pauses. “It’s a risk to stand against Allisander. Especially now.”
“Arella’s people have always fared the best against the fevers,” I say. “Maybe she feels like she has less to lose.”
Harristan runs a hand across his face. He wants to pardon the prisoners. I can see it in the set of his jaw. I don’t know what about them has drawn his sympathy, whether it’s the number of captives, or the quantity of requests we received, or if it’s simply that he’s as tired of violence and treachery as I am, and he longs to be kind to someone. Anyone.
Kindness killed our parents.
Harristan coughs behind his hand, and my attention sharpens. I go stock-still.
His breathing sounds fine. His color is good. He’s fine.
I think it again, more emphatically, as if I can will it to be true. He’s fine.
“If they go free,” I say slowly, “Allisander will see it as the Crown taking a stand against him, too.” Again, I think. “We aren’t just talking about affecting the supply to the palace, Harristan.”
“I know.”
“We’re talking about the entire Royal Sector. We’re talking about all of Kandala.”
“I know.”
“We can’t side with criminals,” I say. “This is the first time we’ve seen a larger group attempt to organize. If we’re lenient, it will lead to more raids, to more thefts, to more—”
“Cory.” His voice is quiet. “I know.”
I say nothing. We’re in agreement, then.
We’ve come to an understanding.
I sigh. So does he.
My brother pulls his pocket watch free. “We’re two hours from midday. You never did tell me how you’re going to do it.”
My thoughts turn dark, a black cloak already dropping across my mind to stave off any emotion. I do what needs to be done.
“Wait and see.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Tessa
I have no desire to see eight people hung or garroted or chopped into bits or whatever other horrible fate the king and his brother will come up with, but Mistress Solomon wants to see the executions, and she expects Karri and I to join her.