Page 28 of The Uncrowned Prince

He wore a smile throughout those encounters, but this smile was nothing like the ones Karreya had grown to expect from him. It was little more than a veneer over the finely carved bones of his face, so thin that it barely served to disguise the growing pain and uncertainty beneath. With each message he received, his shoulders seemed to sag—the life and energy drained out of him by whatever words they contained. And yet he said nothing of his pain, only withdrew further and further into himself until they stepped into the street as the sun sank and it seemed he’d forgotten her presence entirely.

His hands were shoved deeply into his pockets, his head tilted back and his eyes closed, as if wishing he could forget.

“Someday,” he said quietly. “Someday, there will be good news. Someday I will hear of happenings other than war and death and despair. But someday can only come if I pretend that this news does not break me, and that there will be hope if I simply go on. If only I keep trying in the face of defeat.”

He breathed deeply, then offered her his customary brilliant smile, but Karreya shook her head.

“No,” she said. “Do not smile at me, Abreian. Not when your smile is only a pretty lie to hide your feelings.”

He turned his head fully to regard her, but the light was low and hid too much of his expression for her to read it.

“The truth is heavy and painful and often dangerous,” he said bluntly. “It is not a weight most would choose to share. Nor would I place such a burden on anyone’s shoulders unasked for, particularly when it is beyond the scope of their ability to change.”

Did he still not understand? “Even the most painful truth is a greater gift than a comforting lie.”

His regard shifted abruptly, from mere observation to thoughtful focus. “You truly believe that, don’t you?” He took a step nearer, hands still in his pockets, shoulders tense, his whole body poised with intent as he gazed at her. “But do you have any idea how rare that is, Karreya? The rest of the world prefers the lie. They would rather bury their heads and pretend that injustice has nothing to do with them—that everything will be all right as long as they pretend nothing bad is happening.”

“What bad thing has happened?” she asked.

It was not like her to feel the desire to comfort someone else, but she did not care for the darkness in his eyes. It was like looking through a window into an ocean of despair, made all the darker for being so firmly confined behind his glib words and ready smile.

He was silent for so long, she thought perhaps he did not intend to answer. But after a few taut moments, his shoulders fell, and he seemed to reach a decision.

“Come with me,” he said. “There’s a place we can go where it will be safer to talk. And if you still want to know…” His gaze held hers as if trying to convey something deeply important. “I will tell you.”

CHAPTER7

He needed more sleep, his couriers were late, and the news was unrelentingly bad. Those were the only explanations Vaniell could devise for why he had made such an absurd and dangerous promise. But no matter his reasons, he could not quite bring himself to regret it. Just now it seemed as if Karreya were the only thing preventing him from being cast entirely adrift, and he’d clung to far less attractive anchors in the past.

Something about her unwavering honesty and straightforwardness felt oddly like a port in the storm. As if she would refuse to let him be blown off course.

It was an absurd fancy, but he refused to let it go.

Because he neededsomeone. A person he could lean on if only for a moment. He’d been fighting this battle in solitude for so long, he almost couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have allies at his back. Someone to share in both victories and setbacks.

Though there’d been precious view victories of late. The last of his spies had been purged from the royal palace at Hanselm, and of the three mages he’d arranged to have smuggled from Garimore, only one had safely crossed the border. Fully half of the Useless Younger Sons had been conscripted into the army, and several of his key people in Eddris had run out of funds. And until his couriers arrived, there was no way to send money. No way to reassure them that he hadn’t abandoned them, and that this war was still worth fighting. That they could not, under any circumstances, give up.

Or… maybe they could. Maybe theyshould. This path would only grow more dangerous from here, as Garimore’s king continued to gather power and target his enemies, one by one. If Vaniell’s darkest suspicions were true and Garimore was behind the assassination of Iria’s king, then it seemed likely that the man who called himself Melger was ready to take the final step in his plan to rule all of Abreia.

And who was left to stand in his way?

Only the one who’d seen him for what he was over ten years ago and done nothing to stop him. Only the one who’d taken the coward’s way out and done as he was told out of fear.

Vaniell could no longer imagine living without the guilt of his long ago choices, any more than he could imagine forswearing his magic and living as a farmer. It had taken him far too long to decide to fight, and atonement was impossible, so there was no way out for him. This battle was the only path remaining, and he would fight it until they laid him in his grave.

“You went somewhere in your head,” Karreya said, regarding him with something akin to worry. A bad day indeed, when he managed to worry a remorseless assassin. “And wherever it is, there is no food there, and people are beginning to stare.”

She was right, of course—he was growing maudlin. It wasn’t like him to lose himself in melancholy.

“Embarrassing, but true,” he admitted frankly. “Follow me then. Dinner is a bit of a walk, but worth it.”

It was a half-hour stroll to the waterfront, and the sky turned brilliant pink and orange as they navigated the nearly silent streets. The evening proved surprisingly peaceful, even as the light faded and sunset transitioned into the darker shades of dusk. Much of the day’s traffic was gone, except for laborers hurrying home and street sweepers tidying up the busiest corners, and even those disappeared as the oncoming night cast the narrow alleyways nearest the docks into deep shadow.

It was nearly full dark when they finally arrived at a small, unassuming front door that opened beneath a carved wooden sign for The Hook and Trident.

The room beyond was larger than it appeared from the street, with an unlit fireplace on one side and a well-polished bar at the rear. Dimly lit booths lined the wall across from the fireplace, while a motley assortment of tables and chairs filled the intervening space, most of them occupied.

“Jarek,” Vaniell greeted the man behind the bar with a nod, and slid onto one of the stools. “Any chance you could spare a booth for me tonight?”

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