Defend the Dawn (Defy the Night, #2)

by Brigid Kemmerer

“You really can just call me Tessa,” I say. The side of his mouth turns up. Half a smile, but half not. “If I did that, I’m worried Prince Corrick might try to put a knife in my back.”

Wes. I thought of Wes. Not Corrick. Without warning, the memory makes my eyes sting.

I didn’t make you wait. The words I said to Corrick burn in my heart, and warmth climbs up my cheeks again.

“I’ve told you before, I don’t mean to say things that will put you at risk.” “I’m not at risk!” I snap,

“They do trust you,” Rian says. “Not just the people either. Prince Corrick brought you along to ensure the Moonflower in Ostriary is the same as what you have in Kandala. The guardsman said you’ve earned the king’s favor and protection, too. I sense that’s not a small thing.” “No,” I say softly. “It’s not a small thing.”

But he wants to be better. He wants to do better.

Fine. Kandala is most important. I can lock away my feelings. I’ve been doing it for years.

She doesn’t smile. But I do. It’s a tiny win, and rather meaningless, really, but for the first time aboard this ship, I feel like I’ve done something right.

I think of the way he took me in his arms, and I want to shiver. That Corrick is nowhere to be found.

Corrick offers me his arm, and I don’t want to take it. For him, it’s probably nothing. Courtly manners. But for me, it feels personal. Intimate.

So much changed between us overnight—and unlike stitching up an arm, I don’t know how to fix it.

I’m focused on the prince at my side, whose emotions are all a mystery. Well, most of them. His emotions about the captain aren’t a mystery at all.

Something in his tone makes me shiver. “You don’t like him,” I say. “I don’t understand why.” “It doesn’t matter if I like him. I’m not sure I can trust him.” “You don’t trust anyone,” I scoff.

“Wait,” he says quietly. “Please, Tessa.” He said it last night, too, and I didn’t listen. I was too flushed. Too embarrassed. Too angry. Today, I stop, and I look up.

Choices never seem like choices when the world only offers us bad ones.

When we stand in the shadows, he reminds me too much of Weston Lark, who was kind and good and would never hurt a soul. As usual, I need to remind myself that Wes was a part of the man in front of me. That goodness is inside him. But it’s just a part. Sometimes I worry that it’s not quite enough.

Now I’m on this ship, and with every censorious glance Tessa throws my way, I feel like more of a monster than I ever was.

“I’ve spent four years being hated by everyone,” I say. “Please don’t think I’ll be very affected by your opinion of me.”

“I’m not the type to leave someone hurting either. I’m glad Prince Corrick sees the benefit in that.” “Me too,” she says. “That’s why I think there’s more to your prince than what he seems.” I look at her in surprise. “You do?”

Good. I certainly have no desire to go chasing after him. As soon as I have the thought, sadness hits me in the gut. A wedge has formed between us so fast. I hate it. Is it his fault? Is it mine?

Still no Corrick. I frown and stay with my nets, sitting on a bench along the ship’s railing.

Corrick. I keep my eyes on the nets. I can’t decide if I want him to come over here—or if I want him to keep his distance.

He selects a berry from the plate, then lifts it to my mouth. It feels too intimate, and there’s too much unsaid between us.

“The captain has been nothing but kind—” “No. Tessa.” Corrick leans close. “I know you hate me right now, but on this, I truly need your judgment. Please.” That hits me like an arrow. “I don’t hate you.”

“Honestly, Corrick. If you’re not going to be forthright with me, just leave me alone. I’ll bring your evening dose to your quarters after dinner.” “Tessa.” He leans close, but I’m done with this. I try to shove him away, but he catches my wrist.

My heart is beating so fast. “Corrick,” I whisper. His eyes finally meet mine. “I know people expect the worst of me,” he says quietly. “I didn’t realize you were among them.” I shake my head, but he’s already turned away.

According to my pocket watch, it’s not quite six, but if everyone on this boat is going to hate me, it feels like the only time to avoid a deck full of censorious glares.

I hate the way everyone sees me. I’m used to it in Kandala, but I can lose myself in the palace, where no one would dare to send a glare my way. Here on this ship, the condemnation seems inescapable.

“You certainly seemed worried about Miss Cade last night.” She snorts. “I wasn’t worried about her either. I didn’t want a bunch of hotheaded sailors to get in the middle of a lovers’ quarrel.” We’re not lovers.

Your girl Tessa. I know I should be focusing on the rest of what she’s saying, but my thoughts have caught and stalled on those words in particular.

But if I’ve learned anything, there’s no going back. I can’t undo my mistakes with Tessa. I can’t fix the fever sickness, and I can’t reverse everything Harristan and I have done wrong along the way. I can’t undo the assassination of my parents. All I can do is move forward.

I expect the usual flare of challenge to light in his eyes, but … it doesn’t. He meets my gaze and holds it. “Why are you so angry with me?” he says.

“He’s right,” I say to Rian. “He wouldn’t hurt me.” I sound like I need to convince myself, and I hate it. I turn a glare on Corrick.

She looks as beautiful in a vest and trousers as she did in the elegant finery she wears in the palace. Maybe more so, because it reminds me of Tessa in the Wilds, sneaking through the darkness to deliver medicine. My heart kicks at my ribs like it wants to punish me, and I probably deserve it.

“Yes, but Tor looks like he’s regretting it. He’ll probably be asking your girl for a poultice later.” My girl. I feel those words like a fist to the gut.

Her eyes haven’t left mine, and her eyes are full of fire. She mouths three words. Mind your mettle. I smile in spite of myself. Mind yours.

and I take a long drink without even thinking about it. But when I lower the bottle, I find Tessa looking at me.

“Corrick,” says Tessa. Her voice is a quiet rush. “Let me look at your hands.” My eyes meet hers, and it’s a mistake. In her gaze, I see her worry, her unease, her longing.

I’ve seen Corrick climb a rope a hundred times, but this felt too loaded, too tense, too dangerous. When his foot slipped, my heart stopped dead in my chest.

“If you don’t want to be in my presence, I’ll join the guards in the hallway. But I’d rather not allow you out of my sight.” I frown. “Why?” “When the captain speaks of my vulnerabilities, it’s very clear what that means.”

He’s been so sharp and prickly since we climbed on board this ship that I’ve been judging him the same way. If I’m responsible for every moment of suffering in Kandala. With a start, I realize Corrick isn’t just talking about Captain Blakemore’s perception of him. He’s talking about me. Lochlan. The people in that candy shop. Everyone. Including himself.

I realign everything he’s said since he got on board. I was waylaid by Lochlan’s comments, and my doubts were reinforced by Rian’s own thoughts about Corrick. But the prince got on this ship because he wanted a better way. I haven’t yet decided whether it’s worth the risk to force his hand. So Corrick risked his life instead of picking a fight.

We’re so close together. I can breathe in his scent, and it reminds me of when we’d stand together in the workshop, when it was just the two of us against the night.

When I glance up, his eyes are right there, watching me.

“You think I should’ve just let go? You’re not the only one, I’m sure.”

“I know he caught your eye at dinner. I know he seems to be everything you want.” My heart thumps hard in my chest. “He’s not everything I—” “Yes,” Corrick says. “He is. I know he is.” “How?” I whisper. “How do you know that?” “Because he’s the kind of man Weston Lark would be, if he were real.” “He’s not—” My chest is tight, and I have to take a breath. “He’s not Weston Lark.” “I’m not either, Tessa.”

He finally lets go of my hand, but it’s only to reach up and touch a finger to my cheek, tracing the line of my jaw. I shiver. He frowns and draws back. “Forgive me.” “No! You don’t—I don’t—it’s—you’re—”

Corrick is terrible and wonderful and aggravating and inspiring, and somehow he manages all of it, all at once. He allows everyone to think the worst of him, and all the while, he sacrifices everything he wants for the betterment of others. I don’t know if I want to punch him in the face or wrap my arms around him.

And then I realize that his hands haven’t moved, that I might be attached to his neck like he’s a life raft keeping me above water, but he’s holding me like perhaps I’ve mistaken him for someone else.

I don’t hate him at all. Not really.