Defy the Night by Brigid Kemmerer

Author:Brigid Kemmerer [Kemmerer, Brigid]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781547604661
Google: u_UKzgEACAAJ
Publisher: Bloomsbury USA
Published: 2021-09-13T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Corrick

The White Room is one of my favorite spaces in the palace. We’re on the top floor, and the windows are massive, allowing the best view of the entire Royal Sector. Sunlight floods the room during the day, while the moon and stars gleam among a wide swath of blackness during the night. The walls are all white, but hung with abstract paintings in every color: swirls and slashes of yellows and reds in one, flickers of black and shades of pink in another. Wide stripes of gray and green and blue coat a wide canvas that hangs above the hearth. The room always seems to gather quiet and calm, a space for peaceful reflection.

When we were young and Harristan was in poor health, he would sit bundled by the fireplace, and our mother would paint with whatever colors he requested. I would grow bored and beg to leave, but he would sit for hours.

Harristan rarely comes here anymore. He says the room reminds him of what it felt like to be weak. I think the truth is what makes him feel weak: this room reminds him of our mother and what we lost.

Tessa turns a page, and I have to remind myself to focus. I had servants bring the stacks of paperwork here because the table is large and the lighting abundant—but my thoughts are full of uncertainty, and now I wish we’d remained in my chambers.

My attention should be on these documents. On the disparity between the deaths in far southern sectors like Sunkeep, versus those that lie closer to the Royal Sector like Artis, Steel City, and Trader’s Landing. On Tessa’s notes, and whether we can convince people to adjust their dosages. On Allisander’s threats, made in the open air of the Circle. On the prisoners still waiting to be questioned.

My attention should be on Harristan, on whether his medicine is truly working.

Instead my focus is on Tessa, bent over a sheaf of papers in the drawing room, wisps of caramel hair coming loose from her pinned curls. My attention is on the tiny yet precise movements of her fountain pen as she takes down information as she reads. My attention is on the soft pink of her mouth and the gentle curve of her cheek and the determined look in her eyes.

My attention is on the fact that, out of every diversion available in the palace, she asked to read dry, boring documents.

My attention is on the fact that, instead of claiming escape, she stayed in the carriage.

Likely, neither of these choices have anything to do with me.

But still, she stayed.

“This would go a lot faster if you were reading, too,” she says.

“I am reading.” But I’m not. I have no idea how long it’s been since I’ve turned a page.

“Hmm.” Her pen keeps moving.

I can’t decide if I’m amused or irritated. “Are you accusing me of something else?”

She ignores me and shuffles through the papers she reviewed earlier. “Sunkeep receives less medicine than the other sectors.

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