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TYCHO

I should start keeping a list of all the ways fate hates me.

This ride to Ironrose Castle was supposed to be easy. Enjoyable. After the battle in Briarlock that nearly killed the king of Emberfall and overthrew the queen of Syhl Shallow, I’ve been desperate for easy and enjoyable.

And it was—for the first few days.

I normally make this ride alone, but when we left Briarlock, I had a small group for company. Prince Rhen, of course, returning to his home in Emberfall, where he acts as regent while Grey is in Syhl Shallow. We also had a small group of Emberish soldiers who assisted in the battle.

And then there’s Jax, the blacksmith who carried treasonous notes against the king in exchange for silver to save his home. Jax, who later protected the king in battle, and likely saved his life.

Jax, the young man who’s been slowly stealing my heart.

Not that anyone should know that part. I’m well acquainted with the way rumors and gossip can fly among a group of soldiers, so I’ve maintained focus and discretion. Traveling with a group means the going is slower, with plenty of time for others to observe and whisper. My reputation as King’s Courier has been in question for weeks, which is part of the reason I’ve been ordered to return to Ironrose Castle at all.

But for those first few days, Jax still laid his bedroll near mine at night, and he would sit with me for every meal. Some of that was due to necessity, because he doesn’t speak Emberish, and not many of the soldiers speak any Syssalah. But some of it was due to want . I’d catch Jax watching me when I’d volunteer to ride a patrol or take a turn sitting sentry. It would spark warmth on my cheeks, and I’d have to turn my attention elsewhere—only to glance back and find him blushing, doing the same thing. My heart would thump and I’d swallow a smile and I’d count the minutes until we could be at Ironrose.

Easy. Enjoyable.

Or it was . But a few days after we left, King Grey sent half the army contingent to join us, carrying word that such a large force wouldn’t be needed in Syhl Shallow. Suddenly, our lighthearted, small group turned into twelve dozen. With more men and horses to feed, more equipment to carry, and more duties to assign, our slow pace dragged to a crawl. The gold-and-red livery of the Emberish army was suddenly everywhere, impossible to escape: jostling for food at mealtimes, crowding under cover when it rained, looming in the dark when we laid out bedrolls.

Sleep grew challenging. When I’d finally drift off, nightmares haunted me, reminding me of a childhood where soldiers tormented my family. Every time my eyes fell on the colors, I began to feel a tiny pinch at the back of my neck. I found myself shying away when soldiers met my gaze, flinching if they drew close. Forbidden magic would flicker in my blood, sparks and stars responding to my flare of panic. I’d force myself to stand my ground, but sometimes their presence was too much to bear, and I’d skip a meal or lie awake for hours.

By the end of the seventh day on the road, I’m surly and snappish. Instead of wanting to cower, I’m spoiling for a fight.

It doesn’t help that most of these soldiers are wary of Jax. Within the larger group, speculation has clearly run rampant, and I can see their glares and hear the muttered whispers. They think he plotted against the king.

But if Jax understands their muttering, he ignores it. He keeps his head down and works when we stop, fixing horseshoes and repairing tack. He rides in one of the wagons when we move, and he doesn’t complain. He does his best to parse out Emberish when no one is around to translate, and I know he must be frustrated, but he doesn’t let it show.

Lately, I’ve seen him seek out the few friendly soldiers from that first group for company when I’ve volunteered for duties. There are so many soldiers with us that I don’t need to volunteer, but I’d rather walk lonely loops as a sentry than lie anxious and awake on a bedroll. But my sudden absence is creating a distance between me and Jax that shouldn’t be there, and I don’t know how to undo it.

By the seventh night of our journey, I’ve hardly seen Jax all day. Once we stopped, there was the busy setting of the camp, which is always loud and chaotic, so I avoided it in favor of tending to the horses. Then the mad rush for dinner, which I skipped. Again.

So now I’m clinging to the shadows, brushing the sweat marks out of Mercy’s fur, wondering if anyone would notice if I just laid my bedroll out here , when a recruit brings word that Prince Rhen has asked to see me.

I sigh, give Mercy a pat on the shoulder, and get on with it. As I walk, I avoid eye contact with every soldier I pass. I keep trying to shake off my discomfort, but it clings , like claws that have dug in and found purchase. I’m no stranger to traveling with an army, and it shouldn’t bother me so much. I served in the Syhl Shallow army for years.

Then again, that was never enjoyable either.

Just as I break free of the main part of the camp to approach the prince’s tent, my shoulder slams into someone heading the other way. My head is down, so I don’t know whose fault it is, and it’s barely a glancing blow. Any other time, any other place , and I’d say, “Forgive me,” and move on without thinking about it.

Tonight, I’m coiled like a spring ready to snap, and magic waits under my skin, ready to flare. I whirl like I’ve been poked with a branding iron. “ Hey. ”

It’s a soldier, of course, because they’re everywhere. He was in the process of saying an offhand sorry over his shoulder, but the belligerence in my tone stops him—or maybe it’s whatever expression is on my face. He draws himself up, and his eyes go flinty.

The camp was bustling with activity, but the air around us suddenly goes quiet. Nothing draws the interest of bored soldiers like the promise of a fight.

But a man calls out from somewhere to my left. “Samson, that’s the King’s Courier. Pick a fight with him, and the captain will have you riding back in chains.”

Samson’s eyes flick up and down my form, taking in the black armor, the dual crests on my breastplate that show my allegiance to both countries. He scowls, then backs right down. “Forgive me, my lord.”

He doesn’t wait for me to say anything; he just turns away.

A part of me is relieved.

A darker part is disappointed.

Motion around us resumes, and I look for whoever called out to stop the fight. It’s one of the soldiers who was with us from the beginning. He’s a first lieutenant named Kutter, and he’s sitting by a fire, fletching arrows with two other young soldiers named Sephran and Malin.

To my surprise, Jax is with them.

I shouldn’t be startled, but I am. The firelight bounces off his eyes, and his long, dark hair is bound into a tight knot at the back of his head. His crutches are on the ground beside him. They’re far enough away that I can’t hear what the soldiers are saying, but Jax’s eyes are on me.

I feel like he’s picking me apart.

He’s noticed the shift in my mood over the last few days, but there’s no privacy here, so he hasn’t pressed. I don’t even know what I’d say. He’s one of the few people who knows everything about my past, but it was so long ago. It shouldn’t matter anymore. Besides, I’m the King’s Courier. I can’t exactly admit that I hate the king’s army.

All of this makes me feel so weak, and I scowl. No wonder I want to punch someone.

Jax sees my expression shift, and he frowns.

But then Sephran gently pokes him in the arm with an arrow and says something that makes Jax look over and smile.

That gives my heart a firm tug. I wonder what Sephran said, whether it was something Jax understood, or if it was just a tone he was responding to.

His smile turns into light laughter, and the tug in my heart turns into a clench.

When he glances back over, I’ve already looked away. But I feel his gaze follow me all the way to the prince’s tent.

Prince Rhen is the only person in the camp with a private tent, and though it’s not large or well lit, he’s alone . The sudden muffled silence is welcome, and when I step inside, I feel like I can breathe for the first time in hours. The forbidden magic that was pulsing under my skin finally seems to settle.

The prince sits at a small table, going through a stack of stained and folded parchment. We’re close enough to Ironrose that he must be getting reports from point-to-point runners now.

“Tycho,” he says, without preamble. “We should arrive by sundown tomorrow.”

This isn’t a surprise. I could make this trek with my eyes closed. “Yes, Your Highness.”

“The army couriers have reported that Lord Alek has already been escorted back to Syhl Shallow. I thought you should know.”

Lord Alek worked with the Truthbringers to trap the queen and execute the king. I’m a bit surprised they’re sending him back, honestly. I thought Grey would just leave him in the dungeon at Ironrose—but I suppose he wants to interrogate the man himself. I snort. “Are they dragging him behind a horse?”

“No. He claims innocence. He states that there is absolutely no evidence tying him to these attacks—and he’s not wrong.” Rhen’s voice is grave. “You should be aware that he’ll likely be questioned and released. At least for the time being.”

This news hits me like an arrow, sharp and true. Of anyone in the two kingdoms, Lord Alek is the last person who should be walking free. After the last few days among the soldiers, I didn’t think my spine could grow any colder, but apparently it can.

“Again,” Rhen says, more quietly, “I thought you should know.”

I frown. “Why?”

The lantern light flickers off his blond hair while he studies me. It falls across his face, drifting over the patch that covers his missing eye. “Why not, Tycho? We’ve become friends, have we not?”

He says this like it’s a genuine question—and maybe it is. Maybe he’s really . . . ?not quite sure. Considering everything he did to me, I should probably hate him. I know Jax does, and he’s only seen the scars Rhen’s guards left on my back.

But the prince has a dark and tortured past, just like I do. He doesn’t know my entire history, just his part in it, but over the past few months, I’ve developed a kinship with Rhen that I never saw coming.

Maybe he didn’t either.

I let out a breath and run a hand through my hair. “Yes,” I say. “We have. But . . . ?can you send word? He shouldn’t be released. He was obviously plotting against the royal family. Grey interrogated Jax. And Callyn told the queen herself—”

“I’m not sure the testimony of a blacksmith and a baker who were proven to be working with the Truthbringers—at least in a small way—would hold up in front of Syhl Shallow’s Royal Houses.”

I scowl.

Rhen continues, “When the attack took place, Lord Alek was here, in Emberfall. We were all with Grey when news of the attack was delivered—you included. Lord Alek claims he had nothing to do with it—and none of us can prove otherwise. He claims he’s being persecuted for speaking out against the king’s magic, so locking him up will make him look like a martyr. It would give the Truthbringers more power. Fear of the king’s magic has been growing, and Grey is on shaky ground with the rumors that have already been spread.”

My fists are clenched at my sides. “I told you Alek was politically tricky.”

“Indeed you did. Trust that Grey will make sure he’s kept on a very short leash.”

I hate this. I hate all of this. I’ve been worried about the soldiers here , but now I’ll worry about Alek finding a new way to kill everyone I care about. I remember little Princess Sinna screaming in the woods, blood running in a thin stream down her throat while a soldier threatened her life.

“Fine,” I say, and the word is sharp. “Any other good news?”

Rhen’s eye widens marginally at my tone, and he sits back in his chair to study me fully.

I wince. I might’ve been ready to pick a fight with one random soldier, but I’m not about to do it with the king’s brother. My anger isn’t with Rhen anyway. “Forgive me. I shouldn’t have snapped. It’s been . . . ? a long journey.”

He studies me for another moment. “You’re not usually so irascible. I’ve sensed that there’s a problem with the soldiers—”

“What?” My eyes snap to his face. Have I been obvious? “ No. There’s not.”

He frowns and finishes his statement. “—and their perception of Jax.”

Oh.

I force myself to swallow. I need to get it together. “Just camp gossip. About the battle in Briarlock. It will pass.”

“They’re suspicious of him?”

“No. Well—not really. Maybe.” I make a frustrated sound, because I remember how that same gossip and suspicion followed me right into court in Syhl Shallow. “The king was attacked. The soldiers are wary.”

“If it’s causing discord, Tycho—”

“It’s not.”

He stares at me, and I realize I’ve interrupted him twice. But if Prince Rhen feels that bringing Jax back to Ironrose is more trouble than it’s worth, I’m not sure what I’d do—especially if Lord Alek has been freed.

Alek would kill Jax for turning on him. I know he would.

I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from talking. The silence in the tent swirls around us, and I can see the prince thinking.

If he were Grey, he’d demand answers—and he’d probably get them, because I’m loyal and I’ll yield when pressed. It’s part of the growing edge of resentment between us. But Rhen isn’t Grey, and I’ve discovered that he’s savvy and patient. He gets answers in his own way, in his own time.

So I’m not surprised when he simply says, “Very well. What of your magic?” His voice is very soft, so there’s no danger of anyone outside this tent overhearing. “Is that causing a problem?”

I frown, thinking of how often the sparks and stars flicker in my blood now. But we’ll be back to Ironrose in a day, and I’ll be away from the soldiers. “No, Your Highness. I’m just tired. Truly.”

“You’ve said nothing to anyone?” he presses.

Like I’d talk to anyone here. “No. Here in Emberfall, you and Jax are the only two who know.”

“Good. Has there been any indication from the scraver Nakiis that he would be making his claim?”

I frown. Yet another band of tension tightens around my heart. My vow to Nakiis is a large part of the conflict between me and Grey. I promised the scraver one week of service where I would fight in his defense—at the time and place of his choosing.

I have no idea when he’ll collect.

I have no idea who my opponent will be.

“No,” I say to Prince Rhen. “I’ve seen no sign of him.”

He studies me again, and for a moment, I’m worried he’s going to dig for more information, or ask more questions about the soldiers and their agitation, or anything that will make me irascible again.

But he doesn’t. “Good.” His eye flicks toward the flaps to the tent. “You’re dismissed, Tycho.”

I give him a sharp nod, then duck through the exit, surprised how quickly my relief at being inside turned to relief at being allowed to go .