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CALLYN

The following day, when little Princess Sinna is taken for her lessons, servants deliver trunks of clothes for me and Nora. With wide eyes, we watch them sort through everything. Breeches and tunics and vests, along with boots and belts and gloves—more clothes than we could wear in a week.

They’re working with such a cool efficiency that I don’t want to disrupt it, but this can’t all be for us.

“I’m sorry,” I say carefully. “What . . . ?what are these for?”

An older man who’s hanging tunics in the wardrobe says, “By order from the queen’s sister. She says you can find her in the arena when you’re dressed and ready.”

Well then.

I think of my mother and how she died on the battlefield. I have to rub a hand over her pendant again.

That just reminds me of Alek telling me of the pendant’s origins, and I yank my hand down.

Callyn. You’re here. Are you well?

His voice was so rough and startled. I wish I understood the emotion in his eyes.

But there sure wasn’t any misunderstanding the threat in his voice when Nora was clawing at him. Get her off of me or I’ll be forced to do it myself.

My knuckles still ache from punching him, and I remember the wounded look on his face. I simultaneously regret it and wish I’d done it harder.

I hate that I keep thinking about him.

Nora all but attacks the clothes when the servants are gone. She presses a pair of calfskin breeches to her cheek. “Oh, Cally-cal. Have you ever felt anything so soft ?” She gasps and seizes a boot. “I hope they fit.”

I think of every other piece of finery we’ve been offered since we first set foot in the palace. “They’ll fit.”

She’s already peeling off her skirts. “Hurry. I think she’s waiting. What do you think she’ll teach us?”

I have no idea. Verin is terrifying in her own way. She plucked Nora off Alek as if my sister was a little cat.

You strike well , she said. I keep hearing the words in my head, turning them over and over like they could mean something different each time. I can’t remember the last time anyone ever complimented me on any kind of physical prowess. My meat pies and sweetcakes, sure. Punching Alek in the face? That was more instinct.

“Come on ,” Nora urges as she throws a boot at me.

I sigh and stand to unlace my skirts.

I haven’t worn trousers in years. Nora hasn’t either. Even with barn chores, skirts were always more practical in the bakery: easy to mend, easy to layer in the winter, easy to stitch pockets wherever I needed them. I’ve never longed for anything different.

When we’re dressed, Nora stands before a mirror, turning this way and that. She’s chosen breeches the color of willow bark and a vest dyed a richer blue than I’ve ever seen. Black boots lace all the way to her knees. “I don’t ever want to wear skirts again ,” she sighs.

I can’t help staring at her. The boots make her legs look ten miles long, and the vest reveals curves that I didn’t realize were beginning to appear. Somewhere along the line she’s grown another few inches, too. I’m so used to her being . . . ?well, Nora , that I somehow forgot to notice that childhood was slipping away.

I blink, and my thoughts replay the moment that soldier thrust a sword through her body. I’ll never be able to forget the choking sound she made. Sudden emotion grips my throat, and I step forward and wrap my arms around her.

Nora yips. “Cally-cal! What—”

But my breath hitches, and she breaks off with a sigh. She hugs me back, pressing her face into my shoulder for longer than I expect.

Eventually she whispers, “It’s your monthly time, hmm?”

I jerk back. “Clouds above, Nora!”

“Is it? Please tell me it is.” She sounds a bit too excited about the prospect of something that’s not much of a joy. “I heard the queen’s ladies talking yesterday. I think they use cotton wrapped in silk ! You have to tell me if it’s true—”

“ It is not my monthly time! ” I snap.

“Oh.” She actually sounds disappointed.

I roll my eyes. “But I’ll be sure to report back.”

She straightens and looks in the mirror again, then fidgets with the end of one of her braids, which hang straight down her back. “Do you think you could help me pin them up?” She glances hopefully over her shoulder. “Like Verin does?”

There’s something about it that sounds so eager and wistful all at once, the way the princess wanted to learn to plait my hair. Just like that, Nora is a girl again.

“Sure,” I say. And I do.

The arena is nearly empty, which isn’t a surprise, because the weather is temperate and any guards and soldiers are training out on the fields. The queen’s sister is there, though she’s not waiting on us. Verin is engaged in a bout of swordplay with another soldier, and their blades flash and spin in the light. The soldier is a man, easily twice her age and double her size, but Verin is quick and efficient, and she holds him off as he bears down with a strength that clearly outmatches hers.

Nora’s eyes are wide. “He’ll slice her in two.”

“I don’t think so.” It’s been a long time, but I remember the way our mother used to talk about swordplay. Nora was too young to learn much of anything before she died, but Mother taught me how to hold a weapon. Her first lessons were all about cleverness and skill and speed. Strength and size were really the least important.

Just as I have the thought, the man knocks the sword out of Verin’s hand, and the impact sends her to the ground. When he advances, his sword is aimed for her throat.

My sister gasps, but Verin rolls between his legs, then leaps onto his back. Her dagger finds his neck before I’m even aware she drew it from the sheath at her waist.

It’s my turn to suck in a breath, but he’s chuckling, his hands up in surrender. “All right, Ver. You got me.”

She pats him on the shoulder, then springs to the ground. “You’re getting old and slow, Solt.”

“Old just means I’m not dead yet.” His gaze falls on us by the arena railing, and he loses the smile. “Are these the girls the queen brought back from Briarlock?”

I’m not sure how to read the note in his voice. It’s not friendly, but it’s not antagonistic either. There’s a heaviness to it that gives me pause.

“They are,” says Verin. “Callyn and Nora, this is General Solt.” She pauses, and a wicked note enters her voice. “They attacked Lord Alek yesterday, so I thought maybe I’d help them with a little technique.”

“I wanted to claw his eyes out,” Nora volunteers.

Verin smiles. “Spend an hour with me and I’ll teach you how to peel the bones out of his fingers.”

“Ew!” says Nora, but she doesn’t look horrified. She looks a little fascinated.

Solt’s eyes are on me, though, and he approaches the arena railing. “The queen said we lost your mother during the first conflict in Emberfall. What was her name?”

It’s so unexpected that I’m shocked silent, so it’s Nora who says, “Mama? Her name was Adelyn.”

Solt nods. “She was a captain. I remember.”

That almost takes my breath away. After Da died, there weren’t too many people left in Briarlock who knew our mother. She spent so much time as a soldier that most of her friends were here, in the Crystal City—or dead on the battlefield around her. I have to clear my throat. “Yes,” I say. “You knew her?”

“Not well,” he says, “but I knew her. She was in my brother’s regiment. He would have known her better.” Solt pauses. “You look just like her.”

Again, I don’t know how to react. My thoughts were so tangled up with worries about Alek and nerves about the queen’s sister. I wasn’t prepared to be confronted with memories of my mother. Maybe I should have been.

In Briarlock, our lives were wrapped up in the bakery. Mother’s career as a soldier was something she did somewhere else . At home, she was the baker’s wife, curled up in the window with a saucy romance novel. She might have taught me to hold a sword, but she also taught me how to trace pictures in the frost on the windows, or how to milk the cow in the barn out back, or how to plait my hair so it would stay in place but wouldn’t give me a headache.

Here, I’m staring at a man who has memories of my mother that I’m not even a part of. Or at least . . . ?his brother does. “Your brother,” I say. “Is he a general as well?”

“No. He died in the same battle.”

He doesn’t say this with any additional gravity, but I feel like I’ve made a misstep. I should have paid attention to his phrasing. The way he said, She was in my brother’s regiment. He would have known her better.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“So am I. That war took a lot from us all.”

This conversation reminds me of another one I had—weeks ago, with Lord Alek. He lost his mother in that same battle, where hundreds of soldiers were killed by a magical monster—crafted by the same magic the king wields. And later, as part of the same conflict, his sister was killed.

A twinge of sympathy for Alek tugs at my heart. I want to shove it away, but I can’t. He may have done horrible things, but magic has done a lot of horrible things, too.

General Solt claps me on the shoulder. “I’ll see if I can find anyone in the barracks who might have served with your mother. I’m sure you’d like to hear old stories.”

There’s a tightness in my throat, but I manage a weak smile. “That’s very kind, thank you.”

He nods, then looks to Verin. “I need to join Grey on the fields so we can dismiss the recruits before dinner. He’s had a lot of long nights. I’m sure he’s ready.” He offers me and my sister a nod. “Enjoy your lessons.”

“Thank you,” we say, but the first part of what he’s said has lodged in my thoughts.

Grey. The king.

He’s had a lot of long nights.

So maybe the morning he found us chasing Sinna wasn’t the only time he didn’t go to bed. I wonder what’s happening with the Truth-bringers. Or maybe he and the queen have finally questioned Alek, and now they have others to arrest and detain.

The queen’s sister gestures to Nora. “You first,” she says.

Nora climbs under the arena railing as if she’d been promised a pile of silver topped with sweetcakes. “Yes, Your Highness.”

“In here, just Verin is fine.” The princess smiles. “Everything else takes too long in battle.”

As they begin talking about blocks and punches, I watch General Solt stride out of the arena and into the dimming sunlight. There was no tension in his voice when he mentioned the king—despite the fact that his brother died in the same war. No bitterness, no undercurrent of anger about being forced to serve under a man who bears the same magic that caused so much tragedy. If anything, there was a note of camaraderie, something akin to true friendship.

It rattles my foundation, the way the king’s comment about where to find sweetcakes left me feeling like I couldn’t find the right footing.

It’s like Nora said. I expected the king to be ugly and twisted. Cold, capricious, and cruel.

He’s not—and even the awareness feels like a betrayal.

Verin and my sister grapple and punch and chase each other around the arena for an hour. Eventually, my sister is red-cheeked and breathing hard, and her braids are a little frayed. But the smile on her face is a mile wide, even though her knuckles look a little raw. She’s staring up at Verin like she’s found a new hero.

“That was amazing,” she says between breaths.

“Come back tomorrow. We’ll do a little more each day.” Verin points back at the entrance to the palace. “You need to get some water. And some dinner. No need to wait on your sister. On your way, stop at the armory and tell Master Hidder that I said you need to be fitted with a weapons belt and some training blades.”

I think Nora might actually take flight. “Yes, Your Highness—Verin—thank you!” But her voice trails off, because she’s already sprinting away.

Verin turns to me, and I’m ready to thank her as well, because her kindness to my sister was really quite endearing. I expect her attitude to be similar with me: encouraging yet firm.

But her eyes meet mine, and there’s a sharpness in her gaze. “Explain your relationship with Lord Alek.”

She might as well have shot me with an arrow. “I . . . ?I don’t have a relationship with him. I hate him.”

“I heard what he said to you, and I saw the way you punched him. Why did you hit him like that?”

My cheeks warm, and I wish they would stop. “I’d hit him again if I could.”

She takes a step closer to me, until the only thing between us is the narrow arena fence. Her eyes, which were so warm for Nora, are coolly picking me apart. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

“I was defending my sister,” I say.

“Now I’m defending mine . Explain your relationship with him.”

That warmth on my cheeks goes nowhere. “I was stupid,” I say. “I fell for his lies.”

“I don’t know if I like the idea of someone stupid looking after my niece.”

Fury swells in my chest, and my fingernails press into my palms so hard that I might be drawing blood. “Then perhaps you should address the queen regarding her choice.”

Verin’s eyebrows go up, and she smiles, but nothing about it is reassuring. She takes a step back, gesturing for me to follow her. “Come on.”

I hesitate, but there’s a part of me that hopes I’ll get a chance to punch her now, so I follow.

I get my wish. “Strike me,” she says. “The same way you struck Alek.”

Fine. I’ll show her a good strike. I swing a fist.

My hubris catches up with me. I should have considered the battle I witnessed when we walked in here. She blocks my arm and then shoves me in the shoulder, knocking me back a step.

“Again,” she says.

I swing again. Another easy block, but this time she smacks her palm against my jaw. It’s harder than a slap, quick and sudden and stinging. I stumble back, a hand to my cheek. I don’t think anyone has ever hit me in the face before.

Verin is looking at me disdainfully. “That’s all it takes? Again.”

“How is this teaching me anything?” I demand.

“It’s teaching me that if someone wants to kidnap the princess, all they must do is tap you on the cheek.”

I grit my teeth, take a step forward, and swing again.

Another block, another smack in the face. This one is harder.

“Stop it!” I snarl.

“If you don’t like it, figure out how to block,” she says. “Were you and Alek lovers?” When I scowl, she keeps going. “Did he put his hand between your legs and make you his little puppet?”

I don’t know what to say, but my cheeks are suddenly on fire .

She strides forward, and I can tell she’s going to smack me again, so I dart forward and try to punch her.

She dodges—and her fist ends up in my stomach. I see stars and fall to my knees. At first, I can’t remember how to inhale, but then I do , and it’s awful. Breath scrapes into my lungs, and I’m dry heaving in the dust of the arena. One hand is braced against the ground, and the other is clenched across my belly. I think I’m drooling in the dirt.

“Were you lovers?” she asks again.

I can’t speak yet, so I shake my head vigorously.

“Alek looked at you like a lover.”

My heart stutters and I hate it. “No,” I gasp. “He didn’t.”

“Get up.”

“If I get up I’m going to kill you.”

She laughs as if that’s truly amusing. “You’re welcome to try.”

I’m embarrassed and infuriated and terrified, but I launch myself off the ground with a shout of rage. My fury makes for a good ally, because she can’t account for the full force of my weight. When I tackle her, she falls back to one knee—but I’m no fighter, and she is. Verin wrestles free, and I draw back a fist to punch her in the jaw.

She’s too good, too quick. She throws a strike right inside of mine. My shoulders hit the ground before I realize she’s hit me square in the nose. My vision is full of spots, my eyes stinging with tears. I can taste blood. My body jolts like someone has kicked me in the belly, but I don’t know which way is up, so I can’t be sure.

“Nolla Verin!” a male voice snaps from a distance. I wonder if it’s that general. “Enough.”

I put a hand against the dirt floor, but my head is still spinning. I touch my lip, and when my fingers pull away, they’re stained with red. I can’t breathe through my nose at all.

My breath hitches.

Verin’s voice calls to me, but it’s from a distance, as if she’s walking away. “Come back tomorrow,” she says, the same thing she said to my sister, but now her voice is taunting. “We’ll do a little more each day.”

She leaves me alone in the arena, surrounded by the weight of pressing silence.

My entire body hurts, but my face is the worst. I don’t want to touch it again, in case it’s worse than I’m imagining. I get to my knees, but I brace a hand in the dirt. A drop of blood appears beside my fingers, then another, falling from my face. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying not to cry.

Footsteps crunch through the dirt of the arena, and my eyes snap open to discover a pair of boots coming to a stop in front of me. Another drop of blood falls from my face to land on the toe.

A hand backed by armored bracers appears in my vision. “Take my hand. Can you stand?”

I’m too dazed to process this, but my body is responding, my hand weakly slipping into his. Just as I’m thinking his voice can’t be General Solt, I’m strongly pulled to my feet.

I find myself facing the king instead.

A needle of ice pierces my spine as shame piles onto the rest of my emotions. Did he just watch that? Everything she said was so awful. Did he hear it?

The king lifts a hand, reaching for my face, and I suck in a breath, thinking of his magic. I stumble back a step, and my hands are up before I realize it.

His expression doesn’t change, but he goes still. “I think your nose is broken.” He gestures a little. “Come here. Let me see.”

That note of command is in his tone. I steel my spine and try to force my hands to lower, but it takes longer than it should. My eyes feel like they’re in danger of spilling a new round of tears, but the king holds my gaze, and something about that is steadying. I don’t want to cry in front of him. Especially not if he heard Verin say all those things.

After a moment, I step forward.

His fingers land on my chin, and he tilts my face up gently. My heart is pounding wildly, but I feel no flare of magic, no indication of power.

“Definitely broken,” he says. “A black eye, too. Possibly both.”

I swallow. My eyes feel hot again, but I beg the tears not to fall. “Maybe I deserve it.”

“No. That’s why I stopped her.” His fingers haven’t left my chin. “I can fix it.” He pauses. “Or not. I know you’re afraid, Callyn.”

Maybe it’s the sound of my name, or maybe it’s the acknowledgment of the emotion, but either way, that does it. My eyes spill over. I pull away and duck my head so he won’t see the tears. Being afraid feels ungrateful. “I’m sorry.” I swipe at my cheek and it hurts , and my breath shudders again.

“Don’t apologize for fear.”

“She was so kind to Nora. But she hates me.”

He scoffs. “She hates everyone.”

The casual disdain in his tone is so unexpected that it startles a laugh out of me, but that hurts, too, and I swallow a whimper. “Your Majesty,” I begin quietly. “If . . . ?if you think I’m a risk to the princess—I don’t . . . ? I don’t have to be here—”

“If I thought you were a risk to the princess, you wouldn’t be here.”

Oh. Right. I nod.

“Verin’s actions are born of fear as well,” he continues. “And possibly some self-doubt.”

I look up at him in surprise.

He lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “She was unable to protect the queen herself. For that matter, neither was I.” Without waiting for a response to that, he lifts a hand again. “Broken nose for weeks on end, or have you found the courage for magic?”

He’s issuing a challenge, but he’s leaving me with the choice. Under my vest, Mother’s pendant is a heavy weight against my heart. I think of the way I pricked my finger with a knife and wonder if this pendant has already given me the ability to heal myself. Maybe it did the same for my mother—or maybe it didn’t. She didn’t survive the battle.

If she were standing in front of King Grey, I wish I knew what she would choose.

I know what my father would have chosen, and that almost makes me falter.

But I think of Nora’s voice in the hallway this morning.

Da was wrong.

I straighten my back. “Magic,” I say, and I want my voice to be strong, but it’s barely a whisper.

I expect a word of acknowledgment, but the king says nothing. He touches a finger to the bridge of my nose, and at first, there’s a swell of pain that takes my breath away—but it’s quickly gone, and the ache begins to ease.

“When I first encountered soldiers from Syhl Shallow,” he says into my silence, “they were burning a farmhouse in Emberfall.” His finger traces along my cheekbone, pulling any pain out of my eye socket. “A young widow lived there with her three children, and they were planning to execute them all, with the exception of the girl, who was about seven years old. They were going to keep her.” His eyes flick to mine, as if to see if I understand.

I do. I frown.

“I was with Prince Rhen and Princess Harper,” the king continues. “We killed the men, and took the widow and her children to safety.” He pauses. “The next time I encountered soldiers from Syhl Shallow, a small contingent of men attempted to burn down an inn with the occupants inside, under orders from Karis Luran—your former queen. We were able to hold the inn and chase them off. My third encounter was a full invasion by the Syhl Shallow army—sent with the intent to burn and destroy. I fought back. We all fought back.” His eyes don’t leave mine. “Just as anyone would defend themselves if their home were under attack.”

His hand drops away, but I’m staring at him. I knew the king was from Emberfall, so it’s weird that I’ve never considered this, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard one single story of the war from that side. I’ve only thought of my mother and so many others dying at the hands of that monster.

I don’t want to think about my mother being among officers who ordered soldiers to raze farmhouses and burn down inns.

“Less than six months later,” the king says, “I was allied with Lia Mara, and I was meant to lead soldiers that I once faced in battle. That was not an easy transition for any of us. But despite what I’d seen with my own eyes, I quickly learned that many of the stories I had heard about Syhl Shallow were simply that—stories. And there were just as many horrible stories about Emberfall on this side of the border. We’ve all done terrible things, Callyn. Magic has done terrible things. But not every story you’ve heard is true.” He hesitates. “There was a time when I feared it every bit as much as you do right now.”

I’m not sure if I can believe that, but I nod. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

He gestures behind me. “Go. I’m sure you’re hungry for dinner, too.”

I nod quickly, then swipe at my cheeks again, surprised when there’s no pain at all. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Oh. One more thing. When you punch, elbow down , not so wide. You leave yourself open.” He reaches out and takes hold of my left wrist, lifting it in front of my face, tapping my forearm lightly with his fist, mimicking a punch. “And block .”

That makes me blush. “She’ll break my nose again either way.”

“Jacob works with the newest recruits at dawn. You could join them in the morning when Sinna is at her morning lessons.”

Jacob. The last time I met Lord Jacob, I was passionately declaring that Alek was in Briarlock to visit me. Jacob helped Jax, and he offered to help me, too—but I threw money in his face and shouted that I didn’t trust him, because I’d been fooled by Alek.

Maybe he’ll want a chance to break my nose, too.

I swallow thickly. I made so many mistakes. I didn’t come here to be a soldier, but I’m still smarting from what Verin said about the princess being at risk in my care. They were all at risk because of choices that Jax and I made.

“Will she ever stop hating me?” I say quietly.

“Maybe,” he says. “Call her bluff.”

I blink at that. “What?”

“Don’t let her scare you off. You defended the royal family in battle. You stepped in front of a crossbow to protect the queen. You and your sister risked yourselves to protect my daughter. Yes?”

His voice is intense, and I nod. “Yes.”

“You’re brave and capable, or you wouldn’t be here.” His eyes spark with challenge again. “Show up tomorrow and prove it.”