Page 15

TYCHO

I set a hard pace out of Ironrose, my heart full of bitterness. I hate that I’m leaving Jax, I hate that I’m wearing this gold-and-red uniform, and I honestly hate that I have a soldier by my side.

Overhead, the sky hangs heavy with clouds that promise rain before nightfall, bringing a chill to the air. After we met in the arena this morning, Prince Rhen gave me strict orders to take shelter before dusk each day, and to not ride out until full light—which will probably stretch my four-day ride into five. It’s one more point of bitterness on top of so many others, and I let Mercy have her head for a full-out gallop so I don’t have to talk.

To my surprise, Malin rides flank and doesn’t complain, matching my pace effortlessly, as if we’ve trained with each other for years instead of meeting a week ago. I really shouldn’t be agitated, because he seems to be a fine soldier, and I know he was kind to Jax during our journey. He’s experienced, too, with two narrow stripes on his shoulder, which makes him a second lieutenant. It’s not his fault that he came up through the army on this side of the border while I fought on the other.

But I hate these colors and I hate this uniform and I hate everything about this journey.

Oh, and now it’s raining.

I sigh. At first it’s a gentle rain, easily ignored, but it quickly turns to a downpour, which means we need to find shelter. I travel light, but we have a ways to go, and I won’t have wet tack and saddle blankets rubbing sores into the horses if I can help it.

We find a small tavern that doesn’t have a stable, but it does have a low overhang where we can tether the animals. I tell Malin we should strip the gear so it can dry while we wait out the storm.

He gives me a brisk nod. “Yes, sir.”

We haven’t said much to each other since leaving Ironrose, but that’s my fault. I glance at him over Mercy’s withers as I unbuckle her breastplate. “I’m not an officer, Lieutenant. You don’t have to defer to me.”

“I do.” He looks right back at me, his hands on his horse’s bridle. “Prince Rhen gave me written orders. Until I am given a new assignment by King Grey himself, I am to report directly to you.”

Oh. A small part of me is startled, because that’s truly unexpected. I’m also a bit honored.

Honestly, though, I’m still too irritated to appreciate it fully. “Fine,” I say. “ At ease , then.”

Malin hesitates, and his expression turns wry. “Yes, my lord.”

Well, that’s not really better. I sigh. “ Tycho is fine.”

Malin smiles as if he’s amused by this, but he nods. I glance at the sky. Dark clouds stretch on for miles, moving in from the south, which means we might need to wait this out for hours, if not overnight. “We’ll get an early dinner. If the weather breaks, we’ll see if we can cover more ground before dark.”

He shakes out his saddle blanket and hangs it over a post. “If the rain doesn’t let up, we could ride through and change out the gear at the army outpost south of Wildthorne Valley.”

I shake my head. “We’ll wait it out.”

He glances over and inhales like he’s going to argue, but he must see in my face that on this point, I’m firm. He shuts his mouth and gives me a brisk nod again.

It’s a solid suggestion, and one I’d expect from a soldier, but the army outposts are generally situated outside bigger towns. That means a lot of people, a lot of merchants, and . . . ?a lot of back-alley dealings. Scravers aren’t the only thing I worry about when I ride courier. I don’t follow the same paths or stay in the same inns every time, and I have safe houses in remote areas. I could make better time by swapping for a fresh horse each day, but I’ve heard of former couriers who were given poisoned mounts who fell ill later, leaving their rider vulnerable. So now it’s me and Mercy, and we’re careful about where we stop.

Then again, no one would take me for the King’s Courier dressed like this. I wouldn’t even be seen as a member of the nobility.

That’s proven as soon as we walk into the tavern, because the barkeep gives us a narrow glance, then grunts. “Coins first. Soldiers or not, no one’s pouring free ale.”

Malin scoffs. “Don’t worry, old man. We’ll pay.” Then he looks at me and drops his voice, but not very much. A teasing light sparks in his eye. “You’ve got money, right? If not, I think we can take him.”

The barkeep grunts again.

In spite of everything, that makes me smile. “I can pay.” I pull some coppers from my pouch and toss them on the counter. “Dinner for us both.” My clothes are damp, so I add, “We’ll sit by the fire.”

The tavern isn’t crowded, and no one pays passing soldiers much attention. Once we’re seated, Malin pushes damp hair back from his forehead, then swipes his hands on his knees. His sharp features are keen as he takes in the room. He can’t be much older than I am. Twenty-two or twenty-three at most. I consider how he teased the barkeep, or his wry look when he said my lord . It reminds me of how he tricked Sephran into using the wrong words to say farewell to Jax. I can’t decide if he’s lighthearted or if he’s just going to be a pain in the ass.

Then again, he’s got two stripes on his shoulder, and he wouldn’t have earned those if he weren’t dependable.

The barkeep delivers two steins of ale to our table, and when I thank him, I realize that minutes have passed and neither of us has said a word. Malin must notice this at the same time, because he gives me a sidelong glance, then unbuckles a pouch on his belt and withdraws a small deck of cards wound up in a strip of leather. He doesn’t even ask if I want to play; he just shuffles and starts dealing.

Maybe I’m the one being a pain in the ass. I ruefully pick up my hand. “I’m used to making this ride alone,” I say. “And I didn’t expect to be sent back so quickly. I’m sorry I make a poor conversation partner.”

He shrugs, then smiles, then fishes a coin out of his pocket and flips it onto the table, a clear invitation to bet. “I can take your money whether you talk or not.”

Definitely lighthearted. Maybe this journey won’t be too terrible. I fish a handful of coins out of my pouch. “As you say.”

He’s good at cards, which isn’t a surprise. Most soldiers are. He’s quick and cunning with his plays, and he does collect a few of my coins before I have the opportunity to win a few back. We relax into the rhythm of the game as the barkeep brings platters of food and the rain beats against the tavern windows.

Eventually the game or the ale or his easy manner steals most of my irritation, because I say, “You didn’t mind being sent away from your regiment so soon?”

“Mind? No.” He hesitates, surveying his cards, then tosses a coin on the table. “Everyone else was jealous. I thought Kutter was going to fight me for the chance.”

“Really?”

“King Grey spends little time in Emberfall,” he says. “And you report directly to him. A chance to serve under the king, even for a short while, isn’t one to be missed.”

Fascinating—though maybe it shouldn’t be. I’ve always had access to Grey, and even as a soldier, I trained with him directly. The entire Syhl Shallow army has—for years. I never considered that soldiers here might see that differently.

With that awareness, I fixate on the first part of what he said, about how Grey doesn’t spend much time here. Weeks ago, Jacob and I stopped at an inn when we were traveling, and I overheard some farmers grousing about the king and his magic, complaining that Grey spent too much time in Syhl Shallow. I didn’t pay it much mind, but it’s different to hear it from a soldier, and to hear it like this.

I’m so used to worrying about the Truthbringers actively plotting against the throne, but if I’ve learned anything in the last few years, it’s that discontent and uncertainty shouldn’t be left to simmer either.

“If you want to earn another stripe on your shoulder,” I say, “I wouldn’t tell the king to eat horseshit.”

Malin grins. “That was just for Seph. He takes himself too seriously.”

“You’re friends?”

He nods. “Since we were recruits.”

It reminds me of Jax’s camaraderie with them, the way I was jealous. Sitting here with Malin, though, I’m realizing I wasn’t jealous in a romantic way.

I was jealous of the easy rapport. The budding friendship.

My heart gives a kick, and I have to adjust my cards before anything can show on my face. The rain pours down outside. Thunder cracks hard, rattling the windows, and I sigh. We’re at least two hours from my nearest safe house, so we’re going to have to find an inn. I can already tell.

The door to the tavern bursts open, and a woman shouts through the doorway. “Help! Oh, help!” She’s short and stocky and soaked from the rain, her gray hair hanging in drenched clumps along her back. Blood streaks the front of her dress, and she chokes on a sob. “Someone, please help me. The monster—the monster has returned! My husband—oh, please—I can’t drag him any farther.”

I’m already on my feet, and so is Malin. Another pair of men who were by the bar have approached, too.

“Where?” I say.

She’s breathless and sobbing. “He was working in the fields. There’s so much blood. Please—”

“ Where? ” I demand.

She points. “Down the hill. I couldn’t—I couldn’t drag him any—”

“Help her,” I say to the men. I look at Malin. “We need our bows.”

We fetch our gear from under the overhang, then stride into the downpour. Rain soaks through my armor almost instantly, chilling my skin. It’s unnaturally cold, so I blink water out of my eyes and nock an arrow, flicking my gaze between the road and the sky. There are too many trees, too many places for something to hide.

At my side, Malin does the same, sweeping his aim in opposing directions so we cover the most angles. “Do you think it’s true?” he says. “Do you think the monster has returned to Emberfall?”

“No.” I remember the monster from when I was a boy—the monster that I later learned was the cursed form Prince Rhen was forced to become every season, until Princess Harper helped him break the enchantment. That monster is long gone. I consider the streaks of blood across the woman’s dress and the freezing rain, despite the fact that it’s nearly summer. “I think it’s a scraver.”

Just as I say the words, an inhuman screech cuts through the rain, sharp enough to make me flinch. A gray shape soars out of a tree. I don’t think, I shoot. One, two, three arrows fly off my bow. Malin is doing the same.

The scraver dodges, knocking each arrow out of the air, then dives right for us.

Silver hell. I shove Malin out of the way, taking the impact fully. Scravers don’t weigh as much as a human, but they make up for it in strength and claws. I’m ready for it this time, so when it tackles me to the ground, we roll. The scraver ends up on top of me, and I’m glad for the armor, because claws are already scrabbling for any bit of vulnerable skin it can find, shrieking right in my face. I cringe away, trying to dodge, but the rain has made everything slick. I can’t get to my blades in time. Those fangs are going to tear out my throat before I can get a hand on the hilt of my dagger.

Malin shoots it in the head.

Then in the side of its chest.

The scraver collapses on top of me, blocking my vision. I can feel its chest heaving against me, but those were killing shots, and it won’t last long. Malin kicks the scraver off me, and the creature flops to the ground, wings twitching in the rain. An arrow protrudes from its temple, the other deeply embedded in its chest.

Then it stops moving altogether.

My heart is still pounding, my breath wild in my ears. Rain finds the claw marks in my skin, and it stings. I long to call for magic to close the wounds, but Malin is right there, and Rhen was very strict.

Malin isn’t breathing hard, but he stares down at me for a moment, then puts out a hand. I take it, pulling myself to my feet, and we look down at the creature. Sometimes they’re clothed, but this one isn’t, and he’s clearly male. His skin is light gray, but there are streaks of blue along his jaw and arms, matching the blue feathers that line the underside of his wings. If he hadn’t just been trying to kill me, I might think he was kind of striking. He’s not wearing any weapons either, but they rarely carry any. With those claws and teeth, they hardly need them. I wonder if this is one of the scravers that helped us during the battle against the Truthbringers a week ago—but I don’t think so. He’s sure not going to tell me.

I cast a glance up at the sky, looking to see if more are going to attack, but the rain is warmer now, more seasonal. There’s no magic in the air.

“Should we see if we can find her husband?” says Malin, and his voice is a little hollow.

I nod.

We keep arrows nocked, but no other scravers appear. It doesn’t take us long to find a body at the bottom of the hill. Sparks and stars flare in my blood, because I won’t avoid magic if I can save his life, but the man is already dead—and probably was dead before she started dragging him in her grief and terror. Claws tore him apart from neck to thigh. His skin is ashen, viscera spilling from the deepest wounds in his abdomen. Blood forms a long, terrible streak in the mud, dissolving into the earth from the rain.

I shove wet hair back from my face. We’re going to have to tell her.

Jax was right. I hate soldiering.

I string the bow over my shoulder and sigh, heading back up the hill.

“Why do you think it attacked him?” says Malin.

“I don’t know,” I say, because I don’t. That man wasn’t a magesmith—which means the scravers might be attacking indiscriminately.

And this attack happened in the middle of the day. Rhen’s order to stay off the road at night might not even matter. It barely kept us safe now .

“A lot of the soldiers wondered if those scravers followed Jax from Briarlock,” Malin says, and there’s no malice in his voice, but I bristle anyway.

“The scravers have nothing to do with Jax,” I say. “They helped the king.”

But they’re attacking now.

I look up at the sky, wishing I had a way to summon Nakiis so I could ask him why this is happening. Then again, maybe he’s behind it. Maybe summoning him would be the wrong choice altogether.

The rain continues to pour down. I need to make a decision here. I don’t want to disobey direct orders, especially not from Rhen. I already have enough discord with Grey, and I’d rather not find it on both sides of the border. Whatever is happening, I might have caused it by letting Nakiis out of a cage months ago—but this is the second attack in as many days. The king needs to know. Soon.

“We’ll make sure the woman has someone to look after her,” I say. “Then we’ll ride for the safe house on the north side of the valley. We’ll head out at dawn and try to make Willminton by nightfall tomorrow.”

The north side of the valley is a four-or five-hour ride in good weather, so that will put us in well after dark—and Willminton will mean a hard ride through twilight tomorrow, too. Malin said Rhen gave him written directives to follow my command, but I’m sure the prince also gave him the same orders he gave me: Daylight travel only. No unnecessary risks.

This will require a lot of risk.

But like before, Malin gives me a nod. “Yes, sir. I’ll saddle the horses.”