Page 20

TYCHO

The first time I met Nakiis, I was fifteen years old. He’d been shot much like this, taken down by one of Grey’s soldiers. I remember finding him wounded and shaking in the dirt, afraid of Grey, worried about being bound to another magesmith if he accepted any help.

I consider how far he’s pulled away from the fire, from me , and I don’t think it’s very different now. Especially since he took our bows.

He’s fallen to a crouch again, and he’s still breathing hard—but he’s watching every move I make. The day I broke him out of that cage at the tourney, he didn’t even want to leave at first. He didn’t want to risk me trapping him with magic. It makes me wonder if he’ll even let me help him now .

I take a long breath and hope I’m not going to regret this decision, then pull my breastplate back over my head. The scraver watches this, the firelight bouncing off his eyes. The knife-lined bracers go next, then I drop to a crouch to loosen my greaves. The only weapon I keep is a dagger strapped to my thigh, because I’m going to need it. I drop everything in the dirt as I walk, then lift my hands.

“This reminds me of the night we met,” I say as I approach.

A cold breeze pulls through the space between us, and he uncurls to stand at his full height. Every muscle on his frame is taut. “Your soldiers shot me then, too,” he says.

“They weren’t my soldiers.”

His eyes flick past me. “That one is.”

The air hangs with something a little too close to hostility, so I stop. “It’s dark. Malin doesn’t know you. We’ve been attacked by scravers several times now.”

“Several times? Where?”

“In Emberfall. Once when we were traveling with the army, and again when we were returning to Syhl Shallow.”

He’s quiet for a long moment. “I had nothing to do with that. It does me no good to attack you.”

“I know.”

“You should have known I was not attacking you now ,” he says. “If you cared to try, you would recognize us by the feel of our magic, magesmith.”

I wonder if Grey knows that. “It’s not that I don’t care to try ; it’s that I don’t know how.”

He regards me silently, so I lift my hands again and take another step.

He pulls back toward the trees. “I will not be trapped by your magic,” he growls.

I’ve never dealt with someone like this, someone who seems to operate solely in counterattacks and retribution. Someone who bargains for things that should be a simple kindness. I have no idea how I’m going to keep my vow to him if every interaction is going to carry this adversarial weight.

Then again, we shot him out of the sky. He took our bows so we couldn’t do it again. I’ve never been afraid of magic, but I do know what it’s like to fear soldiers.

I think of Jax and his gentle patience. “I’m not trapping you,” I say quietly.

Nakiis scoffs and looks away, but he doesn’t pull back any farther. Every muscle on his frame is still tense, though, his fangs slightly bared.

I come closer, though I stop when I’m within reach. He might be injured, but he could absolutely rip out my throat if he wanted to. “I can’t heal you with the arrows through your body. Can I pull them?”

He draws a breath, and ice forms on the bark of every tree around us. “Yes.”

I draw my dagger, and his hand whips out to catch my wrist. His grip is so tight and sudden that I feel every claw digging into my skin, and I swear.

I have to speak through clenched teeth, because it hurts . “I have to cut the arrowheads free first, or it’ll hurt more coming out.”

His grip loosens marginally, but he doesn’t let me go. His black eyes hold mine for a long moment. Nakiis reminds me so much of his father sometimes that it’s uncanny—but Iisak would never be wary of me.

But I’m tired and running out of patience. “Do you want me to help you or not, Nakiis?”

He lets go of my wrist. “Do it.”

I take a step forward and slice the arrowheads off, and even that makes him hiss in pain. I know better than to hesitate, so I pull the arrows hard, one right after the other, and they come loose with a sickening sound. I’m glad I’m quick, because the first one earns a low growl, but the pain of the second one—the one through his shoulder and the root of his wing—chokes off the growl and makes his knees buckle.

Silver hell. I drop the arrows and catch his weight automatically. He’s not heavy , but he’s not exactly light. His claws dig into my arms as he fights to stay upright, and I feel fangs against my shoulder. I can’t tell if he’s broken my skin, but if he hasn’t, he’s a breath away from it.

“Tycho!” Malin calls, his voice sharp with concern.

“I’m fine!” I call back, just as blood begins to trickle down the outside of my arm. “Sort of,” I mutter under my breath.

When I ease the scraver to his knees, Nakiis wavers a bit, so I adjust my grip to catch him under the arms. It must hurt more than he’s ready for, because he hisses a breath and recoils. That’s somehow worse, because he drags me onto one knee just trying to keep him upright. His claws definitely find my skin again, and I wonder if I’m going to regret dropping the armor.

Eventually, he ends up all but leaning against me, his forehead against my shoulder, one hand braced on the ground. It’s like supporting a drunken soldier. I can’t tell if he’s going to pass out or vomit on my boots.

I should pity him, and I do, but too many things have happened in too short a span of time. Despite my vow, I still don’t know if he’s ultimately going to be an ally or an enemy.

The wound through his shoulder is bleeding freely, his blood a darker shade than a human’s. I don’t know if he’s ready, but I press my hand right to it and let my power flare.

He hisses in pain again, but maybe he expected the magic. This time, he doesn’t move away.

“I should have made you sit down first,” I say, though I’m not sure he would have obeyed. The blood under my fingertips slows as the wound closes, and Nakiis eases more fully onto his knees, sitting back on his heels. His injured wing hangs crooked, limply dragging in the dirt.

I reach for his arm first, because it’s slick with blood, but he shakes his head a bit. “The wing,” he says breathlessly. “Please.”

“All right.” I wait to see if he’s steady before I move to crouch at his back. He’s facing the fire, so it’s harder to see, and I have to seek the wound with my fingers. I gently spread the wing wider so it splays along the ground. I was friends with his father, but I don’t remember ever touching Iisak’s wings like this. The black feathers are like silk, catching glints of blue and purple from the firelight. There’s plenty of blood, but I don’t see the arrow wound. My fingers must find it, because he growls, and every muscle in his back goes taut, his claws digging into the dirt.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

He doesn’t respond.

I sigh and let my magic work. After a moment, cold wind wraps around us, his own magic lending its weight to mine again.

“Could you have healed this on your own?” I eventually say.

He doesn’t respond to that either, but I suspect not. He hates having me at his back; I can tell. His head is cast in my direction so he can watch both me and Malin, and his shoulders are tight, the muscles of his arms flexed and ready.

The wound eventually closes, though, and his chest expands with a slower breath. He puts a hand against the ground, sagging a little.

“Thank you,” he says, and his voice is quieter, the growl gone. It’s hard to resist the soothing nature of healing magic.

“You’re welcome.” I expected his wings to be cold, the way his magic feels, but they’re warm under my fingertips. There was another arrow wound, closer to the base of his wing, and I search for it more carefully this time, my fingers moving slowly along the feathers.

“If I am to keep my vow,” I say to him, “if you’re going to need me to fight at your side , then at some point you’re going to have to trust me.”

“You shot me out of the sky.”

I wince. “I know. But I explained why.” I change tack. “Why are your scravers attacking the people of Emberfall? If that’s what you expect me to do, I’m not going to be a very willing ally. I told you I’m not a mercenary.”

“They are not my scravers.” He glances at me over his shoulder, and his voice is bitter. “And I clearly need no help attacking humans.”

Well. I suppose that’s true.

I consider what Jax heard during the first attack. “Who is Xovaar?” I say. “Is that one of the scravers who was with you in Briarlock?”

“How do you know that name? Did he find you?”

My hand goes still, because I can’t quite figure out his tone. “Almost,” I say. “One of the scravers who attacked said it. They were looking for a magesmith.”

Nakiis is quiet for a long moment, and then, without warning, he whips his head back toward the fire. “You will keep your distance, soldier.”

I look up. Malin has crossed half the distance between us. He found a new tunic, but he didn’t waste time washing any blood from his skin, and he’s fully armed, ready for battle. He stops and folds his arms, his eyes hard.

“I’ll stay here,” he says. “But if you tear Tycho apart, I don’t have magic to fix him.”

“He won’t tear me apart,” I call back. If Nakiis wanted to kill me, he’s had ample opportunity before now. “Why is Xovaar looking for a magesmith?” I say to him.

Nakiis says nothing for the longest moment. “If he finds you, he will kill you.”

“I know. Trust me, the other scravers haven’t been subtle about it.” My hand finds the second wound, and Nakiis hisses. Malin’s hand goes for his sword, and that hiss turns into another growl.

“Steady,” I say, and I’m really talking to both of them. I let my magic work, but the stars and sparks in my veins seem to flicker. I haven’t used this much power in a while, and I run my free hand across my forehead. Too late, I realize I’m dragging blood across my face.

I glance over again before they start another fight. “Stand down, Lieutenant.” I think of what I said earlier, about making amends. “Nakiis is an ally. He saved our king during the battle against the Truthbringers. He protected the queen and the princess. He only attacked because we were shooting at him.”

His hand hesitates on his sword. “Truly?”

I nod. The arrow wound heals, and I run my fingers along the blood-soaked feathers, settling them back into place.

Before I’m done, Nakiis snaps his wings closed, jerking away from any contact. In a heartbeat of time, he’s ten feet overhead, clinging to a branch. His black eyes bore into mine. I never fixed his arm, but he’s clearly done.

Fine. He wants to stick to business? I can stick to business.

“Who is he?” I say. “What does he want?”

Nakiis stares back at me, but says nothing.

I sigh, then roll to my feet and move away, collecting my armor as I go. I pull the breastplate over my head and buckle it into place.

“Magesmith,” he growls.

I don’t stop. “My name is Tycho.”

“ Tycho. ”

I bend to buckle my greaves. “What?”

Wind whips through the clearing to dust up the leaves again. The air is full of his magic, and I shiver as ice forms on the toes of my boots and the buckles of my armor.

“Listen to the magic,” he says. “Hear it like a voice. Feel it like a touch.”

My hands go still, and I strain to feel anything different from what I already know. At first, all I feel is magic: the ice-cold wind, the bitterness against my cheeks. I recognize it, but there’s nothing unique. Just simple power in the air, no different from mine, no different from Grey’s.

“Do not force it,” Nakiis says, and the growl has eased out of his voice again.

He’s right. I stop straining and close my eyes. I let the magic wrap around me. And there , little by little, my senses flare with different sparks from my own. I’d say they were different colors, or different sounds, but neither description quite fits . Different elements in the wind, little touches of Nakiis’s magic brushing against mine. I couldn’t explain it with words, but . . . ?but I can feel it. Like a memory. Something familiar. Something recognizable.

“Oh,” I breathe. My eyes open.

He’s silent for the longest moment. “You can call to it,” he finally says. “With a bit of practice.” He pauses. “Instead of pouring your magic into the sky without direction. I worried you were going to ground yourself like your king.”

At first, I don’t know what he means—but then I do. When I was riding as Malin’s “prisoner,” with my hands bound, my vision kept filling with sparks and stars. I was worried my magic was going to flare aimlessly.

I buckle the rest of my armor into place and stand. “It wasn’t that much.”

“I could feel your panic from miles away.”

That makes me frown—because I’m thinking of the first attack on the soldiers, when I spent days with magic sparking under my skin, ready to respond to a threat that wasn’t there.

Was I pouring magic into the air then, too? Did I draw the attack?

The scraver’s eyes have shifted to Malin, and that growl slips into his voice again. “When I found you, this soldier kept you bound. He issued threats to drag you over the rocks. I thought he must have some leverage to keep you from using your magic to escape.”

I blink. “Oh. No. Wait—”

Nakiis doesn’t wait. “When he freed you, I thought you had finally used your magic to trick him—but you did not flee. I did not understand, so I followed.”

I stare up at him. He stares back.

It’s Malin who moves closer to me and says, “He thought you were in danger.” His voice turns thoughtful. Musing. He looks between me and the scraver. “He was protecting you.”

“Yes,” says Nakiis. “As I did before, when you were at risk in battle.”

“You protected the king and queen,” I say.

“No,” says Nakiis. “ You protected the king and queen.”

I’m not sure what to say.

He was protecting you. And we shot him out of the sky.

No wonder he doesn’t trust me.

As I think about it, his appearance in that battle wasn’t even the first time. When Grey did ground himself with magic, Nakiis brought me water. He brought me food. He might have bargained for my help later, but he made sure I survived well before we got to that point.

My heart feels tight in my chest, and I take a long breath. “Nakiis,” I say. “Forgive me. I didn’t—”

“I don’t want an apology.” His coal-black eyes reveal nothing, and his expression doesn’t flicker. “You said you intend to make amends.”

That draws me up short. “I do. What do you want?”

“You swore to fight at my side. Give me more time.”

Malin looks at me in surprise. “You swore to fight at his side ?”

“I was desperate,” I say. “And so was the king.” I glare up at Nakiis. “But I can’t offer more time unless I know why . You still haven’t told me what you need.”

“Your magic.”

“Why?”

He regards me for the longest moment.

“Does it have to do with this Xovaar?” I add.

Again, no answer.

“You’re going to have to tell me eventually,” I say.

“Indeed,” he says. “Eventually.” The wind swirls up again. “You should know that the scraver attacks will continue. They will worsen . The others seek to cause discord with their attacks—but they are not my people.”

“Are they Xovaar’s people?”

His eyes narrow. “You have so little control. You would do well to keep from letting them know you are a magesmith.”

“I know. That’s why we’re riding to warn the king.” I pause as a new thought occurs to me. I might have been ordered not to use magic, but no one else has any limitations. The king is known to be a magesmith, but he’s given magic-wielding rings to others: the queen, Noah, Jake . . . ? If my power drew scraver attention, if any of them use their magic, they might become a target, too. “Have there already been attacks in Syhl Shallow?”

“Yes.”

Despite everything that’s happened between me and Grey, my heart trips and stumbles. “Have they attacked the Crystal Palace?”

“No. I would have heard if they’d approached the king.” The edge of his fangs glint in the firelight. “I do have some scravers who are still loyal to me .”

“The ones who fought with you in Briarlock?”

“The ones who defended you in Briarlock. The ones you will defend when it comes time for me to claim my vow.”

My heart keeps tripping along as I try to understand everything he’s telling me. “Are you at war with these other scravers? With Xovaar?”

“Not yet.” He pauses. “But your king is already besieged by those who hate magic—and it seems Xovaar has found some of them.”

“The Truthbringers,” I say in surprise. “They’re working with a scraver ?”

“Possibly.”

If the scravers are potentially working with the Truthbringers, we need to ride for the Crystal Palace tonight after all.

“What do Xovaar and his people want?” I ask.

“The same thing the scravers wanted when the magesmiths fled Iishellasa. They want what was taken.” Without another word, he launches himself off the branch, his wings snapping open to catch an air current. Before I can blink, he’s thirty feet overhead.

A moment later, his magic brushes against my senses, and it’s almost shocking how it feels familiar now. Words find my ears, carried on the air he can control.

— I won’t be far.

Any other time, those words would have sounded like a threat.

For the first time, they don’t.

“Thank you,” I whisper. I know he’ll hear me.

And then he’s gone from view.

I look at Malin. “We do need to ride for the Crystal Palace. The king needs to know.”

He nods and turns to bank what’s left of the fire. “He said they want the same thing they wanted in Iishellasa. That they want what was taken. What does that mean?”

“I don’t know.” I look up at the stars again, where Nakiis disappeared into the darkness. I consider the words on the air the night the scravers attacked the soldiers.

Find the magesmith.

I consider what Nakiis just told me about Xovaar.

If he finds you, he will kill you.

As I head for Mercy and pick up my gear, I try to figure out what magesmiths could have taken from the scravers when they fled Iishellasa. Something that they’d want back so badly that they’d fight for it now.

Iishellasan steel, maybe? I know it binds their magic.

The idea doesn’t sit right, however. Those scravers weren’t looking for steel. They were quite clearly looking for a magesmith.

But then another thought comes to me, as I consider what those rings of Iishellasan steel did for me . As I remember what Nakiis once told me about magesmiths using rings like that to enhance their children’s abilities.

I consider why scravers might be willing to work with the Truth-bringers . . . ?and why the Truthbringers might be willing to work with them.

Maybe the scravers don’t want their steel.

Maybe they want to steal the king’s magic itself.