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TYCHO

I don’t know how long I lie alone in the grass, but everything about my conversation with the king weighs heavily on my heart, and I don’t want to move. I’m flat on my back, my hands under my head, the cool night air soaking into my bones. The sounds of distant swordplay have long since gone silent, but I have no desire to go back to the palace. The night sky presses down, the stars stretching wide overhead.

I wonder if Jax is awake in Emberfall, staring at the same sky.

He likely expects me to be on my way back now.

And I simply . . . won’t return.

Again.

My throat feels tight. Jax doesn’t deserve that. But . . . ?neither do I.

Overhead, the stars go dark, and I blink, confused for a moment. Wings beat against the stars, and a gust of cold wind blows across the training fields.

“You lie exposed,” Nakiis says, and though he’s nearly invisible against the night sky, the wind carries his voice right to me. “I could gut you without effort.”

“Go ahead.”

He soars low, and I think he’s going to land in the grass beside me, but instead, he drops right onto my chest. His knees slam into my breastplate, and it knocks the wind right out of me.

I give a little cough to shock air back into my lungs. “I wasn’t really serious,” I grind out.

He leans down close, until his elbows settle on the ground, his claws pressing into my neck. His wings are half splayed, as if he could take flight at any second. His balance would be impressive if his knees weren’t driving the edge of my armor into my shoulders.

“Ah . . . well met?” I say.

He smiles. Or at least, I think he does. I catch a glimpse of his fangs. The stars barely add a gleam to his black eyes.

“You’ve never really been afraid of what I am,” he says.

He’s right, in a way. I was never afraid of his father either. The scravers are fascinating and beautiful and equally terrifying—the way a wolf or a mountain lion is terrifying. Magnificent from a distance, but dangerous up close.

“I’m not afraid of you,” I say. “Anyone who’s ever truly hurt me has been human.”

Nakiis looks back at me and says nothing to that. The wind rustles the feathers in his wings and whips at his hair. His skin is so dark that he could be a shadow.

“You stopped me from using magic against Grey,” I add. “Thank you.”

He scoffs. “You have no control yet. I would have ended up fighting your battle for you.”

I stare up into those black eyes. “You really shouldn’t be here. There are guards who patrol these fields. They’ll shoot you if they see you.”

“I can hear when they come this way.”

Of course he can. “Could you let me up?”

He doesn’t move.

“Or by all means,” I add, “make yourself comfortable.”

Nakiis seems to lean even closer. “I understand that you are now the one in a cage.” A cold wind swirls around us, full of his magic.

“No. I’m not.” But I think of everything that happened, and sudden emotion fills my throat. I press my fingers into my face and swallow, and I hate that my eyes feel damp. “Nakiis, please.”

“Do you wish to flee? I could help you.”

I lower my hands. “What?”

“I can see and hear the guards. I can draw their attention and mask the sounds of your departure.”

My heart skips hard. I imagine it, fetching Mercy in the dead of night, sneaking past the guard station.

But I can’t.

“No,” I say.

“Why?”

“Because . . . because it’s treason .” I blink away my emotion. “We can’t all fly away when we need to. I wish I could.”

His wings flare, snapping wide to catch the wind, and his weight suddenly vanishes from my chest. I think he’s going to prove my point and lose himself to the night, but he lands beside me, settling in the grass.

I sit up to face him, drawing my legs up to sit cross-legged. He’s on his knees again, sitting back on his heels, his wings folded tightly. This might be the closest he’s ever been without claws and fangs bared. Even when I healed his wounds, he was wound up tighter than a spring, ready to attack if I threatened him.

Now that he’s not on top of me, I can see that he’s wearing calfskin trousers, with a dagger belt wound around his waist, and a short blade at his left hip. A longer one is strapped to his right thigh.

“You’re armed,” I say in surprise. I’ve never seen him wear a weapon. He hardly needs them.

His eyes hold mine. “Iishellasan steel,” he says evenly.

Meaning those weapons can cause injuries that can’t be healed with magic.

“Anyone who’s ever truly harmed me has been a magesmith,” he adds.

I frown, remembering the way he usually keeps his distance. “I’m sorry. In Briarlock, when we shot you, I swear, I didn’t know—”

“Tycho. I am not armed because of you .”

I let out a breath. “Are you armed because of the king?”

He says nothing—but that says enough.

If Grey isn’t happy about Nakiis being here, I know he wouldn’t be happy about him having weapons like this. When the Truthbringers attacked in Briarlock, Grey locked away all the Iishellasan steel that we were able to find. I wonder how much more there is.

“Grey won’t hurt you,” I say. “I’ve told you that before.”

“If you draw me into battle with him, I am certain he would prove you wrong.”

“You really don’t have to risk yourself defending me.”

“So I am to watch you fall as you call magic with little skill or practice? Your vow to me goes unfulfilled because you were reckless?”

“Ah.” I lean back on my hands. “You’re just protecting me so I can keep up my end of our bargain.”

He surveys me silently again.

“I don’t believe that,” I say. “When Grey burned out his magic, you brought me food and water before I ever agreed to help you.”

I remember that night so clearly. Grey was unconscious. His horse was dead. Mercy was lame. I was starving and thirsty and everything was terrible. When Nakiis showed up, I thought he was going to kill me—but instead he brought me full water skins and a goose for me to roast over the fire.

“I led your horse through the woods, too,” he says. “When you were in no shape to ride.”

I frown. “When?”

“After you let that man stab a hole in your chest.” He scoffs again. “The day after we fought in the arena. Did you never think to let your magic recover before engaging in another battle?”

For a second, I have no idea what he’s talking about, and my mind is spinning. I’ve only been stabbed once, but Nakiis had nothing to do with it. “Are you talking about the night I fought with Alek?”

“Yes.”

I realign my memories, shuffling through what happened. It was the night after I broke Nakiis out of his cage. By the time I ran into Alek, I was exhausted and my magic had been depleted. When he stabbed me, I barely survived. I remember riding out of Briarlock, dazed from blood loss, but after that, the night is a complete blank.

Grey said Mercy carried my unconscious body up to the palace gates. I was covered in snow and soaked in blood. They all thought I was dead.

All this time, I thought Mercy found her own way home.

I can’t stop staring at Nakiis. Those black eyes are staring back at me implacably.

“Why?” I finally ask. “Why did you help me?”

“Do you need to ask? Why did you let me out of the cage?”

I don’t know what to say. The answer seems obvious, but . . . ?maybe it’s not.

Maybe he feels the same way. It’s weird, this wary trust that’s formed between us.

“If you are trapped in the palace,” he eventually says, “it may be difficult for me to return. To find you when I need you.”

“I won’t be trapped ,” I say, though I already feel shackled by Grey’s orders. I have to shake it off or I’ll tell Nakiis to gut me again. “I’ve been ordered to stay on the grounds, but I’ll be allowed to train. And I have to keep Mercy fit. There are trails into the mountains that surround the palace. If I start making regular runs with Mercy, I don’t think anyone would be suspicious.”

He considers this. “If you train alone, you must be cautious with your magic. I will find you when I can.”

“I could whistle for you,” I say.

He bares the edge of his fangs. “You could whistle for me?”

I really meant no offense, but he sounds so affronted that I smile. “Sure.” I whistle low, through my teeth. “Like a dog.”

He tackles me to the ground, but for the first time, it’s not violent. I’m not sure it’s playful , because his claws land over my neck again—but it’s rough-and-tumble in a way that makes me think of Malin, and I laugh under my breath. My heart still aches from everything that’s happened with the king and with Jax, but I’m glad to discover that Nakiis is becoming . . .

A friend? Not quite. But he’s becoming something .

“All right, all right,” I drawl. “Put your claws away. I won’t whistle.”

He lets me up, his claws dragging against my skin, but there’s no threat to it. I brush dirt and grass out of my hair as the wind recedes, and I think about how desperately he bargained for a week of my help—after he’d been bound and tortured by a magesmith once before. How every time he’s been in my presence, he’s either kept his distance, or he’s pinned me to the ground with fangs and claws.

I know what it’s like to be desperate. I know what it’s like to feel vulnerable .

“You didn’t need to bind me with a vow,” I say quietly. “If you truly need my help, I’ll help you. Just tell me what it is. What you need.”

Wind whips across the fields, ruffling his wings, the cold sneaking under my armor. He inhales like he’s going to speak, but then his head snaps around. I follow his gaze to see shadows shifting in the distance. New torches are being lit by guards and soldiers as they change shifts and positions.

I drop my voice and turn back. “You should go before you’re—” But the scraver is already gone.

By the time I’ve disarmed and returned to my quarters, it’s late, and the hall guards tell me that Malin retired over an hour ago. When I tap lightly on his door, he answers. He looks like he might have been asleep, because he’s shirtless, in drawstring trousers, and his hair is a little mussed up. A line of bruises crawls up the side of his chest, and a scrape along his jaw turns into yet another bruise where it meets his cheek. He also has three long stripes across his bicep that have been stitched up with field sutures.

I wince. “Silver hell. Was it worth it?”

“Every second of it. The pain is a good distraction.” I’m not sure what that means, but Malin steps back and holds open the door. “Come in.”

“I don’t want to disturb you—”

“You’re not.”

He seems a little rough-edged, and I wonder what Verin said to go along with their violent sparring. I enter the room and the door falls closed. The fire has fallen low, and only one candle is lit.

“I truly won’t keep you.” I hesitate, because admitting this feels like a failure, but Malin got me here, and he deserves the truth. “The king has relieved me of my duties. I thought you should know.”

“I do know,” he says. “The king has relieved me of mine.”

That shocks me still. “Malin,” I breathe.

“It’s known that I arrived with you. We traveled alone for almost a week. He doesn’t want more gossip or uncertainty among the ranks, especially as these scraver attacks continue.”

His voice is even, but now I understand the undercurrent of agitation. He spent a week risking his life to get here, hoping for the chance to prove his worth in front of the king.

And now he’s been relieved of his duties.

Because of me.

I take a long breath and run a hand back through my hair. “Forgive me. I should have—”

“Stop. You can make it up to me by asking the guards to have a tavern’s worth of liquor sent up here.”

I smile, a little sadly. “You don’t know all the words for drinking ?”

“Oh, I do. I just didn’t want them to know I was angry.”

At least this is a task I can accomplish without failure. I ask the hall guards to send for enough spirits to drown a horse twice, and they exchange a glance, but they obey. Before long, servants have brought a wide selection of wines and liquors and ales, along with a platter of bread with slabs of cheese and an arrangement of sliced fruit and sugared nuts.

Malin’s eyes go wide. “Yes,” he says. “You definitely did that better than I would.”

“I should leave you to your . . . ?ah, rest ,” I say to him.

“What? No. Stay. Drink with me.”

“I generally don’t drink very much.” A lot of that is Grey’s influence, because he doesn’t either. I’ve never wanted to disappoint him.

Malin pulls a cork free from a small brown bottle. “Want to start?”

I hesitate, but defiance curls in my chest, hot and welcome. I choose a small copper flask. “You go, I go.”

“Exactly.” He drinks right from the bottle, then coughs in surprise and winces. “ Whoa. I forgot that the palace won’t have cheap liquor.”

I laugh and take a sip from the flask, swallowing fire.

This is probably a bad idea.

Right now, that makes it a great one. I take another, longer sip, and then I drop into one of Malin’s chairs and press the cool metal of the flask to my forehead.

I’m not sending you back to Ironrose, Tycho.

You are relieved of your duties.

If you ever call magic to fight me, you will not be able to walk it back.

I tip back the flask and drain it.

Malin laughs ruefully. “Are you sure you don’t drink very much?”

I really don’t. My thoughts are already beginning to drift and loosen. “I’m definitely going to regret this tomorrow.”

“Me too.” He grins and takes another sip, then winces, pressing a hand to his bruised side. “I think Verin broke a rib. She said she can’t wait to do it again, though—so I think she likes me.”

I look up. “Want me to fix it?”

The smile slips off his face. “You’re not allowed to use magic.”

I put the cap back on the flask and toss it onto the table. “I’ve been relieved of my duties and confined to the palace grounds. What else is he going to take?” I lean forward, bracing my forearms on my knees. The world already feels a little fuzzy. “But you need to decide now, before I get too drunk. I could leave the bruises on your face, so no one would know.”

He stares back at me steadily, and I know he doesn’t want to disobey the king. But it’s possible he’s already in a place where he’s not making the best decisions either. We’re both a little angry, a little dejected, a little defiant.

“Silver hell,” he mutters. He drains his whole bottle and swears, but then he looks back at me and holds out his stitched-up arm. “You go, I go, Tycho.”

“Magic?” I say, just to be sure.

Malin gives a short nod. “Magic.”