Page 32

JAX

I should never have spoken so honestly to Prince Rhen.

This may not make a difference to you, but I hate myself for it.

Good , I said . I hate you, too.

The morning after he leaves, I wake up expecting to be executed. I’ll be boiled alive or the skin will be flayed from my bones or I’ll be set on fire for being so ungrateful. No one is waiting to drag me out of the forge, so I do my work and go to my riding lessons, but the whole while, I keep waiting for guards to show up and haul me off to prison. It’s a new worry that sits on top of all the loneliness, a constant anxiety that has me jumping every time the Shield House door opens.

But days pass, and . . . nothing happens.

In fact, my days seem to improve—or at least, they’re a little less terrible. My work in the forge is more efficient, thanks to the bench Sephran brought me. Most of the soldiers still hate me, but they seem to have grown bored of knocking my tools into the dirt, and instead, they ignore me. Even my nights are a little less lonely, because Master Hugh speaks to me in Syssalah—though our conversation usually consists of him shouting for me to sit up straighter or to shorten my reins.

I’m also beginning to pick up more Emberish, which takes me by surprise. Instead of words flowing over me with little comprehension, phrases have begun to come together. When a middle-aged woman in the forge walks past me, grumbling that her pincers are broken again , I offer a set of mine, saying, “Take. I have two.” I think we’re both a little shocked. But after that, some of the other forge workers are less standoffish, and the dirty looks in the Shield House begin to dissipate.

I haven’t seen Sephran or Kutter since the evening we went shooting, but I don’t quite know if I should ask after them. Things might be improving in the forge, but after what happened with the prince, I’ve kept to myself, waiting for Tycho to return.

A week after the prince’s visit, an older woman arrives at the Shield House. She strides through the door with a satchel full of books and speaks to Master Garson while everyone is getting their breakfast.

“Master Jax,” he calls, and I look up from my oatmeal.

It gets everyone’s attention, because aside from the night Prince Rhen was waiting for me, I haven’t had a single visitor.

I set down my spoon and stand. “Master Garson?” My eyes shift to the woman. “My lady?”

The woman nods decisively and heads my way. Her hair is dark gray and twisted in two braids along the back of her head, but plenty of strands have escaped. She looks round and motherly, but her expression is stern. She’s broad across the shoulders, too, and nearly as tall as I am. She drops her bag of books on the table beside my bowl.

“My name is Elayne,” she says in perfect Syssalah, her accent as slight as Tycho’s. I’m so startled by that I almost miss what she says next: “Prince Rhen has hired me to tutor you in Emberish.”

After days of worrying I was going to find myself thrown off the castle ramparts, this is unexpected. And not necessarily in a good way.

I must be staring suspiciously, because she adds, “I’m very good, I assure you. I tutored the prince and princess myself.”

I shake myself. “No—I mean, yes, my lady.”

“I’m not a lady. You may call me Elayne.” She begins pulling books from her bag. Many of them have childish pictures painted on the covers. “Can you read?”

I can’t decide if she’s brusque or just efficient, but I fold my arms. “Yes, I can read .”

“Don’t be offended. I always ask. Not everyone has access to education, and there’s no shame in that.”

I rather doubt she asked the prince and princess, but that steals some of my vitriol. I unfold my arms.

She slides a leather-bound booklet toward me, along with a wrapped stick of kohl pencils, similar to the ones I used to keep track of projects in the workshop. “As you hear new words throughout the day, I want you to write them down if you can. We’ll sit together at breakfast to go over them. Each night, I’m going to leave you a children’s primer to read—” She breaks off, and I’m not sure what expression is on my face, but it must not be good. She’s frowning. “Is there a problem?”

There might be. If she’s been hired to spend so much time tutoring me, I’m sure it’s costly.

I don’t like that the prince sent her. It feels manipulative.

But my conflict with Prince Rhen isn’t her fault. “I’m sorry.” I look down, fidgeting with the cover on the little book. “I don’t mean to be rude. This . . . this is unexpected.”

She reaches out to pat my hand, and it’s motherly, making me feel like a child—and I can’t remember the last time that happened. Despite the sternness in her expression, her hand is warm, the motion kind. She reminds me a bit of Master Hugh.

“Shall we sit?” she says, and her voice is a little gentler.

I nod, and we do. Molly brings her a stein of steaming tea and a small platter of breads with cheese and jam, but Elayne ignores it all. She taps the book in front of me. “Let’s begin,” she says. “Write down some words you’ve learned. Write them in both Syssalah and Emberish if you can.”

I could cheat and use the words I already know from working in the forge—or simple words like hello and goodbye . Or maybe even the first words that Tycho taught me during our ride from Syhl Shallow, like sleep and camp and stars and fire .

But for some reason my thoughts summon that moment in the forge when Sephran brought me the bench, when he said he remembered how much I needed one.

Remember , I repeated, figuring out the word. Think . . . of before. Sephran looked so pleased. Then he invited me to shoot with his friends. It was the first time the constant band of tension around my chest had loosened.

Is Sephran a friend? I’m still not sure. But my heart gives a tug at the memory.

Remember. I do.

So I write that down.

It seems to be a day for visitors, because Master Hugh brings a woman to the forge in the afternoon. She’s probably as old as Hugh, and she carries herself like a soldier. She has a satchel like Elayne’s, but this one doesn’t look burdened with books. Nothing about her looks friendly, and when her eyes skip over me in an appraising way, I try not to scowl.

But Master Hugh gives me a warm smile. “Jax. This is Captain Ammax. She brought you a foot.”

I hesitate, unsure what to say. I remember Hugh told me she doesn’t speak Syssalah, so I give her a nod and speak in Emberish. “Ah . . . ?well met, Captain.”

She gives me a sharp nod in return, then speaks in rapid-fire Emberish to Hugh, and I can only pick out every fifth word. But he listens attentively, then says, “Ammax says you will need practice. Clumsy at first. Sore. Little bit longer each day.”

That was a lot shorter than everything she said to him. I glance between them and raise my eyebrows. “That’s all?”

He waves a hand and makes a tsk sound. “She was telling me about the friends she lost in the war. But you did not cause the strife. It will be fine.”

“Oh.” Now I understand the wary regard in her expression. She hates me like the rest of the soldiers. My hands flex on my crutches, and I want to draw back.

Master Hugh tuts and pats my shoulder. “You are a good boy, Jax. She will see. Sit. Try.”

With anyone else, I always feel so prickly and uncertain. But there’s something about Master Hugh that’s disarming, even when my stomach is tied up in knots. I don’t know if it’s his voice, which is never loud, or if it’s his unassuming manner. Or maybe it’s simply that I can’t remember a single time that anyone has ever said those words to me. You are a good boy, Jax.

As I sit, Captain Ammax begins pulling things from the bag. Woolen socks first, then a length of muslin. Then what looks to be a length of leather wrapped around wood. She’s talking while she unravels everything, and Hugh listens, then translates.

“You’ll wear two stockings,” he says. “Always two! Ammax says using one will cause sores. And the muslin folds underneath. Like . . . ?like pillow? Do you understand?”

No, but I nod.

He continues, “She says soldiers sometimes leave the foot in the boot and then put all on together. But it’s no good. Take the time, or it won’t be secure. Do you understand?”

Still no. I’m watching her unfold the leather dubiously, but again, I nod. “Yes, Master Hugh.”

Captain Ammax must see right through my nonsense because she snaps her fingers and says, “ Look. Here. ”

I bristle immediately, but then I look at the wood and leather she’s unbound in her hand, and I go completely still. She’s holding . . . ?a foot.

Sort of.

It’s crudely formed and made of wood that’s been sanded and stained and polished—and actually looks quite worn. No toes, just halfhearted notches where toes should probably go, and a narrow ankle with a flat base instead of a rounded heel. A bolt seems to go directly through the ankle and out the other side, but I can’t quite figure out the mechanism. The wood above the ankle forms a bit of a bowl at the top, where holes have been drilled through, and a leather sheath has been attached. The laces are wider and flatter than regular bootlaces, but the sheath is high, and would reach all the way to the wearer’s knee.

It’s nothing like what I once tried to fashion on my own.

“Do you want to try?” says Captain Ammax more slowly, and I’m so shocked that this is for me that I don’t even care that she sounds brusque.

I’m just nodding and unknotting the leg of my trousers. “Yes, Captain.”

Within minutes, I’ve rolled the stockings into place over the end of my leg, and she’s showed me how to fold the muslin inside the wooden cup to offer some cushioning. Then I lace the leather up around my calf to hold it all in place—“Tighter!” Captain Ammax orders, which Master Hugh echoes in quieter Syssalah, and then they bicker at each other in Emberish while I re-lace everything more tightly.

It’s tight and snug and heavy and I just stare at it for the longest moment. In a way, it’s like my thoughts can’t quite process it. I haven’t seen anything on the end of my leg for so long that it’s weird to see anything at all there.

But a spark of hope has flared in my chest that feels so foreign I’m not entirely sure what to do with it.

Hugh breaks through my staring. “Do you have other boot?”

I frown. “No. Well, yes. At the Shield House.” In the wardrobe. I think. I don’t usually pay much mind to keeping track of the right-sided ones.

He waves a hand again. “No mind now. Boot should fit over leg. Tell Ammax if not.”

She grunts and tells him to tell me to stand up, but I know these words, so I swallow and stand, keeping my weight on the leg I know will support me. I was right: the new foot really is heavy. I’m not used to the weight, and it almost drags against the ground when I shift. I somehow feel secure, but also like I’m standing on a stilt. When I drag the new foot forward a few inches, that pin in the ankle flexes, and I’m not ready for it to shift. For a terrifying second, I’m worried I’m going to stumble into the dirt, but Hugh puts out a hand. I grab hold and hop a few steps on my other leg until I’m sure I won’t fall.

I swallow and frown and freeze in place. I don’t want to move any farther. That spark of hope almost burns out.

Captain Ammax says something, and for the first time, her voice isn’t quite as sharp. Master Hugh nods and says to me, “You must practice.”

I try another shuffling step, but I’m wary and off balance—and a little embarrassed. I only move forward an inch, but again, the ankle gives a little, and I don’t know how to compensate. Everything feels tight and unsteady and . . . and wrong .

“Slow,” says Master Hugh. “ Practice. ”

I take a long breath and look up. It’s near the end of the day, and we’ve caught the attention of a few of the forge workers. When I see them watching, my cheeks burn—but Hugh scoffs at them, saying he could find more horses that need shoeing. They quickly busy themselves with other tasks. But I realize that some soldiers have also come to the forge, and they’re watching, too.

“Sephran,” I say in surprise. The youngest soldier from the other day is with him. “Leo.” The heat on my cheeks goes nowhere, and there’s a part of me that wants to yank this foot off and hide it away so I can forget how awkward all this is. But I’m glad to see them, so I try to swallow my emotion. “Well met.”

“Well met, Archer.” Sephran pauses and glances down at the foot that’s laced to my leg. “You’re busy. We can come back.”

He says this slowly, which I appreciate. “No! Stay. I . . . ?I want . . .” I fight for words, but I’m stumbling over them almost as badly as I did with the foot. It’s always harder to speak their language than to understand it. “ You ,” I say, pointing at him. “I want you. You stay.”

Sephran smiles. “All right.”

Captain Ammax looks up at them, and her voice sharpens. “If you stay, stay quiet.”

Sephran and Leo lose the smiles. “Yes, Captain.”

When she turns back to me, Leo looks appropriately chastised and stands at attention, but Sephran catches my gaze and rolls his eyes dramatically. I grin and have to look away before it turns into a laugh.

Leo snorts and does start to laugh, but Sephran smacks him in the arm. He snaps to attention again.

But then Captain Ammax is giving me instructions, and I have to pay attention while Hugh translates. She shows me how to adjust the muslin and the laces, and tells me to practice with my crutches so I don’t fall. Before I’m ready, we’re taking it all off and putting everything back in the bag.

Then the captain is gone, earning salutes from the soldiers, and I’m left with Hugh, Sephran, and Leo.

“You will practice every day,” Hugh warns me in Syssalah. “Or Ammax will have my head.”

I believe that . I give him a nod. “I promise.”

Hugh glances at Sephran. “You are friends with this one?”

Friends. Maybe? I nod. “Yes.”

“Good.” He pats Sephran on the shoulder the same way he did to me. “Sephran is a good boy, too,” he says. “Always kind to his horses.”

Sephran is broad and muscled and easily stands six inches taller than Hugh—to say nothing of the fact that he’s currently wearing enough armor and weapons to walk into battle. The only thing boyish about him is the handful of freckles across his cheeks—until he grins sheepishly, adding one more.

“Ah . . . ?good words?” he says in Emberish, looking to me.

It makes me blush again, and I’m not sure why. I smile and nod. “Good words.”

He inhales as if to speak, then hesitates, then holds up a finger to me. He looks at Hugh and says . . . ?a lot.

I pick out enough phrases to understand he has leave, then something about dinner, and then I lose track. But Hugh turns to me and says, “Sephran has been on patrol with his unit, but now he has leave. He and his friends are riding to the creek to catch dinner. He invites you to join them.”

My heart kicks again. I’m nodding before he’s even done speaking. “Yes,” I say, then repeat it in Emberish for Sephran. “Please.”

Sephran grins, then mimes shooting an arrow. “Bring your bow.”

When I arrive with Teddy, I expect the same small group from the evening we went shooting, but tonight there are more than a dozen men and women gathered in the courtyard. Most are soldiers, many still in armor, likely fresh off patrol like Sephran and Leo were. I remember Trapp and Fowler, and of course Kutter, but Sephran hasn’t appeared yet. On the opposite side of the courtyard, I recognize two of the soldiers who’ve hassled me in the forge, and they’re the same ones who were yelling taunts on the morning we arrived at Ironrose.

I don’t know their names, but I feel the sudden weight of their attention like they’ve each nocked an arrow aimed for my throat. One of them is short and sandy-haired, and he leans toward the other one to say something I can’t hear. The other man, a bit more swarthy with a shock of dark hair, holds my eyes and nods in response. I force myself not to flinch away from his stare.

But then one of the young women near me turns around, and to my surprise, it’s Molly, the serving girl from the Shield House. She’s holding the reins of a fat bay palfrey, and her eyes widen when she looks at me. She gives me a smile and a curtsy.

“Master Jax!” she says brightly.

She’s so happy and guileless that I can’t help smiling back. “Molly. No dinner?”

Before she can answer, the dark-haired soldier calls, “Molly, you can do better than that trash from over the mountain.”

Her smile turns into a scowl, and she kicks dirt in his direction. “Like you, Niall? I don’t think so.”

The others around us chuckle, while Niall glowers at us both. When Molly turns back, her eyes seem hopeful that I didn’t understand their exchange, but I did—and I’m sure my expression makes it clear.

She frowns. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.

I shake my head. “No sorry. You are kind, Molly.”

That brings the bright smile back to her face. “You’ve learned so many words! I’m glad you’re coming. I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Sephran . . . ah . . .” I freeze and immediately prove her wrong, because I don’t know the word for invited . “Sephran say to come.” I frown, wondering if that’s right. “Yes?”

“Yes,” Sephran says from behind me. “I say to come.” He draws his horse up alongside my own and looks across the courtyard. Leo is just behind him.

I follow his gaze. Niall is laughing with Trapp and Fowler now, but he casts another dark look our way, then leans toward them to mutter something. Those two weren’t unkind when we went shooting, but they weren’t friendly either. Whatever Niall says, Trapp doesn’t respond, but Fowler glances my way and chuckles. After a moment, Trapp smiles, too.

I shouldn’t be surprised. I saw how close-knit the soldiers were on the journey here. But an icy band encircles my chest. If Trapp and Fowler are friends with Niall, does that mean Sephran is his friend, too?

But Sephran’s gaze darkens, and he sighs. “Is Niall being a jackass?”

“Yes,” I say.

He grins. “Oh, you know that word, too.”

I nod, but I can’t smile back. I glance uncertainly at Niall again, and my stomach churns.

Molly draws up her reins and climbs aboard her horse. “Well, I will ride with you both, if you don’t mind.”

“ I don’t mind,” Leo says, and he sounds so enthusiastic that I don’t need any translation.

Sephran gives him a withering glance, but he looks back at me, and his expression is intent. The smile is gone, and his blue eyes are very serious. “Don’t worry,” he says. He looks pointedly at Niall and then back at me. “Stay with me and Leo. Or Kutter.”

“Or me,” says Molly.

Sephran smiles, but his eyes are still serious, and fixed on mine. “Do you understand? Don’t worry.”

My stomach feels tight again. As usual, I wish Tycho were here.

But for now, I’m glad Sephran is.

I give him a short nod and let out a breath. “I understand.”

At the front of our group, Kutter gives a whistle, and we head out.

Like before, I don’t really know where we’re going, but after days of lessons, I feel more confident on Teddy’s back, and I’m glad to have a break from the pressing heat from the forge. I’m surprised when we cross the castle grounds, pass the archery fields, and ride out past the sentry gates onto the main road. I haven’t left the castle grounds since I arrived with Tycho.

There are so many people that I expect to drift along, but I really have learned more words than I realized, because I find myself picking up bits and pieces of conversation. Molly is chattering to Leo about some problem in the kitchen that seems to involve potatoes, but he obviously doesn’t mind. He’s hanging on every word she says.

Ahead of us are four soldiers who I don’t recognize at all, and it seems that two of them were on patrol with Sephran’s regiment, but the other two weren’t. There’s a conspiratorial tone to their conversation, and they’re speaking in lower tones, so I can’t hear everything, but I do pick out a few words.

Attack.

Scravers.

I look at Sephran. “Attack?” I say quietly, not sure if I’m meant to have heard.

He shakes his head. “Only rumors,” he says. “Stories?”

“Some people say the monster has returned,” Molly says.

I frown, trying to piece this together, and Leo holds up his hands and growls, “Monster?”

Molly giggles.

Sephran says, “There have been reports of monster attacks from all over Emberfall. But we didn’t see anything on patrol.” He taps under his eye and then points at the sky, then shakes his head. “We didn’t see scravers. Just heard stories?” He lilts the phrase like a question, seeing if I understand.

I do, and I nod, but I’m already thinking of Tycho. It’s been well over a week—almost two. He should be returning by now. I wonder if I would have heard this gossip earlier, if I knew enough to converse with others. I need to ask Master Hugh if he’s heard anything.

I think of the scravers who attacked us in the field when we camped, and I cast a glance at the sky and wonder if we should be worried.

“Danger?” I say to Sephran.

He shakes his head and makes a big circle with his hand, indicating our group. “Many soldiers. No danger.”

But I wasn’t just asking about danger to us . “What . . . what . . .” I break off and scowl, then swear in Syssalah. This is so hard.

“Slow,” he says, and his eyes are kind. “We can figure it out.”

He sounds so earnest, so I take a slow breath—then realize Molly and Leo are peering at me, too. I try again. “Danger for Tycho? Malin?”

“No word yet. But there were reports of heavy rains to the north, so the going would’ve been—” I’m losing track of the language, and I’m sure it’s obvious, because he breaks off and winces. “Sorry. Rain and mud for Mal and Tycho.” He pats his horse, then points between the sky and ground. “Slow for horses. Very slow.”

Oh. It hits me harder than it should. So maybe Tycho won’t be back soon after all. And a slow journey might put him in more danger. I swallow any emotion before it can form.

Would anyone tell me if he were injured? Would word even reach me? He kept insisting on discretion, so maybe no one would care.

I’m just a blacksmith. I don’t matter.

“Hey.” Sephran gives my sleeve a tug, and I look over. “Don’t worry. They’re all right.”

I force myself to nod, but then I realize there’s a weight in his eyes, too, a gravity to the way he says that.

“Mal is my best friend,” he adds. He hesitates, looking a little sheepish, and to my surprise, he blushes a little—then pats his chest, over his heart. “Best friend?”

I know this phrase, because friend is one of the first words I learned. It was the night we left Briarlock, and we were lying on our bedrolls, staring at the stars. I kept asking Tycho for the Emberish word for anything I could think of. I’m sure he was as exhausted as everyone else, but he was eternally patient, his voice low as he gave me the words for sky and grass and chickens and bakery , most of which I forgot.

But there were some that stuck, like friend , because it made me think of Callyn.

I nod to show I understand. “Sorry,” I say to Sephran. “You worry, too.”

“No sorry,” he teases, mimicking my accent from when I said the same thing to Molly.

That makes me smile, but now I’m the one blushing sheepishly.

Sephran hesitates, and I realize he’s debating what to say because a conversation is so complicated. It practically took a lifetime to tell me about the rumors and how mud and rain make travel slow.

Then his eyes light up, and he says, “Teach us some Syssalah.” He quickly rolls his eyes and adds, “But real words. Not like Malin.”

“Oh.” My eyebrows go up. “Ah . . .”

Molly looks over. “Yes! Please!”

To my surprise, even Leo looks interested.

A burst of raucous laughter erupts near the front of our traveling party, and I don’t know what about it draws my attention, but I look ahead. Niall and his friends have clearly found something hilarious, and they glance back our way.

I have no idea what they’re saying, but my stomach curls into a knot. I don’t want to speak Syssalah. Not right now.

But when I look back to Sephran, he’s watching me, his eyes picking me apart.

I’m sure I look wary and apprehensive. My fingers twist at the reins, and my shoulders feel tight. I should have gone with my instincts and put Teddy back in the stable.

Sephran nudges his horse closer to mine, then says, “Here. I’ll start.” He rubs a hand over the back of his neck, then peers at me. “Ah . . . ?what do I remember . . . Tahlasta mele ?”

My head snaps around in surprise. I nearly do a double take.

He laughs at my expression. “I know a little ,” he says. “From Malin.”

“What did you say?” says Leo.

Sephran winces and cuts another glance my way. “Good dinner?”

He’s close, but before I can say anything, Molly says, “Food! Mele is food. It’s on the paper from Lord Tycho.”

“Yes,” I say.

Leo looks at me. “ Tahlasta is ‘good’?”

I have no idea how I would explain grammar, so I shake my head. “ Tahlas— good. Tahlasta mele —good food.”

Molly’s eyes light up. “ ‘Morning’ was on the paper, too. So . . . ? tahlasta dasima ? Good morning?”

She sounds so eager that it makes me smile, and an odd wave of emotion overwhelms my heart. It’s like homesickness wrapped up in the sudden warmth of acceptance. I have to clear my throat so it doesn’t come out in my voice. “Yes. Good morning.”

This launches a round of new words that they want to know—most of which I don’t know, but we do our best to puzzle it out. Their Emberish accents are so rough-edged, but I don’t care. I’m sure mine is no better. The knot of tension in my belly begins to unwind.

And maybe their easygoing presence helps, because the cruel glances and raucous laughter eventually fades away, as if acceptance by a few has a ripple effect among the rest of the group.

Eventually our travel party reaches a large clearing with a wide stream, and our language lesson has to end in favor of tethering the horses and finding some food.

“ Mele ,” Molly says, bumping me with her hip, and I smile.

From across the clearing, Trapp and Fowler see it, but this time they just turn away. There’s no laughter, and I don’t see Niall.

Good. Maybe I didn’t have to worry about him at all.

I draw my bow across my chest and slip my crutches under my arms, then find Sephran beside me again, tethering his horse right next to me.

He glances across the clearing significantly, then looks back at me. His eyes hold mine, and he smiles. “ Tahlas ?”

It’s so unexpected and so kind that it makes me blush. I can’t help smiling back. “ Men tahlas .”

Very good.