Page 33

JAX

I might be lucky with a bow, but clearly tracking and hunting are different skills. The soldiers are well practiced in feeding themselves, however. Rabbits and geese are prepped and roasting over a fire before half the group has even finished tending the horses. Parcels of fruit and bread and cheese and wrapped pastries are pulled from a dozen saddle bags, too, and it’s so much food that I begin to think we didn’t need to hunt for anything at all.

While we eat, Sephran gets drawn into a nearby conversation, and other than knowing the soldiers are grousing about a commander and complaining about their patrol duties, I can’t follow much. I don’t mind, though, because no one bothers me, and Sephran hangs close. When a bottle of liquor is passed around our circle, the woman next to me hands it over as if I’m part of the group. I hand the bottle to Sephran without taking a sip.

Once the sun begins to set, I think we’ll head back to the castle, but the soldiers pull decks of cards and more liquor from the remaining saddlebags. Coins glint in the light as they start betting on games. Leo appears to have coaxed Molly into a game, because I hear her laugh lightly over the low conversations going on around the fires. A few of the soldiers have stripped down to their underclothes to swim, but it must be cold, because not many join them. One man gets thrown into the stream fully clothed, and I think it’s part of a fight—until he emerges, laughing, splashing a handful of water at one of the others.

I hang to the side, letting their lighthearted words float over me. But as night falls, easy moods shift into something darker. Sephran tries to draw me into a card game with some of the soldiers, but I shake my head and cling to the shadows. Maybe it’s my experience with a drunken father, or maybe I’ve spent too many days in the forge being a target, but I can’t relax.

When Niall sits down to join our circle, I’m glad I’m off to the side, because it’s probably too dark for him to see me. The scent of liquor is sharp on the air now, and I’ve heard the change in tone as games are lost and tempers rise. On the road with Prince Rhen, card games never got too spirited, but it’s clear that here, with no one on duty and no commanding officers to worry about, the soldiers aren’t as motivated to stay civil. I know better than anyone what happens when you combine a little bit of liquor and a little bit of anger.

Not for the first time, I wish Tycho were here.

As soon as I have the thought, shame curls into my belly. Tycho wouldn’t be afraid.

Then again, Tycho is a skilled warrior, and he’d have an arsenal of weapons strapped to his body. I’m a blacksmith with a bow and a pair of crutches.

And Tycho isn’t here, because he was sent away. As usual.

The sudden bitterness takes me by surprise, and I force myself to look around at the soldiers. I’m fine. They’re fine. This is fine. Leo and Molly are sitting closer now, firelight flickering off their cheeks. Sephran glanced my way a few times, but it’s clear that the game has reached a point of intensity, because now he’s focused on the cards.

Someone shouts, and I flinch. It’s the group by the water, and this time, it’s definitely a fight—or at least the prelude to one. I don’t know what they’re arguing about, but I know the profanity. Two young men are on their feet, and one young woman. One of the men shoves the other, and they almost end up in the fire. Sparks flare up when they skitter away from the flames. For an instant, they have everyone’s attention, and someone near me mutters under his breath. A cool breeze swirls through the clearing, and I shiver, waiting to see if someone is going to throw a punch.

But the two men storm away from each other. The woman says something mockingly, and one of the men makes a rude gesture in her direction. But they all sit back down.

The tension in my chest goes nowhere.

While everyone is distracted, I slip my crutches under my arms and head for my horse.

I half expect someone to follow me, or at least to call after me, but it’s so dark that no one seems to notice. I’ve tethered my crutches and managed to climb aboard Teddy when I look back for Sephran again. The firelight bounces off his freckled cheeks as he studies his cards, watching his opponent for telling cues. He takes another drink from a bottle when someone passes it his way. It’s clear he hasn’t noticed I’m gone, and a tinge of guilt pulls at me. I don’t just want to disappear.

“Hey.” A man speaks from behind me. “Where are you going?”

I don’t recognize the voice, but the tone is cold, and my heart gives a lurch.

The man steps out from behind another horse, and enough firelight reaches his features for me to recognize him.

Niall.

He’s not alone either. That other sandy-haired soldier is just behind him. Their expressions are in shadow, and I have no idea what they intend, but I’m not an idiot.

“Home,” I say. I cluck to Teddy, glad I’m on a horse and they’re not.

The horse moves away at a sedate walk, but the men stride after me. “You people killed my brother,” Niall says, his words slurring, making it hard to parse out what he’s saying. “They killed Brinley’s father, too.”

My heart trips with the first spark of fear. In my forge back home, I’d deal with drunk or rowdy travelers all the time—when I wasn’t dealing with my father himself. But at home, I had heavy tools and hot iron and ways to defend myself. If I got hurt, I could run to Callyn’s.

Out here, I have nothing. And if I brawl with a soldier, I know two things for sure: one, it’ll reflect poorly on me, which means it’ll probably reflect poorly on Tycho.

Two, I’ll lose.

I nudge Teddy with my heel, but he’s older and slower, and part of the reason he’s a steady mount is that he’s not going to take off at a gallop. I’m not sure I could hang on even if he did.

“Hey!” Niall snaps. “I’m talking to you, blacksmith.”

Well, he’s talking at me. My brain has stopped processing what he’s saying at all. I give Teddy a solid kick, and he grunts, then lumbers into a trot.

Relief blooms in my chest, but it lasts exactly one second. Niall grabs my ankle, and the other man— Brinley? —grabs Teddy’s rein. The horse stumbles to a halt, turning a bit, and I realize they intend to drag me right off his back.

I draw back my leg and kick out hard, and I have the satisfaction of hearing Niall grunt. Good. I hope I got him in the face. His grip slackens and I draw back to kick him again.

But I forgot about Brinley. He grabs hold of my forearm and jerks hard .

That almost gets me out of the saddle. But Teddy has had enough of this nonsense, and he sidesteps to compensate for my rapidly shifting weight, nearly stepping on the drunken men who are trying to drag me off his back.

It gives me a moment of distraction, and I grab an arrow from my quiver. I can’t get the bow over my shoulder fast enough, but I doubt I’d escape a hanging if I shot them.

Instead, I draw back my arm and whip the arrow square across Niall’s face.

He shouts in surprise and falls back, swearing so loudly that we’re going to draw the attention of the soldiers around the fires.

I don’t wait for Brinley to retaliate. I use the momentum of my first swing to come right back around. I almost get the soldier in the neck—but he deflects, catching the arrow.

He’s ready for me to tussle for it, but I let it go, slam my heel into Teddy’s side, and jerk the reins to the right.

Teddy leaps forward into a brisk . . . ?trot.

“Please,” I breathe. They’re going to chase me. I know they are. Even on foot, they can chase him at a trot. “ Please. ” My breathing is shaking, and I dig my heel into him again.

Then, blessedly, Teddy stretches his neck out and eases into a rolling canter. Somewhere behind me, Molly calls out my name, but I don’t stop. I can’t risk it.

In seconds, we’re away from the stream and the campfires, and we’re cantering through the pitch-black darkness of the woods. This is dangerous as hell, but so are the drunk men who were about to rip me off the back of this horse.

I have to think . I have to figure out what to do. My breathing is so loud that it blocks out the sound of anything else. I know the way back to the castle—I think —but I’m worried Niall and Brinley are getting on their own horses to give chase.

A bigger part of me is worried that other soldiers will join them to help. I whipped Niall across the face, and I have no way to explain what he was doing.

I choke back the panic before it can form. I should have followed my instincts this afternoon. Or I should have gone back to the Shield House when the sun set.

Honestly, I should have made amends with Prince Rhen instead of telling him that I hate him, because whatever happens here is going to come out poorly for me. I’ll end up dead or beaten or berated—or even just humiliated. I have no idea how such a lighthearted evening turned into something so terrible.

A frigid wind blasts my cheeks and I shiver again. My chest clenches and my eyes sting. Tycho. Please come back.

But of course he’s not going to appear. I might as well beg the stars for help.

And then I realize why my eyes are stinging.

The wind is cold. Unnaturally cold.

It’s been terribly hot for days. The forge has been near unbearable in the humidity. But I draw a shaking breath and it tastes like winter.

I remember the last time this happened, the way ice formed on Tycho’s armor, crystals gathering along every bit of steel.

I sit deep in the saddle and Teddy responds immediately, slowing to a walk, then a halt. My heart is beating so hard I’m practically vibrating. I can’t sit here long. Niall and Brinley can’t be too far behind me, and if they catch me, they’ll drag me off this horse and break a dozen bones.

But I stare up, peering between the trees, looking for something. Anything.

And then I see my breath. Goose bumps spring up along my arms. A shadow crosses the sky overhead. Then another.

A wild screech splits the night, but I’m hidden by the trees. The scravers fly past, toward the stream.

Sephran. Molly. Leo. All the soldiers.

And a good number of them are drunk.

Clouds above. I jerk the bow over my shoulder and put the reins in one hand, then do my best to turn Teddy around. Maybe he can feel my panic, or maybe he suddenly realized that I don’t want to plod along anymore, because he leaps into a canter so readily that I nearly lose my seat. I clutch at his mane with the reins, my other hand already slick on the bow. I’m not a good enough rider for this, so I’m not entirely sure what I’m going to do, but I remember what one scraver did to me and Tycho.

“Scravers!” I’m shouting. I can’t remember one single word in Emberish just now, but this one needs no translation. “Sephran! Molly! Scravers!” I drive my heel against Teddy’s side, and he grunts, cantering faster.

We burst out of the trees and into wide open grass—and nearly ride straight into Niall and Brinley. They’re still on foot, because they were clearly too drunk—or too stupid—to realize they could have chased me on horseback. But they’ve found their bows, and they’ve made it across the clearing.

I scramble to stay on Teddy as he tries to avoid running right into them. Niall’s face is bleeding from where I struck him with the arrow, a long welt ending in a stripe of blood.

I’ve only been gone for a minute, and I hear other soldiers still calling after them.

“Scravers!” I yell at them both, pointing at the sky. “Scravers! Scravers coming!” They speak Emberish. They need to warn everyone.

But they ignore me. Brinley is fumbling to nock an arrow on the string.

Niall already has one nocked, and he lifts the bow to aim at me. “I’ll show you how these are meant to be used,” he snarls.

My heart freezes. He’s got a clear shot.

But ice crystals crawl down the length of his bow, glinting in the light, freezing his arrow right to the wood. He holds, frowning. “What the—”

A scraver dives out of the sky to tackle him to the ground. Blood sprays in an arc.

Brinley screams, drops his bow, and runs.

Teddy truly is the steadiest horse of all time, because he doesn’t shy from the screeching creature that’s raking claws across Niall’s chest.

I don’t think. I just drop the reins, nock an arrow, and shoot, pinning arrows in my palm the way Tycho taught me. The first arrow makes the scraver’s body jerk, but the second one makes it go still, collapsing on Niall.

The soldier is breathing heavily, whimpering. He’s lucky to be wearing armor, and it only got his shoulder before finding leather and steel.

“Help—help me—” he’s gasping.

Another screech sounds overhead. Then a second. Soldiers are shouting from across the clearing. I hear a woman scream.

Molly. I think of her friendly smile, the way she was the first person to be kind in the Shield House.

I draw up my reins and cluck to Teddy, and he trots forward with little urging. We reach the stream in seconds. Half a dozen scravers have attacked, and it’s so many. Was it like this when they attacked the regiment in the fields? I only saw the ones that attacked me and Tycho. But I remember fighting at the king’s side in Briarlock, how the scravers descended from the air to assist us in battle, how we would’ve lost without their help.

This is like the opposite.

Or maybe it’s the same. They attacked soldiers then, too.

It’s too dark for me to identify their targets, but I don’t take time to try. I’m already shooting before Teddy comes to a stop. Screeches erupt when I don’t make killing shots, but I quickly remedy that. I grab for more arrows when my palm empties. I try not to think about the motionless soldiers who lie beneath them, or the scent of blood or the screams on the air. When we were in Briarlock, the king fought at my side, feeding me advice as we faced the advancing enemy. His words are like a litany in my brain now.

Don’t forget to breathe. Take time to aim. Don’t waste your arrows.

I told him I wasn’t really a soldier. I’m not one now.

I hit a scraver through the wing and it screams, and the sound makes me cringe. It’s the last arrow in my palm, so I reach for more.

My quiver is empty. I should’ve kept count.

As soon as I have the realization, the scraver leaps off the soldier and slams into me so hard that it knocks me off the horse. I crash into the ground just as claws scrape across my jaw.

Unlike the soldiers, I’m not wearing any armor.

The scraver rears back, fangs bared, eyes glinting in the moonlight. I suck in a terrified breath. It’s going to tear my throat out, and Tycho won’t be anywhere around to heal the damage.

A sword stabs right into the side of its rib cage, driving the scraver sideways, impaling it with enough force that it can’t attack me at all. It’s screaming, scrabbling for the weapon now, but Sephran grabs hold of its wing and pulls it off me. He kicks it onto the ground, pulls his sword free, and kills it with one quick thrust of his blade. After the earsplitting screeching, the silence is sudden and profound.

I stare up at Sephran, my breathing shaky. His chest is rising and falling rapidly, but he hasn’t looked at me yet. He’s staring at the scraver, as if waiting to make sure it’s really dead. Blood is a dark streak on his cheek, but there’s more of it down one arm. He’s still gripping a sword in one hand and a dagger in his other, so it must not be too bad.

His face is all hard lines. Any sheepish kindness in his expression is gone, leaving only a fierce soldier.

He finally glances down at me, his gaze skipping over my form as if assessing damages for one quick second, before looking out and around again. I shove myself up on my elbows, realizing that there could be more.

But the screeches have stopped. The air is warm, my breath no longer clouding. The scravers are dead—or gone. Soldiers are shouting to each other. I hear a woman crying, and my heart clenches. Molly. But at least she’s alive.

Not everyone is so lucky. Bodies are strewn everywhere. The scent of blood is still heavy in the air.

Sephran sheathes his weapons and puts out a hand, and I take it, pulling myself to standing. My heart is pounding hard, my hair spilling free from its knot. Teddy is a short distance away, my crutches still bound behind the saddle. The horse is innocently nosing at the grass beside a fallen soldier.

Beyond my horse, Niall limps into the clearing. His eyes meet mine, and he glances away without saying a word.

I saved his life. The thought is jarring.

But Sephran picks up my bow and presses it to my chest, drawing my attention back. One of the others calls his name, but he doesn’t look away from me. His blue eyes are a little shadowed, a little bleak, but he gives me a grateful nod. “Nice shooting, Archer.”

I take hold of the bow. The surviving soldiers are panicked and disorganized—and many are still drunk. As far as I can tell, they seem to be yelling for someone to fetch more soldiers. Healers, too, though I can’t be sure. I wish I had a shred of Tycho’s magic, because I see a lot of fallen bodies.

Sephran has moved away, and he’s kneeling beside someone on the far side of the clearing now, checking for another survivor, but I know how vicious the scravers are. There won’t be many. Even some of the horses are dead. The remaining soldiers are pale in the moonlight, looking at the sky as if trying to determine whether another attack is coming—or if it’s safe to head for the castle.

They’re afraid. Arguing turns to shouting. No one wants to ride out in the open.

My heart is pounding. I don’t either.

But honestly, I don’t want to stay here. I hop to Teddy and untether my crutches, then loop his reins around my wrist. There’s no way I’m riding back without any weapons, so I start pulling arrows anywhere I see them. The ones in the scraver bodies pull free with a wet squelch, and I dip to wipe them in the grass before shoving them in my quiver.

A shadow appears at my side, and I jump a mile, nearly losing a crutch.

But it’s only Molly.

“Sorry,” she says, and tears glitter on her cheeks.

I stare at her. “Leo?” I ask.

She nods quickly and swipes at her face, then points. “With Kutter.”

I follow her gaze and see the youngest soldier. He’s quiet, but the others are still arguing, panic thick in their voices.

Molly shifts closer, and then, without warning, grabs hold of my arm. “Jax,” she says, and her voice breaks. She speaks rapidly, begging for something through her tears. The only word I understand is please .

“Molly.” I’m shaking my head. She’s speaking too fast and I can’t keep up.

“Please!” She clutches at my arm desperately. The bright, lively girl from the kitchen is gone. “Please, Jax.”

“Molly,” I say again, more gently. “Slow. Please. Slow. ”

“Take. Me. Back. Take me. With you. ” She draws a shuddering breath, her watery eyes level with mine. “ Please? ”

I don’t know what to say. She’d be safer here, with the soldiers. I’m afraid to take myself .

Sephran steps out of the shadows behind her, and I look up. He must have seen me gathering arrows, because he holds out four more on his palm. He speaks slowly and clearly, his eyes holding mine. “Soldiers—stay.” He pats his chest and points at the other soldiers, then looks back at me. “Need help. You go—take Molly. Yes?”

She looks up at me and nods rapidly. “Please. Please, Jax.”

I don’t know how to ask why the soldiers are staying—and he probably doesn’t know how to tell me. I can smell the liquor on his breath, and it’s possible he’s not even making the best decision. Maybe there are so many wounded that they need to guard them while someone else rides for help. Maybe they’re too drunk to make it back to Ironrose safely. I don’t know.

I do know that it’s rare for anyone to look at me the way Molly and Sephran are looking at me.

If Tycho lit a spark in my heart when he first pressed a bow into my hands, it’s blazing now. I nod at Molly, then at Sephran. “Yes. I go.”

Molly clutches my arm more tightly, as if I might change my mind, but Sephran steps closer and peers at me in the darkness.

Then he touches a hand to my jaw. It’s so unexpected that I go still.

His fingers are warm against my skin. “Are you hurt?”

I lift a hand to my face and wince when I find the injury, because it stings. But I nod—then shake my head. “Scraver,” I say. “Not hurt.”

He nods solemnly, but he hasn’t let go of my face, and a tiny light glints in his eye. “ Tahlas ?” he says.

No. Not good. But I give a short nod, feeling the warmth of his fingers when I move. “ Tahlas. ”

He studies me for a long moment, and then his hand slips away. He claps me on the shoulder, then looks at Molly. “Come on, Mol. I’ll boost you up behind him.”

I’m tense for the entire ride back to Ironrose, and I keep glancing at the sky. If I were alone, I’d nudge Teddy into a canter, but keeping myself on his back at any kind of speed is questionable. I don’t want to risk Molly. She’s a warm weight at my back, her arms clutched tightly around my waist.

No one’s ever clung to me like this. No one’s ever looked at me like some kind of savior. Not even Callyn.

I can’t tell if I deserve it. Before the scravers attacked, I was running away. I was running from Niall and Brinley because I couldn’t fight back.

I sometimes think about the night Tycho saved me from my father’s beating.

Maybe next time we should work on how to block a punch instead of shooting arrows.

But of course there wasn’t a next time, because he was called away.

Molly sniffs back tears, and it draws my attention back. I shouldn’t let my thoughts wander. I focus on the air, on the breaths that come out of my mouth, but it’s seasonably warm again. I’m warm, Molly’s head resting between my shoulder blades.

No scravers.

No magesmiths either. I don’t know what any of it means.

The castle grounds aren’t gated, but there are sentry stations set at regular intervals along the tree line. When we finally reach the sprawling fields that lead to Ironrose, the guards at the closest sentry post wave us past, but I draw Teddy to a stop.

Molly has been holding me so tightly for miles, the occasional shiver rocking her body. But I need her to talk. I can’t possibly explain everything. “Molly,” I say urgently. “Talk. Talk to guards.”

Her breath hitches, and she lifts her head.

I put my hand over hers where it rests on my waist. “Talk,” I say again, more gently. “Help Sephran. Help Leo.”

“Oh,” she says. “Oh, yes.” She sniffs, then must gather her mettle, because she begins talking.

I watch the guards’ faces shift in alarm. They begin calling orders to each other, and then one lights a torch that they use to signal another sentry station. The activity is quicker than I expected.

“Jax,” Molly whispers against my shoulder. “They’re going. Please. Take me to the Shield House.”

I do. I tether Teddy out front, then wake Lola to help her. Lola tuts over my face when she draws close with a lantern, but I wave her away. It’s just a few scratches, and I have to put Teddy away.

I expect to find the stables dark and quiet, but armored soldiers are calling for horses, and tired stable hands are running to get them saddled. They must be riding to help the others. I want to know if I should go with them, if I should help somehow, but again, I don’t know how to ask, how to even explain that I was there.

Everyone ignores me anyway. When a breeze pulls through the aisle, I go stock-still—but it’s nothing. Just the wind. I hope for Master Hugh, because I feel desperately alone, and I need to talk to someone about everything that has happened.

But it’s late, and if he’s here, he’s helping prepare horses somewhere else. I only see soldiers and scurrying workers.

A woman barks an order near my ear, and I jump. I need to get out of the stables.

Molly must have disappeared into her room, or she’s being tended by Lola, because the main room of the Shield House is empty. When I reach my quarters, the room is so quiet that the silence presses in against me. I have no way of knowing when the soldiers will return. Will anyone tell me? Can I inquire after Sephran and Leo? What about the others?

My stomach tightens when I think of the scraver swooping out of the sky to tackle Niall. I remember the spray of blood. I remember my flare of panic when I found my quiver empty, the way the scraver ripped me right off Teddy’s back and flung me to the ground.

I remember Sephran saving my life.

I light my lantern and move to the washbasin in the corner of my room. It’s too late to call for hot water for a bath, though I desperately need one. I doubt I’ll ever sleep again. I pour water in the basin and splash it on my face, then hiss when I remember the scratches left by the scraver.

I grab for a washrag and blot the water away, then look in the mirror.

Twin scratches run down the left side of my jaw, nearly from my ear to my chin. They don’t look deep enough to need stitching, but they’re long. They’ll probably scar, too.

I stare at the marks. If Tycho were here, they’d be gone in a heartbeat.

But he’s not. They’ll have to stay.

I close my eyes and take a breath. It’s not fair to keep wishing for Tycho to return. To keep thinking of how things would be different if he were here.

He’s not. I am.

So I dry my face, douse the lantern, and wait for morning.