Page 36

JAX

The morning after the scraver attack, I’m woken by clattering and voices from the kitchen, along with a faint light breaking through the gap in my curtains. I don’t know how long I slept, but I’m still exhausted, so that doesn’t bode well. The foot that Captain Ammax brought sits in a bag in my wardrobe, but if the kitchen is already bustling, practice will have to wait for later. When I look in the mirror, I find that the scratches on my face are an angrier red than they were last night, and I wish I’d let Lola tut over them for a few minutes. Maybe I can ask for a salve. I really need to figure out a way to ask about what happened.

Molly and Lola are in the dining room as usual, but there’s a heavy weight to the air. The room goes silent when I appear.

Tension crawls across my shoulders. When the scravers attacked during our journey, everyone thought they were coming after me, that I’d drawn them somehow. Does everyone think that now? I duck my head and take my usual seat at the end of a table.

I’m prepared to wait for my food, but Molly and Lola stop what they’re doing to bring my breakfast immediately . Lola had literally been serving rolls to someone else, but she turns away to bring some to me.

I wait for someone to protest, but no one does.

They keep staring.

Molly’s expression is a bit drawn, but she gives me a crooked curtsy. She says, “ Tahlasta dasima , Master Jax,” which is really quite touching—but then her eyes fill.

I frown. “Molly.” But I don’t know what else to say.

She swipes her eyes and leans down to give me a kiss on the cheek, then sees the scratches on the other side of my face and gasps. She breaks off and starts speaking rapidly to Lola, and then they’re both talking and staring at me—and so is everyone else. Even Master Garson comes in from the kitchen to add a few comments. They’re mentioning the soldiers and the scravers, but everyone is talking too quickly.

“Please,” I say. “I am . . . ?I cannot—” I break off and make a frustrated sound.

Luckily, Mistress Elayne, my tutor, walks through the door and into the mayhem. I completely forgot she would come at breakfast.

“Help me,” I say to her desperately. “Please.”

She takes stock of the situation, from Molly’s tears to everyone’s stares to the rapid conversation around us, and then she strides briskly across the room, taking in the scratches on my face.

“They’ve heard about the attack on some of the soldiers,” she says plainly. “Molly says you risked your life to protect them, and then you rode through the night to get her home.”

Wait. I frown. “No, I—”

But Molly cuts me off, rushing on in Emberish now that she knows she has a translator.

“Three men were killed,” Elayne continues, once Molly is done speaking. “Master Garson said one of the captains told him it might have been all of them if you hadn’t acted so quickly.”

I stare at her, and then my eyes flick back to the workers who are watching this whole interaction. “It wasn’t just me,” I say, remembering Sephran with the sword in his hand. “We all fought them off.” I glance at Molly and Lola and then at Master Garson, who’s drawn closer. “Did the surviving soldiers return safely?”

Elayne repeats my question to Master Garson.

He nods, then claps me on the shoulder. Beside him, Molly says something quickly, then dashes off.

Elayne smiles, and it’s kind. “She rather desperately wants to find something for your face.”

I frown, though it’s still stinging. “She doesn’t have to.”

“Ah, let the girl mother you,” she says. She sets down her satchel and tells everyone else to go back to their meals, because we have to work.

It takes me a moment to realize I understood every word she said in Emberish.

Still, I say, “Today? Really?”

“ Every day. The faster you learn, the quicker you can have these awkward conversations on your own. Did you write down any words you understood yesterday?”

Right now, the only word I can think of was Sephran calling Niall a jackass. “Ah, no.”

Elayne tsks and pulls a book from her satchel. There’s a small sketch of a calf and a lamb on the cover. “Fine. We can read.”

I blink and think of the battle from last night. Blood was in the air, and soldiers were dying around me. I thought I was going to die. More than once.

I woke up this morning thinking everyone was going to hate me.

I stare at the cover, but I make no move to touch the book. I have no idea how I’m going to focus on any of this.

Elayne leans in, and her voice drops. “Sometimes it’s best to just keep moving forward.”

And that’s enough to make me pick up the book and turn to the first page.

The forge is busier than usual. On most days, Master Garson has two or three of us shoeing horses while everyone else handles other tasks, but today, there are five. I’m not sure what’s changed, but it must be related to the attack from last night. There’s a different energy in the air. A nervous tension. I listen to the gossip while horses are being shod, and I’m able to piece together that more soldiers are being sent on patrol. Maybe more guards around the palace grounds, too.

For the first time, none of the soldiers are short with me. No one knocks my crutches into the dirt. No one mutters about the trash from Syhl Shallow or spits on the ground.

I hope to see someone I know, Sephran or Leo or even Kutter, but I don’t. Maybe they’ve been ordered out on these patrols themselves.

At the end of the day, the forge has fallen quiet, and I’m ready to pack up my tools, but a young woman leads a large buckskin gelding to my spot. She’s not in armor, so I don’t think she’s a soldier, but her arms are lightly muscled, so I’m not sure. She bears a scar across one cheek that looks like it was caused by a knife, and she’s limping. She’s not too much older than I am, with blue eyes and thick curls that are bound back from her face.

I have no idea who she is, but it’s been a long day and I’m tired. Sweat has been stinging the claw marks on my jaw for hours now. I stoke the heat in the forge and turn my attention to the buckskin.

“New shoes?” I say automatically in Emberish. “Or lame?”

The young woman seems to startle, then looks a bit amused, then says in perfect Syssalah, “Neither, actually. I came to see you.”

Now it’s my turn to startle.

“I’m Harper,” she says.

Harper. Princess Harper. Betrothed to Prince Rhen.

I’m frozen in place. I don’t know what to say. I practically have to jab myself with a hot pair of tongs to force a word out of my mouth.

“Sorry,” I say in Emberish, which is ridiculous, because she clearly speaks Syssalah. My thoughts won’t organize, and for a moment, it’s like I forget my own language. I have to shake myself. “I—forgive me. Your Highness.”

“No, Harper is fine. I’ve been dying to meet you since you got here, but Tycho said you were a little overwhelmed by . . . ?well, all of it , which I can completely understand. Then Rhen told me you had words so I thought . . .” She hesitates, then winces. “Well, I thought I might be unwelcome, as well.”

Her mention of Prince Rhen sends an icy chill through my heart. She’s so earnest, though. Her Syssalah is effortless, too. Much better than the prince. He speaks like he’s reading from a book, but she seems as fluent as Tycho.

I haven’t said anything, but maybe that coolness reaches my eyes, because her expression shifts, and she’s evaluating me with a bit more regard.

“So I am unwelcome,” she says.

I cast a glance around, because guards surely followed her here, but I see none. That doesn’t mean they aren’t waiting out of sight. “No, Your Highness.”

She watches me look for guards and she frowns. “Please. You don’t have to do that. You can say whatever you want to me. Really.” She pauses, evaluating me. “And . . . ?I know what you said to Rhen. Maybe you won’t believe me, but . . . ?I understand why you hate him. I didn’t know Tycho then, but Grey . . .” She swallows. “Grey had become one of my closest friends. I would have said that Rhen was one of his closest friends. When I saw what Rhen did to them—I hated him, too.”

I’m frozen in place. I didn’t expect her to be so forthright.

She closes her eyes and hugs her arms to her body. “I’m not going to make excuses for him. It was . . . ?it was terrible. It was a terrible time. But he had reasons. I don’t expect you to forgive him, or to understand, but he had reasons .”

That ice around my heart doesn’t thaw. Everyone has reasons for the terrible things they do. I’m sure my father had reasons for drinking himself half to death and gambling away all our tax money. I’m sure Niall had reasons for coming after me last night.

But I doubt I can say any of that. I doubt it would matter . It’s clear she’s forgiven the prince for his actions. Nothing I say is going to change that.

I also can’t stand here looking at her, because she’s so ardent that it’s beginning to make me feel coldhearted, and I don’t like it. The prince is the one with a cold heart.

I thrust a fresh shoe into the forge, then bend to run a hand down her horse’s foreleg. He offers me his hoof readily, and I flip the pincers in my hand to cut the nails loose.

“Wait,” says the princess. “You don’t have to work! I didn’t come here for—”

“This one was loose anyway,” I say, snapping the nails away so I can pull the shoe free. “You would’ve lost it within a day or two.”

She’s silent for a moment. “All right.”

I don’t say anything to that, and maybe she takes her cue from me, because after that, the only sound in the forge is the bang of my hammer. Her horse is patient and well-bred, which I’d expect, but when I set the new shoe into place, he presses his muzzle right against my shoulder, resting the full weight of his head there.

“That’s very helpful,” I murmur to him as I hammer each nail. “Thank you.”

Harper laughs lightly, and I glance up. I’ve grown so used to people not having any idea what I’m saying that I forgot she would understand me.

“Do you want me to move him?” she says.

“Nah,” I say. “I don’t mind if the horses are happy.”

“I know. Garson said you’ve gotten quite the reputation.”

I look up fully. “What?”

“You didn’t know? Garson told me you’ve handled most of the hardest horses, and none of them seem to faze you.”

No. I didn’t know. Part of me wants to scowl. I wonder if the soldiers have been sending me the worst horses on purpose, the way they’ve been taunting me in other ways.

“Horses never bother me,” I say. “The mean ones are usually mean for a reason.”

Her horse blows warm breaths against my neck, his velvet lip wriggling against my collar. I reach for my file.

“Maybe I’m unwelcome,” Harper begins, “but would it be all right if . . . ?if I just said a few things to you?”

I don’t stop rasping the file against the hoof. I really don’t want to hear more about Prince Rhen and whatever his reasons might have been, but it’s not like I can stop her. “Of course, Your Highness.”

Another little laugh, but this one is under her breath, and it sounds a bit rueful. When she speaks, however, her voice is serious. “You saved a lot of people last night,” she says. “But I’ve learned that some of the soldiers were being . . . unkind.”

Unkind. That’s one way to put it. I set down my file and reach for the pincers again.

“I heard you were leaving the group,” she adds. “That some of them had chased you off.”

I think of Niall and Brinley, how I was terrified they were going to drag me off Teddy’s back and beat me to death. How they leveled arrows at my face and prepared to shoot.

I wonder how much of that they admitted—or if they just confessed to the chasing.

“But you turned back to warn them,” Harper finishes.

I finally set down the horse’s hoof and turn to face her. “They haven’t all been unkind. And even if they have, they don’t deserve to die for it.”

She looks right back at me. “You hate Rhen, and from what I’ve heard, you’d have plenty of reason to hate some of the soldiers, too. You didn’t have to risk yourself. I’m grateful for what you did. So is Rhen. Grey will be, too, once he hears about it.”

The king. I didn’t even consider that he would need to know about this attack, too. I wonder if that means they’ll send Tycho right back when he gets here. The thought makes my chest ache.

“If there’s anything you need,” Harper says, “if there’s anything you want , I hope you’ll ask for it.”

The only thing I really want is something I can’t ask for.

“I don’t want anything,” I say woodenly.

She holds up a hand, and I see she has a ring like Tycho used to wear. “At the very least, I can fix your face.”

I hesitate, because the scratches still burn. My eyes flick to the scar on her cheek, and I wonder what caused it.

“I won’t be as fast as Tycho,” she says. “I don’t wear it very often because Rhen . . . ?well, he doesn’t like it. He has a bad history with magic. But I know how. If you want.”

He has a bad history with magic. I hate that it lights a spark of curiosity in my thoughts. Magic isn’t feared here the way it is in Syhl Shallow. Magic is what helped them win the war.

I don’t care. I shove the curiosity away. “No.” I hesitate, wondering if I’m being rude. “But thank you. Your Highness.”

Her eyebrows go up. “I know you’re not afraid of magic.”

“I . . . don’t want to erase it.”

Harper nods and drops her hand. For a moment, her expression is a little haunted. “I understand. I don’t mind my scars either. I have a friend who says they’re a reminder that you survived something terrible.”

The night Tycho first showed me the marks on his back, he said he’d made his peace with it and had forgiven Prince Rhen. He told me that the prince had his own scars. I’ve seen the patch Rhen wears over his missing eye, and the scars that peek around the edge.

I’ve hated the prince for so long that until this moment, I’ve never really considered that it probably was very terrible.

“Really,” Harper says. “Anything.” She pauses. “Even if you just want to speak Syssalah with someone who isn’t going to make you read books about lambs. I’m always desperate for practice.”

That startles a smile out of me, and I hate myself for it a little bit. “You speak it very well,” I say.

“Thank you! I used to beg Tycho to practice for hours . Jake, too, when I see him.” She smiles, then rolls her eyes. “Rhen is better than he seems, but he’s too arrogant to risk stumbling over pronunciation.”

That almost makes me laugh.

I stop myself before I do.

She notices, and sobers. “Thank you, Jax. I meant everything I said.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

“Harper.”

I nod and hold out the reins to her horse. “Harper.”

She takes the reins, and the buckskin presses his muzzle to her chest, but she doesn’t turn away. “I just . . . ?I want you to know that Rhen cares for Tycho a great deal. He considers him a friend. A good friend.” I stiffen, but Harper continues, “I think he worries he’ll lose that friendship if he can’t figure out a way to resolve things with you.”

My anger swells and flares without warning. “He’s worried? ” I snap, and my voice is like the crack of a whip. “The prince doesn’t deserve Tycho’s friendship. He doesn’t deserve his loyalty . Neither does the king. Do any of you have any idea what he’d already endured? How much he’d already suffered? I will never resolve things with a man who could do that to him. Do you understand? Not ever. ”

She flinches, and her breathing has gone a little rapid.

I draw back, then run a damp hand over my neck. I seem determined to find myself at the end of a rope. But I can’t find the will to apologize for anything I said. I don’t care if guards swarm the forge. I meant every word.

But now she looks wounded, and that steals my thunder. My anger isn’t with her anyway.

“I’m sorry,” I say, and my voice is rough. “I shouldn’t have snapped.”

“It’s my own fault. I did tell you to say anything you want.” Harper squares her shoulders and looks at me. “But Rhen isn’t the only one who’s made bad choices, Jax.”

I look away. “Tycho already told me about the king and what he—”

“I’m talking about you .”

My eyes snap back to hers.

“You were part of a plot against the king,” she says. “You had your reasons, and I know you were desperate. But you knew who you were helping. You knew the Truthbringers hated the king. You might not have known what they were going to do , but you were a part of it.”

I’ve gone stock-still.

Now it’s her fury that’s been unleashed. “They took the queen and the princess, Jax! Sinna is three , and they tried to kill her mother right in front of her . I heard—I heard one of them tried to cut her throat—” Her voice nearly breaks, but she catches herself.

Her emotion is so potent that I almost can’t breathe. “Your Highness—”

“No. Stop.” Her eyes are full of fire. “I understand why you’re so angry. I do! And I know you helped save everyone in the end. But Grey is Rhen’s brother. Sinna is his niece. His family . The only family Rhen has ! He’s allowed to hate you, too, but he doesn’t. You think he doesn’t deserve a friend, but he does . I wish you knew everything he endured, because if you knew what the enchantress did to him, you would never—”

“Harper.” Prince Rhen’s voice is quiet and sure, but he speaks from a short distance away. He’s leading a large gray gelding that paws at the ground. He’s trailed by guards who wait on horseback just outside the forge.

All of the other workers have gone home for the day, so the forge is cool and shadowed, and I can’t read his expression from here. I have no idea how much he heard, or how long he’s been standing there. Tension locks into my spine as I wait for him to react.

The princess takes a slow breath, and it’s clear she’s deliberating over the same thing. She finally looks over. “Rhen. I didn’t mean to make you wait so long. Jax noticed Will had a loose shoe, so he offered to fix it. I can meet you in the courtyard in a minute.”

He leads his horse into the forge to stop beside her. “If you’re going to lecture Jax about my past,” he says, his Syssalah slower than hers, “I believe I should wait right here.”

There’s a weight to that comment, and my fingers tighten on my forge tools.

But Harper frowns, then sighs. “Rhen. I’m sorry. That wasn’t my intent.”

“Ah, Harper,” he says gently, and there’s true warmth in his tone. “I know your heart. You don’t need to explain to me.” His gaze falls on me, and most of the warmth evaporates. “Jax can hate me if he desires. As you said, we’re both allowed.”

I wonder if that means he does hate me. Good. I hope he does.

But as I look back at him, I realize . . . ?he doesn’t. There’s no animosity in his expression, despite how things ended between us the last time we spoke. And now I have Harper’s words rattling around in my thoughts, poking holes in all my convictions.

“You are right,” Rhen adds, his gaze holding mine. “I don’t deserve Tycho’s friendship. Nor his loyalty. Neither does my brother.”

I can hear the genuine weight in his voice. Tycho’s friendship really does mean something to him—and my anger really does affect him.

That’s wrapping up with what Harper said, about all the things I did wrong, too.

I hate that this has chipped away at the ice around my heart. I draw a long breath and scowl. “Well . . . ? I probably don’t deserve his friendship either.”

Harper’s eyebrows go up. “So . . . ?does that mean you don’t hate Rhen anymore?” she says hopefully. “Did I fix it?”

I inhale sharply, then stop before I can get myself in trouble. I clamp my mouth shut.

A wicked light sparks in Prince Rhen’s eye. He’s no fool.

“Not quite,” he says. He lifts Harper’s hand and kisses her knuckles, then gives me a nod. “You do have my full gratitude for your actions last night. The soldiers were very lucky you were there.”

“I’m not a soldier,” I say. “And it wasn’t just me. I only shot a few of them.”

“I saw most of the surviving soldiers when they came in. More than half were drunk. The rest of them were close to it. I heard you went through your entire quiver. Soldier or not, it rather does sound like it was mostly you.”

I stare at him. He stares back.

Eventually, he says, “We will be taking actions to secure the castle. Patrols and guards have doubled. But as Harper mentioned, if there is anything you should need or want, I will be happy to provide.”

I’d have to be staring death in the face before I’d ask him for anything at all, and I think we both know it. “Yes, Your Highness.”

He turns away.

“Thank you for fixing Will’s shoe,” Harper says.

“Thank you for the lecture,” I say, and she smiles.

“See! I fixed it a little ,” she whispers.

But I’m not smiling, and the prince takes hold of her hand as they lead the horses out of the forge.

Once they’re gone, I head back to the Shield House. I pull open my wardrobe, and I find the bag with the artificial foot that Captain Ammax provided. It’s lying against the armor I wore on the journey from Syhl Shallow—armor I haven’t worn since, because I’m not a soldier.

My entire life has taught me that wishes are good for nothing: I couldn’t wish for my mother back. I couldn’t wish for my father to be a better man. I couldn’t wish for coins to save the forge.

Now that I’m here in Emberfall, my wishes are just as pointless. I can’t wish for Tycho to return, or for the scravers to be gone, or for anything to be easier.

My father used to blame me for every moment of misfortune that befell our small family. I spent so long hearing him say that I was worthless that I believed him.

But I think about everything that happened, and I consider what Prince Rhen just said.

Soldier or not, it rather does sound like it was mostly you.

I pull out the bag and I pull out the armor, then dig to find the boot I’ve never used.

Maybe it doesn’t matter that my wishes won’t come true.

Maybe instead of wishing, it’s time to start doing .