Page 39

JAX

I forget that the castle guards don’t speak Syssalah until I’m there in front of them.

“I need to talk to prince,” I say for the fourth time. I’m frustrated, and when that happens, I start tripping over my words. “Or princess. I need—I need say—no, I need tell about —” This is impossible. “They need know—”

“The prince and princess have retired for the night,” says one of the guards at the steps. It’s the fourth time he’s said it, too. He’s been the most patient, but I can tell it’s wearing thin. He folds his hands together against the side of his face, miming sleep. “Asleep? Do you understand?”

“Yes, but—”

“Go back to the Shield House,” says the next man. He’s louder, as if I’m stupid and volume will help. “ You —” He points at me. “Come back tomorrow.” Then he makes a shooing motion toward the Shield House. Without even waiting for me to look away, he rolls his eyes and mutters something to the other guard that I can’t quite catch.

I inhale sharply, because I’ve definitely lost my patience, but both guards draw themselves up, like I’m about to become a problem.

I scowl and let out that breath in a defeated sigh. “Fine,” I say. “I come tomorrow.” I don’t know what else to do.

And maybe I didn’t need to ride up to the castle in the middle of the night anyway. Maybe there’s nothing urgent in the information Nakiis revealed. I draw up my reins and turn Teddy away from the castle steps.

“Jax.”

Prince Rhen’s voice calls me back, and I look up in surprise. He’s at the top of the steps, in boots and trousers, but his shirt is only half buttoned, the sleeves pushed back. It’s the most casual I’ve ever seen him.

“What’s wrong?” he says in Syssalah.

I inhale to explain what happened, but I glance at his guards, who are standing at full attention now. Much like that moment after the first attack, I don’t want to stir up gossip. The guards won’t understand my Syssalah, but they’ll know the word scraver .

Prince Rhen looks down at me. “Would you rather speak with Harper? I’ll wake her if so.”

He doesn’t say this with a shred of anger or irritation. Not even resignation. More . . . acceptance.

I shake my head anyway. “I’ve received a message. I don’t know how much I can say in front of your guards.”

He nods. “Come inside. We can speak privately. I’ll have the guards see to your horse.” He glances at one of the guards and issues an order.

He says this with such assurance that I swing down from Teddy automatically, and one of the guards is leading my horse away before I consider that I’m going to have to climb fifteen steps. If I had my crutches, it wouldn’t be a challenge at all, but I’m still wearing the foot, and I was tired of it hours ago.

I grit my teeth and hope I don’t break my neck.

“If I try to help you,” says the prince, “I assume you’ll try to push me down the stairs.”

I jerk my head up in surprise. That’s so frank—and accurate—that I don’t know how to respond.

“Harper would have done the same,” he adds, a little ruefully. I remember the way the princess walked with a limp. Prince Rhen surprises me a second time by striding down the steps himself. He gestures to his face, his missing eye covered by the patch. “When Tycho finally convinced me to try swordplay, he offered to start slowly. He meant well, but it was infuriating. So I understand the impulse, Jax.” He reaches the bottom, and we face each other in the moonlight. “My intent wasn’t to challenge you. We can sit and talk right here.”

I don’t want these words to affect me, but they do.

And it might not have been a challenge, but it feels like one anyway.

“No, Your Highness,” I say, and I put my foot on the first step.

Each one seems to take forever. I have to triple-check my balance because I’m so worried I’m going to fall, especially as we go higher. Sweat has collected between my shoulder blades, but the prince is unhurried, completely silent.

He’s right, though. If he offers me a hand, I really will knock him down the stairs.

As if the thought has power, my next step lands slightly off balance, and my right knee nearly buckles. My breath catches and I put out a hand automatically.

The prince catches it.

I steady myself and scowl, pulling free at once.

Without a word, he lets go.

Once we reach the top, one of the guards draws a door open, and I follow Prince Rhen into the castle.

When we cross the threshold, I clamp my mouth shut and try not to stare. The space is larger than any room I’ve ever seen, and I can’t stop craning my neck around, trying to see everything at once. The floors are marble, the walls lined with wood and velvet, and the ceiling stretches a mile overhead. Another staircase is at the back of the room, and I swallow, hoping I won’t have to climb that, too. It’s the middle of the night, so only a few candles flicker along the walls, but a massive unlit chandelier hangs high above us. I’ve never seen so much cut glass all in one place. It sounds like my breath is echoing.

“This way,” says the prince, and that gives me a jolt. He gestures to the left, and I follow.

Our boots echo across the floor to a hallway featuring more wood paneling, more marble, and a dozen closed doors—though it eventually opens into a dim sitting room that’s larger than the entire house I left behind in Briarlock. A fire must have been burning earlier, but it’s gone to embers, leaving the room in shadow. The prince offered privacy, but I’m still surprised to realize that guards haven’t followed, that we’re completely alone here.

He glances at me lingering by the doorway, then strikes a match and lights two lanterns on the wall. Sofas and armchairs surround the hearth, while the back wall is entirely taken up by two massive windows, both cracked open to allow cool night air to flow inside. This room must have an incredible view of the grounds during the day, but just now I can only see the distant stars in the sky, and the occasional torches marking the sentry stands among the trees.

The prince is looking at me expectantly, and I realize I’ve been doing nothing but staring.

All of a sudden, everything I came to say feels small and unimportant. “Forgive me. I . . . I shouldn’t have—”

“Jax. I know you wouldn’t have come here if it wasn’t important. Disarm yourself. Sit.” Disarm yourself. No one has ever said that to me, and it takes me a moment to realize he means the bow strung over my shoulder, the quiver strapped to my back.

So I do as he says, and I lay the weapons on the floor. There’s still soot on my fingers, so I hastily swipe my hands against my trousers. My hair is wild and unbound after talking to Nakiis. I don’t want to touch anything, but I don’t want to be rude, so I perch on the edge of a chair.

“The guards were sending me away,” I say. “How did you know I was here?”

The prince glances at the open windows. “I could hear them arguing with you.”

I frown. “So you weren’t asleep.”

“They thought I was.” He moves to the hearth and picks up a small kettle that’s nestled in among the embers. “But sleep has been hard to come by since magic began to threaten the kingdom again.”

Again. I always forget that Emberfall was once terrorized by magic, that the prince in front of me paid the price. The proof is quite literally written on his face.

Prince Rhen pours from the kettle into two earthenware mugs that are situated nearby. “You said you received a message?” he prompts.

Oh, right. The whole reason I’m here. “The scraver Nakiis brought word from Tycho.”

The prince straightens, studying me. “Nakiis was here? On the grounds?”

I nod. “Yes.”

He’s stock-still for a moment, and then his eye flicks to the window. “He made it past the guards.”

“Yes.”

“What did he say?”

I explain what Nakiis told me about King Grey detaining Tycho in Syhl Shallow, how they’re stoking fears of magic to drive out any remaining magesmiths, including the king. I explain that Nakiis was reluctant to leave Syhl Shallow for long, that danger might be imminent. “Tycho had to beg him to bring me this news,” I say. “I didn’t know how much your guards would understand about a scraver being here. I didn’t want to cause a panic.”

He lets out a breath and offers me one of the mugs. “Here. Mulled wine.”

I frown and take it. “I . . . ?thank you.”

“I knew Tycho reached the Crystal Palace safely, but I’ve heard nothing since. I’ve been tempted to send another courier. Did Nakiis say why Grey won’t let Tycho come back?”

“He said the other scravers want to kill any magesmiths they can find, so the king won’t put Tycho at risk.” I pause. “He also said there’s growing discord within the palace.”

He thinks about that for a moment. “Was the king aware Tycho was sending this message through Nakiis?”

I hesitate. Tycho wouldn’t have needed to beg for a favor if he had the king’s blessing. My mouth is frozen on the words, though. Admitting it feels like a betrayal.

As usual, Prince Rhen is too savvy, because his eye narrows just a bit. “Let’s assume not, shall we?” He takes a sip from his cup, and he says nothing after that. He’s quiet for the longest time. So long that he actually takes a second sip, a longer one.

Eventually, he sits down on the sofa across from me. When he speaks again, his voice is a bit husky. “What else did Nakiis say?”

“He was reluctant to tell me anything at all. I think he truly only came to bring me word that Tycho was safe.” I remember the scraver’s claws against my throat, and I shiver. “But I asked him as many questions as I could. He implied that the ones who helped us in Briarlock are small in number, and the ones now attacking want to force the magesmiths out of hiding. He said they have allies among the Truthbringers. He claimed that there are scravers who’d kill him if they could.”

“Do you think he was telling the truth?”

I consider that. “I have no stake in any of this. He’d have no reason to lie to me.”

“Nakiis was once bound by the magesmith who kept Ironrose trapped by a curse. She used the scraver’s magic for her own purposes—so I’ve never liked that Nakiis trapped Tycho into this nebulous vow of assistance. Why does he need Tycho’s magic?”

That’s a question I failed to ask, and I frown. Suddenly, everything I’ve said seems inconsequential, and only a means for more questions than we started with. It’s not like Prince Rhen can do anything about any of this, especially not in the middle of the night.

“I didn’t think to ask him,” I say. “Maybe—maybe I shouldn’t have bothered you with this.”

He startles at that. “No, Jax. As before, your instincts are sound. The Truthbringers were going to assassinate the royal family, and they were growing in power. Now these scravers are their allies, whether they want them or not—and I guarantee the Truthbringers have already spread rumors that the king’s magic is either behind these attacks, or is failing to stop them. Citizens here already worry that the monster has returned. So if the attacks continue, things won’t get any better on either side of the border. My brother may be facing a war from two sides now. The king may not feel secure in sending word to me , but this allows me to prepare support if he needs it.”

A war . My chest clenches as I remember the destruction in Briarlock. We barely survived. I don’t want to think about Tycho being stuck in a conflict on the other side of the border.

Prince Rhen glances at my mug, which is still full. “Do you not like the wine?”

I haven’t even taken a sip. “Oh. I . . .” I trail off, unsure what to say. It feels odd to accept anything from him. Like I’m yielding something I don’t want to yield. The mug is warm against my fingertips, and the scent is inviting, like spices and berries, but I can’t quite bring myself to drink it.

I set it on the small table beside my chair. “I shouldn’t trouble you any longer,” I say.

“You aren’t troubling me. As I said, sleep is fickle.” He sets his own mug on the table, then opens a drawer and withdraws a small deck of cards.

When he shuffles, I stare. If I didn’t want to drink the wine, I definitely don’t want to play a game.

Maybe it’s written on my face, because he gives me a rueful glance. “You can still hate me and play cards, Jax. I know dice are favored in Syhl Shallow, but I’m sure Tycho has taught you something .”

“I know a few games. I’ve played with the soldiers.”

“You spend quite a bit of time with the soldiers,” he says, and my eyes flick up.

Are the words weighted? The instant he says it, I wonder if he saw what happened with Sephran.

Prince Rhen looks to the window and adds, “You’re on the archery fields often. They aren’t giving you any more trouble?”

I frown, because I wasn’t aware he’d known about that. I remember the way Princess Harper made a comment about how I was handling the most difficult horses. Maybe my challenges were obvious to everyone, and I only thought I was enduring it silently.

I can’t decide if that’s better or worse.

“No.” I watch warily as he deals cards between us. “A few have become friends.”

“I envy that.” Before I can puzzle that out, he says, “Do you know King’s Ransom?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

So we play. It’s the absolute last thing I expected to do with my evening. Considering Sephran tried to kiss me and I’ve been threatened by a scraver, that’s saying something.

It’s weird. Jarring. We just talked about the possibility of war and he discussed sending support—but now he’s playing cards and sipping mulled wine like I’m a visiting noble from a neighboring city.

What did he just say?

I envy that.

Awareness clicks in my brain like the last piece of a puzzle. The prince is lonely .

Good . I don’t care. I don’t. I absolutely do not . He deserves it. I hope he’s miserable. I have half a mind to shove these cards in his lap and dump the wine on top of them.

But then I consider the fire that had gone to embers. The fact that he was probably sitting awake in this room, alone. The scars along his cheek that the patch doesn’t quite cover.

I consider that he has to be rather desperately lonely if he pulled out a deck of cards to play with me . In complete silence. In the middle of the night.

I bite the inside of my cheek. I really don’t care. I don’t.

Ugh. I hate myself, but I do . I’m not heartless.

Prince Rhen lays down a five of crowns, so I lay down a five of swords, and he has to draw from the pile. He runs a finger along the bottom edge as he adds it to his hand. I don’t know what about it captures my attention, but it’s the first time I’ve seen him do it.

I have a wild card in my hand, so I lay it down. It’s a prince of stones, meant to capture a king if he has one, and I suspect he’s just picked one up.

He looks up in surprise.

I shrug.

He holds out the king, and I slip it between my cards, and we play on.

There’s a weird tension in the room that’s inescapable. I was so relieved to know that Tycho is safe, and now I’m trapped in this room because I had to tell Prince Rhen that war might be on the horizon. That, more than anything, forces me to take a swallow of the wine. It’s ridiculously good.

The hell with it. I drain the mug.

The prince smiles. “More?”

I don’t smile back, but when I speak, my voice isn’t cold. “No. Thank you.”

He nods, and we play on.

“I do still hate you,” I eventually say, as if there’s any chance he wasn’t sure.

“I know. I’ve decided that I like that you hate me.”

“Why.” I don’t even make it a question.

It’s possible my veins are humming from the wine.

“I should say, I like why you hate me.” He pauses, surveying his cards, and then lays down a three of crowns. “It speaks to your character. It cost you something to come here tonight, but you still did it.”

“It’s what Tycho would have wanted me to do.”

“No, I think it’s a bit more than that. Tycho didn’t send you a message about what the scravers are planning. You pulled that out of Nakiis yourself. You made the determination to tell me.”

I don’t know what to say to that. I lay down a card and continue the game.

But then I look up, realizing something I would have noticed earlier in anyone else. “Your Syssalah is better.”

“Is it? Thank you.”

My eyes narrow.

The prince smiles, and again, it’s a little rueful. “Harper,” he says, as if that explains everything, and after meeting the princess, it does. “I’ve had a great deal of practice. Since she met you, Harper has all but refused to speak anything else.”

I turn that around in my head. “Why?”

He keeps his gaze on his cards now. “She said that if I value Tycho’s friendship, I should prepare myself for this to be a conflict with every person who comes to care for him. She told me I would have to make an effort.”

So he made an effort.

I hate that he’s making it so hard to hate him .

One of the first times I met Tycho, he took me by surprise with his magic. I chased him out of Callyn’s bakery, full of anger. My friend was sure I’d end up hanging from a rope, because he was a nobleman working in service to the king. To my absolute shock, he showed up a week later to apologize for causing a misunderstanding.

That same kindness and generosity is what allowed Tycho to forgive the man in front of me.

I set a card on the pile and think about Prince Rhen sitting in this room, by himself, worrying about magic, worrying about war, worrying about all the things he can’t control.

Much like I was doing.

“Tycho isn’t the only one who’d spar with you,” I say.

“Is that your way of saying you’d like to take a shot?”

That’s so honest that it shocks a laugh out of me. “No.” My veins are definitely humming from the wine, and I wonder if I’m going to regret this conversation tomorrow. “But the next time you see me on the fields with the soldiers, you could join us.”

Prince Rhen goes still, but then he gives me a wan smile. “A generous offer, but soldiers won’t spar with me, Jax.”

It sounds like he’s trying not to be patronizing, and I immediately feel foolish. I’ve seen the way the soldiers react to the prince. I’m imagining Sephran’s face if Prince Rhen actually showed up on the fields. Leo would likely have a heart attack.

Prince Rhen lays down a three of hearts.

I stare at it for a moment, as if it’s not really there, and then I lay a three of swords on top of it. He’s reaching for another card, but I toss down my remaining cards: the kings.

He blinks as if he’s startled. “You win.”

I’m annoyed that he sounds so surprised. “I’ve never played cards with a prince before. Forgive me if I was supposed to let you win.”

I am definitely feeling the wine.

But he grins, and he looks so genuinely amused that it might be the first time I’ve seen a real smile on his face. “I’ve never played with a blacksmith before,” he says. “And I’m rather glad you didn’t.”

I pick up my weapons and stand, because if I spend too much more time here, I’m worried I’ll stop hating him altogether. Or I’ll shoot him.

“Thank you for the game, Your Highness.”

“Jax.”

I stop before moving away.

He looks up at me. “Thank you for the offer.” He pauses. “It was very generous. And very kind.”

Any humor, any condescension, is gone from his voice. Instead, there’s a hint of sorrow, and like before, I’m not entirely sure what to do with it. The cruelest part of me wants to enjoy it. Like I said to Harper, mean horses are usually mean for a reason. I’ve got my own scars, my own bruised past.

But he does, too.

I sigh and tug at the bow I’ve strung over my shoulder. “Can you shoot?”

Prince Rhen frowns. “Yes, of course.”

Yes, of course. Clouds above, I will never get used to the casual arrogance of the nobility. But I set my jaw and nod at the darkened window. “Maybe the soldiers wouldn’t spar with you, but I’ll shoot with you. Next time you see us on the fields, don’t sit in here and envy it. Get your horse and bring your bow.”