Page 4

JAX

Normally, the soldiers are full of talk while we ramble along, but the commanding officers have ordered everyone to be silent so we can listen for another attack. They didn’t need to bother. All eyes have been on the sky for hours, the air humming with tense anticipation. Every single soldier is on horseback, their bow unstrapped and ready to fire. I’ve got mine on the bench beside me, but the supply wagon rattles along too fast, jarring my body with every bump and rivet in the road. I wish I could be on horseback like the others. If I had to shoot like this, I’d never be able to aim.

The soldiers are in a wide formation that covers a lot of ground, Tycho riding at a distance to my left, some of the others I know somewhere off to my right. Before we left, I took a minute to exchange my torn and stained tunic for a fresh one, but blood streaks the breastplate of my sparse armor, and my fingers are still a bit tacky. No one has spoken to me since I left Tycho’s side. They’ve hardly looked at me.

Hints of pink appear on the horizon, and an officer ahead shouts an order. We all draw to a stop near the crest of a hill. A low murmur goes up among the soldiers closest to me, and I sit up straighter, searching shadowed faces for emotion, trying to pick out phrases I understand. They don’t sound concerned, but it could mean anything.

I go to my knees on the bench, straining to see, but the hill is too high, and there isn’t enough sunlight to see much. I make a frustrated sound and wonder if it’s worth standing on the bench with my crutches or if that’s just asking for a broken neck.

“Hey, Jax.”

I turn to find that Sephran has ridden his horse over, and I smile. Malin is beside him. Much like the others, they don’t seem concerned that the officers have called a halt.

Unlike the others, they’re willing to talk to me.

They’re obviously experienced soldiers, but I don’t think they’re too much older than Tycho. Sephran is the taller of the two, with ruddy cheeks and sand-colored hair, along with broad shoulders and a muscled frame that could be intimidating if he weren’t so quick to smile. At his side, Malin is leaner, more compact, with thick black hair, tan skin, and sharp eyes that remind me of a fox. The language barrier makes it tough to be entirely sure, but I think they’re close friends. Between the two of them, only Malin knows any Syssalah, but we’ve made do. I appreciate that they try at all .

“Malin.” I point ahead, at where the prince and the officers have stopped. “Did something happen?”

He shakes his head. “No. Prince Rhen sends soldier to look . . .” The words trail off as he runs out of words he knows. He points ahead and makes a circle with his hand. “To look .”

“To look at what?” I say.

“To look at . . .” He blows a breath out through his teeth, then swears, then turns to Sephran, asking for help, searching for a word.

This is how every conversation goes. I keep waiting for them to run out of patience with me, but so far, they haven’t.

Malin finally looks back at me. “Big house? House for king?”

“Castle?” I guess.

He snaps his fingers at me and nods. “ Castle. Look at castle. For scravers.”

“Are they there?”

“Don’t know. Look first.” Then he taps his chest and points again. “We go after. Yes?”

I nod fiercely, because every time we reach this point in a conversation, it feels like we’ve solved a puzzle. “Yes. I understand.” But my heart is pounding, and I want to stand up on the wagon bench again. Everyone is wary of the scravers and whether the attack is a warning of more to come—and I am, too. But my own thoughts are also fixed on what’s to come for me .

“Are we that close to Ironrose Castle?” I say.

Malin nods. “Over . . .” he begins, then frowns, miming the motion of going over something. “Over mountain?” He points ahead.

“Over the hill,” I say.

Some nearby soldiers are paying attention to this exchange, and one of them calls something snide, and the others laugh darkly. I frown, wondering how this will go. But Malin rolls his eyes and offers them a rude gesture.

A little glow flares in my heart. I’ve never really had any friends beyond Callyn. Aside from Tycho, I thought I’d be so alone here. When another soldier calls something else, Sephran scoffs and tells him to stop being an asshole, and it makes me smile.

Sephran notices, and he smiles back. “Oh, you understand that ,” he says in Emberish.

When I say, “Yes,” his smile turns into a grin.

The sky is gradually lightening overhead, and at the top of the hill, some of the soldiers begin to separate from the others. It takes me a moment to realize that Tycho has disappeared, but I search the shadowed sea of soldiers to find him retrieving one of the spare horses from the back of the supply line. Eventually, he trots back to where I’m waiting, leading the second horse alongside Mercy. Blood still clings to his armor, but he splashed water on his face before we left, because his skin is clear, his blond hair only bearing a few streaks now. He takes in Malin and Sephran by my side and gives them both a nod, but his gaze settles on me.

“They’ve sent a scout down to Ironrose,” he says, confirming what Malin told me. “But Prince Rhen doesn’t suspect anything. We’ve had no sign of trouble for hours, and it would’ve been easier to attack when we were out in the open, especially in the dark. The castle grounds are surrounded by sentry stations with lookouts. It would be challenging for even a lone scraver to approach unseen. Now that it’s sunrise, the soldiers will head for the barracks, but I’m to take you to the Shield House so you can get your bearings.”

I don’t know what the Shield House is, but before I can ask, Tycho rides close to the wagon, and holds out the reins to the horse he’s brought me. Behind me, officers must be receiving orders, because shouts call down through the waiting soldiers, and they begin to move into formation again.

I inhale sharply, because I wasn’t prepared for such an abrupt change in course. But everyone else is moving, and I don’t want to cause a delay. I use the side of the wagon to climb onto the waiting horse, then tie my crutches to the saddle where a bow usually hangs. The horse must feel my tension, because he sidesteps anxiously, and I grab hold of the saddle, worried I’ll fall.

“Steady.” Tycho takes one of the reins back. “Just let your legs hang. I’ll lead.”

I flush, wishing I didn’t look incompetent on top of everything else. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. You’ll learn.” He clucks to the horses and they start forward.

At my back, there’s a low rumble of conversation, and then Sephran calls, “Hey, Archer.”

He’s called me that before, and the nickname makes the glow in my heart grow warmer. When I turn, he’s got a friendly smile and a hand lifted in a gesture of farewell. But instead of saying anything close to goodbye , Sephran carefully and clearly pronounces the words in Syssalah to tell me to suck a piece of horseshit.

If anything could distract me from the scraver attack and my new position, it’s that. Tycho jerks the horses to a halt and whips his head around.

Sephran’s not an idiot, and his face falls as he realizes he’s said something wrong. He turns murderous eyes on Malin, who bursts out laughing.

“It’s a prank,” Tycho murmurs to me, already gathering up his reins again. He calls something to Sephran, which must be a translation, because the soldier steers his horse over to punch his friend in the shoulder.

Malin is grinning at me. “I teach him, too.”

Despite everything, that makes me smile. I lift a hand, too. “ Goodbye ,” I emphasize in Syssalah. “Not you, Malin,” I say, because I know he’ll understand me. “ You can suck a piece of horseshit yourself.”

He laughs, and I expect Tycho to laugh, too, but he clucks to his horse again and turns away. I remember the way he was ready to draw blades last night, and I wonder if he thought the prank was real, if he was worried Malin and Sephran truly meant me harm. There’s an odd hum of apprehension clinging to him, and I’m not sure how to ask. When Mercy starts walking, my horse starts alongside without any urging from me.

At my side, Tycho is quiet, so I glance over. The sun has risen enough for me to see his features more clearly now, the brown of his eyes, the few days of blond beard growth sparking along his jaw. I wonder if he still feels guilty about the attack, or if he’s just exhausted—or if Prince Rhen said something while they were riding. His hand with my horse’s rein rests on his knee, and I could reach out and touch him. My fingers long for it.

But we’ve got a hundred soldiers watching us depart. I consider what he said about discretion when we were sitting in the field, so I don’t.

“The soldiers weren’t nervous,” I say quietly. “But you are.”

“I’m not nervous.”

There’s an edge in his voice, and I think of how he was when he first found me waiting near the horses last night. He acts like the soldiers are the ones looking for a fight, but I’m not sure that’s true. I think he is.

I look over at him. “You’re something.”

He frowns. “The soldiers aren’t nervous because they think it was a random attack. Or that the scravers followed us as some kind of retaliation for what happened in Briarlock. Either way, they think we were victorious. That we chased them off.”

“And we did.”

“Maybe. But they don’t know the scravers were looking for a magesmith. We have no idea how many there are, or if more will come looking.” His tone turns darker. “If they come looking for me , I could be responsible for an attack on all the people living at Ironrose. There are families. Children — ”

“Tycho! You are not responsible —”

“But I am!”

“How? How on earth are you responsible for this?”

He blows out an angry breath between his teeth. “Because I’m the one who made a promise to Nakiis. You know that.”

“I do know that,” I snap, because my own temper has a limit, and I seriously can’t take one more second of this. “I also know you made that promise to save the king .”

Tycho’s frame is tight, his eyes locked on the horizon. “Enough, Jax.”

“And you didn’t steal the king’s magic,” I growl, fighting to keep my voice low. “He gave it to you.”

“He didn’t know what it would do.”

“I don’t care. You weren’t born a magesmith; he made you one. And because of that, you were able to make that bargain to save his life. He should be here, by your side, defending you. Instead, he’s sending you off to live in exile. I almost watched you die last night, and now you think it’s all your fault? Bullshit.”

Tycho sets his jaw and doesn’t look at me. I wish I had the skills to ride on my own so he weren’t leading me like a child on a pony. I have half a mind to yank the rein out of his hand and give it a shot anyway.

But I don’t. We ride on in silence.

Great. I suppose he got the fight he wanted.

I glance over my shoulder at the soldiers we’re leaving behind. I’ve lost Sephran and Malin to the crowd, and now it’s just a sea of gold-and-red livery.

The air between me and Tycho crackles with tension. I won’t take back what I said, but I can’t take the silence for long.

“Where did you say you were taking me?” I finally say.

“The Shield House.” His voice is just as cool as mine is. “It’s beside the forge, not too far from the stables. It used to be an armory, but when the king had army barracks built beyond Ironrose, it was repurposed. Now it houses many of the forge workers and the groundskeepers.” He pauses. “And you.”

And me. I feel unprepared. Untethered. I knew I’d be given a place to sleep, but until this moment, I honestly hadn’t given it much thought. I didn’t expect much. I thought maybe it would be a cot in the forge, or in the loft over the stables. Maybe that was foolish.

But Tycho said many . Many forge workers. My heart gives a little uncertain kick. If a lot of people live in this Shield House, that means I’ll likely be sharing a room with someone. Probably a lot of someones.

I’ve never lived with anyone but Da.

I doubt any of these people will speak much Syssalah. From my experience with the soldiers, it’s mostly broken phrases and halfhearted greetings—basically the extent of my Emberish. I won’t have Malin and Sephran anymore, because they’re being sent back to the barracks. And Tycho . . .

I have no idea where he sleeps. He’s the King’s Courier, so I doubt he rooms with the tradesmen. Surely he sleeps in the castle proper. I wonder how far away that is.

Right now, I don’t want to ask.

As we ride up the hill, my chest has grown tight, and my horse prances, feeling my tension. I snatch for the reins before remembering I’m not supposed to do that, then grab hold of the saddle. For a breathless moment, I’m worried the gelding is going to bolt.

“Easy,” says Tycho, his voice quiet and low for the horse, and then I realize he’s got a tight hold of the rein. The horse blows out a snort and paws at the ground, but he doesn’t run. I murmur a soft word of apology to the animal and unclench my fingers.

I expect Tycho to say something sharp or critical, since the air between us is so weighted, but he doesn’t. Instead, his voice is just as quiet for me. “Look up, Jax.”

I look up and find his eyes, full of color now that the sun is beginning to rise, painting gold in his hair. He holds my gaze for a long moment, and so much emotion is there. But none of it is anger. None of it is resentment. It’s longing. It’s regret.

Too much soldiering. Like before, it makes my heart ache.

But then he says, “Not at me. Look down there .”

So I turn and look, and the sight of Ironrose Castle quite literally takes my breath away.

I knew the castle grounds would be vast, and they are, easily spanning a hundred acres. I want to memorize every inch of it, because I’ll have to describe it in a letter to Callyn later. The castle itself is massive, constructed of cream-colored bricks that glow pink in the sunrise, with countless sparkling windows, numerous cobblestone walkways, and at least a dozen outbuildings situated around the grounds. Flowers are in bloom everywhere, in pots and on trellises and strung from glimmering archways, arranged in rows in perfectly tended gardens. Gold-and-red flags and pennants hang at regular intervals, bearing the crest of Emberfall—the same gold-and-red crest that appears on Tycho’s armor beside the green, black, and silver crest of Syhl Shallow. Shadows still cling to the sprawling grounds, but I can make out a massive courtyard, what appears to be a training arena, a huge stable and carriage house, as well as guards and soldiers stationed everywhere.

Well beyond the castle, near the back half of the grounds, stands a wide, squat building with two chimneys billowing smoke. I can see a glowing forge, but we’re too far to hear any familiar clanging. I wonder if the forge runs all night. Beside it, there’s a much larger two-story structure with a few lit windows, but I can’t make out much else.

Though I can just identify a large black shield shape emblazoned on the front of the building, cut with gold-and-red stripes across the center.

The Shield House. My eyes skip back to the castle, which looks gargantuan by comparison. It might as well be a hundred miles away. My days of using crutches to quickly make my way down the dirt lane to Callyn’s are gone.

The gelding must feel my tension again, because he stamps a hoof, shifting restlessly, tugging at Tycho’s grip on the rein. Down near the castle, a series of bells ring out, faint on the breeze.

“What do the bells mean?” I say, and I hate that the words sound too quick, too anxious.

“It means it’s time for breakfast.” Tycho lets go of Mercy’s rein, and I expect him to cluck to his horse again, but his fingers brush over mine, lingering for a moment.

I look up and meet his eyes, and I see that same longing. That same regret.

I realize we’re not fighting. Not really. Not at all.

I turn my hand to give his a squeeze, the way he did in the grass last night.

A blush finds his cheeks, and his voice is husky when he pulls away. “Let’s go.”