Page 47

TYCHO

After the conflict in Briarlock, Jax and I worked with Grey to strip fallen soldiers of their weapons and armor. It’s grim, gruesome work, and I should probably do it now, too.

But he heads off onto the training fields with Lia Mara, and something in the air tells me not to follow, so I don’t. I grab Malin’s sleeve when it looks like he’s about to.

“Let them go,” I say.

Off to our right, Callyn is about to go through the door back into the palace.

I turn to look at her. “Callyn.”

She pauses with her hand on the latch, and she hesitates before looking at me.

“Did you know?” I say. “Did you know they were coming?”

She swallows—but says nothing.

“Is that why you were looking for the queen?” I press.

“I didn’t know,” she says quietly. “I didn’t . . . ?I didn’t know they’d follow me here.”

“But you knew something .”

She almost falters, but then she glances after the king and queen and squares her shoulders. “My loyalty is to the queen. Yours is to the king. If she wants to share the information with you, she will.”

Then she pushes through the door and back into the palace.

I draw a heavy breath, then run a hand across my face, only to realize that I’m dragging dirt and blood and sweat into my eyes.

“Did you kill your scraver?” Malin says. “Is that how you got free?”

Nakiis. I frown. The world has grown so complicated. “No,” I say. I look up at the sky, trying to cast my magic into the air, but I’m tired and weak, and it trembles like an overused muscle. “I thought he might help me.”

If the scraver is anywhere near, he’ll hear me—and I expect him to respond.

He doesn’t.

I can’t decide what that means. Did he try , and was he hurt? Was he killed ? Or did he simply hide, the way he tried to keep me out of the fray?

If that’s the case, it’s disappointing. Though maybe I should have expected it. Since the moment I left Ironrose, nothing has gone the way I hoped. I glance out at Grey and Lia Mara, wondering if they might be on a path toward resolution.

Though I’m not sure what they’re going to do about Syhl Shallow. When those scravers attacked Grey, no one stayed to fight at his side. They all fled.

I remember one of the soldiers saying that a general ordered it. I wonder which one.

Fears of magic have grown so deep, and there might be no undoing it.

“Come on,” I say to Malin. “Let’s find the horses.”

He falls into step beside me. “What do you think is going to happen?”

Malin is asking about the state of things in Syhl Shallow. Or maybe he’s asking about the army, and what his next orders might be. Hell, maybe he’s talking about the scravers and Xovaar’s vow to return.

But I’m thinking about Callyn, and what she said about her loyalty—and mine. I’m thinking about the way I made it back to Ironrose, just to be sent away.

I’m thinking about the way Nakiis trapped me with a vow—a vow I made to save someone else’s life.

I’m thinking about the way my life has always been tied to someone else’s problems, someone else’s needs, someone else’s desires.

Grey and Lia Mara walked out across the field. Together. Alone.

We’ll stand against them , the queen said.

And the king didn’t reply.

I swallow hard, and glance out across the field toward Grey. Maybe they’re not on a path toward resolution at all.

But if he wouldn’t let me leave before, he’s definitely not going to let me leave now.

A familiar spike of tension and discontent buries itself in my spine, and I look back at Malin. “Time will tell.”

By nightfall, I still haven’t returned to the palace. The queen ordered her surviving soldiers back to the training fields, so I know the dead have been carried away, the bodies stripped of valuable gear, the signs of death and devastation pushed out. It’s late now, and the soldiers have headed to the barracks. Even Malin claimed exhaustion and went to his quarters hours ago.

But I’m in the stable, leaning against the doorway to Mercy’s stall, watching her nose through a pile of hay. There’s dried blood in my hair and the marks of battle on every inch of my armor, but I can’t bring myself to leave. It’s quiet and dark and I’m alone with the safe smells of alfalfa and horse sweat, and it reminds me of when I was fifteen, working at the tourney with Grey. The world was uncertain and terrible then, too, but at least I had a safe place to hide.

A boot scrapes in the aisle, and I look up, expecting one of the soldiers out for the nightly check. I only have a lone lantern lit, so shadows are everywhere, and it takes me a long moment to realize that the man might be in armor, but it’s not just a soldier.

It’s the king.

“Grey,” I say in surprise.

“I’ve been looking for you.” He inhales like he’s about to say something important, but then he draws close, his eyes skipping up and down my form. “Have you not yet returned to the palace?”

“No,” I say.

“Why not?”

The answer to that is too complicated, and I hesitate, then glance away, fixing my gaze on the far wall. The air seems to pulse with the ongoing tension between us. I might understand him better, but nothing has been resolved. I know how much he still blames me for. I know how much he asks of me.

I know how our last conversation ended.

Perhaps Grey can feel it too, because he doesn’t press for an answer.

Eventually, he says, “I assume you are still hoping to return to Ironrose.”

I snort and keep my eyes on the wall. “Is that an offer?”

“Yes.”

I snap my head around. His dark eyes are shadowed in the dim light, but he looks right back at me, and I realize he’s serious.

But I’m being stupid. Of course he’s going to send me back to Ironrose. He’ll have to send word to Rhen about what happened—just like Rhen had to tell him .

“Yes, Your Majesty,” I say at once. “If you have a letter prepared, I can leave immediately—”

“Tycho.”

His voice is so low, so rough, heavy with words unsaid. It draws me up short.

“What?” I say.

“It’s not . . . ?I don’t . . .” He sighs and looks away, but only for a second. When he glances back, his voice is as rough and low as before. “I’m leaving the Crystal Palace. And if you would not be opposed, I’d like to go with you.”

My heart stumbles to a stop, and I’m not sure how to make it start beating again. I don’t even know what to say. I’m staring at him, speechless.

“They came after me ,” he says. “And it’s not just the scravers—it’s the Truthbringers, too. They’re in the army, in the city, in the—” He breaks off and swears, then runs a hand across the back of his neck, agitated. “I can’t keep making my family a target. They’ll be safer if I’m not here.”

I stare at him. “They won’t. You can’t leave. You can’t —”

“I can’t risk this again, Tycho. I can’t. They almost breached the palace. They almost—” He breaks off, and draws a slow breath. “It’s not just the scravers. They all want me dead. They’ve all proven they’re willing to go through my family to make that happen. I can’t fight everyone. Not from all sides. Not like this. As far as the Truthbringers are concerned, I’m the only one with magic. If I leave, the magic leaves with me.”

These words are as quiet as everything else he’s said, but these carry the weight of anguish. I inhale to protest, because I know he doesn’t want to do this. But before I can say a word, he swears sharply.

“Forget it,” he says roughly, turning away. “I won’t argue with you again. If you would prefer to ride alone, then—”

I put a hand against his shoulder and stop him. His frame is tight, his expression a mask of tense shadows.

“Grey,” I say. “Of course you can ride with me.”

He looks down at my hand against his shoulder, and for an eternal moment, I feel like he might crumple—and I’ll catch him. But then he takes a breath, and the emotion is gone.

“I am not announcing my departure,” he says evenly. “From a political standpoint, the queen will state that I am returning to Emberfall for the time being. Jake will remain to facilitate the departure of any remaining Emberish forces over the next few days, and he and Noah will return with them.”

I stare at him. He’s not just leaving, he’s leaving . We all are.

This is possibly more shocking than the attack this afternoon.

I let my hand drop from his shoulder. “What about Sinna?”

The words are spoken softly, gently, but Grey jerks like he’s taken a blow anyway.

“I told her that I am needed in Emberfall, and I will see her as soon as I can.”

“And the—”

“Tycho. Stop. ” He cuts me off, putting a hand on my shoulder. “ Please. I need—”

His voice breaks off. I hold my breath, waiting. We’re standing so close, and the weight in his hand is potent. There’s so much emotion in the air, so much urgency in his eyes. It’s not quite desperation. It’s something darker, more needy. It reminds me of the very first time he offered me his trust, the night I discovered he was the heir to the throne. In this moment, we’re not a king and his servant, we’re not a soldier and his commander. He’s just Grey, and I’m just Tycho.

Only I’m not fifteen anymore. I don’t need him to protect me anymore. I don’t need to hide.

Maybe what he needs is someone to protect him .

I look right back at his dark eyes. “Tell me what you need,” I say quietly. “I’ll do it.”

“Fetch your things. Tell no one.” A pause, and his rough voice almost breaks again. “No guards, no soldiers. I don’t trust anyone here. I’m a target, and I need to be gone.”

I give him a sharp nod. “As you say. Saddle Mercy for me. I’ll be back in half an hour.”

He nods in return and lets me go.

But I stop before I push through the stable doors into the night air. “If you’re not bringing Jake, we should bring Malin.”

Grey inhales to object, so I add, “You’re still the king. It shouldn’t just be you and me.”

He sighs and reaches for a tack closet, and I can tell he wants to refuse even this. But he says, “You trust him?”

“With my life.”

“All right. But no one else.” Then he turns back to the horse.

I watch him move for a second, sorrow seeming to fill every movement. I understand why he’s leaving. I understand all of it. But we survived a terrible battle. He’s the king of Emberfall, but he’s making a sacrifice to protect this country—while returning to lead his own.

I’m sure he knows that, but I wonder if this feels like running. Like yielding .

Even though it’s not.

“Your Majesty,” I say, and maybe he can hear the serious note in my tone, because he stops short and turns to look at me.

“For the good of Emberfall,” I say.

He goes still. Straightens. Some of the tragic emotion eases out of the air. “Thank you, Tycho.” For the first time since he walked into the stable, his voice is strong and clear. “For the good of all.”

I give him a final nod, clap a hand against the door, and then I’m gone.