Page 48

TYCHO

It’s odd to travel with Grey and Malin at the same time. Tense in a way I didn’t expect, though I probably should have. All three of us donned gold-and-red livery for the journey, with no rank markings aside from the lieutenant stripes on Malin’s sleeve. We left in the middle of the night, leading the horses through a servant’s passage, riding in silence through the Crystal City until we found the darkened paths through the woods that led to Briarlock and the border. I thought Grey might talk, or outline a plan of action, but he pressed us into a gallop, and we didn’t stop until we reached the mountain pass a few hours before dawn.

Once there, he told Malin to take point and report that we’ve been sent to fetch supporting regiments due to the scraver attacks. Still eager to prove himself to the king, Malin gave an even better performance than when he had my hands bound. When we were waved through, Malin clucked to his horse and said, “Let’s go.”

Beside him, Grey gave him a sharp nod and said, “Yes, sir,” and I thought Malin might fall off his horse. Later that night, he whispered to me, “Seph is never going to believe that .”

Once we were through the pass, Grey pushed the pace again, and it feels like we’ve barely stopped to eat or sleep for three days. No safe houses, no taverns, no people—at all. We sleep in shifts, riding long into the night. Grey doesn’t say much, so I don’t either, and I can see Malin weighing the silence, wondering if he should be the one to break it. The king’s sorrow is a weight that’s followed us for miles, almost smothering us all. Malin might not know the details, but even he can sense it.

And it’s obvious that Grey has parted from his wife, his family. That this isn’t a normal journey for the king.

It’s obvious that this wasn’t planned—or at least not planned well .

On our final morning, we’re only four or five hours away from Iron-rose, but Grey calls for a halt anyway. I’m full of adrenaline, longing to press on despite my exhaustion, but he’s the king, so I tether Mercy and strip her gear while Grey draws his bow to find us breakfast.

So I guess we’re resting for a while. I sigh.

I’m sure my annoyance is obvious, because every movement is sharp and agitated as I gather wood and strike flint to start a fire.

“ Hey ,” says Malin, followed by a short whistle under his breath. He’s stripping his own horse’s gear, but he gives a quick glance in the direction the king went. A warning.

I roll my eyes at him and strike the flint even harder.

Grey steps out of the brush with two hares hanging from his hand. “Did you just roll your eyes at an officer, Tycho?”

His voice is light, and I’m a little shocked, because I can’t remember the last time I heard anything close to levity from him. There’s a part of me that wonders if I heard him wrong, like maybe he genuinely meant that.

My hand goes still on the flint, and I glance over. “Yeah,” I say, trying to make my voice equally light—though I probably just sound flippant. “I sure did.”

He drops a saddle blanket in the brush beside me, and then he drops himself right on top of it. He draws a dagger to skin one of the hares. “We don’t know the state of things at Ironrose. If scravers lie in wait, we should be prepared—and rested.”

He’s right, though we haven’t seen scravers since we fought Xovaar on the training fields. We might have killed dozens of them, but there are dozens left. Possibly more.

And I still haven’t seen Nakiis. No magic, no screeches in the air.

Nothing.

Grey’s warning steals some of my ire, though, and I slow my strikes. This time, fire catches, lighting the kindling. I drop back to sit cross-legged in the brush beside him, and I take the other hare.

Malin’s still by the horses, and he glances at us, clearly deliberating whether to join us—or give us space.

He’s done that every time we stop, and there’s never a clear answer.

There’s not one now.

Grey has been so cloaked by his own heartache that I don’t even think he’s noticed, but he glances up. “Sit, Lieutenant.”

Malin does. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

The king frowns a bit, but I don’t know what about that is displeasing. We all fall back into silence.

So I guess the levity was short-lived—if it existed at all.

The king’s hare is done first, of course, but I’m not far behind. We put them on a stick over the fire, and when they’re done, we all eat in silence.

I wish I knew how to fix this. Then again, I couldn’t fix the conflict between us before , so maybe I’m not the right person to say anything at all.

But I think of that brief moment of levity. Grey and I have always been quiet, always trapped by worries that we silently bear. When we worked together in the tourney, there was never any tension between us, but we could go for hours without speaking.

Maybe he’s as wound up in his own thoughts as I am, and he doesn’t know how to unravel them any better than I do.

“Malin.” I jerk my head toward Grey. “This time the king needs a good story.”

Malin lets out a breath, then shoots me a rueful glance. “Ah . . . ?give me a second to think of one that won’t get my rank stripped.”

Grey’s eyebrows have gone up a little, and he pulls some meat off the bone. “I rather think I’d like to hear one of those.”

Malin looks a little strangled, and it makes me smile. “Grey is never privy to soldier pranks and mischief, either,” I say.

“Not as the king,” Grey says. “As a guardsman, I was privy to plenty .”

Now my eyebrows go up. “Maybe you should tell a story, then.”

His eyes light with memories, but just for a second—and then, somehow his sorrow returns, storm clouds rolling over his expression. He glances south, then tosses an empty bone into the fire. “It was a different life, Tycho. I was a different man.”

My mouth forms a line, and I stare into the fire.

“Wow.” Malin gives an aggrieved sigh, then runs a hand back through his hair. “All right. I have one . When I was a recruit, we had one captain who was a real prick. Nothing was ever done right, could never be satisfied. That kind of officer. He’d order you to stand out in the rain for hours on end, just because he could.” He hesitates, glancing at the king, and I can tell he’s already worried he said too much.

“What did you do?” says Grey.

Malin lets a breath out through his teeth and glances back at me.

“You go, I go,” I say. “Finish this story, and I’ll tell him how drunk we got that night he confined us to the palace.”

Grey snorts. “As if I don’t know.”

Malin mutters, “Silver hell.” But he must decide the risk isn’t too great, because he continues, “One of my friends suggested that we should swap the captain’s boots when he was sleeping. So we did. Every night. Sometimes they were a little too small, sometimes a little too big. For weeks .” He pauses, and a grin escapes as he’s caught by his own story. “Once they were so big that he tripped over his own feet when we were running drills. He went face-first into the mud. Another time they were too tight, and we heard him complaining to one of the other captains that he needed to go to the infirmary because his feet kept swelling.”

“He didn’t figure it out?” I say.

Malin shakes his head and bites a piece of meat from a bone. “Never.”

“Who’s your friend?” says the king.

Malin looks strangled again. “Ah . . . ?I don’t remember.”

That makes Grey smile. “You’re loyal, Lieutenant. I like that.”

Malin seems struck by that.

“I guess you don’t need to rip that stripe off your sleeve just yet,” I say, teasing.

“Indeed,” says Grey. “Maybe you need another one.”

At that, Malin goes still. Completely frozen, as if he’s not sure if he heard that correctly.

So I clap him on the shoulder and grin. “See? Aren’t you glad you didn’t tell the king to suck on a piece of horseshit?”

Malin chokes on his food. “Damn. Where’s my loyal friend?”

Grey smiles. “I sense there’s another story there.” But then he looks at me, and his expression sobers. “Tycho is a loyal friend.” He pauses to throw another bone in the fire. “Better than I deserve.”

Now it’s my turn to be struck. I don’t know what to say to that.

“That’s not true,” I finally say, but my voice is a bit rough.

“It is.” He’s quiet for a long moment. “When Rhen and I were trapped by the curse,” he says slowly, “it was eternal. All of my friends were killed, my family, his family . . .” His voice trails off bitterly. “The curse took everything, and I couldn’t stop it. But then I watched as he failed to break it. Again. And again. And again.” He pauses. “At some point, I began to lose faith that he could . But still, I was loyal, despite all his failures. I was probably loyal far longer than he deserved. Right up until the moment he chained us on that wall.”

Malin’s gaze flicks between us, but he’s silent.

So am I. Every muscle in my frame is tense.

“It’s not your fault what Rhen did,” I say, and my voice is a rough rasp.

“It’s my fault that I didn’t yield, to spare you. And I often wonder if the reason you don’t hate Rhen is because if you did, you’d have to hate me, too.”

That makes me flinch, but I say nothing. He’s never said anything like this to me. We’ve never talked about that moment. Not even once.

Grey continues, “I know your loyalty is steadfast. You’ve proven it countless times, and you’re proving it even now. But much like my brother, I forgot that true loyalty is earned , not owed. I forgot that true friendship requires sacrifice—from both sides. And so I know I’ve lost your trust, the way Rhen once lost mine.”

My breath catches, but my eyes are locked on the fire, my jaw clenched.

“I see your loyalty, Tycho. I see your sacrifice. When it comes to your trust, when it comes to your friendship, I swear to you. I will do my best to earn it back.”

I finally turn my head and look at him. For a flash of time, I’m fifteen again, staring up at him after he figured out how to use magic to heal the worst of my wounds. I remember thinking he was the bravest man I’d ever met, knowing I could trust him to protect me from any threat—until he did one better and taught me how to protect myself .

And just like when I was fifteen, I roll up on my knees and throw my arms around his neck. “You never lost it.”

“I did. A little.” He hugs me back, and again, I can feel the weight of his sorrow, the sheer emotion he’s carrying with him back to Emberfall. He won’t be able to carry it all alone, I know.

But his voice is lighter when he says, “Though I do prefer this to you punching me.”

I draw back to sit on my knees again. “I’m sure I’ll get a chance to do that later.”

He laughs, and I’m startled to realize that I don’t think I’ve heard him laugh in . . . in months .

Maybe we both need to earn back our trust and friendship. A little.

Grey nods toward Mercy. “Take your horse,” he says. “I know you’re eager. We’ll follow by sundown.”

I freeze in place. “What?”

He glances across the fire at Malin. “I’m sure the lieutenant can escort me the rest of the way. Tell Rhen what’s happened so he’s prepared, and have him send out a small contingent of guards by late afternoon so we can arrive quietly.”

I’m already on my feet, throwing Mercy’s saddle on her back. But then I hesitate. “You said you were worried about scravers.”

“I am,” he says, and that’s not encouraging. “But you’re the King’s Courier, aren’t you?”

I realize this is what he meant about earning back my trust, so I stop protesting and swing aboard to draw up the reins. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“It’s open ground from here. Ride fast. Watch your back. And—”

I don’t hear the rest. I’m already gone.