Page 49

JAX

I’ve been watching the horizon for weeks, but there’s been no sign of Tycho. It’s clear that the prince is still preparing for battle, because the forge is endlessly busy, and some nights I’m not done before dark. Sephran still comes when he’s off duty, and we still go shooting, but our friendship feels tentative and uncertain. He’s never alone anymore, and I’m not sure how to undo the undercurrent of . . . ? something between us. Maybe it’s just a matter of time—especially since he keeps showing up.

Like today. I’m finishing my last horse for the day when Sephran arrives in the forge. He’s alone for the first time since that night. When I have work to complete, he and his friends usually sit on the bench and entertain me with soldier gossip. Today, however, he’s quiet. Watchful. Pensive.

I don’t mind, because I have no idea what to say to him, especially since we’re alone. So I swallow my worries, and I hammer and file and rasp while he sits there, waiting.

Eventually, however, the horse is done, and neither of us has said a word. Nearby, the remaining forge workers are already packing away their tools.

So I do the same thing, and I don’t look at him.

Sephran doesn’t move from the bench. But when I reach past him to stack my file with the pincers, he takes hold of my arm. “Jax.”

I freeze and look at him. He’s done that a thousand times before, grabbing my arm or poking me in the shoulder or giving my hair a tug. Every touch is different now, laced with intent that I might be imagining—but I know I’m not.

As if he can tell, he lets go, his hand slipping away. “I haven’t told anyone,” he says. His voice is low, a little tormented. “And for what it’s worth, I’m still sorry.”

“I know,” I say, because I do.

He stares up at me, and the silence thickens between us.

But then his gaze shifts, and he looks past me. He swears under his breath, then shoves himself to stand at attention.

I think an officer has come to the forge, and I inwardly swear myself, because I’m the only worker left. But when I turn, it’s not an officer at all. It’s Tycho.

It’s so unexpected, and I nearly do a double take. He’s windblown and ragged like he rode hard to get here, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion. Instead of his usual black armor, he’s dressed in the same livery as Sephran, all gold and red, not a speck of green or black anywhere. No marks of Syhl Shallow at all. He’s dusty and dirty and he looks like he hasn’t slept in a week.

And despite all of it, he’s still the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. My heart gives a hard thump to find him right in front of me. “Tycho,” I say, and my voice is hushed. Then I catch myself, remembering where we are. “My lord.”

He shakes his head. “Tycho. Always Tycho.”

My heart gives another tug, and I take a step toward him—but then I remember why Sephran is behind me, and I nearly falter. “You are here.”

“I’m here,” Tycho says. His eyes are searching mine, skipping over my face, to my hair, and then down my body. “Jax,” he breathes. “You . . . ? you’ve changed so much.”

“I have changed?”

“Yeah. You’re—you’re walking .” His eyes snap back to mine. “And you’re speaking Emberish!”

That makes me flush. “Not well. Not yet.”

Sephran gives me a gentle shove from behind. “Pretty well.”

Once, it would’ve made me smile. Today, it makes me stiffen.

“Welcome home,” he’s saying to Tycho. “Did Malin return with you?”

Tycho nods. “He’s a few hours behind, traveling with the king. They’ll arrive by sundown, but the king sent me ahead.”

Sephran claps me on the shoulder. “I’ll find you later, Jax. I’ll need to report to the barracks if the king is returning.” Before I can respond, he’s past Tycho, heading away. But he stops to look back at me.

He left you , he mouths.

I stiffen further, and it steals my ability to speak for a moment. But it doesn’t matter, because he’s already moved away. I watch his back as he goes.

“Jax.”

My eyes snap back to Tycho’s, and I have to shake off . . . ?whatever this is.

He’s frowning at me. “What’s wrong?” he says. When I don’t answer immediately, he shakes himself and says it again in Syssalah.

It’s so rare for me to hear it so fluently here, and I’m struck by a wave of homesickness I haven’t felt in weeks. Some of the tension slips out of my body.

“Nothing,” I say, and it’s such a relief to speak my own language. “Nothing.” I take another step forward, because I want to throw my arms around him and never let go. But then I remember everything he said the night before he left, and I stop myself.

Discretion.

I have to fight not to scowl. He’s right here in front of me. I should be leaping with joy.

“The king has returned?” I say. Suddenly, my heart pounds as I realize what this could mean. “With the royal family? Is Callyn here, too?” I desperately long for my friend. I could tell her about what happened with Sephran. I could ask for her advice.

Tycho shakes his head. “Just the king.” His voice goes quiet. “Many changes are coming. I have so much to tell you.” But his eyes are still searching my face, and they stop on the scars along my jaw.

“There was a scraver attack,” I say.

His eyes flare a little, and he lifts a hand as if to press it to my cheek. He stops, though, hesitating. “May I?”

My heart thumps again, and I nod.

When his hand lands against my face, I want to lean into it and close my eyes. I want to fall against him and inhale his scent.

But then I remember everything that’s happened since he left, and a wave of regret washes through me. Before I realize what I’m doing, I turn my face away.

His eyes flicker with concern, and he lets go. “I’m sorry, Jax,” he says softly. “I’m so very sorry it was so long.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” I say.

He grimaces. “Every time we’re apart, I feel as though we need to begin again when I return.”

That makes my gut clench—because I feel the same way.

But then he lifts a hand to brush a tendril of hair out of my eyes, and the familiarity of it nearly makes me shiver.

“Want to go shooting?” I say. “I’ve gotten rather good.”

He smiles, his eyes lighting with familiar challenge. “I wouldn’t mind seeing that —but I’ve been in this armor for four days, and I desperately need a bath and some sleep.”

Tycho says this like maybe it’s a prelude to his departure—but he doesn’t move, and I don’t either.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he whispers. This time when he lifts a hand, I don’t wait for him to ask. I just catch his wrist and bring it to my face. I close my eyes, lean into the weight of his palm, and inhale.

Then my eyes snap open. “You really do need a bath,” I whisper.

He laughs and playfully shoves me away. But I catch his arm, and we tussle, just for a moment.

His eyes flare as he yields, letting me grip his forearm to pull him closer.

“You’re stronger, too,” he says, surprised.

“I know.”

His eyebrows go up. “And not at all cocky about it.”

That makes me laugh. Clouds above, I missed him, too. I stare into Tycho’s brown eyes, and suddenly it feels like no time has passed at all.

But with that feeling comes the memory of our last night together, the way we had to hide.

He left you , Sephran said.

Regret twists in my gut again.

“You know,” I say, “I have my own rooms in the Shield House. A bed and a bath and everything.”

I don’t mean for the words to come out like a challenge, but they do. They are . It’s not quite an invitation, but my meaning is clear, and I watch a flare of interest spark in his eyes, just like when I mentioned shooting.

When the smile fades from his face, I expect him to refuse. He probably has to refuse, if he returned with the king. He has duties, I’m sure. And of course there’s discretion to think of.

But Tycho shifts a step closer, until we could share breath. “A bath and a bed?” he says. “You should have said something sooner.” His voice has gone quiet and low, speaking right to my core. “Is that an invitation, Master Jax?”

His brown eyes are gold in the fading sunlight, and I can’t look away from his mouth. I swallow, my strength forgotten. I could melt into a puddle right here. “Yes, it is, Lord Tycho.”

He smiles. “Then lead the way.”