Page 7

JAX

A distant, rhythmic clanging wakes me, and for a moment, I think I’m back in Briarlock, my father working in the forge, waiting to clip me on the ear for sleeping late.

But this bed is much too soft to be the one I left behind, and the clanging is far too muffled. My eyes open to find late afternoon sunlight peeking around the heavy woolen curtains of my new bedroom in the Shield House.

It’s real. I’m here. I rub at my eyes and stare at the ceiling as if I have to prove it to myself over and over. My skin and hair don’t even feel the same. They definitely don’t smell the same. We had buckets from the well and the heat of the forge at home, so a hot bath was never really a luxury, but the only soap we had was made from tallow and ash. It never fully got rid of the soot that would cling to our fingers, and everything always smelled faintly of woodsmoke.

My washroom here in the Shield House is stocked with jars of creams and lotions and perfectly cut squares of soap, all of which smell like oranges or lilacs or melted caramels. After Tycho left, I soaked in the warm water until I was worried I was going to fall asleep.

The clanging from the nearby forge continues, but as Tycho promised, the Shield House itself is quiet. I haven’t been truly alone in weeks, and it’s odd to suddenly have so much space to myself. The light around my curtains seems fairly bright, so it must be a while until sundown and Tycho’s return. I think of the way he pinned me against the door earlier, and heat crawls up my neck.

But then Molly knocked on the door and we snapped apart. It reminds me of what he said when we were sitting in the grass.

I don’t want anyone to start thinking the King’s Courier just brought you along for your skills in his bed.

Perhaps I should have considered this earlier. He gave me every sign on the journey here. Even before, every time he visited the forge, he spoke of how he longed to just be Tycho.

When we were alone together in Briarlock, he could be.

Here at Ironrose Castle, he can’t.

The thought puts a little steel in my spine, and my cheeks cool. I should dress and explore before he returns so he doesn’t think I expect him to hold my hand through every moment.

In the wardrobe, the clothes are like the room: far too grand. I find linen tunics and leather jerkins and belted jackets. There are a few belts for swords and daggers, though no actual weapons. It all feels too generous, and I want to leave it untouched—but my only other options are the blood-and sweat-stained clothes I wore to get here.

Everything is too big, but I make do with a belted jerkin and a pair of trousers that have a cinched waist. I turn the pants inside out to knot the bottom of the right leg so they don’t catch on the crutches, then buckle and lace my soldier boot over my left. I don’t have a nail to pin my hair in a knot, so it hangs in loose waves over my shoulder—but at least it’s not full of blood and tangles like before.

When I finally find my way down the hall, the large dining room is empty, but feminine voices carry from the kitchen beyond. I mean to slip out the door without being noticed, but they must spot me anyway. The lively girlish chattering turns into hushed whispers and abrupt giggles. After a moment, there’s a bang and a clatter and suddenly Molly appears in the doorway, followed by another girl, slightly older, with olive skin and shiny black hair.

Molly offers a quick curtsy, which takes me by surprise. “Master Jax,” she says, then elbows the girl beside her.

I’m less rattled than this morning, but I’m not an idiot. I can see their nudges and whispering. But I had a week of that nonsense with the soldiers, and at least these girls aren’t armed.

“Hello,” I offer. “Molly.”

To my surprise, she smiles brightly in response, looking genuinely delighted that I remembered her name. The other girl gives me a curtsy, too, which makes her the second person to ever offer me a curtsy. Her cheeks are faintly pink, and she taps her chest and shyly says, “Lola.”

“Lola,” I repeat. “Hello.”

Molly reaches into her apron pockets and withdraws a slip of parchment and unfolds it. “Are you hungry?” she says slowly in Emberish, which is a simple enough phrase that I know. Then she bites at her lip and glances down at the paper. “ Tahrah ?” she says, carefully pronouncing the word in Syssalah. “Hungry?”

For a moment, I’m stunned. I know Tycho said he’d write some things down, but it’s an unexpected kindness that she’d attempt to use my language.

The tense band around my heart eases a bit. I think of Callyn’s sister, little Nora. She’d be poking and whispering, too, but it would be curiosity, not malice. Maybe this is the same.

I venture a smile. “No. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She glances back at the paper, more confident now. I watch her eyes skim for another phrase, and I wonder how much Tycho wrote.

“Ah . . . ?do you need help?” she says, again repeating it in Syssalah.

“No. I want . . .” I search for a word I know, but everything I want to say is too abstract, too complicated. I’m going to wander around. I want to see the forge. Explore for a little while.

“Lookout,” I finally guess, a word I know from the soldiers, but then I grimace because that’s not quite right. “Walk?” I make a circle with my hand and gesture toward the door, then at my eyes. “See?”

“Oh,” Molly says, but she glances at Lola, who frowns.

So I frown.

But then Lola’s eyebrows go up. “Look around?” she guesses, pointing to her eyes and then making a circle with her hand like I did.

“Yes! Look around.”

Molly smiles like they’ve solved a riddle and looks at the paper again. “Dinner,” she says, “is at sunset.” She translates it again, but she points at the window. “Two hours?” She holds up two fingers.

“Two hours,” I repeat, and nod. I knew the increments of time from working in the forge, so at least that isn’t new.

In two hours, Tycho will be back. My heart gives a little skip.

But I remember how much has changed, and it stumbles back into a normal rhythm.

“Thank you,” I say to them both. I close my fingers on the crutches and make my way out into the sunshine.

I expected the forge to be large, but it’s downright massive, at least ten times the size of what Da and I shared at home. Calling it a forge at all seems too simple, as it’s really an open structure composed of multiple forges, with the clang of hammered iron sounding from every direction and a haze of smoke in the air. Men and women move about with practiced efficiency, pulling iron from fire and pounding glowing metal everywhere I look. A low rumble of chatter carries over the noise, with the occasional burst of laughter. A few dogs wander among the people, too, waiting for scraps of hoof from the blacksmiths who work with horses. The animals are tethered on the far side of the structure, soldiers and guards standing alongside, some waiting more patiently than others. I don’t recognize any of the soldiers, and after what happened, I don’t know if I want to, so I keep going.

Near the opposite end of the forge, a loud clang blares over everything else, followed by a crash and a shout and a plume of smoke. I peer through the haze as a new voice starts yelling, the tone thick with anger. It’s Master Garson, his face red from the heat of the forges, sweat threading his hair. I have no idea what he’s saying, but his fury is all directed at one of the blacksmiths on the other side. For an instant, I’m frozen in place, trapped by memories of another man’s anger.

Then some of the smoke clears, and I see him reach a middle-aged woman who’s fallen beside one of the forges. She’s coughing, and he’s helping her up. A younger boy nearby is speaking rapidly, and a few other people have gathered. I try to listen for words I know, but there’s too much commotion.

As I watch expressions and mannerisms, I begin to realize that the boy is apologizing. The woman was hurt somehow, but seems to be all right. She claps him on the shoulder.

So does Master Garson. He smiles, then moves away.

I misunderstood his emotion. It wasn’t anger at all, but worry . The thorn in my heart eases a little bit.

But then a man mutters to my left, and I glance over to see that he’s glaring at me. He looks away before I catch his eyes, and I have no idea what he said, but I can feel the animosity.

That’s enough time in the forge, then. I tighten my fingers on my crutches and head for the path.

Across the sprawling fields, the castle gleams in the late afternoon sunlight. I can make out archers on a training range in the distance, and I step off the cobblestone path to see if I can find a better view. My fingers itch for my bow, but I doubt I could join them. They’re probably soldiers engaged in an exercise, and the archery field would take a long time to reach on my crutches.

A new thorn of worry replaces the first. Everything here is far.

A familiar voice interrupts my thoughts. “I knew I’d find you near the forge.”

I turn to discover Tycho behind me on the walkway, and the pulse of relief in my chest is profound. The battle-worn soldier from this morning has been washed away, leaving a dashing young lord in his place. He’s bright and flawless in a loosely laced vest and calfskin trousers, and I’m stunned to realize that for all the months I’ve known him, this might be the first time I’ve ever seen him without his armor and weapons. He looks casual and elegant all at once, with hints of privilege everywhere, from the silver buckles on his boots to the glimmer of gold filigree in his buttons.

If he’d shown up like this in Briarlock, I would’ve stumbled over every single word. Honestly, I’m not sure I’m going to be able to speak right now .

“What’s wrong?” he says, and I realize I’m staring.

The first thought that pops into my head is that I wouldn’t mind being brought along for my skills in his bed.

Focus, Jax. I flush and jerk my eyes away. “Ah—you’re so early.”

“I would’ve been earlier, but Prince Rhen wanted to speak to me.” He jerks his head at the path. “Come on, let’s walk. I wanted to show you around.”

“All right.” I have no idea where we’re going, but I’m still tongue-tied, so I wrap my fingers around my crutches and fall into step beside him. Then, right when I’m in the middle of chastising myself about lusting after him, Tycho reaches up to tug at a strand of my hair.

My heart stutters. My voice? Gone.

So much for discretion.

But almost immediately, he lets go. “You left your hair loose.”

“I—ah—” My thoughts keep refusing to organize. “I . . . ?I gave you the nail I was using,” I say. “I didn’t know how to ask for another one.”

“Oh.” He winces. “I should have thought. I can help. Let’s head for the forge.”

I wish I could read his voice. It’s warm, but also so polite. So genteel, like he really is a young lord I happened to cross paths with.

Maybe that’s on purpose.

It’s the first thought that’s given me a measure of composure. He just touched me, but then he immediately let go. Perhaps brief touches and simple friendship are all he can offer now.

The thought tugs at my heart. Not only for me, but for him . When I first met Tycho, he had the bearing of a fierce soldier, skilled and fearless, trussed up in armor and weapons that warned of violence at the first sign of trouble. It wasn’t until later that I discovered how much vulnerability he keeps locked away behind all that leather and steel. The first night we spent together, he was so tense, so hesitant. Too many people had taken advantage of him in too many ways. It was like he’d never been able to find a moment of happiness for himself.

I hate that my presence here could mean he won’t be able to again.

He’s begun to change course, heading back toward the forge, but I think of the man who scowled at me and I shake my head. “I’ll get a nail tomorrow.” Then I shrug. “Or maybe not. I’m in a new place here. I should just cut it all off and be done with it.”

“ Jax. ” Tycho draws a sharp breath. “Don’t you dare .”

I look at him in surprise, and now it’s his turn to look abashed.

A flush finds his cheeks this time. “I mean . . . ?do as you like, of course.”

He’s slowly killing me. The most primal part of my brain doesn’t care what our roles are. We have a week’s worth of tiny touches and secret glances between us, and despite the fact that I can still feel that hum of tension radiating from him—to say nothing of the fact that I literally just convinced myself that he might be restricted to simple friendship—I also want to grab hold of his vest, press close, and remind myself of the taste of his skin.

Then I realize what he said. I would’ve been earlier, but Prince Rhen wanted to speak to me.

With my next step, I very deliberately put a few inches of distance between us, and I keep my eyes fixed on the path.

I don’t think it’s noticeable, but Tycho lets out a sigh. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

“It’s all right,” I say, and I mean it. I allow another few inches of distance, just for good measure. “I know who you are,” I add. “I know where we are. I won’t complicate things for you.”

“That’s not—”

“It’s fine!” I insist. “I know I’m a commoner.”

“Would you shut up? That has nothing—”

“Tycho.” I catch myself. “ My lord . If Prince Rhen has ordered you to keep your distance because of political maneuvering—”

“ Jax! Prince Rhen has ordered me to leave .”

The words hit me like a fist to the gut.

It seems like they’ve hit him equally hard, because his breathing is a little quick, and he’s stopped short on the path.

“Tomorrow,” he adds, and it’s another strike I’m not ready for.

I turn to face him. “Why?” I say darkly.

“Because of the scravers. If we were attacked by a magical creature seeking a magesmith, the king needs to know. As soon as possible.”

I’m staring at him as if the words don’t make sense, but they do. I hate it, but they do.

This shouldn’t even be a surprise. I should have figured it out myself. I literally just said it to him.

I know who you are.

He’s the King’s Courier. It’s his job to bring confidential news to the king. It’s his duty to risk his life for the royal family.

I turn and start walking again. I don’t even know what to say.

Tycho falls into step beside me. Maybe he doesn’t know what to say either, because he’s equally silent. For a while, the only sound is my crutches against the cobblestones, and it reminds me of the moments after we argued this morning, when anger hung in the air, but his loyalty was clear.

As soon as I have the thought, I wonder if this is why he came early. He came to tell me his orders, and as soon as we get back to the Shield House, he’ll take his leave. He’ll climb on Mercy tomorrow morning, and it’ll be . . . ?what? Weeks or months before I see him again?

And I’ll be stuck in a place where I can’t speak the language and half the people hate me.

No wonder he was so emphatic about discretion.

I was so foolish. I knew his role. I knew it.

So I give him a nod. “Thank you for informing me of your duties, my lord. You don’t need to trouble yourself with showing me the grounds. I can make it back to the Shield House on my own.”

I only make it one step before he catches my arm, and there’s absolutely no give in his grip. I’m ready to smack his hand away, but then I make the mistake of looking up to find his eyes.

Like before, they’re full of longing. Sorrow. Regret.

Want. Need.

“Jax,” he says softly. “Please.”

Ah, he’s going to break my heart. I yield to his grip and sigh. “As always, I know what you’re sworn to do. I just . . . ?didn’t expect you to have to do it immediately.” I scowl and glance away. “I don’t know how anyone here believes in fate when it only seems to offer misery.”

“Fate brought me to your forge.”

I snort. “Well, it brought Alek, too.”

He sighs and moves to let me go, but I lift a hand and let my fingers rest over his. It’s tentative, and a part of me expects him to pull away.

But he waits. It’s always startling to consider that he has the skill and strength to fend off an army, but a gentle touch has the power to hold him still.

I brush a thumb across his knuckles because I can’t help it. I’m gratified to hear his breath catch.

But he is the King’s Courier and I am just a blacksmith, and despite everything else, there’s still a distance between us that won’t be solved on this pathway.

As if to prove the point, I let go—and so does he. I swallow.

For a moment, we stand in the sunlight, and regret fills the air between us. I think I could ask him to return me to Briarlock right this instant, and he’d do it.

A part of me wants to. But there’s nothing there for me. Not anymore.

And our positions would be no different. He’d still be putting himself at risk, working in service to the king. I’d still be longing and lonely and waiting, just somewhere else.

I turn back to the path and start walking, because one of us has to.

“How does your expression go?” I say. “Fate has already drawn a path beyond this moment, right? So we have to follow it through.”

Tycho’s eyes light with surprise, but then he gives me a rueful look. “Did Grey say that to you? He says it all the time.”

“Yes.” He said it in battle, when we faced dozens of armed Truth-bringers and everything seemed bleak and hopeless.

“You don’t believe in fate, Jax.”

“I don’t know what I believe,” I say honestly. “But he was right.”

Tycho glances over, and he nods. “As you say.” His fingers brush against mine again, then drop away. “Let’s follow it through.”