Page 9

TYCHO

We saddle Teddy and fetch Mercy, and then I take him everywhere I can think of, from the archery fields to the armory to the cobbler to the tannery. We spend so long exploring that we miss dinner at the Shield House, so I show him where he can request meals from the kitchen that opens to the back side of the castle. That’s where we get sweet cornbread and a bowl of stew before riding across the fields to see the granary and the carpenters’ workshops.

Emberfall has been allied with Syhl Shallow long enough that some people speak a bit of Syssalah, enough to offer greetings and maybe a little more, but the king and queen don’t spend enough time here for it to be very widespread. Rumors about the scraver attack have already been whispered, and I hear a few murmurs about whether dangerous magic has returned to Ironrose—and whether the new blacksmith has lured it here. Jax doesn’t understand everything they say, but I see the tense worry in his eyes, exacerbated when people give him a cool glance or mutter under their breath when they don’t think I’ll notice.

Though I do.

As the hours pass, the distance between us shifts into something different, unspoken words put away for later. Or maybe we’re both just tired and sad, and holding on to tension feels like too much effort. Either way, his presence at my side has become more comfortable. Our conversation flows, skipping away from difficult topics, drifting along the here and now.

Eventually, the sun drifts below the trees to leave the moon hanging alone overhead, but I try to ignore the fact that time keeps marching forward. As darkness spreads through the sky, we ride back toward the forge and the Shield House and the stables where we first fetched Teddy. The sentry stands surrounding Ironrose are all lit with torches, blazing against the night. I stare at the stars, thinking of the attack, wondering if it’s a mistake to be out after dark. But the air is temperate, barely any breeze this time.

No sign of scravers.

“Is the Crystal Palace so vast?” Jax asks. He’s staring across the fields at the castle, which gleams in the moonlight now. Several windows flicker with candlelight, and more torches are lit beside the guards that stand along the parapets.

“You’ve never seen it?” I say in surprise.

He shakes his head. “I told you I’ve never left Briarlock before.”

That’s right. He did tell me that once. I wonder what it must be like, to see the king’s castle in another country before seeing the queen’s palace in his own.

“The Crystal Palace is massive,” I say. “But it’s built along the mountains and faces the city, so the grounds aren’t open like this. There’s a wall, with one set of main gates.” I shrug. “It’s just . . . ?different here. The castle itself is heavily guarded, obviously, but on the grounds, people are free to come and go.”

As I say it, I realize I’ve never really considered how different they are. The Crystal Palace is very closed off, all but barricaded from the city proper. Here, an ordinary citizen could quite literally ride straight up to the castle. They’d be stopped at the steps, of course, but they could make an inquiry. They could leave a message, in the hopes it would get to the king—or to Prince Rhen, I suppose, since Grey is so rarely here.

In Syhl Shallow, no one can reach the palace unless they have reason to.

I think about the Truthbringers and all their grievances against Grey. As much as I hate Alek, he always spoke about protecting the queen. For the first time, I wonder if the Crystal Palace gives the illusion of isolation. I wonder if Lia Mara seems trapped by the king and his magic.

She’s not, but it likely wouldn’t take much convincing for people who wanted to believe it.

Jax glances up at a guard stand as we pass, then ahead at the Shield House. The paths are almost too difficult to see, but I don’t want to admit it.

“When I get back,” I say, “I bet you’ll have learned to ride well enough that we can take the horses out to Silvermoon Harbor. They have a huge outdoor market, and it’s really quite grand—well, if you don’t mind the scent of cooked shellfish.”

“I’ve never eaten shellfish.”

“That’s a crime. Grey and I used to race each other across Rillisk for steamed crabs. It makes me want to take you right now.”

Jax looks over, and the breeze lifts his hair a bit. “Is it far?”

A note of intrigue hides in his voice, as if he’d go right now if I said we could. My heart stumbles, and I wish I hadn’t said anything at all. “Two hours on horseback.”

“Oh.” He looks at the sky. The moon is high, stars everywhere. “It’s very late.”

It is, and I hate it.

I nod anyway. “We should put Teddy back before the stable hands douse the lanterns.” My chest is tight as I say the words.

When we get to the stables, the lanterns are already doused, the doors latched. Luckily they’re not locked. I find a lantern and strike a match, then tether Mercy in the aisle so I can help Jax tend to Teddy. It’s not enough light, but I don’t care. If I meet his eyes now, it’ll be my undoing. The dark and the quiet press around us from all directions, and we say nothing while we strip the horse’s gear and brush the sweat marks from his coat. It reminds me of when I was younger, when I worked in the tourney with Grey. It would be late and dark and quiet just like this, and I would be so grateful that the night was over, the crowds gone, leaving no one but us and the horses.

I haven’t thought of those days in years—but as soon as the memories form in my mind, more join them. Some are pleasant, like when Grey first confided in me about his magic, how he was hiding. Or the way he taught me to hold a sword, the way we’d practice in secret. How it was the first time in my life I’d ever felt a glimmer of confidence.

Some memories aren’t pleasant at all, like the times the soldiers would be loud and aggressive and scare me into the shadows of the tourney grounds. Sometimes the nights would grow long and the scent of ale would be thick in the air, and Grey would find me hiding under the stands, tracing lines in the dust. I always worried he’d scold me for being lazy, but he never did.

I have to force my thoughts away from all this, because they won’t go anywhere good. Not right now. Not with all the voices of angry soldiers wrapped up in my mind, tangling with terrible memories of my past.

Instead, I focus on the sound of Jax’s breath as he stands on the other side of Teddy, rubbing the sweat out of his coat. I think of sunlight gleaming on his hair. I think of his hand brushing mine, or the way we scuffled in his room before I pulled away.

I think of the sound of his gasp when I pinned him against the door, and something inside me clenches tight.

But instead of bringing relief, these thoughts also turn somber.

Because I’m leaving. And this night is about to end.

Welcome to Emberfall, Jax. I’ll see you later.

My chest goes so tight that my hand stops against the horse’s ribs. For an instant, I don’t think I can breathe. I’m glad the shadows are so thick, that Jax can’t see my face clearly. The brush drops silently into the straw, and I press my hands into the horse’s coat, burying my fingers in his mane. A moment later, I press my forehead against the crest of his neck.

Straw shifts underfoot, and I think it’s Teddy, moving away from my nonsense, but then arms slip around my back and Jax pulls me against him.

It’s a simple embrace, but also more , as if I were falling and he caught me. Or maybe it’s like we were both falling, because I’ve held him like this once before—on another day when I was due to leave him.

I have to chase that thought out of my head, because his weight is against me and his breath is warm and sweet along my neck.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. My voice almost breaks. “Please forgive me, Jax. I’m sorry.”

“Hush.”

“But I am. Not just for the leaving. For—” This time my voice does break, and I swear, then growl in frustration as I have to pull away to swipe at my eyes.

He draws back a few inches to watch me, and I duck my head away.

“For all of it,” I finish.

He puts a palm against my face, and I go still. His thumb traces along the damp line of my cheekbone.

“None of this is fair to you,” he says softly.

My eyes fill, and I grimace and pull away again. “Silver hell.”

But he catches my vest and holds me there. “They don’t even see what they’re doing to you. It’s making me hate the king. You didn’t use magic to cause harm. You didn’t rally the Truthbringers.”

Well, that chases away some of my emotion, and I can’t tell if it’s the slight treason—or the fact that I agree with him. “You cannot openly say that you hate the king.”

“Sure I can.” His shadowed eyes spark with defiance. “ You should say it. You’d probably feel better.”

“Jax. I don’t hate him.”

He uses his grip on my vest to pull himself a bit closer. “You hate him a little.”

That makes me flush, because there’s a kernel of truth to it. I can feel the warmth of him against me, and my belly clenches again.

I should let him go. I should stop this. Every time we’re together, our moments alone all feel like a rushed prelude to my departure. Jax deserves more than that.

His fingers are twining through the lacing of my vest now, and each gentle tug sends a little flutter of fabric against my skin. I shiver and let out a breath.

His eyes skip up to find mine, and somehow he’s even closer. It’s taking everything I have to keep from pressing him up against the wall of this stall.

But then I remember something he said earlier, when we were standing just like this. I put my hand over his, forcing it still.

“Do you really think I have a temper?” I say.

He studies me for a moment, his expression cooling somewhat. But something about it reminds me of that protective look when we spoke of the prince. “I think you’re angry.”

“Angry?”

“You’ve been coiled up all week. It reminds me of the way I used to act around my father.”

“I’m not angry.”

“Tycho.”

“I’m not!” But as I say it, the denial tugs at something inside of me.

It doesn’t help that Jax lets go of my vest to give me a not-so-gentle shove, right in the shoulder. “Oh, you’re not? Then why do you keep looking for a fight?”

“I’m not looking for a—”

Another shove, a little harder this time.

I give him a look. “Maybe you’re the one who’s—”

He shoves me again, this time with the full force of his strength. My shoulders slam into the bars of the stall door.

Without thinking, I snarl and shove him back.

He’s ready for it, though. It should be enough to knock him down, but he’s grabbed hold of my vest, and it keeps him upright. For a moment, we tussle, batting at hands and straining for grip. I don’t know how we’ve gone from embracing to crying to aggression in such a short span of time, but we have , and it feels dangerously good. He might not have skill, but he’s strong, and he doesn’t yield. When Jax slams me into the bars of the stall door again, he falls against me, losing some of his leverage. His hand presses against my shoulder to pin me there, and I seize his wrist, gripping tight, ready to grapple.

But then he just . . . ?stops. His other hand slips under my vest and his mouth lands below my ear.

“Shh,” he whispers, and suddenly I’m caught by nothing more than his breath against my skin and the weight of his fingers along my waist.

I inhale sharply, just before his tongue burns a line right over my pulse.

I can’t speak. I can’t think . I wasn’t ready for the sudden change, and my hand goes slack on his wrist.

Then his hips shift to meet mine, and it steals a ragged gasp right from my throat.

Jax presses a gentle kiss against my neck. “ We don’t have to fight.”

But fighting is simpler.

The words stall in my throat. There are a thousand reasons we shouldn’t be doing this, but right now, I can’t think of a single one. My entire existence has centered on the feeling of his teeth capturing my ear. His fingers teasing along the band of my trousers.

Whatever your demands , I think, I yield.

“Jax,” I gasp. “Jax.”

He cuts me off with a kiss.

Despite everything, it’s unexpected. After all the rough-and-tumble scuffling, I expect him to be quick, aggressive, but his hand slips up my neck, his fingers tracing the line of my jaw. The press of his lips against mine is soft. Delicate. Gentle. Sweet. Slow.

He pauses there, just a little, just enough. His eyes seek mine. “Yes?”

I don’t have to yield. Jax never demands.

A pulse of emotion threatens to overwhelm me again, and my breathing stutters, but I nod fiercely and bury my fingers in his hair. This time, I part his lips with my own. When I taste his tongue, I nearly come undone, and then it’s my hands on his waist, turning us, pinning him against the wall, my hips thrusting into his.

I’m gratified to earn a gasp from him , but then his tunic slips past my hands and my fingers find the smooth slope of his waist, and it’s all I can do to keep us from ending up in the straw.

But then an equine muzzle thrusts itself against my ribs, then my shoulder, and finally blows puffs of warm air right in Jax’s face.

Jax laughs softly, under his breath. “Teddy has had quite enough of this.”

We break apart, and I push the horse away, but he noses at my hands. Likely hungry, and ready for us to lock up his stall for the night.

I feel flushed and off balance, nowhere near ready for that moment to have been interrupted—but there’s a part of me that’s glad it was. I duck to fetch Jax’s crutches, then the brushes, and we withdraw into the aisle. We stop there, side by side, as if we’re both haunted by uncertainty.

Eventually, Jax turns to face me. “Don’t make me fight you again.”

He’s half teasing, half serious, but I seize his wrists anyway, spinning him to fall back against my chest, trapping his arms. His crutches clatter to the ground, and I can feel his heart beating hard against me.

“I changed my mind,” he says, a little breathless. “Let’s do it again.”

That makes me laugh. I loosen my grip, until trapping becomes holding , and Jax rests his hands over mine.

Then we’re quiet again, the pressure of time weighing on both of us.

Jax turns his head, and his hair brushes my cheek. “Come back to the Shield House with me,” he murmurs.

For an instant my heart leaps.

But then I consider . . . everything , and it falls.

Jax must feel the change in my body. His voice goes a bit cool as he says, “I suppose the King’s Courier shouldn’t be the subject of idle gossip on the morning he’s due to leave. To say nothing of the new blacksmith.”

He clearly doesn’t need his hands to fight—and the worst part is that he’s not even trying. “Jax.”

“Is there hay in the loft?” he says. He shifts to pull free, and I let him go. “We should feed Teddy. It’s late.”

I swallow and nod. He’s reaching for his crutches, dodging my eyes.

We keep coming to this point, and I don’t know how to end up at any other.

Maybe he was right about fate.

He was definitely right about anger. I can feel it clearly now, coiled and waiting again, looking for a target. It’s not him, it’s not the king, it’s not the scravers, it’s . . . ?all of it.

“I’ll climb up and throw some hay down,” I say, just to break the silence. Then I turn away before I have to say anything else.

The loft is warm and dry, full of the sweet scent of alfalfa and timothy grasses. Half the space is filled with straw for bedding, too, and plenty is spread across the floor from where bales have spilled open, making for an almost plush coating underfoot that silences my footsteps. When the horses below hear me rustling with the hay, a few others nicker for their share, so I throw some into each stall.

I’m grateful for the work, the distraction. I haven’t done this in years, and again, it reminds me of my time in the tourney. There are even cots in the corner, likely for stable hands to keep watch over foaling mares or sick horses. Grey and I shared a corner of the loft back at the tourney, and it’s so dark up here that I could close my eyes and be fifteen again, just a boy tending horses, long before my world grew so complicated.

I was angry then, too, though I didn’t know it.

Aggravated, I rip another bale open and throw hay to the horses on the other side of the stable. My movements are tight and controlled, every muscle longing for movement. Action. Release. I wish those soldiers were still here, because I’d find a sword and start swinging.

When I turn for more, Jax is ten feet behind me, and I give a little jump. He only has one crutch, and I’m somewhat amazed that he was able to navigate the ladder that leads up to the hayloft.

“Jax,” I say in surprise.

He makes his way across the loft floor to me, and his crutch makes no sound through the straw. His eyes are intense, even in the darkness.

When he reaches me, he takes hold of my vest again, pulling me close. I balk, inhaling to protest, but his hand turns into a fist, holding tight.

“You once said you could fight all night,” he says. “Did you mean it?”

“Yes.”

“Then fight.” His eyes spark with light from somewhere. “If that’s all we can do, I’ll fight with you all night.”

It’s not a threat. It’s an offer, and it makes my chest clench.

“Promise?” I whisper.

Jax nods, and he steps into me again, sharing his warmth. “Always.”