CHAPTER 1
TYCHO
I should start keeping a list of all the ways fate hates me.
This ride to Ironrose Castle was supposed to be easy. Enjoyable. After the battle in Briarlock that nearly killed the king of Emberfall and overthrew the queen of Syhl Shallow, I’ve been desperate for easy and enjoyable.
And it was—for the first few days.
I normally make this ride alone, but when we left Briarlock, I had a small group for company. Prince Rhen, of course, returning to his home in Emberfall, where he acts as regent while Grey is in Syhl Shallow. We also had a small group of Emberish soldiers who assisted in the battle.
And then there’s Jax, the blacksmith who carried treasonous notes against the king in exchange for silver to save his home. Jax, who later protected the king in battle, and likely saved his life.
Jax, the young man who’s been slowly stealing my heart.
Not that anyone should know that part. I’mwellacquainted with the way rumors and gossip can fly among a group of soldiers, so I’ve maintained focus and discretion. Traveling with a group means the going isslower, with plenty of time for others to observe and whisper. My reputation as King’s Courier has been in question for weeks, which is part of the reason I’ve been ordered to return to Ironrose Castle at all.
But for those first few days, Jax still laid his bedroll near mine at night, and he would sit with me for every meal. Some of that was due to necessity, because he doesn’t speak Emberish, and not many of the soldiers speak any Syssalah. But some of it was due towant. I’d catch Jax watching me when I’d volunteer to ride a patrol or take a turn sitting sentry. It would spark warmth on my cheeks, and I’d have to turn my attention elsewhere—only to glance back and find him blushing, doing the same thing. My heart would thump and I’d swallow a smile and I’d count the minutes until we could be at Ironrose.
Easy.Enjoyable.
Or itwas. But a few days after we left, King Grey sent half the army contingent to join us, carrying word that such a large force wouldn’t be needed in Syhl Shallow. Suddenly, our lighthearted, small group turned into twelve dozen. With more men and horses to feed, more equipment to carry, and more duties to assign, our slow pace dragged to a crawl. The gold-and-red livery of the Emberish army was suddenly everywhere, impossible to escape: jostling for food at mealtimes, crowding under cover when it rained, looming in the dark when we laid out bedrolls.
Sleep grew challenging. When I’d finally drift off, nightmares haunted me, reminding me of a childhood where soldiers tormented my family. Every time my eyes fell on the colors, I began to feel a tiny pinch at the back of my neck. I found myself shying away when soldiers met my gaze, flinching if they drew close. Forbidden magic would flicker in my blood, sparks and stars responding to my flare of panic. I’d force myself to stand my ground, but sometimes their presence was too much to bear, and I’d skip a meal or lie awake for hours.
By the end of the seventh day on the road, I’m surly and snappish. Instead of wanting to cower, I’m spoiling for a fight.
It doesn’t help that most of these soldiers are wary of Jax. Within the larger group, speculation has clearly run rampant, and I can see their glares and hear the muttered whispers. They think he plotted against the king.
But if Jax understands their muttering, he ignores it. He keeps his head down and works when we stop, fixing horseshoes and repairing tack. He rides in one of the wagons when we move, and he doesn’t complain. He does his best to parse out Emberish when no one is around to translate, and I know he must be frustrated, but he doesn’t let it show.
Lately, I’ve seen him seek out the few friendly soldiers from that first group for company when I’ve volunteered for duties. There are so many soldiers with us that I don’tneedto volunteer, but I’d rather walk lonely loops as a sentry than lie anxious and awake on a bedroll. But my sudden absence is creating a distance between me and Jax that shouldn’t be there, and I don’t know how to undo it.
By the seventh night of our journey, I’ve hardly seen Jax all day. Once we stopped, there was the busy setting of the camp, which is always loud and chaotic, so I avoided it in favor of tending to the horses. Then the mad rush for dinner, which I skipped. Again.
So now I’m clinging to the shadows, brushing the sweat marks out of Mercy’s fur, wondering if anyone would notice if I just laid my bedroll outhere, when a recruit brings word that Prince Rhen has asked to see me.
I sigh, give Mercy a pat on the shoulder, and get on with it. As I walk, I avoid eye contact with every soldier I pass. I keep trying to shake off my discomfort, but itclings, like claws that have dug in and found purchase. I’m no stranger to traveling with an army, and it shouldn’t bother me so much. I served in the Syhl Shallow army for years.
Then again, that was never enjoyable either.
Just as I break free of the main part of the camp to approach the prince’s tent, my shoulder slams into someone heading the other way.My head is down, so I don’t know whose fault it is, and it’s barely a glancing blow. Any other time, any otherplace, and I’d say, “Forgive me,” and move on without thinking about it.
Tonight, I’m coiled like a spring ready to snap, and magic waits under my skin, ready to flare. I whirl like I’ve been poked with a branding iron. “Hey.”
It’s a soldier, of course, because they’re everywhere. He was in the process of saying an offhandsorryover his shoulder, but the belligerence in my tone stops him—or maybe it’s whatever expression is on my face. He draws himself up, and his eyes go flinty.
The camp was bustling with activity, but the air around us suddenly goes quiet. Nothing draws the interest of bored soldiers like the promise of a fight.
But a man calls out from somewhere to my left. “Samson, that’s the King’s Courier. Pick a fight with him, and the captain will have you riding back in chains.”
Samson’s eyes flick up and down my form, taking in the black armor, the dual crests on my breastplate that show my allegiance to both countries. He scowls, then backs right down. “Forgive me, my lord.”
He doesn’t wait for me to say anything; he just turns away.
A part of me is relieved.
A darker part is disappointed.
