I don’t need to speak Emberish to know it’s a little too rough, a little toomuch, especially right now. I forgot how keyed up he was when I saw him walking toward the prince’s tent, when he looked ready to pick a fight with anything upright and breathing. He all but growled atmewhen he found me waiting with Mercy. As soon as Tycho puts his handon this soldier’s armor, I canfeelit, the snap in the air that predicates a fight. There’s an indrawn breath, a ripple of tension that spreads. Tycho has drawn himself up, and my own shoulders go tight. There are so many of them. I have no time for fear, just action.
But just as quickly, shouts erupt from the back of the group, the clear sound of orders being given. Soldiers begin to fall in line, snapping to attention.
These words don’t need any translation, because I’ve heard them a hundred times by now.
Make way for the prince.
Even the men who seemed ready to brawl are falling back, expressions washed clean. No anger, no fury, just readiness.
It’s a skill I don’t have. Too much has happened in the last ten minutes, and I can’t unwind all my thoughts yet. But Tycho has ducked to fetch my crutches from the grass, and he’s all but shoving them against my armor. By the time Prince Rhen reaches us, even Tycho looks sharp and ready, while I’m barely steady on my crutches, my jaw tight and my shoulder stinging.
The prince is backed by two guards and six soldiers. Four of the soldiers have arrows nocked, and their eyes are on the sky. Another two carry lanterns, and the light gleams where it finds Prince Rhen’s weapons, throwing shadows across his face. He wears a leather patch over one eye, but still, some scars are visible where they escape the covering, and the flickering light seems to accentuate them. I know from Tycho that the prince lost the eye in a battle with a magesmith years ago, when Prince Rhen and King Grey were fighting over who was the rightful heir to the throne in Emberfall.
I also know Prince Rhen is responsible for the dozen whip marks on Tycho’s back, so every time I see the patch or the scars on his cheek, I don’t feel one single ounce of pity.
In fact, every time I see him, I want to punch him right in his stupid face.
I shouldn’t feel that way. IknowI shouldn’t. He’s giving me a new opportunity in Emberfall. If I knew nothing about their history, I’d be on my knees, groveling with gratitude, because the prince doesn’tseemlike the kind of man who’d chain a boy to a wall to have him flogged. Tycho has made his peace with it, so I should, too.
But I think about Tycho hiding out here with Mercy, his ready tension that nearly made him brawl with all these soldiers, and I wonder if he’s made peace with anything at all.
Too much soldiering.
It makes my heart hurt.
The prince looks across the sea of faces, then settles on Tycho, who’s still slicked with so much blood that half his vibrant blond hair is almost blackened. The lantern light reveals huge gouges across the leather of his armor. Prince Rhen is questioning him, and though I can pick out a few words, I haven’t learned anywhere near enough to follow their entire conversation.
But the key concept is clear, and I don’t need translation for that. Scravers attacked. Tycho doesn’t know why. Nakiis wasn’t one of them.
Most of the closest soldiers are looking at the prince and Tycho, listening to everything they say, and I’m sure word will spread the very instant the prince is gone. But some of them are looking atme, and I consider what Tycho began to say before we almost fought.
They think the creatures might have followed you from Briarlock.
I have nothing to do with scravers. Until the battle that nearly killed the king and queen, I’d never evenseenone.
I think of that odd voice in my head while these scravers were attacking.
You heard Xovaar. Find the magesmith.
They definitely weren’t after me.
“And you, Jax?” Prince Rhen’s voice breaks through my thoughts, and I can’t decide if I’m more shocked that he’s addressingme, or that he’s doing it in Syssalah. “Tycho said none of these scravers were familiar. Did you recognize any of them?”
I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised about the language. Even though we’ve hardly exchanged words, I heard him speak it in Syhl Shallow. The king is his brother, after all, married to our queen.
Prince Rhen is nowhere near as fluent as Tycho and King Grey, though. He talks like he’s learned from a book, all slow, careful pronunciation and perfect grammar.
Like everything else about him, I hate it.
“Jax.” Tycho flicks the back of my hand with his fingers, and I realize the prince asked me a question and I haven’t even answered.
“Ah . . . ?no, Your Highness,” I say quickly. “It was very dark. I didn’t know any of the scravers in—”
“Slower,” Tycho murmurs, and I realize the prince is frowning slightly, trying to make sense of my words.
It makes me want to speak faster.
But I don’t, because this manisthe king’s brother, and I’m not an idiot. “I didn’t know any of the scravers in Briarlock,” I say slowly. “They arrived to aid the king.” I hesitate, thinking of that odd voice in my head. “But one of these said . . .”
