“Jax,” he says with a smile—but then he draws close enough that he must take in the blood and the state of our armor. The smile drops off his face. He pats his shoulder, then points to mine, then asks a question, glancing at Tycho for help.
“He wants to know if you were hurt,” Tycho says, and his tone has gone a bit cool. He doesn’t even wait for me to respond; he just says something in response, and Sephran gives us both a nod, then turns to follow the other soldiers.
I start to frown, but Tycho glances at me. “Come on. I told him you’re all right, but we’ve been given orders to move. That means us, too.”
Oh, of course. I stick close to his side as he moves back toward Mercy. “Tycho,” I say softly. “The scravers were looking for a magesmith. I heard one of them say it.”
He grimaces. “Me too. I don’t know if any of the soldiers heard it—or if they understood. It was in Syssalah.”
My eyes widen. I didn’t consider that—but of course I should have.
“Do you know who Xovaar is?” I say.
“No.” He pauses. “I only know Nakiis. The scravers in Briarlock left before I could learnanyof their names.”
“Do you think they’re after you?” I say. “Because of your vow to Nakiis?” I pause. “Or are they looking for the king?”
“I don’t know. Is that what you wanted to tell Prince Rhen?”
I nod, then hesitate. “He knows you used your magic.”
Something in his gaze tightens, but then he glances after the prince, who’s nearly back to his tent already. “It’s all right.” He pauses, and his expression falls. “I would’ve used it to save the others, too. I didn’t know. And because I’ve been ordered to keep it a secret, none of them know I have magic that might’ve helped.”
There’s resignation in his voice, and I frown.
“This wasn’t your fault,” I say softly.
He laughs without any humor. “I’m the first one who let Nakiis out of a cage, Jax. Some of it is.”
We’ve reached Mercy, and he begins pulling her gear from where it’s stashed along the line. Nearby, dozens of other soldiers are doing the exact same thing. It’s pitch-black, and no one says much, but the heady tension hangs in the air. I can’t get away from it.
That means I should be packing up my things, too.
“I’ll be on the wagon,” I say, because those are the only parting words I can offer.
“Hey,” Tycho says, and I turn. His eyes find mine in the moonlight, and they speak volumes without him saying a word. I want to stride back through the grass to hold him, but I can’t, so I simply look back at him until my throat tightens dangerously.
“Thank you,” he eventually says. “For dinner. And . . . ?everything.”
Always, I think, but that feels like too much. Too big. A word I shouldn’t say to the night air. Something I couldn’t say without revealing every ounce of my feeling to everyone around, regardless of language.
But I give him a nod, and I say it in my heart.
CHAPTER 4
JAX
Normally, the soldiers are full of talk while we ramble along, but the commanding officers have ordered everyone to be silent so we can listen for another attack. They didn’t need to bother. All eyes have been on the sky for hours, the air humming with tense anticipation. Every single soldier is on horseback, their bow unstrapped and ready to fire. I’ve got mine on the bench beside me, but the supply wagon rattles along too fast, jarring my body with every bump and rivet in the road. I wish I could be on horseback like the others. If I had to shoot like this, I’d never be able to aim.
The soldiers are in a wide formation that covers a lot of ground, Tycho riding at a distance to my left, some of the others I know somewhere off to my right. Before we left, I took a minute to exchange my torn and stained tunic for a fresh one, but blood streaks the breastplate of my sparse armor, and my fingers are still a bit tacky. No one has spoken to me since I left Tycho’s side. They’ve hardlylookedat me.
Hints of pink appear on the horizon, and an officer ahead shouts an order. We all draw to a stop near the crest of a hill. A low murmur goesup among the soldiers closest to me, and I sit up straighter, searching shadowed faces for emotion, trying to pick out phrases I understand. They don’t sound concerned, but it could mean anything.
I go to my knees on the bench, straining to see, but the hill is too high, and there isn’t enough sunlight to see much. I make a frustrated sound and wonder if it’s worth standing on the bench with my crutches or if that’s just asking for a broken neck.
“Hey, Jax.”
I turn to find that Sephran has ridden his horse over, and I smile. Malin is beside him. Much like the others, they don’t seem concerned that the officers have called a halt.
