Was that true for Grey as well?
I think of the armor the king wears. Black, just like mine.
I’ve always avoided the Emberish army, the way Rhen avoids sparring in the arena at Ironrose.
Has Grey been avoidingEmberfall?
Malin is still talking. “Who could blame him? Some people still worry that the king is just biding his time until he takes revenge against his brother.”
That cuts through my meandering thoughts, and I snap my head around. “Wait—really?”
“Sure. Why else would he spend this much time here? Everyone knows what Prince Rhen did to him.”
I don’t know what to say. My shoulders have gone tight.
Malin glances over. “You know about that, don’t you? How the prince had him flogged against the castle wall? You’d have to know.”
My chest feels hollow. It’s weird to hear about this so casually. Justa point of gossip repeated by a soldier. I still remember everything about that night with painful acuity, from the shackles on my wrists to the torchlight flickering on the cobblestones of the courtyard.
“Ah . . . yeah,” I say. “I know.”
The horses plod on, and Malin shakes his head, musing. “I’ve heard people say that the prince strung up a little boy beside the king, but who could believethat? A child would never survive a—”
“Silver hell,” I snap. “I wasn’t alittle boy. I was fifteen.”
Malin all but jerks his horse to a halt. The sudden silence between us is so loud that itscreams.
I keep a loose rein and Mercy continues on. My eyes are fixed on the path.
After a moment, he must realize I’m not going to stop, because his horse trots a few steps to catch up.
“Tycho,” he says, and his voice is dangerously quiet.
“Forget it. It doesn’t matter.”
“I didn’t know.”
“It’s not a secret. It was a long time ago.”
“I should have figured it out. I knew you were close to the king, but I didn’t realize—”
“It’s fine.”
“When they said achild, I never thought—”
“Would you shut up?” I growl. “I said it’sfine.”
He shuts up.
I don’t have a flask of anything in my saddlebags today, but I wish I did. Somehow it’s a relief that people have forgotten thatIwas a part of what happened that night—while also wildly disheartening. Like I didn’t matter at all. Just a pawn in a political game.
As usual, I suppose.
Malin looks over, peering at me. “So if you were fifteen then, how old are you now?”
His voice is easy, like the last few minutes never happened, and I appreciate that. “Nineteen. I’ll be twenty after the solstice.”
His eyebrows go up, and he whistles through his teeth. “Youarea child. Here I thought you were older than I am—”
