I explain what Nakiis told me about King Grey detaining Tycho in Syhl Shallow, how they’re stoking fears of magic to drive out any remaining magesmiths, including the king. I explain that Nakiis was reluctant to leave Syhl Shallow for long, that danger might be imminent. “Tychohad to beg him to bring me this news,” I say. “I didn’t know how much your guards would understand about a scraver being here. I didn’t want to cause a panic.”
He lets out a breath and offers me one of the mugs. “Here. Mulled wine.”
I frown and take it. “I . . . ?thank you.”
“I knew Tycho reached the Crystal Palace safely, but I’ve heard nothing since. I’ve been tempted to send another courier. Did Nakiis say why Grey won’t let Tycho come back?”
“He said the other scravers want to kill any magesmiths they can find, so the king won’t put Tycho at risk.” I pause. “He also said there’s growing discord within the palace.”
He thinks about that for a moment. “Was the king aware Tycho was sending this message through Nakiis?”
I hesitate. Tycho wouldn’t have needed to beg for a favor if he had the king’s blessing. My mouth is frozen on the words, though. Admitting it feels like a betrayal.
As usual, Prince Rhen is too savvy, because his eye narrows just a bit. “Let’s assume not, shall we?” He takes a sip from his cup, and he says nothing after that. He’s quiet for the longest time. So long that he actually takes a second sip, a longer one.
Eventually, he sits down on the sofa across from me. When he speaks again, his voice is a bit husky. “What else did Nakiis say?”
“He was reluctant to tell me anything at all. I think he truly only came to bring me word that Tycho was safe.” I remember the scraver’s claws against my throat, and I shiver. “But I asked him as many questions as I could. He implied that the ones who helped us in Briarlock are small in number, and the ones now attacking want to force the magesmiths out of hiding. He said they have allies among the Truthbringers. He claimed that there are scravers who’d killhimif they could.”
“Do you think he was telling the truth?”
I consider that. “I have no stake in any of this. He’d have no reason to lie to me.”
“Nakiis was once bound by the magesmith who kept Ironrose trapped by a curse. She used the scraver’s magic for her own purposes—so I’ve never liked that Nakiis trapped Tycho into this nebulous vow of assistance. Why doesheneed Tycho’s magic?”
That’s a question I failed to ask, and I frown. Suddenly, everything I’ve said seems inconsequential, and only a means for more questions than we started with. It’s not like Prince Rhen can do anything about any of this, especially not in the middle of the night.
“I didn’t think to ask him,” I say. “Maybe—maybe I shouldn’t have bothered you with this.”
He startles at that. “No, Jax. As before, your instincts are sound. The Truthbringers were going to assassinate the royal family, and they were growing in power. Now these scravers are their allies, whether they want them or not—and I guarantee the Truthbringers have already spread rumors that the king’s magic is either behind these attacks, or is failing to stop them. Citizens here already worry that themonsterhas returned. So if the attacks continue, things won’t get any better on either side of the border. My brother may be facing a war from two sides now. The king may not feel secure in sending word tome, but this allows me to prepare support if he needs it.”
Awar. My chest clenches as I remember the destruction in Briarlock. We barely survived. I don’t want to think about Tycho being stuck in a conflict on the other side of the border.
Prince Rhen glances at my mug, which is still full. “Do you not like the wine?”
I haven’t even taken a sip. “Oh. I . . .” I trail off, unsure what to say. It feels odd to accept anything from him. Like I’m yielding something I don’t want to yield. The mug is warm against my fingertips, and thescent is inviting, like spices and berries, but I can’t quite bring myself to drink it.
I set it on the small table beside my chair. “I shouldn’t trouble you any longer,” I say.
“You aren’t troubling me. As I said, sleep is fickle.” He sets his own mug on the table, then opens a drawer and withdraws a small deck of cards.
When he shuffles, I stare. If I didn’t want to drink the wine, I definitely don’t want to play a game.
Maybe it’s written on my face, because he gives me a rueful glance. “You can still hate me and play cards, Jax. I know dice are favored in Syhl Shallow, but I’m sure Tycho has taught yousomething.”
“I know a few games. I’ve played with the soldiers.”
“You spend quite a bit of time with the soldiers,” he says, and my eyes flick up.
Are the words weighted? The instant he says it, I wonder if he saw what happened with Sephran.
Prince Rhen looks to the window and adds, “You’re on the archery fields often. They aren’t giving you any more trouble?”
I frown, because I wasn’t aware he’d known about that. I remember the way Princess Harper made a comment about how I was handling the most difficult horses. Maybe my challenges were obvious to everyone, and I only thought I was enduring it silently.
I can’t decide if that’s better or worse.
“No.” I watch warily as he deals cards between us. “A few have become friends.”
