Tycho sobers, tilting his head toward the open doorway that leads to the training fields. “Come on,” he says to me.
The night air is cool when we step outside, and I inhale deeply. I thought it might be easier to step away from Verin and the fight, but as soon as we’re under the stars, I remember all my secrets—and all the ones Tycho surely carries as well. There’s a reason the queen hasn’t seen him.
As if he realizes the same thing, he says, “I probably shouldn’t be alone with you. People will talk, and I’m still in enough trouble.”
That takes me by surprise. “Why are you in trouble?”
He draws a long breath—then lets it out heavily. “It doesn’t matter.”
More secrets. I frown. “We always heard gossip around the bakery,” I say, “and Jax had a fair bit from travelers through the forge, but I didn’t realize it would be like this when we got here.”
“Court gossip is theworst,” he agrees. He’s quiet for a moment, and when he speaks, his voice is low. “HowisLia Mara?”
I press my lips together, because I’m not sure how much I should say—or how much I’mallowedto say.
When I’m silent, he sighs. “That bad, huh?”
This is so complicated, and I hate it. I turn to face him. “Are you asking for yourself, or are you asking for the king?”
His eyebrows go up. “So it’sreallybad.”
It’s my turn to let out a sigh. “She’s just . . . ?she’s so sad.”
“So is he.”
I look at Tycho in surprise, and he shrugs a little, staring out at the night. “Not that Grey is talking to me,” he adds, and there’s a hint of regret to his tone. “But I’ve known him a long time. I can tell.”
Tycho is sad, too. I can hear it in his voice. It’s all so jarring to consider. The queen stood in that window and talked about Tycho being an ally to the king, but I hadn’t considered that he would be seeing the king’s pain, the same way I see the queen’s. Alek and the nobles keep talking aboutwarand threats to the queen, but they don’t see this side of it.
I peer at him. “Why isn’t he talking to you?”
For a moment, I don’t think he’s going to answer, that we’re both going to be buried under these secrets. But he eventually turns away from the night to look at me. “I don’t really know,” he says, and the words are so earnest that I can tell he believes them. “I know he’s mad at me forsomeof what happened.” Tycho hesitates. “But the more time that passes, the more I’m beginning to think he’s really just mad athimself. And maybe that’s too painful to consider right now.”
As soon as he says it, I’m struck by a memory of the king once saying something similar about Verin. How she couldn’t protect the queen herself, so she was taking out her anger in other ways.
Is Verin doing the same thing? Tormenting me because she can’t control anything else? Am I considering the queen’s sister a potential traitor when she’s really in just as much pain as they are?
Is that why the queen is entertaining the Truthbringers? Controlling something shecan, because she regrets so much of what she can’t?
“I’ll tell her,” I say softly, wondering if that’s the right choice. “I’ll tell her that he’s sad.”
Tycho glances at me, and I can read the concern in his eyes. “I’ll tell him, too.”
“Do you think it’ll make a difference?”
He’s quiet for a little while, considering that. “There was a time when I would’ve said yes. But right now . . . ?I don’t know.”
I swallow. “I don’t know either.”
Then we both fall silent, because we’ve veered too close to secrets. Somehow, I’ve grown to be an ally to the queen, and it’s obvious that his loyalty is to the king—despite the tension I sense between them. But this silence isn’t strained. It’s odd to stand here with him, but comforting, too. Comforting to know I’m not the only one struggling with all the tension in the palace. And to know I’m not the only one who feels like anoutsiderwhile still being so tied to everyone who’s in power.
“They’re going to be at it for a while,” Tycho says, interrupting my reverie. He nods at the doors leading to the arena, where his soldier and Verin are still trying to kill each other. “If you came to train, I’ll spar with you.”
“Oh!” I say in surprise. “No. I . . . ?I’m not very good.”
“Sure you are. I’ve seen you.”
That’s said with such candor that I flush. “No, you don’t—”
