A familiar spike of tension and discontent buries itself in my spine, and I look back at Malin. “Time will tell.”
By nightfall, I still haven’t returned to the palace. The queen ordered her surviving soldiers back to the training fields, so I know the dead have been carried away, the bodies stripped of valuable gear, the signs of death and devastation pushed out. It’s late now, and the soldiers have headed to the barracks. Even Malin claimed exhaustion and went to his quarters hours ago.
But I’m in the stable, leaning against the doorway to Mercy’s stall, watching her nose through a pile of hay. There’s dried blood in my hair and the marks of battle on every inch of my armor, but I can’t bring myself to leave. It’s quiet and dark and I’m alone with the safe smells of alfalfa and horse sweat, and it reminds me of when I was fifteen,working at the tourney with Grey. The world was uncertain and terrible then, too, but at least I had a safe place to hide.
A boot scrapes in the aisle, and I look up, expecting one of the soldiers out for the nightly check. I only have a lone lantern lit, so shadows are everywhere, and it takes me a long moment to realize that the man might be in armor, but it’s not just a soldier.
It’s the king.
“Grey,” I say in surprise.
“I’ve been looking for you.” He inhales like he’s about to say something important, but then he draws close, his eyes skipping up and down my form. “Have you not yet returned to the palace?”
“No,” I say.
“Why not?”
The answer to that is too complicated, and I hesitate, then glance away, fixing my gaze on the far wall. The air seems to pulse with the ongoing tension between us. I might understand him better, but nothing has been resolved. I know how much he still blames me for. I know how much he asks of me.
I know how our last conversation ended.
Perhaps Grey can feel it too, because he doesn’t press for an answer.
Eventually, he says, “I assume you are still hoping to return to Ironrose.”
I snort and keep my eyes on the wall. “Is that an offer?”
“Yes.”
I snap my head around. His dark eyes are shadowed in the dim light, but he looks right back at me, and I realize he’s serious.
But I’m being stupid. Of course he’s going to send me back to Ironrose. He’ll have to send word to Rhen about what happened—just like Rhen had to tellhim.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” I say at once. “If you have a letter prepared, I can leave immediately—”
“Tycho.”
His voice is so low, so rough, heavy with words unsaid. It draws me up short.
“What?” I say.
“It’s not . . . ?I don’t . . .” He sighs and looks away, but only for a second. When he glances back, his voice is as rough and low as before. “I’m leaving the Crystal Palace. And if you would not be opposed, I’d like to go with you.”
My heart stumbles to a stop, and I’m not sure how to make it start beating again. I don’t even know what to say. I’m staring at him, speechless.
“They came afterme,” he says. “And it’s not just the scravers—it’s the Truthbringers, too. They’re in the army, in the city, in the—” He breaks off and swears, then runs a hand across the back of his neck, agitated. “I can’t keep making my family a target. They’ll be safer if I’m not here.”
I stare at him. “They won’t. You can’t leave. Youcan’t—”
“I can’t risk this again, Tycho. I can’t. They almost breached the palace. They almost—” He breaks off, and draws a slow breath. “It’s not just the scravers. They all want me dead. They’ve all proven they’re willing to go through my family to make that happen. I can’t fight everyone. Not from all sides. Not like this. As far as the Truthbringers are concerned, I’m the only one with magic. If I leave, the magic leaves with me.”
These words are as quiet as everything else he’s said, but these carry the weight of anguish. I inhale to protest, because I know he doesn’t want to do this. But before I can say a word, he swears sharply.
“Forget it,” he says roughly, turning away. “I won’t argue with you again. If you would prefer to ride alone, then—”
I put a hand against his shoulder and stop him. His frame is tight, his expression a mask of tense shadows.
“Grey,” I say. “Of course you can ride with me.”
