It’s odd to travel with Grey and Malin at the same time. Tense in a way I didn’t expect, though I probably should have. All three of us donned gold-and-red livery for the journey, with no rank markings aside from the lieutenant stripes on Malin’s sleeve. We left in the middle of the night, leading the horses through a servant’s passage, riding in silence through the Crystal City until we found the darkened paths through the woods that led to Briarlock and the border. I thought Grey might talk, or outline a plan of action, but he pressed us into a gallop, and we didn’t stop until we reached the mountain pass a few hours before dawn.
Once there, he told Malin to take point and report that we’ve been sent to fetch supporting regiments due to the scraver attacks. Still eager to prove himself to the king, Malin gave an even better performance than when he had my hands bound. When we were waved through, Malin clucked to his horse and said, “Let’s go.”
Beside him, Grey gave him a sharp nod and said, “Yes, sir,” and I thought Malin might fall off his horse. Later that night, he whispered to me, “Seph is never going to believethat.”
Once we were through the pass, Grey pushed the pace again, and it feels like we’ve barely stopped to eat or sleep for three days. No safe houses, no taverns, no people—at all. We sleep in shifts, riding long into the night. Grey doesn’t say much, so I don’t either, and I can see Malin weighing the silence, wondering if he should be the one to break it. The king’s sorrow is a weight that’s followed us for miles, almost smothering us all. Malin might not know the details, but even he can sense it.
And it’s obvious that Grey has parted from his wife, his family. That this isn’t a normal journey for the king.
It’s obvious that this wasn’t planned—or at least not plannedwell.
On our final morning, we’re only four or five hours away from Iron-rose, but Grey calls for a halt anyway. I’m full of adrenaline, longing to press on despite my exhaustion, but he’s the king, so I tether Mercy and strip her gear while Grey draws his bow to find us breakfast.
So I guess we’re resting for a while. I sigh.
I’m sure my annoyance is obvious, because every movement is sharp and agitated as I gather wood and strike flint to start a fire.
“Hey,” says Malin, followed by a short whistle under his breath. He’s stripping his own horse’s gear, but he gives a quick glance in the direction the king went. A warning.
I roll my eyes at him and strike the flint even harder.
Grey steps out of the brush with two hares hanging from his hand. “Did you just roll your eyes at an officer, Tycho?”
His voice is light, and I’m a little shocked, because I can’t remember the last time I heard anything close to levity from him. There’s a part of me that wonders if I heard him wrong, like maybe he genuinely meant that.
My hand goes still on the flint, and I glance over. “Yeah,” I say, trying to make my voice equally light—though I probably just sound flippant. “I sure did.”
He drops a saddle blanket in the brush beside me, and then he dropshimself right on top of it. He draws a dagger to skin one of the hares. “We don’t know the state of things at Ironrose. If scravers lie in wait, we should be prepared—and rested.”
He’s right, though we haven’t seen scravers since we fought Xovaar on the training fields. We might have killed dozens of them, but there are dozens left. Possibly more.
And I still haven’t seen Nakiis. No magic, no screeches in the air.
Nothing.
Grey’s warning steals some of my ire, though, and I slow my strikes. This time, fire catches, lighting the kindling. I drop back to sit cross-legged in the brush beside him, and I take the other hare.
Malin’s still by the horses, and he glances at us, clearly deliberating whether to join us—or give us space.
He’s done that every time we stop, and there’s never a clear answer.
There’s not one now.
Grey has been so cloaked by his own heartache that I don’t even think he’s noticed, but he glances up. “Sit, Lieutenant.”
Malin does. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
The king frowns a bit, but I don’t know what about that is displeasing. We all fall back into silence.
So I guess the levity was short-lived—if it existed at all.
The king’s hare is done first, of course, but I’m not far behind. We put them on a stick over the fire, and when they’re done, we all eat in silence.
I wish I knew how to fix this. Then again, I couldn’t fix the conflict between usbefore, so maybe I’m not the right person to say anything at all.
But I think of that brief moment of levity. Grey and I have always been quiet, always trapped by worries that we silently bear. When we worked together in the tourney, there was never any tension between us, but we could go forhourswithout speaking.
Maybe he’s as wound up in his own thoughts as I am, and he doesn’t know how to unravel them any better than I do.
