So am I. Every muscle in my frame is tense.
“It’s not your fault what Rhen did,” I say, and my voice is a rough rasp.
“It’s my fault that I didn’t yield, to spare you. And I often wonder if the reason you don’t hate Rhen is because if you did, you’d have to hate me, too.”
That makes me flinch, but I say nothing. He’s never said anything like this to me. We’ve never talked about that moment. Not even once.
Grey continues, “I know your loyalty is steadfast. You’ve proven it countless times, and you’re proving it even now. But much like my brother, I forgot that true loyalty isearned, not owed. I forgot that true friendship requires sacrifice—from both sides. And so I know I’ve lost your trust, the way Rhen once lost mine.”
My breath catches, but my eyes are locked on the fire, my jaw clenched.
“I see your loyalty, Tycho. I see your sacrifice. When it comes to your trust, when it comes to your friendship, I swear to you. I will do my best to earn it back.”
I finally turn my head and look at him. For a flash of time, I’m fifteen again, staring up at him after he figured out how to use magic to heal the worst of my wounds. I remember thinking he was the bravest man I’d ever met, knowing I could trust him to protect me from any threat—until he did one better and taught me how to protectmyself.
And just like when I was fifteen, I roll up on my knees and throw my arms around his neck. “You never lost it.”
“I did. A little.” He hugs me back, and again, I can feel the weight of his sorrow, the sheer emotion he’s carrying with him back to Emberfall. He won’t be able to carry it all alone, I know.
But his voice is lighter when he says, “Though I do prefer this to you punching me.”
I draw back to sit on my knees again. “I’m sure I’ll get a chance to do that later.”
He laughs, and I’m startled to realize that I don’t think I’ve heard him laugh in . . . inmonths.
Maybe we both need to earn back our trust and friendship. A little.
Grey nods toward Mercy. “Take your horse,” he says. “I know you’re eager. We’ll follow by sundown.”
I freeze in place. “What?”
He glances across the fire at Malin. “I’m sure the lieutenant can escort me the rest of the way. Tell Rhen what’s happened so he’s prepared, and have him send out a small contingent of guards by late afternoon so we can arrive quietly.”
I’m already on my feet, throwing Mercy’s saddle on her back. But then I hesitate. “You said you were worried about scravers.”
“I am,” he says, and that’s not encouraging. “But you’re the King’s Courier, aren’t you?”
I realize this is what he meant about earning back my trust, so I stop protesting and swing aboard to draw up the reins. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“It’s open ground from here. Ride fast. Watch your back. And—”
I don’t hear the rest. I’m already gone.
CHAPTER 49
JAX
I’ve been watching the horizon for weeks, but there’s been no sign of Tycho. It’s clear that the prince is still preparing for battle, because the forge is endlessly busy, and some nights I’m not done before dark. Sephran still comes when he’s off duty, and we still go shooting, but our friendship feels tentative and uncertain. He’s never alone anymore, and I’m not sure how to undo the undercurrent of . . . ?somethingbetween us. Maybe it’s just a matter of time—especially since he keeps showing up.
Like today. I’m finishing my last horse for the day when Sephran arrives in the forge. He’s alone for the first time since that night. When I have work to complete, he and his friends usually sit on the bench and entertain me with soldier gossip. Today, however, he’s quiet. Watchful. Pensive.
I don’t mind, because I have no idea what to say to him, especially since we’re alone. So I swallow my worries, and I hammer and file and rasp while he sits there, waiting.
Eventually, however, the horse is done, and neither of us has said aword. Nearby, the remaining forge workers are already packing away their tools.
So I do the same thing, and I don’t look at him.
Sephran doesn’t move from the bench. But when I reach past him to stack my file with the pincers, he takes hold of my arm. “Jax.”
