Trapp and Fowler exchange a glance as if they’re as uncertain as I am. They must respect Sephran and Kutter, though, because when they look back at me, their expressions aren’t hostile. They each lift a hand and say, “Well met.”
“Well met,” I echo, equally reserved.
Leo is the youngest, possibly younger than I am, because he’s lacking some of the breadth and muscle of the others. He glances at Kutter, then back at me. He gives me a nod, followed by an uncertain smile. “Ah . . .suck a piece of horse—”
“No!” Sephran snaps. He gives a withering look at Kutter, and I have no idea what he says, but the tone sounds a lot like,See what you’ve started?
Kutter just laughs. “Let’s go.”
It’s a few hours from sunset, so the fields surrounding Ironrose Castle are still filled with sunlight and the scents of cut grass and wildflowers. There’s a breeze out here that I was missing in the forge, anddays of tension slip out of my shoulders. I’d been worried that the others would want to go tearing off at a gallop, but the ground is still soft from all the rain and they seem content to amble along.
The soldiers chatter as we ride, but I’ve grown used to the way Emberish rolls over me without too much comprehension. That said, I can pick out a few phrases. They’re complaining about someone I don’t know, something about more hours on patrol. Then I lose the thread and the words are nonsense again.
I look at the sky, at the clouds that have shifted west, and think of Tycho. Hopefully he’s reached the Crystal Palace by now. I wonder how quickly the king will allow him to return. I also wonder if there have been more scraver attacks—though the soldiers don’t seem concerned. Then again, maybe that’s the reason for more hours on patrol. Maybe it’s selfish of me to hope Tycho might return in less than a week. He risks his life for the safety of the kingdom. I’m just . . . ?me.
I think of our night together in the hayloft, the way he talked about the soldiers. The way he stopped me. He doesn’t talk much about what happened when he was young, but I know it weighs on him. He hides it well, but now that I know his past, I can see it in every interaction. His trust—hisloyalty—is like a gift.
As I consider the way it’s tearing him apart, I have another thought.
Maybe it’s a curse.
“Jax.”
I realize the others have stopped, and I was letting Teddy meander along. My cheeks flare with warmth, and I jerk the horse to a stop, then look over at Sephran. “Yeah.”
He looks vaguely amused. “We’re here.”
We’ve reached the archery fields. Trapp and Fowler have dismounted, and they’re already tethering the horses. Leo is definitely the youngest, and possibly the lowest in rank, because there seems to be some good-natured ribbing going on. I tether Teddy and untie my crutches,and this generates a few more exchanged glances, but at least no one is spitting at me.
Back in the woods in Briarlock, I’d created an archery course of my own, made of leather squares nailed to trees and a few rings I hung from branches. Here on the grounds of Ironrose, there are dozens of targets set at varying heights and distances along the field, from wide panels of painted wood to tiny rounds of stuffed muslin that must require impeccable aim. Some are even strung from above, bearing targets that swing in the breeze.
I don’t know the rules here, whether we’re to take turns or what. I’m on the outskirts of this easy soldier camaraderie. I hang back a bit, adjusting Teddy’s tack, re-buckling my bracer, smoothing my thumb along my bow. Kutter shoots first, and after hearing his lesson on fletching lengths during our journey, I’m not surprised to find that he’s a skilled archer, quick and accurate. Every arrow hits near the center of the target, even a smaller circle that’s at least seventy yards away. He shoots four, then steps aside.
Trapp is good, too, but not quite as accurate. He hits the targets, but far from center. Fowler is accurate on anything close, but at a distance, his shots miss, and there’s some teasing from the others. I try to tuck their words away, to parse them out, to understand.
Careful, you might hit the castle.
Those wildflowers had it coming.
“Yeah, yeah,” Fowler says, rolling his eyes. “It’s windy.”
Sephran sees me looking between them, and he lifts a hand, running his fingers through the air. “Windy,” he says, then blows out a breath, mimicking the wind.
I know this one, because they taught me about wind before. I tap my temple and smile. “I remember.”
He grins in response. “Good.”
Leo steps up next. He nocks an arrow, aiming for a closer target. Kutter speaks to him, and there’s no teasing in his voice now. It’s all instruction. The youngest soldier hits three targets of the four he attempts, only one skipping off the edge of a wooden plank. The others whistle and clap, and Leo waves a hand, shrugging them off, but I can tell he’s pleased.
I expect Sephran to go next, but he looks at me. “Your turn,” he says. “Shoot.” He points at me, then mimes drawing a bow and releasing an arrow. There’s a note of militaristic challenge in his voice that’s similar to what I hear from Tycho.
The others are quiet now. Watching. I have no idea what Sephran said about why I was joining them, whether he truly meant it as a mark of kindness or friendship or even just plain pity, but this feels so dramatically far from my life in Briarlock that I almost falter.
But then I think of something Tycho once said to me, and it gives me courage.
What are you afraid of?
I take my spot, then drop my crutches to kneel in the grass for better stability. Itisa bit windy, so I feel for a few arrows with short fletching from my quiver. I nock an arrow and aim for a target no one has used.
