I don’t know either.
But I consider the way the soldiers in the guard station were eager to torture a soldier from Emberfall for being a traitor, or the note in Malin’s voice when he said he forgot about how Syhl Shallow keeps a torture chamber for a prison. I’ve spent so long with a foot in both countries that I forgot the undercurrent of animosity that still exists between them both.
We start forward again, and when the guards swing the doors open, we step out of the bright sunlight into the cool, cloaking darkness of the palace.
I think of Malin’s story about the prisoners he was forced to care for, how he learned their language and formed relationships—but hasno idea what happened to them. After all that, did he still see them as his enemies? Or friends?
“The alliance between Emberfall and Syhl Shallow is about more than just magic,” I say to Noah.
“You’re right,” he says. “It’s not that simple.”
I have to sigh. “War never is.”
By sunset, I still haven’t seen the king or the queen. An edgy impatience has set up camp in my chest, and I wish I had some way to unleash it. I haven’t seen Malin either, and that wicked part of my brain begins whispering that maybe he’s decided it would be better to avoid me, too.
But no. I tell my stupid thoughts that he’s just sleeping off the effects of soldiering in the rain for days.
When I knock, he practically flings the door open. “Has the king given you orders?” he says the instant he lays eyes on me.
“Hello to you, too, Malin.”
He smiles, then glances ruefully up and around the doorframe to his room. “I wasn’t sure how long we’re meant to be confined to our quarters.”
“We’re not confined,” I say. Maybe I should have fetched him sooner. “Have you eaten? I can show you to the dining hall.”
“I’ve eaten. The guards sent for food.”
“Then . . . ?do you care to see the palace? Or even the Crystal City? We can call for our horses.”
His eyes light up a little at both suggestions, but then he glances in the direction we came from last night. “I should wait until we’re summoned.”
He’s wary of upsetting the king. I probably should be, too. Maybe Greyexpectsus to be confined to our quarters, waiting for him to make a decision.
Then again, the first thing Malin asked about was new orders. He must be bored. I know I am. I can’t stare at the walls of my room for another minute.
“Sparring?” I offer. “The training arena should be deserted right now.”
Malin’s eyes light up again. He doesn’t move—but hewantsto.
“I won’t let you hang yourself either,” I add. “The king wouldneverfault a soldier for training. I promise you that.”
He grins. “I’ll get my gear.”
The training arena is empty and dim, with a few torches lit. The back doors are still open, allowing the cool night air to swirl inside. As I thought, we have the arena to ourselves. When we begin, it feels good to move, to fight, to do something I’m capable of, instead of spending so much time worrying about things I have no control over. Malin made for a good sparring partner on the road, but he makes for an even better one now: he’s well-rested and well-fed, without the promise of a long day of riding ahead of us.
Well, ahead ofhim. I’m still hopeful I’ll be galloping across the border by nightfall tomorrow.
By the time we break apart from our fourth match, we’re both breathing hard, and sweat is making it tough to keep a grip on my sword. It’s fully dark, and attendants have lit the other torches, but we still have the arena to ourselves.
Malin sheathes his sword. “I’m beginning to regret this,” he says, pushing damp hair back from his face.
“No, you’re not.”
“Hold that thought while I vomit on your boots.”
I laugh. “So that’s anoto a fifth round?”
“I didn’t sayno.” He heaves a rough breath and swipes a forearm across his forehead, then puts a hand on the hilt of his sword. “If you go, I go. Five, six, one hundred, say the word.”
