I have to close my eyes and take another sip. I can’t stop hearing him say,Please stop leaving. But I’m going to leave. Probably by nightfall. And once again, I’ll be stuck at the Crystal Palace, awaiting my next orders.
And Jax will be … here.
“Why?” he says.
My eyes flick open. He seems closer somehow.
“Why what?”
“Why no courtship?”
“Ah.” I hesitate. “Notnone,” I say. “But very little. When I came to Syhl Shallow with Grey, we were seen as outsiders. There are many who would hate the king, but they cannot do so openly. They can hatemewithout provocation.”
He’s studying me. “Like Lord Alek.”
“Exactly.” I pause, riffling through my memories. “There was a girl who sought my favor a few years ago,” I say, musing, “when I was a young soldier. But that quickly ended when I learned she was trying to anger her family. Lia Mara tried nudging me toward her sister at one point, and we’ve enjoyed a few moments together—but I don’t think Nolla Verin will be happy unless she finds someone as bloodthirsty as she is, and that isdefinitelynot me. I grew close with a soldier named Eason when we were recruits … and perhaps that might have been more, but romance among the ranks was not allowed.” I shrug, remembering Eason’s gentle smile, the way we’d stay up well past curfewbecause he’d beg me to teach him another card game from Emberfall. He didn’t like being a soldier any more than I did, but it’s tradition here for someone in every generation to serve in the army. The instant his two-year commission was up, he took his leave.
But looking at the memory now, I wonder if it was truly my commitment to duty that kept me in line, or if it was something more. The scars on my back aren’t the only ones I bear.
I don’t want to examine that thought too closely, so I look at Jax. “Why no courtship for you?”
“Notnone, but …” He gives me a look. “Haven’t you heard the saying that men are best suited for hard labor and dying in battle?”
“Yes. For what it’s worth, the queen hates that expression. I haven’t heard it spoken at court inyears.”
“Just because people can’t say it openly doesn’t mean they don’t still think it. I can’t take a commission as a soldier. I’m lucky that I can make a living as a blacksmith—but there are still people who see my missing foot and demand that my father do the work, even though he’s drunk half the time.” He pauses. “I’ve had …romanticoffers from travelers. Once or twice I’ve been intrigued, but no one ever stays for long. They’re usually bored traders who think I’m an easy mark or a quick lay. I don’t need anyone’s pity.” A vicious glint shines in his eyes. “Sometimes they’re notasking, if you get my meaning, but that’s rare—and no one can get close enough to pin me down when I’ve got a white-hot iron in my hands.”
I’ve gone still, and I have no idea what expression is on my face, because Jax frowns. “What?”
I have to shake off a memory before it can grab hold, but his words—no one can pin me down—have dragged it to the forefront of my thoughts. It was so long ago, but I can still hear my sisters screaming. I can still smell the fresh cut hay of my parents’ barn. Tiny claws were digging at my chest. I’d shoved one of the barn kittens down the front of my shirt because a soldier was killing them.
I like when they squeak, he said. His fingers closed on my throat, pulling me forward.I bet you’ll squeak, too.
Jax’s fingers brush over mine, and I nearly jump.
“Something I said upset you,” he says quietly.
“No.” But I drain the rest of my wine.
“Clearly yes.”
“I saidno,” I snap, and he jerks back.
His eyes flick from my face to the wineglass and back. There’s a new tension in his eyes that wasn’t there a moment ago, and his voice turns very careful. “Forgive me, my—”
“Stop,” I say softly. I lift a hand, and I mean for it to be calming, placating. But he flinches, just a little, and I remember how he jumped a mile when I tried to offer him Callyn’s apple tarts.
I remember his father, the reason why we’re here atall.
Thisis what we’ve been skirting around. Not the spying or the messages. Not even the agony of courtship.
We’re dancing with the trauma of my past … and his present.
“What you said—” I hesitate. “You caught me in a memory. It wasn’t a good one. I shouldn’t have snapped.” I want to touch his hair again, to put my palm against his cheek and brush my thumb against the curve of his lip. But now there’s a wary set to his gaze, and I don’t know how to undo it other than offering my own truth.
“When I was a boy,” I say slowly, “my father was … well, he wasn’t like yours. He never beat me. He never hurt my mother. But he was a horrible gambler.” I frown. “He nearly lost our home a dozen times. We never had enough food because every time we’d earn a coin, he’d lose it. One time he bet more than he had, and he made the mistake of playing with soldiers in the King’s Army—in Emberfall. When he couldn’t pay, they followed him home. There were three of them. My younger brother tried to hide with my mother—and he saw everything they did to her. I took my sisters into the barn, and we thought we were safe there. But—”
My voice chokes off. I don’t think I’m breathing. The words won’t come.
