“Jax,” he says softly, earnestly, as if he’s worried.
“Tycho.” I pull my hands down and stare at him in wonder. “You saved my life and served me dinner and kissed me senseless—and now you’re kneeling on the ground at my feet. Somehow you believe you havetoo little practice with courtship?”
He smiles, and something about it is bashful, but something about it is a little wicked, too. “Next time, I’ll attempt a bit more proficiency.”
“I’m not sure I’ll survive it.” But then I realize what he’s said, and the smile falls off my face.
Next time.
Because he’s leaving. Likely tonight, I’m sure. He and Lord Jacob have no reason to linger in Briarlock. He’d be gone now if not for my father.
Tycho notices immediately, because he rises up, taking my hands, pressing them between his. “It will not be weeks or months or never, Jax. I swear to you. I have to return to the Crystal Palace with Jacob, but now that plans have been set for the first competition of the Royal Challenge, I will be sent back to Emberfall. Soon.”
I swear to you. I don’t think anyone has ever sworn anything to me. My chest is tight all the same. I know his role, how his schedule is at the mercy of the king.
He lifts a hand to brush a thumb across my cheek. “A week,” he whispers. “At most.”
I nod.
I knew this part would hurt. And he’s not even leaving yet.
His hand winds in my hair, tugging gently at the strands. My insides are turning to warm honey again, but I don’t want to make this hurt more, so I force myself to speak into the silence.
“Are you going to compete?” I say. “Is that why you’re going to Emberfall?”
“Not this one,” he says. “The king and queen will travel to watch the first competition. I will ride ahead to ensure Prince Rhen is prepared for whatever they may need. There are always threats against the Crown.” He pauses. “But I will not make you wait so long, Jax.”
There are always threats against the Crown. Again, I’ve forgotten who I am and what I’ve been a small part of. I’ve wanted to confess to him before, but right now, I almost can’t keep the words in my mouth. I want to tell him everything about Lord Alek and Lady Karyl. He’s given me so much,toldme so much. I feel as though I’m keeping a tremendous secret in the face of all his openness.
But I don’t have any proof—and I don’t want to admit how desperately we need silver to save the forge. I told him earlier that I don’t want pity, and I meant it. Tycho’s confession to me was about something real, something potent, a terrible moment in his life that he’s grown past and found the strength to face.
Conning the Truthbringers out of silver seems to pale in comparison. Shame curls in my belly, and I bite my tongue.
I look into Tycho’s brown eyes, so much darker than eyes native to Syhl Shallow.I will not make you wait so long.
“Yes, my lord,” I whisper.
His eyes fall closed. “Jax.”
A knock raps at the door. “T. It’s me.”
Tycho sighs. “Silver hell.” He sits back on his heels again, then agilely rises to his feet. “Come in, Jake.” Any hint of vulnerability is gone from his frame. Gone is the boy who carefully stroked his fingers through my hair, leaving only the former soldier.
I straighten in the chair as Lord Jacob enters. His eyes fall on me. “The magistrate jailed your father for a fortnight. I couldn’t get more than that. But maybe that will sober him up and he’ll realize what he did.”
Afortnight. He’s never been locked up that long, but I know it won’t change much. I mentally calculate how much food we might have in the pantry. Callyn’s bakery has been so busy, but maybe she can spare some meals. I think of my bow and wonder if I could hit a moving target to hunt.
He’s waiting for an answer, so I force myself to nod. “Thank you, Lord Jacob.”
He looks to Tycho. “Take my horse. Get him home. I’ll settle up here. We should ride out before we lose the light entirely.”
Tycho nods and reaches for his armor.
And just like that, it’s over. Before I’m ready, Tycho is helping me onto Mercy, while he swings onto Jake’s large black gelding. Dusk has begun to fall, throwing long shadows in our path. I grip tight to the pommel of the saddle, but Tycho leads at a walk.
He’s quiet, so I am too.
Already, the memory is bringing me pain.
