Oh. OH.
I jerk my eyes over to Jax, who looks like he’s swallowed his tongue. His eyes are narrowed, his expression completely closed off. His fingers grip the edge of my pastry table so tightly that I can see white around his knuckles.
I wish I could somehow transmit my thoughts to him. Is he reconsidering his actions? It’s one thing to brazenly talk about helping the Truthbringers, but it’s entirely different when you’re looking treason right in the face.
“Jax is the blacksmith!” Nora pipes up cheerfully, and I watch said blacksmith’s fingers tighten even more on my table. “He can take you there,” she prattles on. “It’s right down the end of the lane. You look like a lord. Are you from the Crystal City? We have sweetcakes, too, if you’d like some. I was frosting them before Cal took away—”
“Enough, Nora,” I say. I have to clear my throat, and then I start rambling worse than she was. “I—yes. We do. He is. I mean—the blacksmith. Jax. The forge isn’t far.”
The man offers Nora a kind smile. “Perhaps I’ll take some sweetcakes before I go.” Definitely an accent. I wonder if he’s from Emberfall, though it’s rare for people over the border to be this fluent in Syssalah. When hiseyes return to mine, they’ve gone from warm to a little more coolly assessing. Do I sound suspicious? I probably do. My heart is pounding. I suddenly hope Jax has the good sense to toss that note right into the fire and we can forget this whole thing.
“I’m the blacksmith.” Jax’s raspy voice speaks from behind me, and I hear his crutches clomp against the wooden floorboards. “You need something from the forge?”
The man hesitates, and I’m sure he’s seeing what everyone else sees. I wait for him to frown at Jax’s missing foot, or for his gaze to turn pitying, or, worst of all, for him to sneer, and I’m going to have to kick him in the shins.
But none of those things happen. “My horse threw a shoe a few miles outside town,” he says. “I still have a ways to go before nightfall.”
That … is not what I expected him to say. I wait for him to look pointedly at Jax, or ask for a letter, or … something.
Instead, we must look like we’re up to something, because his gaze narrows another fraction. “Have I interrupted—”
The door is thrust open behind him, snow swirling through the opening. Another man comes through so forcefully that the bells above the door seem to chime angrily. This man is taller than the blond lord in front of us, but not much older, with fiery red hair and piercing blue eyes. He’s dressed in fine clothing as well, with just as many weapons. Maybe more.
For an instant, something about him is familiar, but I can’t imagine where I would’ve seen him before. Briarlock doesn’t get a lot of travelers from the Crystal City, especially not nobles, not at this time of year. I’ve never had two lords in the bakery at the same time. I can’t remember the last time I had two in the samemonth. Their weapons alone would probably fetch enough money to save the bakery and the forge combined.
The new man stops short when he sees the first. A look flickersacross his face, almost too quick to catch it. Shock and alarm—followed quickly by disdain.
“Look at that,” he says flatly, his voice full of contempt. “The king’s pet has finally returned.”
The first man looks equally stunned. “Lord Alek.”
“Lord Tycho.” Lord Alek mocks the title—or his accent. Maybe both. “Some of us were beginning to lay bets on whether that foolish prince would keep you in Emberfall.”
Lord Tycho has recovered from his surprise—and now has a hand on the hilt of his sword. “What are you doing here?”
Lord Alek’s eyes narrow, and any mockery drains out of his expression. His hands aren’t far from his weapons either. “I could ask you the same thing.”
“Someone was shooting at me in the woods. Was that you?”
Lord Alek smiles, but there’s nothing kind about it. He takes a step forward. “Scared you a bit, did it?”
Tension in the shop doubles. Lord Tycho’s eyes flick to the door, to Jax, to the frosting knife that’s still in my hand. Assessing escape routes and potential casualties. He might not be a soldier, but he definitely trained as one.
I move so Nora is behind me, and I change my grip on the frosting knife. “If the two of you start a sword fight in my bakery, you’ll be scrubbing my pots for a month to make it up to me.”
They both look at me in surprise—but at least those swords stay in their sheaths.
Lord Alek’s eyes stay on my face for a moment too long, until I wonder if he’s going to start trouble withmeover that comment.
But then his gaze shifts back to the other man, and he lifts one shoulder in a careless shrug. “Why would I have cause to shoot at you? I have business dealings here in Briarlock. I can’t help it if that forcesmy path to cross yours.” He gives the other man another disdainful look. “Butyoudon’t have business here. Dallying in your duties?”
Lord Tycho glares at him, and his voice is low and even. “My horse threw a shoe on the way back to the Crystal City. I was looking for the forge.”
“What a happy coincidence! I’m looking for the forge myself. There was a note that I could find the blacksmith here at the bakery.” He glances at Jax. “Would that be you?”
Jax is frozen in place. So am I. I feel like I’ve learned too much and not enough, all at once.
“Yes,” Jax finally says. “My lord.” He glances between the men as if unsure how to proceed.
