“Isno onegoing to buy a sweetcake?” says Nora, peering around my shoulder.
I want to hush her, but it breaks some of the tension. Lord Alek reaches out a hand to clap Lord Tycho on the shoulder. “You were here first. I’m sure the king wants you back quickly. He has enough problems, so I won’t delay you further. I’ll settle up with the blacksmith later.”
Jax swallows, but the man steps back out into the swirling snow.
Most of the tension goes with him, because Lord Tycho takes his hand off the hilt of his sword. “Forgive me,” he says. “I didn’t intend to cause trouble. He … took me by surprise.” He looks at Nora. “Let me go see about my horse, and I’ll return for sweetcakes. I promise.” His gaze shifts to me. “And some stew if you can spare some.”
“It’s for the meat pies,” Nora says. “Cally-cal makes thebest.”
“Or stew,” I say hurriedly. “If you’d prefer.”
“I’m not particular. Just hungry.” His eyebrows go up. “Cally-cal?”
“Ah … Cal. Callyn. My lord.”
His eyes are intent on mine, and I’m either going to start blushingor I’m going to shove him out the door. He’s just too intense, too mysterious, too … too many things I don’t understand.
Now Jax is looking at me, and I can’t tell if he looks more amused or more irritated, but somehow it’sboth.
“Come along, my lord,” he says dryly. “Let’s see to your horse.”
CHAPTER 5
JAX
I can be quick on my crutches when the conditions are right. Generally that doesn’t include mud, snow, and the weight of the realization that I almost handed this man a message that would’ve sent me to the gallows.
The snow swirls around us as we walk, and our progress feels painfully slow—emphasized by the fact that the young lord is all butamblingto keep pace with me, while I’m about to sweat through my clothes trying to go as fast as I can. Even his horse has tugged at the reins a few times, almost leading Lord Tycho instead of the other way around. I’m used to making this short trek alone, and I hardly think about the distance. Right now, the forge feels like it’s ten miles away.
He hasn’t said much since we left the bakery, and my heart is thrumming in my chest as the silence stretches on, punctuated by theswishandclompof every step I take. I wish I could tell what he was thinking. That other man, Lord Alek, called him the king’spet, which definitely wasn’t a compliment, but it implies Lord Tychoknowsthe king. He looks to be near my age, maybe a bit older, but he’s clearly someone with money and status.
I’m worried this silence means he’s suspicious. Callyn was about as subtle as she was in the barn this morning, when she was ready to swing an ax at my head. And then I almost handed him the message.
Here, my lord. Would you like to drag me back to the palace for sentencing, or should you draw your sword and save everyone a lot of time?
The tightness around my chest refuses to loosen. I don’t have the mettle for this. I should have taken Lady Karyl’s parchment and flung it into the forge the instant she left.
And then Cal and I would be five silvers poorer.
The thought is sobering. Surprise lit Cal’s eyes when I slid the coins onto the table—surprise mixed with the smallest scrap of relief. Passing a message for the Truthbringers feels like the only option we have, especially since I’m walking beside a glaring reminder of everything that’s wrong with my life. I’m willing to bet this man has never spent a single moment wondering where his next meal was coming from, or whether his father lost all their coins at the dice table.
My right crutch finds a hole or a branch orsomethingunder the slush, because it twists sideways and skids. I swear and try to catch myself, but I’ve got no leverage. It doesn’t take much, not on that side, especially when I’m rushing. The ground is going to smack me square in the face, and I’ll be doubly humiliated.
Instead, a strong hand catches my arm, holding me upright. Despite his grip, I have to hop once or twice to find my balance. The crutch topples into the snow, landing with a wetsquelch.
My breath is a loud rush in my ears, my pulse pounding with a mix of adrenaline and embarrassment.
“Steady?” he says.
“I’m fine.” I jerk free, and he lets me go so readily that I nearly fall down again.
He stoops to pick up my fallen crutch, then holds it out to me. Snow is collecting in his blond hair and along his shoulders. There’s an emblem or a crest stamped into his breastplate, over his heart, but just the edge peeks out from under the cloak, so I can’t make it out. He looks so bright and flawless, so fierce and worldly, that he could have said he was the king himself and I would’ve believed it.
Then he says, “Is it much farther?”
I grit my teeth and get my crutches under me again. “No, my lord,” I say tightly. “Forgive me for the delay.”
“That wasn’t a complaint,” he says easily. “I was worried Lord Alek might follow me. If it’s a long way, I would offer you mercy. If you like.”
