TYCHO
I don’t reach the Crystal City until very late, and the cobblestone streets are slick with fallen snow, forcing this last part of my journey to take longer than any other. Mercy picks her way along the darkened streets, and I listen for trouble, though all I’ve heard for hours are the rhythmic clops of her hooves and the whisper of snow settling across Syhl Shallow. I’m nearly home, but my thoughts are trapped back in Briarlock, and I can’t settle on what’s drawing my focus the most. The unexpected appearance of Lord Alek? I don’tthinkso. He’s hated me for years—and it’s rather mutual. It’s not like he caused an issue while I was there.
The tension in the bakery doubled when I arrived, too—a tension that followed the beguiling blacksmith all the way to his forge. I made Jax nervous, clearly, because I caught the many glances he threw across his workshop. I liked how gentle he was with Mercy, the way his voice went low when he spoke to the mare.Is your master always like this?I heard him say, and the memory makes me smile. I liked how he didn’t try to overcharge me, even though he must have known I’d carry good silver.
Callyn didn’t try to overcharge me either, and she blushed when I gave her two silvers, the same as Jax. The meat pies were incredible, though, the crust sweet and buttery, with the insides full of a savory mixture of chicken and vegetables. I feel like I should ride back to pay her more.
But I can’t shake that overriding worry that I walked into …something. Maybe it’s just that I wear the crests of both countries, and lately that seems to be enough to cause tension.
When I reach the guard station at the palace gates, I don’t recognize the guard there, which means she doesn’t recognizeme, and I have to wait for her commanding officer. I sigh inwardly and wait while Mercy paws at the slush.
“I know,” I murmur and bite back a shiver. Those warm meat pies from Callyn’s bakery feel like a distant memory. “We’re almost there.”
An army lieutenant named Ander reaches the station rather quickly, and I sigh with relief when I see him. We’ve never been friends, but I’ve known Ander since I was a recruit.
“Well met,” I say.
He gives me a curt nod and looks to the guard. “Let him through.”
Itisthe middle of the night, so I ignore his terse manner and cluck to my horse. Once we’re past the gates, Mercy trots across the deserted training fields without any urging. The stables are dark and closed up for the night, but a sleepy stable hand comes down from the loft with an oil lantern when Mercy clops into the aisle.
“I’ll take care of the horse,” I say quietly. It’s not his fault that I’ve arrived so late. “Go back to sleep.” He leaves the lantern with me and shuffles back up the steps.
Mercy’s tack is soaked and soiled from snow and sweat and days of hard riding, but that can wait till tomorrow. I tie her in the aisle and pile my equipment in the storage room, then grab some rags and a currycomb.
When I emerge, there’s a cloaked man in the shadows feeding an apple to Mercy. I stop short in the doorway, but then he looks up. “Welcome home.”
“Grey,” I say in surprise. I smile, then put a hand over my heart and bow. “Ah, forgive me, Your Majesty—”
“Oh, stop it,” he says lightly. “Give me a rag.”
I hand one over. Mercy is only half finished with the apple he gave her, but she starts nosing at him for more anyway, slobbering a trail of apple bits along the front of his cloak. I catch her halter and pull her away. “Don’t drool on the king.”
Grey says nothing, he just takes the rag and begins to rub the sweat marks out of her fur. I hesitate, then do the same.
The people of Syhl Shallow—and Emberfall, really—have a lot ofthoughtsabout the king: opinions about his once-banned magic, about his prowess on the battlefield, about whether he was earnest in his attempt to unite warring countries by marrying Queen Lia Mara. There are whispers that he was once working with an evil enchantress to destroy Emberfall, that his “alliance” is a farce to take advantage of the queen, that his magic will overwhelm Syhl Shallow and cause endless suffering to all who oppose him.
Therealtruth is that Grey is an honest man who was raised in poverty, only to later discover that he was secretly the heir to the throne of Emberfall. He’s agoodking, though: strong and fair, devoted to the countries he united. But I sometimes wonder if he craves quiet moments like this in the same way that I do. Moments where he doesn’t have to be the fierce ruler and I don’t have to be a well-armed messenger carrying word of threats against the throne, and instead we’re just two people with a horse that needs tending.
I press the rag into Mercy’s coat, rubbing hard. “You really did take me by surprise,” I say to Grey, and mean it. “I thought the entire palace was asleep.”
“I saw you cross the training fields,” he says. “Lia Mara is sicker with this one than she was with little Sinna, so no one is sleeping these days.”
My eyes flick up, and I study him over the crest of Mercy’s neck. “The queen is pregnant again.”
“Ah. Yes.” He doesn’t smile, but there’s a warm light in his eye that only appears when he speaks of their daughter—but there’s a hesitation in his voice, too. “You were gone before we knew.”
I understand the hesitation. Another royal baby. Another potential magesmith.
Another target.
I think of the reports from Emberfall that are still wrapped up and tucked beneath my breastplate. Grey hasn’t asked for them yet, but I know he will. I don’t want to ruin the quiet by offering.
“Is Lia Mara well?” I ask instead.
He nods. “She misses you.” He half smiles. “She says you’re the only one allowed to teach Sinna to hold a sword, as it has been decreed by the princess herself—”
I snort. Princess Sinna is three. “Does she knowyoutaughtme?”
