“I want to know what’s worth fifty silvers just toholdit.” He pauses. “I accused him of treason, and he all but said he’s trying to protect the queen from magic—”
“You accused that man oftreason?” I swear, he’s going to get his head cut off. My eyes skip to his throat, but there are only the marks from a few days ago.
“Yes. And Lord Alek told me that the king was involved with the monster that slaughtered the Syhl Shallow soldiers. That he stole his throne by magic. That the Truthbringers are trying to protect the queen.”
I freeze, but only for a moment. My mother was a part of that slaughter.
I look back at the folded parchment.
Then back at his hand.
Then back at his face.
His hazel eyes are full of shadows. No path seems like the right one. I lift the muslin to his cheek again.
Jax ducks away. “Stop. Cal. I’m fine.”
“Oh. Good. I thought maybe you were suffering.” I pull his mangled hand out of the water. He hisses a breath through his teeth, but I ignore him, tighten my grip on his wrist, and blot the water away.
“You’re a terrible friend,” he mutters.
There’s enough pain in his voice that I ease up. I open the jar of salve and study the wound. “How did this happen?”
“I grabbed hold—”
“I heard that part. What were you fighting about?”
He says nothing.
When I glance up, it’s like the shadows in his eyes have multiplied. His jaw is set.
“It was my own fault,” he says.
Sometimes I don’t know whether I ought to hug him or if he needs a good shake. He probably wouldn’t welcome either. I touch salve to the wound and his breathing hitches again. He’s so tense that the muscled tendons in his forearm are standing out.
“Do you believe what Lord Alek said?” I say quietly. “That the Truthbringers are trying to protect the queen?”
“I don’t know.” He uses his good hand to reach into his pocket, and a moment later a handful of coins jangle onto the table. “I believe weneedthatto save our homes. It’s not like the queen is going to show up and offer us a pardon.”
Jax’s eyes are intent on mine, and I nod.
The bakery door is thrust open, making the bells ring, and we both jump amile. I nearly overturn the bowl of water. Half the coins rattle onto the floor.
“It’s all right,” Jax murmurs, but he’s already jamming the parchment back into his pocket. “It’s just Nora.”
She’s chattering away as she comes through the door with a basket over one arm. “The hens hate the cold, you know. They keep pecking my wrists. I could barely getthree, if you can believe that.”
Honestly. “Enough about thehens, Nora—”
I break off and choke on my breath. She’s not talking to me. She’s talking to the young man following her through the door.
Lord Tycho.
Jax swears under his breath and begins sweeping coins into a pile. He must knock his injured hand because he sucks in a breath and swears again. A bloom of sweat breaks out on his forehead.
I quickly step in front of him to block Lord Tycho’s view. “My lord,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant, but probably sounding like I’m about to commit a crime. “Welcome.”
“Cally-cal was about to make some meat pies,” Nora is chattering, heedless of the tension. “We made fresh pastry just this morning! She makes the best in Briarlock.”
