I don’t know if that’s what happened to my mother. Maybe she survived the monster to fall to the army in Emberfall. Maybe it was both.
I know it terrified my father. He was such a kind, thoughtful man before she died. That didn’t quite change after she was gone—but maybe that thoughtfulness went awry. Maybe he couldn’t stop thinking about the magic and what it had done to Mother. That’s why he got tangled up with the Truthbringers—and why he’s dead now. I know he didn’t expect the protest to swell into the palace the way it did.
I know he didn’t expect the king to turn his magic on our people. I rub at Mother’s pendant under my shirt.
I keep thinking about these messages. I’ve begun to wonder how my mother would feel about our activities.
I wish we knew what was in these notes.
Jax has gotten pretty close to the design, but he’s not there yet. What’s more concerning is the wax. It’s a complicated swirl of green and black, with flecks of silver. I walked to town last week, but there’s nothing available at the stationers with so much detail. When we melt green and black wax together, we don’t get pretty swirls—we get a darker green. It might be nothing anyone would notice—or it might be the most important thing of all. We might get a dozen opportunities to read these letters if we get the mixture right, but I’m pretty sure we’d only have one shot if we get it wrong. Then our blood would be swirling in the dirt.
I finish milking May and set the bucket by the door, then turn her loose in the small paddock so I can muck out the barn. Nora should be awake by now, but she likely saw me doing the barn chores and decided to start the dough for bread. Hopefully.
When I go to dump the wheelbarrow on the muck heap, something in the woods draws my notice. I’m not sure if it was a bit of sound or abit of movement, but I hesitate, looking out through the ice-laden trees. A bitter wind tears through the barnyard, and somewhere out in the woods, an animal shrieks. I shiver.
I want to ignore it, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’m suddenly not alone.
I finish dumping the wheelbarrow, then turn back for the barn. That feeling won’t shake loose. I wish for the ax.
“Jax?” I call.
No response. I can hear the forge distantly clanging anyway.
“Nora?” I say. “Nora, if you’re fixing to trick me, I’ll make you fetch the eggs for amonth.”
Nothing. Some of the hens wander through the open door out into the yard. Muddy May looks over from her pile of hay.
I put my tools away, fighting the urge to hurry out of sight. When I go to slide the crooked door closed, it protests with a loud creak—then stops altogether. The gap is a foot wide now. I sigh.
I jerk at the door, but it’s frozen in place. Now it won’t open or close in either direction. No amount of swearing or pulling or kicking will get the door to move. Sweat begins to gather under my cloak.
“May I help?”
I startle and whirl. Lord Tycho stands there in the snow.
I stumble back a few feet before I stop myself. “Oh. Hello. Ah … my lord.” I feel flushed and uncertain. I can’t stop thinking of the magic he bears.
Magic that helped Jax.
The same magic that’s caused so much harm.
His eyes are shadowed, and a day’s worth of beard growth covers his jaw this morning. Even his armor seems scratched up. There’s definitely a slice through the emblems of Syhl Shallow and Emberfall.
“Forgive me.” He pauses. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
His voice is kind, and it sounds as if he’s apologizing for more thanjust this moment. My heart is still pounding, and I wish it would stop. I wish I could reconcile the kindness of his actions with the terrible power he bears.
Has he been here awhile? I wonder if he was waiting on the other side of the bakery, where the door is locked. Maybe it was his horse that I heard.
Then I remember what he said when he came through town before. “I don’t—the meat pies aren’t ready yet—”
“I didn’t expect them to be. I’m earlier to Briarlock than I expected.” He nods at the barn. “I heard you battling with the door. May I help?”
I frown. Knowing he’s at my side makes me even more aware of the peeling paint, the weathered wood, the bent hinges and crooked track.
He’s stepped up to my side, and I shiver, but he only points. “Your door has slipped off the track a bit.”
He’s right. Jax warned me about it a month ago, saying he could fix it, but I didn’t have the coins to pay for a new track, and I wasn’t going to beg him for steel. He already does enough for me.
