“It is,” he says. Lord Tycho has taken a seat on the bench by the window, leaning back against the wall. The sunlight gleams in his hair. Nora was right—he is very handsome. There’s a hint of weariness to his frame, though, and now I can see that one side of his armor is barely held together by crudely tied strips of leather. I wonder who he fought with, and why.
“Do you think she’ll have another girl?” says Nora. “Two daughters are supposed to be very lucky.”
He smiles. “So I’ve heard.”
“I’m so excited,” she squeals. “I love babies.”
I roll my eyes. As if she’ll be meeting this one personally.
“Maybe she’ll be amagicalprincess.” She sighs. “I’m sure people will have a lot to say about that.”
Lord Tycho’s eyes meet mine, and I think of that moment in the barnyard when I refused his magic. “What do you think they’ll say?” he asks her, but his eyes are still on me.
“Everyone is worried that Princess Sinna might be a magesmith like the king. Do you think so, Lord Tycho?”
“I think Princess Sinna is fairly determined to be whatever she wants to be.” He pauses. “They needn’t worry. The king and queen are fair and just, and they’re raising their daughter to be the same.”
I’m not sure my parents would agree, but I don’t know what to say. I certainly can’t tell him that my father was part of the attack on the castle six months ago. My cheeks are warm, so I thrust my hands into a fresh ball of dough and say nothing.
Nora, however, has no hesitation. “But even if she doesn’t, she could get rings like yours, right?” she’s asking with awe in her voice. “Do many people have them?”
He’s been very patient with her prattling, and I’m curious about this one myself, so I keep my eyes on the tarts while I wait for his answer.
“Very few,” he says. “They’re made of special steel from the iceforests in Iishellasa.” He flexes his hand, and they catch the light. “It takes the king quite a bit of time and effort to make them.”
That must mean that the king chooses who gets to wear them. Something about the idea twists up inside of me. Why should one person get to choose?
“Can you heal anything with them?” Nora is asking.
“Not anything,” he says. “I’m nowhere near as fast as the king would be. It’s borrowed magic. Like … like a pair of boots that don’t fit quite right. I can’t summon it as quickly as he can, so if an injury is bad enough, I can’t stop it. It’s … it’s very draining, too.”
I glance over when he says that. I wonder if he was harmed in battle, if that’s why he looks so worn and tired. If he were badly injured and then healed the wounds, it would match the damage to his armor.
“Magic won’t undo healing,” Tycho is saying. “So once it sets in, I can’t reverse whatever damage has been left behind. The king can’t either. But he saved a pregnant woman once, who’d taken a dagger to the belly.” He pauses, gesturing to his face. “He even saved a man’s eye after it had been gouged out. It simply started re-forming in his head—”
“Ugh!” cries Nora.
“Ah … forgive me.” Lord Tycho looks abashed. “Sometimes I forget my audience. Too many days with no one but Mercy for company.”
“She deserves it for being so nosy.” I cast a wicked glance at my sister, but in my head I’m thinking of everything he said. Surely if magic can heal a wound, it could cause one just as easily.
Nora makes a face at me. “What do your other rings do?” she asks him.
“Nora!” I snap. “Quit badgering the man.”
“It’s all right,” he says. “I have a friend who always says that a little knowledge can make the mysterious less frightening. I’ve heard many of the rumors about magic. Most of them are untrue.” He hesitates.“I can seek things, like water or food. Or a person, if they’re not too far off. I can start a fire if I need to.”
Nora loses the smile. “The king’s magic started a fire.”
I go still. “Nora,” I say quietly. “That’s enough about magic.” I glance at the apple tarts. They’ve browned nicely around the edges, so I use thick woolen mitts to pull the pan out of the oven. The entire bakery smells like apples and crisp pastry. Tycho joins me by the table as I slide the tarts off the pan.
“Don’t steal one,” Nora warns. “She’ll break your knuckles.”
That startles a smile out of him. “I’ve been warned.”
I glance up. When my eyes meet his, the expression fades away.
“Forgive me,” he says. “I frightened you with the magic. That wasn’t my intent.”
