I’m staring at him. “Are you talking about theking?”
“Yes,” he says, like it’s nothing. “Here. Watch.” He lifts the bow, nocks an arrow, and draws back the string. “Keep your arm level. Draw back and release.” The arrow flies off the string and cracks into a tree thirty yards away.
Then he looks at me. “What are you afraid of, Jax?”
I’m afraid I’m about to make a fool of myself. My cheeks are already warm. “Thatisthe worst question in the world.”
“Right?” He doesn’t make me answer, he just holds out the bow. My fingers tighten on my crutches uncertainly, but he shrugs and glances behind me. “Brace against a tree.”
This feels awkward, but I lever myself backward a few steps until I’m against a narrow trunk, snow trickling down my neck when my cloak tugs a bit loose. But I drop the crutches and take the bow. I’ve tried archery before, when I was a boy, my father explaining the movements. But it was years ago, long before I got hurt, and everything feels foreign. I try to mimic the movements, slipping an arrow onto the string and drawing it back, letting the shaft rest along the shelf.
“More,” he says. “Don’t be afraid to put some strength into it.”
I draw it back another inch. It’ll be a miracle if the arrow doesn’t fall off the string. “I’ll never be able to shoot as far as you did.”
“Why? I’ve seen you swing a hammer. You’re likely stronger than I am.”
I almost drop everything right there. “I doubt that.” But I draw the bow back another inch, and before I have a chance to hesitate—or even think about something likeaim—I let go. The arrow shoots off the string with more power than I expect, and I’m glad for the tree at myback. But he was right: it soars past the tree he struck, going so far down the path that I have no idea where it lands.
Lord Tycho throws his hands up and whistles. “See? I told you.” He pulls another arrow from the quiver.
“I didn’t hit anything.” But there’s joy in his voice, so it lights a spark of joy in my chest, too.
“Who cares? Here.”
I take another arrow and nock it on the string again. I blow a lock of hair out of my eyes and try to aim this time, focusing on the same tree he hit. It’s a broad target, with a wide trunk. I take a breath and let it fly.
This arrow shears off some of the bark but sails past the tree.
“Even better.” He pulls another arrow out of the quiver. “Soon I’ll have to worry about you putting an arrow inmyback.”
The praise stokes the warmth in my chest—but it’s a reminder of who he is and why he’s here. He’s this beautiful, strong, skilled nobleman, and I’m … well, I’mme. I frown. “My lord—I shouldn’t—”
“Silver hell, Jax.” He whacks me on the arm with the arrow. “Shut up. Shoot.”
“Ow. Fine.” This somehow feels like bickering with Cal.
But also notat alllike bickering with Cal.
This time, the arrow cracks into the trunk six inches below the one he shot, just barely sticking. But it’s there. I’m a little breathless, staring.
Lord Tycho—no, just Tycho—grins. “Do it again.”
I should refuse. This isn’t right. I have duties—and so does he, I’m sure.
But this is also the first time I’ve felt a flare of … ofchallengefrom someone, especially another young man. The first time in a long while that I’ve felt a glimmer of pride, too. Is this some kind of militaristic camaraderie? Is this what I’ve missed by not becoming a soldier?
Or is this more?
I shoot another—and then another, until the quiver is nearly empty. Many of my arrows flew past the tree, but some did not. At least half a dozen are buried in the trunk near the first one Tycho shot.
“Hold on,” Tycho says. “I’ll fetch them. At least the ones I can find.” Without waiting for an answer, he swings aboard Mercy and she lopes down the path.
I stare after him, bemused. And possibly a bit fascinated. I can’t tell if it’shimor if it’s … all of this. My fingers have gone a bit numb from the cold, and my leg is stiff from bracing against the tree for so long, but I’d stand here all night if it meant this feeling in my chest wouldn’t dissipate.
But I can’t, and it will. Ultimately, this won’t be a fond memory. It’ll serve as a reminder of everything I lack. The thought makes me frown. I get my crutches underneath me again and straighten.
Tycho is already loping back, the quiver mostly full again. When he sees that I’ve moved away from the tree, he looks startled. “I know you’re not bored of shooting.”
