Four is better than nothing. Well—the arrowheads are rusted. At least that’s something I can replace, and easily.
I hardly want to think about what I’m doing. I cast a glance at the door that leads into the house, as if my father might appear at any moment. I don’t know what he’d say if he found me out here trying to string a bow. I don’t want to find out.
I fetch a rag and some oil, along with some scraps of leather.
In less than an hour, I have a questionably strung bow, four arrows, and a pounding heart.
It’s still early. Surely the forge can wait another half an hour.
I sling the bow over my shoulder, tuck the arrows under my belt, and take up my crutches.
I don’t go anywhere near as far as we went yesterday, just halfway down the lane toward the bakery. Out of sight from both. The woods have brightened with early sunlight, and my breath eases out of my mouth in a long stream. I try to remember every instruction Tycho offered, from nocking the arrow to drawing my arm back to finding my aim.
I have no idea if this will work. The string might snap, or the arrows might go sideways, or my father might catch me, break the bow in half, and demand that I get back to the forge.
But maybe I don’t want to settle for a pitiful memory.
What are you afraid of, Jax?
Less than I was yesterday.
I brace myself against a frozen tree, draw back the string, and shoot.
CHAPTER 20
TYCHO
I wake in a dim, unfamiliar room, lying on a narrow bed. A fire crackles somewhere nearby. I remember Alek and my hand flies to my waist, but my weapons are gone. My armor is gone. With a gasp, I shove myself upright.
“Slow down,” Noah’s voice calls from behind me, and then I realize where I am.
The infirmary. The Crystal Palace.
I … have no idea how I got here. Weak sunlight filters down from the windows, but I don’t know if that means it’s dawn or dusk. I remember arguing with Alek. Jax. The dagger. The pain.
I remember Jax saving my life. My blood was on his cheek. His eyes were shining in the light of the forge.
I remember climbing onto Mercy. I don’t remember much after that.
But I rememberbefore. Walking in the woods with Jax, watching the bitterness in his eyes soften into something like eagerness whenthe first arrow shot off the string. Sitting beside the forge when I should have been riding home. Feeling his hand close on my wrist. Sharing thoughts I haven’t revealed to … anyone.
I almost forgot what it was like to just be … Tycho.
My cat is sleeping at my feet, but Noah appears in front of me with two steaming mugs, so Salam slithers off the cot to sneak beneath it.
Noah ignores the cat. “Here,” he says, holding out a mug as he drops to sit on the cot beside me. I inhale the scent of oranges and cinnamon. “How’s your head?”
I frown and lift a hand to my head, but nothing hurts. I’m in a simple linen tunic and loose trousers that I don’t remember wearing. My frown deepens. “I don’t remember getting here.”
“Well.” He takes a sip of the tea. “When you rode up to the guard station last night, you were unconscious.”
I stare at him. “Really.”
He nods. “Collapsed over your horse’s neck,” he says. “Covered in snow. Blood everywhere. They thought you might be dead.”
I fight for memories, but after cantering out of Briarlock, none come. Oh, sweet Mercy. She brought me home. I’ll need to bring her an entire bushel of apples.
I rub a hand over my face and take a sip of tea.
