No matter what happened with Jax and Lord Tycho, he was puttinghimself at risk to help save us both. My parents put themselves at risk for the same reason.
For the first time in my life, I have a chance to do the same thing.
When Lord Alek returns, I take his note, I take his silver, and I keep my mouth shut.
CHAPTER 22
TYCHO
Despite the king’s summons, Lord Alek does not appear.
He’s traveling, we’re told by the servants of his House, reviewing shipments and deliveries of wool and silk, but the order will be obeyed theinstanthe arrives. A message is received detailing Alek’s accounting of what happened, and just as I expected, he paints me as the assailant, that he feared for his life when confronted with my “limitless magical power.” He says he was merely accepting a confidential message about a fabric delivery—and sends “proof” by way of an opened blood-stained letter that bears his House seal. He calls for me to have the rings stripped away if I can’t be trusted to use them responsibly.
I spend a lot of nights not sleeping. I worry about Nakiis, the scraver who might bear animosity toward Grey. I think about Alek, and whether he’s up to no good—or if he simply hates me and anything to do with magic. I consider Prince Rhen, and his comments aboutpolitically trickyrivals, and whether this Royal Challenge will make any impact on the people of Syhl Shallow and Emberfall—or if a competition will just be an excuse for more rivalry to breed.
And when it’s very late, and very dark, and the palace is quiet, I think about Jax: his watchful eyes, his cautious smile, his fierce determination that revealed itself in the most surprising ways. Like how he seemed almost afraid to succeed at something like archery—followed by clear eagerness to learn once he didn’t fail. I think about his hand on my wrist when we sat by the forge, how I wanted to pull away at first. I think about how his voice was low and soothing, how his fingers were so gentle against my skin that it held me in place.
I think about Jax more often than I’d like to admit.
I keep waiting for an assignment to return to Emberfall, just so I can ride through Briarlock again. But I’m not given any messages to carry aside from brief, unimportant missives to local nobles. At first, this seems typical, but as days—and then weeks—go by, boredom begins to set in, and I seek out further duties.
“Remain here,” Grey says every time I ask. “I have nothing yet to send to Rhen.” He’s tense and distracted, his eyes hard when I see him on the training fields. Lia Mara has been staying out of the public eye—the only visible hint that she’s unwell, but I know she hasn’t been sleeping. And neither, it seems, has Grey.
“It’s been many weeks,” I eventually say. “I could see if he’s discovered any further troubling messages—”
“Tycho,” he says firmly. “Stay here.”
Excitement for the Royal Challenge has built among the palace staff and the soldiers. Preparations for the first competition in Emberfall have continued, which meanssomeoneis carrying messages across the border, just not me. I know it’s not personal—the Royal Challenge is no longer a secret—but I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve let the king down, that this is a punishment. My role always felt like freedom, but now I feel as chained as Nakiis.
I try to keep busy, spending time on the training fields every morning, running the courses or sparring with any recruits looking for extrahours with a blade in their hands. But when Grey appears, his shadowed expression becomes a daily reminder of what I’ve done wrong. I always seek my horse and ride into the woods surrounding the soldier barracks, or I disappear into the palace. I begin to dine with the soldiers in the mess hall, or with Noah in the infirmary, skipping morning meals altogether.
I’m probably not being subtle. But after amonthpasses and I’ve been given no duties at all, I no longer care about subtlety.
By the sixth week, the wind and snow from the mountains have lessened, the air softening as winter begins to yield to spring. Mercy sheds her winter coat, and the servants pack heavy cloaks away. Buds form in the palace gardens, the promise of color to come. When I spar on the training fields, we’re sweating under our armor instead of shivering. My mood turns lighter than it’s been in weeks.
One morning, Jake surprises me by arriving on the fields early, when the air is still fresh and cold. I’m in the middle of a match with first-year recruits who’ve barely graduated from wooden training swords.
“Come on, T,” he says, drawing his weapon. “Let’s give them a real demonstration.”
There’s no bitterness between me and Jake, and I’m not one to turn down a challenge. I grin and whirl to face him almost before he’s ready. He’s athletic and blocks quickly, though. He’s strong and relentless with a blade, but there’s not a lot of finesse to Jake’s fighting: he’ll throw a punch or swing a dagger or drive your face right into the dirt if he gets the chance.
But this is my element: swordplay in the sunlight, facing someone who won’t easily yield. When he tries to get me off my feet, I counterattack and get him off his. But throwing knives unexpectedly spin free of his hands, forcing me to keep my distance, allowing him to get his feet underneath him again. A small crowd has gathered, mostly the early soldiers, but I keep my eyes on the battle before me.
Jake swings hard, forcing me to yield ground, and I swear. A light of victory glints in his eyes, and he bears down, single-minded and ruthless. “You’re going down, T.”
I smile and block, then attack just as hard. “We’ll see.”
A voice speaks from behind me. “Tycho won’t go down.”
Grey. Silver hell. I grit my teeth and try to focus. What was supposed to be fun now feels likepressure. Especially when Jake takes advantage of my moment of distraction. He spins and tries to hook my blade. It puts him close, and he’s nearly strong enough to wrench the sword out of my hand.
This reminds me of the battle with Nakiis. Or the fight with Alek. All the mistakes I made when I let my guard down. Grey is here, judging every movement, every step.
I can’t break Jake’s hold, so I draw my dagger and aim for his throat. He jerks back in surprise, but it’s all I need. I bring my sword down, and he’s off balance, so he can’t block effectively. Now it’s his turn to swear. He’s going for his own dagger, but I slam my shoulder into him hard. He grabs hold of my armor, and we go down together. We roll, grappling for leverage. I feel his fist connect with the side of my rib cage, right at the base of my armor.
It’s no harder than I’m used to, but it steals my breath. It’s right where Alek stabbed me.
I blink and in my mind, it’s night. There’s snow on the ground and the forge is glowing.
