Tycho’s cheeks turn a little pink, but his brown eyes hold mine.
I have no idea how he erased three months of angst and longing and anger and uncertainty in twelve hours.
The barmaid is speaking now, but I’m barely listening. “I’ll bring food quickly so you can make it to the tourney before dark,” she’s saying.
That makes Tycho look up. “The tourney?” he says— and it’s clear he almost forgot his accent, because he tacks it on halfway through the word.
She nods. “For . . . themeeting,” she says quietly, glancing at me.
“Ah. Yes.” I nod briskly, as if we’re all in on a secret, and I look to Tycho. “The tourney,” I say in Syssalah, as if he needed me to translate.
His eyebrows go up. “Ah,” he says. “Thetourney.” He offers her a grateful smile, and the barmaid nods helpfully, then rushes off.
Tycho turns back to me. A light sparks in his eye, and he adds, “You make a rather good spy, Master Jax.”
Heat flares on my cheeks, and I have to take another sip of my ale. I cannotbelievehe ever told me he was bad at courtship.
Malin kicks him under the table again. “Maybe it was better when you two were fighting.”
“We were never fighting,” he says without looking away from me.There’s heat in his voice, but he adds that ridiculous Syssal accent again, so it startles another laugh out of me.
This time Sephran glances between us, and his gaze darkens. It’s like his annoyance at Malin has eased now that they share a goal, but his annoyance at Tycho has returned with full force.
The smile falls off my face, and I take a sip of my ale. By the time the barmaid returns with drinks for Malin and Tycho, the table has gone stony silent.
Leo glances among all of us. “Does anyone want to play cards?” he ventures.
“No,” Sephran and Tycho say at the same time.
Leo cringes a little. “Silver hell,” he mutters.
Malin takes a long draw from his stein, then looks from me to Tycho. “So you’ll go to thismeeting. See who’s there. See what they’re saying.” He pauses, running a hand across his jaw. “If they ask why you were sitting with us, say we served together on the other side. We’re on leave, but we share your sentiments about the king, so we were curious.”
I glance from him to Tycho. “What . . .sentiments?”
When Tycho translates, I shake my head quickly. “No— what sentiments are we sharing?”
Malin drops his voice. “Probably Truthbringer sentiments.”
“That you hate magic,” says Leo.
“And the king,” adds Sephran.
Malin exchanges a glance with Tycho, and for the first time a flicker of concern crosses his expression. “Not just that you hate him,” he says. “Not if it’s really the Truthbringers.”
I look to Tycho, unsure if I’m following.
His brown eyes meet mine, and this time there’s no heat there at all. “That we want him dead.”
CHAPTER 18
TYCHO
By the time the sun sets, we have a weak plan that’s full of holes. I’ve been to Gaulter’s tourney before, and I first battled Nakiis right in the middle of the arena, so I don’t just have to worry about Syhl Shallow’s nobility. It’s been months, so I doubt I’d be recognized by any of the regular citizens, but Journ, the man who runs the tourney, would definitely remember me. We worked together when I was young.
Malin, Sephran, and Leo are going to walk the crowd and attend as spectators. Some of that is part of our original mission: to see what kind of gossip they’ll hear in the stands. But some of it is outright caution. If I’m recognized, or if this “meeting” goes badly in any way, I don’t want to have to fight my way out alone.
I hate that the sun hasn’t fully set, and I’m already thinking about this ending in a battle.
