“You’re very quiet,” Jax says as we wind through shadowed alleys toward the tourney. We’re alone again, because we don’t want to be seen with the soldiers now, but there’s a part of me that wishes we’d kept the others with us. I can’t shake the feeling that we’re beingwatched, that there’s magic in the air, that something isoffabout Gaulter that I haven’t yet figured out.
But maybe none of that is true. Maybe I’m just hot and tired and anxious.
“Tycho?”
“Sorry.” The air is so humid and still, and despite the heavy clouds, it hasn’t rained all day. I’d give anything for a breeze. “I was just thinking of everything that could go wrong.”
“Oh, good. I thought maybe you were worried.”
His tone makes me smile, and I glance over. Jax has re- pinned his hair in a tight knot at the back of his neck, and he’s wearing a few more weapons than before, adding to the illusion of a soldier. No sword, because it’s weight he doesn’t need if he doesn’t have the skill to use it, but a longer dagger hangs from his belt, and two knives are strapped to his thigh. I left my quiver with Mercy’s gear, but he’s got his buckled over one shoulder, his bow crisscrossed over the other. A faint sheen of sweat glints on any exposed skin, revealing the curved muscle of his forearms, the first slope of his biceps, the way his neck disappears into his tunic.
I didn’t realize it until now, but it’s more than just the armor broadening his frame. It’s just . . . it’s justhim. Likely from the months of training with the soldiers. Or maybe months of eating better food than whatever he and his father were able to scrape together— which I know wasn’t much.
“What?” he says, and I realize I’m staring.
I jerk my eyes forward. “Sorry,” I say again, but now I’m tongue-tied, flustered. “I was just— I mean you— you look—” I break off and make the mistake of glancing over, and his eyes are dark and beguiling, making me wish we could go anywhere else and do anything else. I swear under my breath.
“I look . . . ?” he prompts, but there’s a hint of mischief in his voice.
I shake my head and keep my eyes on the alley. “You changed so much, Jax.”
He bumps me with his shoulder, and when I look over, he smiles. “You changed, too.”
I was in the midst of smiling back, but this takes me by surprise. “Yeah?”
He nods— and he clearly wants to torment me, because he saysnothing.
“How?” I demand.
His expression twists a little, as if he needs to consider that. “I’m not sure how to explain it. Less . . . something. More . . . something else.”
“Oh. Well.” My eyes flick skyward.
He bumps me with his shoulder again. This time he gives me a strongerpush, so I shove him back. It’s playful, but Jax has never backed away from a little rough- and- tumble. Neither have I, so for a second, we scuffle in the alley. But when his fingers brush my arm, there’s a different intent to the touch.
“Don’t startthat,” I warn. “We’ll never make it to the tourney.”
He must agree, because he sighs regretfully and hooks his thumbs in his weapons belt and faces forward. After a while, he says, “It’s not quiteconfidence. You’ve always been confident.” His tone is musing, so I keep my mouth shut, because now I’m curious. But after a moment, he says nothing, and I glance over.
“Tell me,” I say.
He shakes his head a little. “I’m really not sure.”
“Jax, you arekillingme.”
He grins. “Is that the tourney?”
We’ve turned a corner, and he’s right. The tourney is just ahead. The building is larger than I remember, and it’s early enough that people are milling about in all directions. We’ll be able to loseourselves in the crowd easily enough— though a Syssal accent will be obvious as soon as we speak. My heart gives a little kick. I don’t usually play the role of aspy, and my thoughts keep whispering about the million ways this evening could unravel.
But Jax is by my side, and he just called me confident. My heart is thrumming with pride, too. I don’t want to prove him wrong.
“That’s it,” I say briskly. “Let’s go.”
When I was here last winter, the tourney was crowded yet tolerable. Now that it’s the dead heat of summer, the space is packed and stifling. As Jax and I move among the people, I have no idea how we’ll find a meeting at all. I have no idea how we’ll findanyone. An hour ago I was thinking about escape, but now I’m more worried about getting trampled.
Jax presses close, and at first I thought it might be a necessity from the dense crowds, but when his hand brushes mine, he grips my fingers for the barest second. I’m not sure what about the motion catches my attention, but I glance over. His expression is steady and cool, but his eyes are flicking from face to face, and a bead of sweat rolls down his forehead.
“Doing all right?” I murmur in Syssalah.
