Tycho is so silent that he could be an assassin. I don’t know if it’s army training or if it’s just a natural vigilance, but the bare shuffle of my false foot moving through the underbrush seems very loud. Thenagain, so does the pounding of my heart. My brain is all too happy to remind me of the other scraver attacks I’ve survived. I still have wide scars across my jaw from the last time.
I don’t want any more.
Another cool breeze swirls through the trees, and I shiver. I can’t sense the magic the way Tycho can, but there’s something so unnatural about it right now, with the heavy heat of summer bearing down on top of us. My hand has gone a bit slick on the bow, and I adjust my grip. Beside me, Tycho already has a hand on the hilt of his sword.
Then we hear the voices, and we both slow.
First, it’s a man. “. . . is already here in Emberfall. The magic has left Syhl Shallow, but it could return. I’ve heard rumors that the queen is desperate for him to come back.”
He’s speaking in clear Emberish, with a thick, cultured accent— the way Prince Rhen speaks Syssalah. Like he’s learned from books and a tutor instead of sheer desperation. I’m guessing he’s of the nobility in Syhl Shallow.
A woman responds in kind. “While the queen sits on the throne,” she says, “the risk of magic returning exists.”
Another man cries out, and the lack of an accent says he’s from this side of the border. “Well, we don’t want him here either. We’ve already had enough problems with magic.”
Beside me, Tycho has gone absolutely still.
A second woman speaks, her voice slower, more thoughtful, though there’s an edge to her tone. “I have heard from my spies that the king’s forces at Ironrose Castle aren’t as fortified as they could be, as the king has been slow and distracted since returning. Perhaps while the king and queen are separated, we have an opportunity to resolve things in a way that will satisfy everyone.”
Something about her voice sounds familiar, but I can’t quite place it since she’s speaking in Emberish.
“Just how are you going to do that?” another man calls.
In the shadows, I look at Tycho. My heart beats so hard that it’s painful inside my chest.
He lifts a hand and gestures for us to move closer, then taps under his eye and points.
I think I understand. He wants toseewho these people are.
Silently, he shifts between the trees, and I do my best to mimic his movements. I can’t move like a ghost the way he can, however, and I wince every time my foot makes a slight drag through the pine needles and dried leaves littering the ground.
Ahead, a few torches are lit, because I spot the glow among the trees. The forest is too dense, so I can’t make out any individual faces from here, but this “meeting” seems to be much more like a crowd. As my eyes scan the shadowed moonlight, I estimate at least thirty people standing in the woods.
A torch shifts, and I change that estimate to forty.
No,fifty. Maybe more. I swallow.
This isn’t a meeting. This is a mob.
Then the woman says, “Xovaar, shall we show them how effectively we can resolve our difficulties?”
Tycho freezes, his hand grabbing my forearm, making us both stop short. That icy breeze whips between the trees again, lifting his hair and making us both shiver. Suddenly the tree trunks around us glisten in the moonlight, ice crawling along the wood before melting in the heat.
Then I hear the scraver’s voice, though it’s not a sound at all. It’s words carried on the air, spoken right to my mind.
— We are not alone.
For an instant, panic clogs my thoughts, and I can’t move. If we run, a scraver will be able to chase us— and so will everyone else waiting in this clearing. What if they have soldiers? Guards? I doubt I can outrun fifty people. I definitely can’t outrun an arrow.
And that’s if I can even run at all. I’ve grown comfortable walking on this false foot, but running takes a lot more coordination. If I don’t land exactly right, the spot where my leg meets the wood sometimes slips or buckles, and I end up in a heap on the ground.
Boots swish through the underbrush. Someone is coming toward us. My eyes flash to Tycho’s.
Run?I mouth.
He shakes his head and mouths two words back.Kiss me.
That cuts through my panic. There is absolutely no way I interpreted that correctly.
