‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ I say, sheathing my dagger then walking out of the ballroom and into the piercing night.
The snow has almost stopped, and Kyor’s footprints are pristine shadows in the white blanket covering the ground, leading straight across the courtyard and out of the western arc. More footprints appear, criss-crossing the prince’s, but I don’t break my stride, following the set going straight to the eastern arc, to the battle yard. I’d bet my place in the Retterheld that’s his destination, because of course he’d pick the furthest point in the High Hold to escape to on a night when it’s sub-zero.
Screw etiquette. Next time, I’m wearing my furs to the ball.
I don’t know why I’m following him or what I hope to gain by running into the night after a prince of the realm. As a good Rettling, I should still be at the ball, drinking wine with Kay, pushing what just happened from my mind the way the king expects us to.
Pretending we didn’t just lose someone we love and respect.
But that’s precisely why I left, and why my feet won’t stop walking. Because I learned long ago that pretending doesn’t work. And right now, Kyor needssomeoneto grieve with him.
Just as I expected, I find him in the battle yard, pounding his fists against the wall. His hands are bare, blood dripping down his knuckles.
‘Kyor,’ I murmur his name.
He whirls and looks at me, shaking his head before snorting in disgust.
‘Just what I need tonight. A damn thorn in my side.’ His words are bitter, but I’ve seen lashing out in grief – hell, I’ve done it myself a time or two – so I let the harsh words slide off me.
‘Kyor.’ I walk towards him. ‘I’m so sorry.’
He grunts. No words, just the sound of his broken heart choking his chest as he takes his knife and digs it into the wall, carving another long line into the brickwork. That’s when I notice the part of the wall that he’s standing at. It’s the place I noticed all those weeks ago, when Benny and I were watching the other Rettlings. The area with all the lines etched into the stone. And Kyor has just added another line to the tally.
A sinking feeling takes hold in my gut. ‘They’re yours, aren’t they? The marks? They’re people you’ve seen die.’
I try to squash the horror that rises within me at the sheer number of them.
He doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t stop digging tiny fragments out of the rock face.
‘They didn’t try,’ he says harshly as his knife continues to work at the stone. ‘No one fucking tried to save him.’
‘They couldn’t do anything,’ I tell him gently. ‘The way the kin—the way your father spoke was cruel. No, beyond cruel. Zelle deserved more than that. But no one could have saved him. When blood leaves the body that fast … it’s already too late.’
His dagger is still clenched in his hand as he swivels around and points it at me.
‘What are you doing here, Thorn?’ His eyes lock onto mine and that piercing blue holds me so fast that it makes everything else in the world fade away.
My heart pounds as I take a step closer.
‘I don’t know,’ I say truthfully. ‘I didn’t want you to be alone. You don’t deserve to have to face this alone.’
A pause holds the silence between us before he scoffs.
‘Why?’ he asks, but the question is torn from him, and I’m not sure if he’s asking why Zelle died, or why I’m here.
‘You’ve seen all these people die?’ I say, touching the rockface.
He glances at the wall and dismisses it with a shrug. ‘You fight in wars, you see people die.’ He says it as if it’s nothing, but it’s not nothing. He wouldn’t be out here if it were, nor would the marks be carved into the stone.
Silence sweeps between us once more as I look at the wall, suddenly aware of two things. One is that the weather has changed again to icy sleet, and the other is that the etching he’s just made for Zelle is covered in blood. Blood that will dry brown and stain the stone. I now understand the colour staining some of the other tallies.
‘These ones,’ I say, pointing to the row before Zelle’s mark, ‘these were for the soldiers who died on the front, aren’t they?’
This time, he snaps around to face me.
‘What do you want, Thorn? Did you think finding me here, vulnerable and broken, would finally give you the courage to kill me? Well, go on. Go on, I give you permission. I absolve you of any blame Etta might place on you. I’m the one who ruined your life so you’re justified in ending mine, and we both know it.’
He rips open his shirt, revealing his bare chest and the rings of tattoos I’ve seen time and time again in my head. The sleet melts against thewarmth of his skin, causing the water to trickle down his body, glinting off all of the sharp angles. He takes another step towards me.
