A Vow So Bold and Deadly

by Brigid Kemmerer

  “Likewise,” I say.

  She gives a humorless laugh. “I’m sure that’s true.” She glances at Nolla Verin and Solt again. “Who are your henchmen?”

  Solt takes a step forward, and his tone is vicious. “You are speaking of the sister to the queen—”

  “Captain,” I snap.

  Harper’s eyes narrow, and she looks at Nolla Verin. “Oh right. I remember you. You were trying to hook up with Rhen.”

  Nolla Verin doesn’t move. “I am glad I did not,” she scoffs, “if the prince and his people were so easily overcome by this enchantress, our forces will surely—”

  Harper drops the shawl and surges to her feet, her hand going to the dagger on her thigh. Nolla Verin draws a blade.

  “Enough.” I stand and put a hand up between the two of them. Harper is unsteady on her feet, but she looks ready to take on Nolla Verin barehanded if she has to.

  “Please don’t destroy my infirmary,” calls Noah, and both girls go still. He must have gone into the hallway to stand with Jake.

  I look at Harper. She’s so pale, her eyes shadowed and weary. “You should sit,” I say.

  Her eyes flick between Solt and Nolla Verin. “I don’t think so.”

  “Jake says you were not fleeing Emberfall,” I say to her. “That you came here for my help.”

  “Yes,” she says tightly. “I did.”

  “You had to know you would not find the man who was once sworn to the Royal Guard.” I pause. “You had to know you would not find Commander Grey.”

  That gets her attention. She blinks. Falters. “I did,” she whispers. “I did know.” But she stares back at me as if that is who she sought, someone who would give her a nod, call her my lady, and ask to be pointed at the nearest threat.

  “Sit, Harper.”

  She doesn’t sit, and she flinches at my use of her given name.

  That small flinch tugs at something inside of me.

  “I came here because you were my friend,” she says quietly. “Are you still?”

  That tugs harder.

  It must flicker in my expression, because her eyes soften and she takes a step toward me. “Grey. Please. I came here because Rhen was your friend, because—”

  “He was not my friend,” I snap, and she stumbles back, her eyes flaring wide. My anger surprises even me, as if it waited all this time to surface. “I understand why he did what he did, Harper. But he was not my friend.”

  “So—what? You’re just going to leave him there with her?”

  “We are at war!”

  “A war you declared.”

  “I cannot save the life of a man readying forces against me,” I say. “You could not possibly think that—”

  “He was going to call for a truce.”

  I stop short. “What?”

  “He was going to call for a truce.” New tears gleam in her eyes. “Or peace, or an alliance, or whatever. He wasn’t going to fight.”

  “Lies,” snaps Solt.

  “It’s not a lie!” Harper snaps back.

  He swears in Syssalah. “Your prince has sent regiments to the border.”

  Harper glares at me. “So has yours.”

  “I’m not their prince,” I say. She inhales like she’s ready to breathe fire, so I sharpen my tone. “Harper. Sit.” I point at the cot. “Now.”

  She clamps her mouth shut—but she sits. Her eyes have turned cold and hard. When she first saw me in the guard station, her eyes were full of relief and desperation, but now she looks at me like an adversary.

  I don’t know if I can undo that. I don’t know if I should want to undo that.

  She glances behind me again. “If you’re not going to help me, then just let me go, or throw me into a dungeon, or—”

  “Gladly,” says Nolla Verin.

  I sigh and ease onto the opposite cot. “Tell me what happened.”

  “I’m not doing this like an interrogation. Tell them to go away.”

  “You do not issue orders here,” says Solt. “You are a prisoner.”

  “Then lock me up.” She holds out her arms, and in a way that only Harper can accomplish, she is both openly defiant and defeated. “I’m done.”

  “We will allow you the privacy you request,” says Lia Mara from the doorway, and I turn, surprised.

  “Nolla Verin,” she continues. “Captain Solt. You will retreat to the hallway.” They do, but Lia Mara stays in the doorway. “Princess,” she says in a way that is not mocking, but implies she knows everything about Harper’s farcical Disi. “I will remind you that I approached your prince with hopes of a peaceful alliance, and he took me prisoner and killed my guard.”

  Harper stares back at her. “I didn’t do those things.”

  “I know.” Lia Mara pauses. “I also know you helped Grey escape, undoubtedly at great risk to yourself.” Her voice softens, just a touch. “I know he sought out your assistance once before, when he was in great peril.”

  Harper swallows. “I did that because he’s my friend.” She glances at me. “Was my friend.”

  “I do not think so,” says Lia Mara, and Harper frowns, but she continues. “You may have been friends, but I believe you would have done these things for anyone who asked. I believe you are kind and merciful—and that is why you had no hesitation in riding into a country that has declared war on Emberfall, with the sole intent of finding help for a prince who has caused so much harm.”

  “Kind and merciful.” Harper glances at me again, then frowns. “Grey once said that kindness and mercy find a limit, and then they turn into weakness and fear.”

  “Truly?” Lia Mara eases into the room, capturing my gaze with her own. “Do you believe that?”

  I look back at her. “Not anymore.”

  The smallest hint of a smile finds her lips, and her cheeks turn the faintest shade of pink. “I will leave you to have a conversation in peace. I know you have much to discuss.” Her sister begins to protest, and Lia Mara adds, “If Captain Solt and Nolla Verin cannot keep their silence, I will find a task to keep them busy.” She slips through the door, taking them with her, leaving us in silence.

  Harper is staring at me. Her eyes are wary and uncertain. After a moment, she swallows and looks away. “I shouldn’t have come here. This was a mistake.” Her voice breaks, and she pauses to steady it. “I know it’s war. I know you hate him. I just—I didn’t know where else to go.”

  We sit in silence for the longest time. This moment reminds me of another, when she was weary and frightened and in a strange land—and she didn’t know whether to trust me then, either. I rise from the cot to root around on Noah’s workbench until I find a battered deck of cards, then return to sit opposite Harper. I drag a small table between us, then shuffle.

  “Like old times,” she says, and her voice breaks again.

  “Like old times,” I agree. The cards flip together, and I deal. Harper takes up her hand.

  “King’s Ransom?” she says.

  “Yes.” I turn a card faceup. The three of stones. I choose an eight of stones from my hand and lay it down. “I rarely play cards anymore.”

  “No?”

  “They play dice here.”

  “How do you play dice?” Maybe the game is steadying, because the emotion has drained from her voice, and now she simply sounds tired.

  “I’m not one to ask. I am terrible at it.”

  That startles a laugh out of her. “I doubt it. You’re not terrible at anything.”

  “I promise I am.”

  She lays down a card. We play in silence for a while, the low fire crackling along the wall. I didn’t forget how much I enjoyed playing cards, but I didn’t realize it would summon so many memories. Not just with Harper, but with Rhen as well. In the beginning, when the curse first trapped us alone, I would let him win every game. He quickly caught on, and he was furious. He declared that he didn’t need someone to cater to his pride—and when it came to cards, that was probably true. He asked if I also let him
win when we sparred in the arena—and he was surprised when I conceded the truth, that no swordsman would truly risk a member of the royal family.

  He drew a sword right there. “Fight me,” he said. “No yielding, Commander. That is an order.”

  So I did. I disarmed him in less than a minute. I still remember him breathing heavily, staring up at me, a stripe of blood on his forearm.

  I remember being startled when, instead of throwing a tantrum, he got to his feet, jerked his jacket straight, and said, “Show me how you just did that.”

  One of the most startling things about the curse had nothing to do with the magic, or the torments, or even Lilith herself. It was the discovery that Rhen never realized how ignorant and sheltered he was—and how much he wanted to learn once he had the opportunity.

  I lay down a card on the table. “I do not hate him,” I say quietly.

  Harper hesitates, then sets down her cards to press her fingers into her eyes. “He regrets so much, Grey. What he did—it’s tearing him apart. I swear I’m telling the truth. He really was going to come to you with a truce.”

  “I believe you.” My voice is grave. “I am unsure if that matters.”

  “Why?” she cries. “Why wouldn’t that matter?”

  I inhale to answer, and she says, “You once told me that if Rhen allowed it, you would take Lilith’s torments a hundredfold. Now is your chance. Now, Grey. She is killing him. She is—” Her voice chokes on a sob. “She’s so awful. He’s terrified of magic. You know what she’s like. You know what she’ll do.”

  I do. I do know.

  This is too much. There are too many memories. My chest is tight, my thoughts filling with ice, the way I feel when I must take action.

  “She killed Dustan,” Harper says. “She tore his throat out right in front of me. And Zo—somehow Lilith grew wings or created another monster, because she ripped Zo right off the back of my horse.” Harper presses her arms across her abdomen. “Please, Grey. Please. Take Emberfall if you want. But please, you have to help me save him. There is no one else. No other way.”

  I look away. Her tears, her words, are tugging at chords inside me again. I shouldn’t care. We’re going to war. If Rhen dies at Lilith’s hand or at my own, what is the difference?

  “Please,” Harper whispers. “Grey. He might not be your friend, but he’s your brother. You spent forever together. That has to mean something. You have to feel something.”

  “I do,” I say, and my voice is rough.

  She stares at me. “Then you’ll help?”

  I inhale—but I’m not sure what my answer will be.

  It doesn’t matter anyway, because Harper’s eyes flick beyond me, and she screams.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  HARPER

  I scramble backward on the cot so quickly that I nearly fall off the other side. The cards scatter everywhere. I can all but taste my heart in my throat. A winged creature fills the doorway, black eyes gleaming in the torchlight, and I don’t know if I should hide under another cot or make a grab for one of Grey’s weapons.

  Did Lilith find me? Did she send this monster after me? Did she do this to Rhen? Did she—

  “Harper.” Grey is on his feet, a placating hand held out to me. “Be at ease.”

  He’s too calm. Too nonchalant.

  Then I notice that Jake and Grey’s “henchmen” have followed the creature into the room. So has Tycho. They look more alarmed at my reaction than at … that.

  They’re not freaking out.

  No one is freaking out.

  Jake glances from me to the creature. “Oh.” He looks abashed and amused in the way only a brother can. “Hey, Harp. This is Iisak. He’s a scraver. And a friend.”

  A scraver. I don’t understand how this place still has the capacity to shock me. Iisak is simultaneously terrifying and beautiful, shirtless and barefoot despite the cold, his skin the color of thunderclouds. He’s easily as tall as Grey, though his dark wings make him take up more space, and he’s lean, with corded muscle down his arms. His fingers end in talons.

  “The Princess of Disi,” he says, and his voice is a dry rasp, the edges of fangs glinting in the light when he speaks. He offers me a bow, and I can’t quite tell for sure, but I think there’s a hint of mockery to it.

  I swallow. “Hi?”

  He eases farther into the room as I try to right myself. My weak leg is weaker still because of my injured ankle, and I feel clumsy and uncertain as I manage to get my feet underneath me. I’m completely off balance, which isn’t exactly all that rare, and my heart is still in my throat. Am I supposed to apologize? Curtsy? Run in terror?

  I glance from Jake to Grey. “Is this—did you—” My eyes narrow as I try to think of what Lilith could do, the damage she could cause. I can’t shake the feeling that something like this chased me off the grounds of Ironrose. I didn’t see it clearly, but I remember heavy wings that blocked the moonlight, a dark shape that seemed to absorb the shadows. I thought it was Lilith—or something she created. “Is he real?” I ask Grey. “Is this—an enchantment?”

  Grey frowns. “He is real.”

  “An enchantment!” says Iisak, and at least he sounds amused, because I imagine if he was pissed off he could dismember me in seconds. He draws closer, and I brace myself.

  He stops on the other side of the cot, and I can see that his eyes are truly black, no whites at all, and those fangs look razor-sharp. It takes my breath away, but I stand my ground.

  “The young prince was right,” he says. “He once said you were brave. A princess in spirit if not by birth.”

  The young prince. For a moment, I think he means Rhen, but I can’t make that add up in my head.

  But he must mean Grey … which means Grey once said that about me. He’s been so cool and distant since I got here that I thought he’d cut off our friendship the way he once forswore his family, but maybe … maybe I was wrong.

  I wet my lips. “I don’t know about brave.”

  “You have come seeking assistance from a magesmith,” says Iisak. “You stand and face me, even though I can smell your fear.”

  “Iisak,” says Grey, and there’s a warning note in his tone, but also a bit of long-suffering exasperation, too.

  Iisak looks at him, and a cool breeze swirls through the room to make me shiver. “She has brought you a problem you cannot hack through with your sword.”

  “She has brought a problem we are not bound to solve,” says Nolla Verin from her place by the wall.

  A tiny squeaking sound near the floor draws my attention, and I glance down, ready for another nightmarish creature, but it’s Tycho’s tiny orange kitten. Salam. The kitten is winding itself through Iisak’s legs. The scraver scoops it into his hands in a fluid motion, and the kitten almost immediately relaxes against the creature’s chest and begins to purr. It’s disconcerting to see such a frightening creature be almost … tender.

  “I have heard enough about this enchantress to believe you are bound to solve it,” Iisak says evenly. His pure black eyes look to my leg. “She has brought you a blade of Iishellasan steel, as well.”

  I take a step back automatically, my hand falling over the hilt. “You know what it is?”

  “I do.” He holds out a taloned hand. “May I?”

  I hesitate.

  “What is Iishellasan steel?” says Noah.

  “It binds magic,” says Lia Mara.

  “Yes,” says Grey. “I once had a bracelet fashioned by the enchantress that allowed me to cross over.”

  “This dagger likely repels magic.” The scraver flexes his fingers, gesturing for the weapon. “May I, Princess?”

  I don’t want to give it to him. I thought I’d come here with a plan to rescue Rhen, but instead I’ve found myself among no one I can trust.

  Jake’s eyes find mine from across the room. “Harp,” my brother says quietly. “He’s okay. You can let him have it.”

  I wet my lips, then draw the blade.

>   The scraver’s hands curl around the hilt. He gently sets the kitten on a cot. “Your hand?” he says to Grey.

  Grey’s eyes don’t leave mine, but he holds out a hand fearlessly. The scraver swipes the blade across the back of his hand. One of the guards near the wall swears in their language.

  Grey sucks in a breath and jerks back, slapping a hand over the wound. Blood drips behind his fingers. He looks from Iisak to me.

  “As I said,” says Iisak, his voice a low growl. “It repels magic.”

  Grey lifts his hand. The blood still flows freely. He stares at the wound with an expression of wonder mixed with frustration. “I cannot heal it.”

  “Indeed.” The scraver looks at me. “Where did you get this?”

  Noah sighs and seizes a roll of muslin from a supply table. “At least I can be useful with this.”

  Grey glares at Iisak. “Surely you could have made a smaller example.”

  But the scraver is still looking at me. The room temperature seems to drop by fifteen degrees, and I shiver. “Tell me, Princess.” The words edge out with a low growl. “Where did you get this?”

  The tension in the room has doubled.

  “From Rhen,” I say quietly. “He bought it.”

  “From whom?” says Lia Mara.

  I hesitate—but Rhen has already lost. I am here. “From a spy,” I whisper.

  “A spy!” cries Nolla Verin. She storms across the room. “What spy? What have you—”

  “Enough.” Lia Mara’s voice is quiet but strong. “What is the name of this spy?”

  “Chesleigh Darington,” I say. “She says her family was killed by Karis Luran. She was able to move among your people.” I hesitate again. “She said there were people in Syhl Shallow who plotted against the throne, that there was a faction against magic that had gathered artifacts.”

  Grey and Lia Mara exchange a glance, and I swallow.

  “She’s dead,” I whisper. “Lilith killed everyone in the castle—and she was there that night. She would have been among them.”

  The room is absolutely silent for the longest time, unbroken until Noah lifts the muslin from the back of Grey’s hand and says, “You’ll need stitches. I’ll get a needle.”