A Vow So Bold and Deadly

by Brigid Kemmerer

  “Harper,” says Grey. He lifts his hands. “Harper.”

  “Rhen,” I breathe. I stumble forward on my knees, half crawling to Grey’s side. “Rhen, I’m here.” I put my own hands up. “Change him back, Grey. Change him back.”

  Grey takes a breath, then carefully gets to his feet. “I can’t. You remember. Only he can.”

  Rhen-the-monster growls again, but he presses his face to my chest and blows warm air at my knees. My gut tightens, and a tear slips from my eye. “But I already love him.” My breath catches. “He already loves me.”

  Shouting erupts in the hallway, and the monster’s head whips up. Another low growl rumbles from his chest. Voices are clamoring in Syssalah, and I can’t understand a word.

  But then Jake and Captain Solt appear in the doorway.

  Jake swears. “Holy—”

  Rhen snakes his neck and roars at him.

  Captain Solt blanches, then draws a blade.

  “Hold!” Grey shouts.

  Rhen whips his head around to roar in Grey’s face. I whimper and fall back, but Grey doesn’t move.

  “It cannot fly,” snaps Solt. “We can kill it.”

  “No,” says Grey, and his voice is soft. Rhen roars in his face again, and the sound makes the walls tremble.

  “Easy.” Grey lifts his hands. His voice is so quiet. The way he speaks to horses or children. “Rhen. Easy.”

  “It’ll tear you in two,” says Tycho. He stumbles to his feet.

  “I don’t think so,” Grey whispers. Another growl pulls from Rhen’s throat, but Grey fearlessly puts a hand against his face, below his one good eye.

  “Come back to yourself,” he says quietly. “Come back to yourself, Brother.”

  The air barely shimmers, and then Rhen stands before us. He stumbles a little, as if drunk or disoriented, but he puts out a hand and Grey catches him.

  “She’s dead?” Rhen says.

  “She’s dead.”

  He stumbles forward again, but this time when he reaches out, Grey catches him, and he wraps up his brother in an embrace.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  GREY

  I don’t know how long we stand there, but the time feels too short, and the danger does not feel like it has been eliminated. The enchantress is gone, but there is still an army waiting somewhere outside this castle. Tycho’s breath is hitching, and Solt and the other soldiers linger in the doorway. The captain’s armor is deeply scratched, and there is a claw mark across his cheek. Jake has blood in his hair.

  Iisak is on the ground, unmoving.

  Tycho is at his side, holding his hand.

  I drop to a knee beside the scraver. His blood has formed shallow, glistening pools on the stone floor. I expect his eyes to be closed, his chest no longer rising with breath, but he blinks at me, too slowly.

  “Iisak.” I touch a hand to a wound without thought, reaching for my magic, but his eyes close and he shakes his head fractionally.

  My magic does not heal him. The wounds continue to bleed.

  The magic-resistant dagger is lying on the ground in a puddle of blood.

  He’s been stabbed at least a dozen times.

  Iisak squeezes my hand.

  “Help me,” I say, and my own voice wavers. “Help me help you.”

  He shakes his head again, a minute movement. “Save him,” he says, and his eyes flare with desperation—before they fall closed.

  I squeeze his hand back, but his goes limp. His chest doesn’t rise again.

  “No. No!” Tycho sniffs and looks at me. “Can you …,” he begins, but he must see the tormented look in my eyes, because he falls silent.

  I can’t. All this magic, and I still can’t save one of my friends. So much loss, and yet there’s always room for more. My chest is tight, and I have to force myself to breathe through it.

  Jake kneels beside me and puts a hand on my shoulder.

  You didn’t have anything else to live for, he said earlier. The words feel full of foreboding now.

  But then I remember what Iisak said, and that pierces my sorrow. “Save him,” I repeat. I look at Tycho and frown, then at Rhen, then at Jake and Solt. “Save who?”

  Captain Solt steps forward and sheathes his sword. “The other one, I imagine. It came at us through the trees. We brought it down with an arrow through its wing, but Iisak stopped us. He spoke to the other one, but he seemed enraged. When he took off into the sky, we thought you were in danger, so I changed course and came here.”

  There are too many startling revelations in that statement.

  The other one.

  We brought it down with an arrow.

  You were in danger, so I changed course.

  I remember the distant screeching in the woods when we approached. Harper said she was chased by something like Iisak.

  Lilith’s words, when Iisak attacked her.

  Nakiis?

  Not Nakiis. His father.

  Iisak crashed through the window to attack the enchantress. He’s always patient and insightful, taking time to evaluate a threat before acting. But today, he leapt into the room and threw himself at her. He didn’t care about magic, he didn’t care about politics or armies or anything but unbridled rage.

  I remember a conversation I once had with Iisak, when we first saw how terrible Karis Luran could be. I asked why he risked a year of service under her control, with the faint hope of ever finding his son.

  I would have risked a lifetime, he said. Would you not?

  I hesitated, and he said, You would. Were you a father, you would.

  Tycho is a second faster than I am. He shoves himself to his feet. “You said he’s in the woods? Take me to him.”

  The injured scraver lies in a pile at the base of a tree, his wings limp and splayed against the ground. He’s almost invisible in the darkness, his eyes closed, his chest barely rising, reminding me of the day I first saw Iisak, curled up and lifeless in a cage at Worwick’s Tourney. Here, though, ice coats the ground around him, glistening in the moonlight. An arrow seems to have gone through his wing and into his rib cage. As we approach, I realize there’s someone with him, someone human, crouched in the darkness in a cloak.

  I stop short, my hand falling on the hilt of my sword, and the others stop behind me.

  The cloaked individual notices us at the same time, rising to his or her feet and drawing a blade. The scraver on the ground emits a low growl, his eyes flicking open. Clawed fingers dig into the frosted ground.

  The soldiers at my back murmur in Syssalah, and they draw blades as well.

  “Hold,” I say.

  Tycho appears at my side. “He’s hurt,” he says. “Grey. He’s hurt.”

  The cloaked figure seems to straighten in surprise, then strides toward us, shaking back the hood of the cloak.

  At my side, Harper gasps, then starts running forward. “Zo? Zo!”

  Completely heedless of the blade, she tackles her friend in a hug. She’s speaking in a wild rush. “How did you—what did you—what—how—”

  Zo returns the hug, but she’s looking over Harper’s shoulder at me, at Rhen, at the other soldiers. She hasn’t dropped her sword, and I can imagine how this looks, the crown prince surrounded by soldiers from Syhl Shallow. “What—how … how did you?”

  “Stand down, Zo,” says Rhen. “Much has happened.”

  She’s staring at him, at the ruination of his face. “I see that.”

  The scraver behind her growls again.

  At my side, Tycho’s breathing has gone shallow. “Grey. Help him.”

  I hesitate. I know what Iisak said, but I know what Solt said, too. This scraver attacked our soldiers. He attacked Harper. He was clearly working with Lilith if those things were true.

  Tycho doesn’t wait for my answer. He sheathes his sword and strides forward.

  The scraver’s growl turns into an ear-splitting shriek, and he puts a clawed hand against the ground, his wings fluttering as he tries to get to his feet. But
then he coughs, and it’s a rough, terrible sound. Blood appears on his lips. His eyes are cold pools of black, very different from the warm-yet-ironic gaze that Iisak always had.

  “No,” says Zo. She pulls free of Harper to step in front of Tycho. “Don’t hurt him.”

  Tycho glances at her like she’s addled. “I’m not going to hurt him,” he says quietly. He lifts his hands to show he’s harmless, then drops to a knee in front of the scraver, who hasn’t stopped growling.

  Then I notice the pool of blood under his body.

  Save him.

  “Are you Nakiis?” says Tycho. He reaches out a hand. “Son of Iisak?”

  The growling stops, but only for a moment. Then the scraver swipes with his claws. Tycho’s wrist takes a hit—and he’s lucky he’s wearing a bracer. Those claws slice right through a leather buckle and dig a groove in the back of Tycho’s hand. The boy stumbles back. Solt draws a sword and strides forward.

  “No!” says Zo. “He’s hurt, but he’s—he’s not an enemy. He didn’t kill me, and he could have. He could have killed all of them. She made him do a lot of it.”

  “He tried to kill Harper,” Rhen says viciously.

  “But he didn’t,” says Zo.

  Solt glances at me, waiting for an order.

  I look at the scraver. “Are you the son of Iisak? Are you the missing king of Iishellasa?”

  He growls at me. “I am Nakiis. But my father is king.”

  “Was,” I say, and nothing about this moment feels gentle or soothing, but I try to make my voice convey both. “Your father was king. He fell facing the enchantress.” I pause. “Iisak asked me to save you.” Another pause. “I will, if you’ll let me.”

  He spits blood at the ground, and I can hear his ragged breathing from here. “I will not be bound to another magesmith.”

  That makes me wonder what Lilith did to him, how she bound him to her will. His voice is full of rage and fury—and a bit of fear, too. Lilith left nothing but pain and suffering in her wake, and I shouldn’t be surprised to find another creature whose mind was destroyed by her games.

  “I won’t bind you,” I say carefully. “Your father once told me that the magesmiths and the scravers were great allies.”

  “Were,” he emphasizes, his tone echoing the way mine did. But just the effort of speaking must exhaust him, because he puts his forehead against the ground and coughs again.

  I walk up to him and drop to a knee the way Tycho did. “I couldn’t help your father,” I say. “But I can help you.”

  His voice is ragged and worn. “At what cost.”

  “No cost.”

  “You swear it?”

  “I do.”

  After a moment, he nods.

  I don’t hesitate. I jerk the arrow free, and fresh blood spills. He roars with rage and tries to whirl, but he’s too weak. I put my hand right against the wound. The skin closes. His breathing eases. The wing heals.

  He blinks at me, then lifts his head. “You are Grey?” he says.

  “I am.”

  “My father said you would help me. He said he was going to find you.” He rolls to his knees and ruffles his wings, then seems surprised when they fold into place against his back. “His last words to me.”

  I hesitate. “He’s spent the last few years searching for you.”

  “Then his time was not spent in vain.” His voice is bitter.

  “He was a friend, Nakiis.” I put out a hand. “I would be yours as—”

  “No magesmith is a friend of mine.” He swipes claws against my hand, slicing open my palm, then leaps into the air.

  “Wait!” cries Tycho, but the scraver is gone. We stare after him for a long moment.

  Tycho’s breath hitches. “Iisak died for him.”

  “He died for me, too,” I say, and my voice is heavy.

  “And his son just … left,” says Jake.

  I remember Iisak’s stories about his son, how Nakiis fled Iishellasa to avoid claiming his birthright, how their relationship was complicated at best.

  And then at some point Lilith got involved, and she likely made it worse. I flex my hand as the wounds close. After everything Rhen went through, I can hardly blame the scraver for wanting nothing to do with me.

  I look at Rhen, Harper, and Zo, who are still standing apart from my soldiers, their expressions worn and uncertain. Captain Solt is eyeing them vengefully. The distance between them all seems to be vast. Lia Mara has so many plans for a peaceful alliance, but despite everything we accomplished here tonight, any path forward is going to be fraught with challenges.

  “Wait,” says Harper, turning to Zo. “Did you say the scraver could have killed all of them? Who?”

  “Many from the castle,” says Zo. “Much of the staff. Even Freya and the children were saved. The spy Chesleigh was able to sneak them through the forest, group by group. The losses would have been much greater.”

  Harper swears. “I guess I can’t keep hating her.”

  “I can,” I say, and at my back, I hear Solt grunt in agreement.

  “When Nakiis pulled me off the horse,” Zo continues, “he was going to kill me, but then he said that he’d been ordered to bring the enchantress your heart. I was able to convince him to bring the heart of an animal, and he took my armor as proof.” Zo glances at Rhen. “He wasn’t evil. He wasn’t cruel. He was just doing the best he could to survive. In a way, he was simply … cursed.”

  “Then he has my gratitude,” says Rhen. His eyes meet mine.

  I’m not sure what to say. Silence swells between us for a long moment.

  The space between me and him suddenly feels like a mile, too. He yielded to me in the hallway, and he saved my life as a monster—but he is still the crown prince. His army still surrounds this castle.

  It’s almost as if he realizes this at the same moment I do, because a new light sparks in his eye.

  I’m not the only one who notices. “Emberfall’s army still blocks our exit, Your Highness,” says Captain Solt, and his accented voice is very low. “We should bind him. So we have leverage.”

  “I will face my army on my own terms,” says Rhen darkly. “I will tell them to stand down.”

  “I do not trust this,” says Solt.

  Rhen glances at Harper. “Trust is built by action.” He looks back at me. “I should have trusted you when it most mattered.”

  “So should I,” I say. I look at Solt. “Rhen is not our prisoner. He is my brother.”

  “Indeed,” says Rhen, and to my surprise, his voice isn’t heavy with emotion. In fact, he sounds lighter than I ever recall. “Let us face my army. Let me introduce them to the rightful heir.”

  I startle, then stare at him in surprise.

  Rhen smiles, then holds out a hand. “For the good of Emberfall.”

  I clasp it. “For the good of all.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  LIA MARA

  With a small group that needs no cover, we’re able to ride hard across Emberfall. I remember sneaking through the woods with Grey, how every mile seemed to take an hour, but now we seem to fly. My stomach churns with anxiety, and I feel as though I haven’t eaten in days. I’ve never believed in fate for a day in my life, but Grey does, and now I find myself begging fate.

  Let him survive.

  Let him come back to me.

  Keep him safe.

  Please.

  The officers from Rhen’s army ride at our front and at our back, acting as escorts as promised. At first my own soldiers were wary and reluctant, but we’ve made good time without incident. When we stopped to water the horses, I saw one of the Emberfall soldiers lend a piece of flint to one of my officers when hers dropped into the depths of the creek. This morning, one of my own soldiers helped one of Rhen’s when the girth of his saddle began to fray. Noah moves between both groups easily when we stop, treating minor wounds when necessary, but he mostly sticks to my side.

  We slow the horses to a walk near daybreak, and Noah
rides alongside. He offers me a heel of bread. “You should eat.”

  I shake my head. “I’m not hungry.”

  “Well, your body needs some food, even if your head doesn’t think so.”

  I take the bread because I know he’ll be relentless if I don’t, but when I tear a piece with my teeth, I just want to throw up on my horse.

  I shake my head and take a pull from my water skin. “I’m too nervous.”

  He doesn’t say anything for a moment, but I can feel him studying me. “Small bites,” he says.

  “How far are we?” I ask. To appease him, I take a tiny tear of bread.

  He looks at the horizon. “We passed the turn to Silvermoon an hour ago. If we keep up this pace, we’ll make it to the castle before sunrise.”

  “Sunrise!” I look at my soldiers. “We rest for no longer than five minutes.”

  Noah chuckles. “Don’t you remember Jake punching Grey when he didn’t want to rest?”

  I look into his eyes. “Aren’t you worried, too?”

  That sobers him. “Five minutes.”

  “We should make it three.” I draw up my reins.

  I love the mountains in Syhl Shallow, but there is something peaceful about the rolling hills of Emberfall, especially when sunlight first breaks along the horizon, sending early streaks of purple across the sky. The horses blow steam into the air, their hooves pounding the ground. I recognize the territory surrounding Ironrose Castle now, the wide swath of forest that surrounds the castle itself. There’s one final hill to crest, and then we’ll be there.

  My heart beats hard against my ribs. We’re here. Grey, we’re here.

  Then we sail over the hill and see the soldiers. There are hundreds of them. Thousands of them. All in formation.

  Clanna Sun hauls on her reins. “It’s a trap!” she cries. “Fall back!”