A Vow So Bold and Deadly

by Brigid Kemmerer

  My soldiers and officers skid to a stop, too, horses rearing in protest. They quickly swarm to surround me. A shout goes up from the army at the base of the hill. The Emberfall soldiers who’d been escorting us look alarmed.

  “Hold!” I say. I put up a hand and glare at Clanna Sun. “I said, hold!”

  They hold. The horses stamp and prance, jerking at too-tight reins. I look across at Jamison, whose gaze goes from us to the soldiers waiting in formation in the valley.

  Before I have a chance to say anything, he says quickly, “Your Majesty. I will ride down to them. I will explain.”

  A group of Rhen’s soldiers have mounted horses, and they’ve begun to ride toward us. It’s too dark to see much very clearly, but behind them, I see the shadows of archers with bows sitting ready.

  “Go,” I say to Jamison.

  “This is foolhardy,” Clanna Sun hisses at me. “Your mother would never have—”

  “I am not my mother,” I snap at her. “And you will remember your place.”

  She clamps her mouth shut.

  Jamison gallops down the hill, and when he reaches the group that’s split off, they stop. I can’t hear what they’re saying from here, and my heart seems to stop beating as I wait. We could never outrun this army. We could never fight. They could slaughter us all right here.

  But then one soldier peels away from the small group, his horse sprinting across the turf. As he draws closer, I see the colors of his armor, the black of his hair.

  I slip out of the saddle. “Move,” I say to my officers. “Move.”

  I stride forward just as his horse crests the hill, and Grey leaps to the ground before his mount has even drawn to a stop.

  My heart flutters wildly, and my knees are weak, but I force myself forward until I’m in front of him. His eyes are exhausted and full of pain, and there’s blood everywhere: in his hair, on his hands, in broad streaks across his armor. I press my hands to his face as if I have to prove to myself that he’s here, that he’s alive, that we’re together. “You’re well,” I breathe, willing the words to be true. “You’re well.”

  He presses his hands over mine. “I’m well.”

  “Grey,” says Noah, at my back. His voice is tight. “Jake?”

  Grey’s eyes flick past me. “Jake is fine. He’s at the base of the hill. He didn’t know you were here, or he would have ridden up.” Grey hesitates, and his eyes return to mine. His hands tighten over my fingers. “The enchantress is dead. We lost Iisak.”

  My chest clenches. I knew this fight would not be without loss. I stare up into Grey’s wounded eyes and think of the reason he came here. “And Rhen?”

  “He survived.” He pauses. “We’re … no longer at war.” There’s so much weight in his voice that I know there is more to say, but Grey seems to realize we’re surrounded by soldiers from both Syhl Shallow and Emberfall. His eyebrows flicker into a frown “What … what happened? Why are you here?”

  My heart lightens, just a bit. I want to tell him that I figured out his message, that I know Ellia Maya was working against us. I want to tell him that we’ve brought peace, that the soldiers were willing to pause. That if Rhen is no longer ready to wage war, that we can finally put our differences aside for the good of all our people. I want to throw my arms around his neck and never let go. I want to hear his heartbeat and feel his breath and sleep for a thousand days at his side.

  Instead, my stomach twists, and I jerk back, slapping a hand over my mouth.

  “Lia Mara,” he says, alarmed.

  I inhale to answer, to tell him I’m fine.

  Instead, I throw up all over his boots.

  “I’m sorry,” I gasp, mortified. “I’m sorry. I’ve—I’ve been sick with worry—”

  And then, to my horror, I do it again.

  “Noah!” Grey calls, and there’s worry in his voice. His hands hold back my hair.

  “Oh yeah,” says Noah, and his voice isn’t concerned at all. If anything, he sounds amused. “About that.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  RHEN

  Weeks pass, and the castle again fills with people to replace those we’ve lost. Soldiers and guards, servants and footmen, so many new faces, new names, new voices to ring through the halls. Harper is delighted to discover that Freya and the children were among those who were ushered out of the castle by the spy Chesleigh, along with much of the staff I’d thought were killed when Lilith cut a swath through the castle.

  Harper stays with me frequently, but just as often, she is with her brother, with her friends, spending her hours among the people. As always, I still feel every loss acutely, so I keep to my rooms. More so, even, because this time I do not turn my thoughts to rebuilding Emberfall, and instead I leave that to Grey. I look at the guards who survived, and I think of those who were lost. I see a servant in the halls, and I remember a body I dragged out of the castle. Instead of meeting with advisors and Grand Marshals, I cling to the shadows of my chambers.

  I thought there would be an element of relief to this, but there’s not.

  I feel trapped just as effectively as I was by the curse.

  Where can I go? What will I do? When I leave this room, people stare—or quickly look away.

  Harper said that scars mean I survived something terrible. They’re also a reminder that I was something terrible.

  A knock sounds at my door one evening, long past the time most of the castle has fallen into sleep. Even with Lilith gone, my own sleep is fitful and restless, plagued with nightmares, so on the nights when I am alone, I often read in front of the fire until my eye gives me no choice.

  But tonight, I straighten, and curiosity makes me call, “Enter.”

  The door latch clicks, and Grey comes through. He’s alone.

  “I knew you would be awake,” he says, and I can’t read anything in his voice.

  “Your magic?” I say.

  He almost smiles, but there’s no humor to it. His eyes search mine. “No, in fact. More … an eternity of familiarity.”

  Oh. Right. I look back at the fire.

  I’ve seen him in the castle, of course. I can’t stay in my chambers all day. But he has been busy, always occupied, always surrounded by people, while I have slowly become invisible, as people hurry to avert their eyes. He is the heir, the crown prince, the soon-to-be-crowned king. He is the man who saved us from a terrible enchantress, using his own magic to heal the wounded and mend our fractured relationship with Syhl Shallow. I hear the adoration, the fawning, the way people have discovered that there is a new man in power, someone untested and unknowing. Someone who can potentially be tricked and swindled and cajoled.

  He’ll learn his way. I did. And Lia Mara seems savvy. I have no doubt.

  All of these thoughts make my chest tighten, so I clear my throat. “Are you planning for your return to Syhl Shallow?”

  “So eager to see me gone?” His voice is easy, almost teasing, but there’s a genuine question in there, too.

  “No.” I hesitate, then look over at him. I don’t want to admit that I don’t want him to go, that I don’t want this hum of tension between us to continue, but I have no idea how to voice that. Just like I can’t hide in my chambers all day, Queen Lia Mara cannot stay away from Syhl Shallow forever. Snow will fall through the mountain pass soon enough, and it’s a hard enough journey in the cold even when one is not pregnant.

  Grey inhales like he is about to say something, then stops, regarding me.

  I remember when he came to issue his ultimatum, how he stood in the Grand Hall and said, Shall we draw our swords and settle this right now? Then, the air was full of hostility, of regret, of sorrow and loss and the faintest whisper of hope.

  Now it’s not the same, but it’s not wholly different either.

  I shift forward on my chair, opening the polished wooden box on the table beside me and withdrawing a deck of cards. Without looking at him, I begin to shuffle. “Do you care to play?”

  “Cards? Yes.
”

  He sits across from me, and there’s an eagerness to his voice that makes me glance up. “You’ve missed cards, Grey?”

  “In Syhl Shallow, they play with dice.” He pauses as I begin to deal. “I always lose.”

  “Truly? You should teach me a game.”

  “There’s no strategy.” He picks up his hand and looks at me over the cards. “You would hate it.”

  Against my will, my chest tightens again. He knows me too well. I know him too well.

  Grey lays down a card. A nine of swords.

  It spurs me into motion, and I select a card from my hand. We play in silence for a while, until the game begins to pull some of the tension out of the air.

  “If you would not be opposed …,” he begins.

  “You are the crown prince,” I say as I lay down a queen to capture one of his kings. “I can be opposed to nothing.”

  “You are my brother,” he says, with a bit of heat in his voice, “and the son of a king, and in fact second in line to the throne. You can be opposed to plenty.”

  I’m shocked by his sudden vehemence. But also … touched. I give him a sidelong glance. “I may be second in line to the throne, but judging by the state of your beloved, that’s only for a matter of months, I would think.”

  He looks up, and I smile, and he looks abashed. “Well.”

  My smile widens. It’s rare that I see Grey flustered, even for a moment. “Go ahead, Commander,” I tease. “Make your request.”

  He blinks, and for a moment I think maybe I’ve pushed too far, and that wall of tension will drop between us again. But then he says, “Ah, yes, of course, my lord. I would humbly request meager lodgings for myself and Lia Mara through the winter, if it would not be too grand a request—”

  “Wait. What?” I straighten, frowning. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes.” He tosses a card onto the pile. “As you know, snow will block the pass any day, so travel northward may be a bit reckless. And Lia Mara has received word from her sister that the factions against magic have grown emboldened, and there have been attacks on the palace. We do not know who else may be working with them. The army is in place, so they are well protected, but …” He lifts a shoulder. “We promised a peaceful alliance with Emberfall, that Syhl Shallow would finally benefit from trade and access to the sea. We’d like to return when we can show proof that it’s working.”

  “That’s wise,” I say, and mean it. “You do not need my permission to stay here, Grey. Ironrose Castle is yours. All of this is yours. I should be seeking permission from you.”

  “Never,” he says quietly. “Ironrose is your home, as long as you want it.”

  My chest tightens with emotion again, and I have to look back at my cards. “I … will see whether Harper wants to stay.”

  He hesitates—then says nothing.

  We play in silence again, the fire snapping. The castle is cold, the hallways quiet, but right here is a cocoon of warmth. Grey has seen me at my worst, and the scars never draw his gaze. For that, I am grateful.

  “The Grand Marshal of Silvermoon,” he says slowly.

  I nod. “Marshal Perry.”

  “He has made many grand promises.”

  I snort. “I’m certain. He would likely promise you an evening with his wife if he thought it would buy your favor.” I pause. “He often promises more than he has to give. I would be wary unless you’ve set eyes on what he is offering you. I don’t think he’s a dishonest man, just a clever one.”

  Grey sets a card on the pile. “And the Grand Marshal of Kennetty?”

  “Violet Blackcomb. She’s soft-spoken. Never too opinionated. But she’s honest and believes in doing right by her people. She’s a good ally. Her Seneschal, Andrew Lacky, is the one you need to watch out for.” I adjust my cards in my hand and lay one on the pile.

  I expect him to grill me on the others, but he doesn’t. He falls silent again.

  “If you leave,” he says carefully. “Where will you go?”

  “Ah … I’ve heard there is need for a stable hand at some tourney in Rillisk.”

  That startles a laugh out of him, which makes me smile, chagrined.

  “ ‘You’re a talented swordsman,’ ” he says, his tone low as he quotes what I said to him when we were trapped by the curse. “ ‘Shall I write you a letter of recommendation.’ ”

  He’s teasing, and I should smile back, but instead, I go still. I’m missing an eye. I doubt I’ll have much talent as a swordsman anymore. I can already tell.

  My hands are shaking. I set down my cards. Flex my fingers.

  Grey sets down his own. He leans in against the table, and his voice is very low. “Rhen,” he says. “What do you want?”

  I want …

  I look up at him. “I don’t know.”

  “Truly?”

  I shrug a little. “I was raised to be king, Grey. I don’t know how to be anything else.” I gesture at my face. “No one will want to look at me. Did they display passing oddities in this tourney of yours? Perhaps I could earn a few coins.”

  Grey blows out a breath between his teeth and runs a hand across the back of his neck. “Silver hell, Rhen. Were you quite this bleak when we were trapped together, or have I forgotten?”

  I jerk back, and I’m so startled that I can’t decide if I’m angry or amused.

  But Grey hasn’t looked away, and there’s no malice in his expression. I stand and move to my side table. “I was likely always this bleak. Do you care for some sugared spirits?”

  “I still have no head for liquor. I’ll be on the floor.”

  I pour two glasses. “Good. I’ll join you.”

  We drink. I pour two more and take up my cards. “Why did you really come here?”

  He tips back this glass as quickly as the first and winces, then coughs. “I would have told you the truth without the spirits.”

  “I know. But it’s more amusing this way.” I pause. “Tell me, while you can do it without slurring.”

  “Harper sought me out. She is worried for you.” His voice drops. “In truth, I worry for you.”

  Ah, Harper. I shrug and pour a third glass.

  “Lia Mara had a thought,” says Grey.

  “Indeed?”

  “She suggested that since we cannot travel north, that instead we visit your southern cities, not as allies, but—”

  “Yours, Grey.” I drain the glass. “They are your southern cities.”

  “—as brothers,” he finishes.

  I go still for a long moment, then set the glass on the table. So many emotions fill my chest that I can’t make sense of them. “So a parade of their failed prince? Would you like to put me in a cage?”

  A dark look flickers in his expression, and I can tell I’m trying his patience. He keeps his voice even, though. “No, I would like for you to ride at my side.”

  “To show me all I have lost?”

  “Only half. Then you’d have to turn your head, I imagine—”

  I take a swing at him, but the liquor has already hit me, and Grey dodges. I’m off balance, and I try to regroup to hit him again. Unfortunately, the liquor has hit him twice as hard, and when he tries to fend me off, we end up falling to the ground—and we take the table down with us, the wood splintering as a leg gives way under our weight. The bottle shatters on the marble floor, followed immediately by the glasses.

  A guard swings open the door. “My lord! Are you—” He stops short. “My … lords?”

  “A misunderstanding,” I say. I wince and touch a hand to my head. “About which way was up.”

  Grey is sprawled on the marble next to me, and he looks over. He points at the ceiling. “I told you it was that way.”

  I knew it. He’s slurring already. I look at the door. “We’re fine. Get out.”

  The door eases closed.

  Grey looks over at me. “I did not mean to offend you.”

  “I know.” I look at the ceiling. “I think …” My thoughts are lo
osening. Drifting. “I think I sought to offend myself. You took nothing from me. I yielded.”

  He says nothing to that, and we lie among the broken glass and wood for the longest time.

  “I would ask you to stay,” he says quietly. “To join me, Rhen.”

  I’m not sure what to say. I don’t know what I want. I don’t know where to go. I don’t even know if I want to go.

  But I look over into Grey’s dark eyes. “Yes, my lord. As my king commands.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  LIA MARA

  I’m drafting a letter to my sister, my quill scratching rapidly against the parchment. For some reason, I’m exhausted all day, but by the time darkness falls, I feel as though I could lead an army. Harper’s lady-in-waiting, Freya, has been a source of information for all things motherhood, and thanks to the ginger tea she brings me every morning, I’ve stopped emptying the contents of my stomach onto the boots of anyone who has the misfortune to speak to me at the wrong time.

  Nolla Verin has written to me about how the faction against magic has grown in Syhl Shallow, about the minor attacks on the palace that have so far been thwarted. I am telling her about our plans here, how I would like to establish trade routes and promises of good relations between our countries before we return.

  I have not yet told my sister about the baby. I don’t want to give her hope when things feel so uncertain. Noah tells me that it’s early, that many things can happen, that miscarriage is not uncommon. Freya saw my trembling lips as he was explaining this to me, and she leaned in and said, “You’ve been very sick. That’s a good sign.”

  I try to remind myself of that when my stomach feels as though I’ve been at sea during a storm.

  But there’s another reason I haven’t told Nolla Verin about the baby, a reason I was relieved when Grey agreed to stay in Emberfall for the winter: this child will bear magic just like its father. It’s one thing to make a target of Grey, a man who can defend himself with weapons and magic.

  I will not make a target of my child.

  The door creaks at my back, and I know it is Grey. “You were with Rhen very late,” I say without looking up from my paper.