“On the contrary. My actions reveal my strength.”
“Killing innocent people should never be seen as a strength.”
His eyebrows go up. “Is that not what your people do?”
“You killed my guard, after I approached you to discuss a means to peace.”
“My guards drew no weapon until yours did,” he says. “I said you would be unharmed, as you see. She would have been as well.”
“You deal in lies with your people, Prince Rhen.” My voice almost breaks, and I heave a breath to steady it. “I will believe nothing you say.”
He pulls a folded piece of parchment from his belt. “Would you believe your mother’s hand?”
My breath catches. The rider returned with Mother’s answer.
I rush forward and snatch it from his hand, half expecting him to hold fast, but he doesn’t. Guards hover behind him in the doorway, but I’ve already seen what they did to Sorra, and I am not stupid, despite my actions over the last day. I step back and hastily unfold the letter.
There are Mother’s words, and I’m so shocked to see them that it takes me a full moment to read at all.
In the common tongue of Emberfall, she has written:
I accept my daughter’s proposal. I will grant one month for negotiations.
Below that, in Syssalah, she adds:
Do not disappoint me, Lia Mara.
My eyes hold those words far longer than it takes me to read them.
Do not disappoint me.
I did that the instant I rode away from camp with Sorra and Parrish. There is no alliance to forge. I am his prisoner. Nothing more.
I look back at Prince Rhen.
“Your mother believed your letter,” he says.
“I wrote it in truth,” I hiss at him.
“I will have some clothing brought. Alert your guards if you have any needs.”
He pulls the door closed, then locks me inside.
CHAPTER TWELVE
GREY
I wake to a sky full of sun and a leg full of fire. A wagon rolls along underneath me, every bump proving that I’m lying on nothing more than wooden floorboards. I shift and try to roll, but my head isn’t clear. Metal rattles against wood when I move.
I inhale sharply, then force myself up on one elbow. Shackles trap my wrists and ankles. My head swims.
“Go slow. You’ve been out for hours.” A familiar man sits near the front of the wagon. Dark-brown skin, close-shorn hair. He’s heavier than he was when I met him in Washington, DC, but I won’t forget the man who saved my life once before.
“Healer,” I say in surprise, my voice a rough rasp. My jaw aches when I speak. I lift a hand to rub at my eyes, and the chains drag across my bare wrists.
“Most people just call me Noah,” he says.
They must have given me sleeping ether. My thoughts are having trouble falling into order. Six men on horseback follow the wagon, but sunlight gleams on weapons and armor and makes my head pound. An unfamiliar guardsman drives the wagon. I wince and rub at my eyes again.
Without warning, memory punches me in the gut. My eyes flash back to Noah. “Where is Tycho?” I say. “What did they do with him?”
“He’s fine. He’s asleep.” He points. “Look.”
I shift and force myself to sitting. A tight bandage encircles my thigh, and ankle chains rattle against the floorboards as I move. Tycho is curled into a ball behind me under the bench along the opposite side of the wagon, tucked as tightly as he can be into the corner. From what I can tell, he seems unharmed.
Another voice calls out, “Is he awake?”
It’s the same voice that shouted from the side of the arena. Now, faced with Noah, I can place it. Jacob. Harper’s brother. Prince Jacob to everyone in Emberfall. Heir to the throne of the imaginary Disi. Heir to nothing in reality.
He did not have a high opinion of me during the few days we knew each other. It was quite mutual. I consider the chains trapping me here and doubt that has improved.
“He’s awake,” says Noah, his tone resigned.
Jacob rides his horse alongside the wagon. His dark hair is longer, and he sits a horse far better than I remember, but he’s still clearly Harper’s brother. “You said I couldn’t stab him while he was unconscious. Can I stab him now?”
“No.”
“Come on.” His eyes are full of righteous anger. “Tell me all the places I can hit so he doesn’t die.”
I meet Jacob’s eyes. “You would stab a chained man?”
“Not usually, but for you I’d make an exception.”
“You bear such venom for me. I have never done anything to you.”
Noah snorts. Jacob’s voice is low and dangerous. “You trapped us here.”
Ah. I did do that.
Jake rides until his horse is almost against the wagon. “Besides, I’m not the only one with ‘venom’ for you. No one knows where you’ve been. Rhen has been looking for you for months. Harper has been worried you’re dead. But no. You’re here, and you’re fine. Better than fine. Now all these guardsmen are wondering why you deserted. Why you ran. Want to explain that? You tried to kill their commander in the arena.”
If I’d tried to kill him, he’d be dead, but the rest of Jacob’s words are true. I have no explanation to give. I look away.
“Talk,” says Jake. “Now.”
When I say nothing, he pulls a dagger. My head snaps around. My leg feels like I carry the weight of a forge-hot iron bar through my thigh, but even shackled, I could leap out of the wagon and get my chains around his neck before he could put that blade in me.
I have nothing to lose, and maybe he can sense it. Something in his gaze falters.
“Jake,” says Noah. His voice is resigned. “Just … put it away.”
Jacob swears and shoves the dagger back into its sheath.
His words sit heavy in my thoughts, though. In truth, I regret trapping him here. I regret abandoning my duties with the Royal Guard. I regret what I know about my birthright and where that leaves me with Prince Rhen.
I look up at the sky. The air is full of summer scents of cut hay and ripening fruit. We’ve moved far beyond Rillisk if we’re passing through farmland. I see little traffic on the road, so it must still be early. Worwick will be losing his mind to have me and Tycho taken away at the same time.
The wagon’s creaks and rattles echo in the quiet morning air. There should be a guardsman riding ahead as lookout, but I see no one in the distance. The guardsmen and horses look weary. “Have we been traveling all night?”
“Yes. We’re going back to Ironrose so you can take us home, and then Rhen can do whatever he wants with you.”
Those words settle in my chest and take up a death grip on my heart. “Ironrose is two days’ ride from Rillisk,” I say. “Do you intend to drive your guardsmen to exhaustion to save a matter of hours?”
He sets his jaw. “Dustan said we can make it back after sundown. I’m not driving anyone to exhaustion.”
“You’ve been riding all night and you intend to ride through the day.” I glance at the guardsmen trailing the wagon. “With men who’ve likely been at your service since daybreak yesterday?”
Indecision flickers in his eyes, but he scowls. “You’re not in charge anymore. I didn’t trust you before, and finding out you’ve been hiding all this time doesn’t make me trust you now. So sit there and shut up or I’ll have one of the guardsmen gag you.”
I shift to sit against the wagon railing and say nothing more.
Maybe he didn’t expect me to obey, because he looks suspicious as he rides ahead to be parallel to Noah. Their voices are low and barely carry over the wind, but I can tell they are discussing whether it would be more prudent to wait.
I don’t know, and I shouldn’t care.
We press on.
The sun eventually begins its crawl up from the horizon. When I catch sight of Dustan, his jaw is dark with bruising, and he does not meet my eyes. None of them do. Whe
n Tycho wakes, he stays huddled by the bench, but the guards leave him alone, too. The heat of the day bears down on us, and eventually one of the guards throws cheese and bread and a water skin onto the floorboards. Tycho and I divide it between us. His movements are small and quick, like a rabbit, his eyes watchful.
We stay quiet. I listen, hoping for information, but the guards are careful and no one says anything to me.
Near nightfall, a guard tumbles from his horse.
Noah examines the man, then ducks his head and wipes sweat from his brow. “Heat exhaustion. We’re going to have to camp for the night.”
“No,” says Jacob. He’s glaring at me.
I raise my eyebrows and say nothing. He scowls.
“Jake.” Noah sighs. “We’re still hours away. I’m exhausted. You’re exhausted. I want to go home as badly as you do, but we’ve been here for months so a few more days won’t matter. You think Harper is going to decide whether to go home at midnight? Come on.”
So we camp. A guardsman binds my chains to a tree, yanking at the shackles so hard he nearly pulls me off my feet. He’s spoiling for a fight, and I remember what boredom and fatigue can do to a guardsman’s temperament, so I don’t give him one. Tycho is unchained, but he clings to the gathering darkness, hovering near the tree. I’m torn between wishing he would look for an opportunity to run, if one presents itself, and worrying he’d get himself killed. Darkness falls—and with it, Jacob, Noah, and the guardsmen drift into sleep. Only Dustan remains awake, standing guard at the back of the wagon.
His own exhaustion is obvious, but it makes me think well of him that he put his men first.
Eventually sleep claims Tycho as well, curled into the dry grass at the base of the tree beside me. Silence fills the space between me and Dustan, broken only by the occasional pop from the cooking fire that no one bothered to bank.
I say nothing to him, and he says nothing to me, but his eyelids begin to flicker, and he shifts against the back of the wagon. Despite everything, I understand his position. Possibly better than anyone. “Commander,” I say softly.
He’s instantly alert, his eyes narrowing. “What?”
“Do you have cards?”
“I will not be tricked into releasing you.”
I lift my shackled wrists. “I can hold cards. You need not release me.”
He hesitates, but he must realize the risk is low, because he straightens and moves across the campground to sit across from me. He’s cautious, staying just out of my reach, and he eyes me as he pulls a deck from a pouch on his belt.
Dustan shuffles quickly, dealing cards between us with practiced accuracy. I take up my hand, he takes up his, and we play in silence. He wins the first game, I, the second. By the time we begin the third, he’s relaxed into the rhythm of the game. He’s been keeping his eyes on his hands, on the shifting cards between us, but he gives me a rueful look when I lay down a prince card and capture one of his kings.
A crack of wood echoes from a copse of trees nearby, and we both snap our heads up. After a moment, a stag leaps from the foliage, then sprints off into the darkness.
We exchange a glance, then look back at our cards.
Dustan plays a four of swords. “That movement in the arena. With the armor. You asked who taught me.” His eyes flick up to meet mine. “You did.”
I play a nine of swords. “I know.”
“You could have killed me.”
I rub a hand across my jaw and sigh. “A man should not die over a bit of sport.”
“But you might have escaped,” he presses.
“Indeed, with a bounty on my head.” I glance up at him. “I bear you no ill will, Dustan.”
“That man Journ said you fought in his stead. Because he was injured.”
I nod and wait for him to lay down a card.
He’s watching me. “He said it was an act of kindness.”
I shrug. An act of foolishness, more likely.
Dustan continues, “He said he would have withdrawn if he’d seen me enter the arena, rather than risk harming a member of the Royal Guard.” He drops a card on the pile. “You could have withdrawn.”
I lay down a card. “It is not in me to withdraw.”
He considers that for a while as we play.
Eventually, he glances up. “Why did you leave?” When I say nothing, he continues, “I do not believe you’re a deserter. A deserter would not have faced me.”
I don’t meet his eyes. “Perhaps it is easiest to assume I am.”
“No. It’s not.” He pauses. “You said it was for the good of Emberfall. What does that mean?”
Those words were spoken when I believed he was going to put a sword through my chest. I already regret them. “I cannot tell you, Dustan. But I truly meant the words I said. I did not make my decision to leave lightly.”
He sighs and rubs at his eyes. I know he’s tired from the day, but true exhaustion sits behind it.
I carefully select a card from my hand and add it to the pile between us. A warm breeze makes the fire flicker. “How long have you been traveling with Prince Jacob?”
“Nearly two weeks.” He shrugs. “We are on a tour of goodwill, in the hopes the healer’s talents will endear Disi to the people of Emberfall.”
I keep my tone easy, like no time at all has passed, and we’re guardsmen sharing a fire and a game of cards. “I am surprised the crown prince would send you away.”
His expression darkens, and he tosses a card onto the pile. “It is not for me to question the prince’s orders.”
It is, actually, if he is guard commander, but I do not correct him. I toss a card on the pile.
Dustan glances at Tycho. “Who’s your shadow?”
“A stable boy.” I choose my words carefully, because I do not want to give Dustan any more control over me than he already has. “He was sworn to Worwick.”
“I thought he was going to throw himself on a sword to save you.”
“He saw the Grand Marshal’s enforcers execute a man in the tavern.” I pause. “He was worried you would do the same to me.”
Dustan’s eyebrows go up. “A man was executed?”
“Yes.” I pause and turn my cards over in my hands. “A man suspected of magic.”
“Ah.” He nods. “We’ve heard of such things in other towns.” He glances around and his voice drops conspiratorially. “At court, some people have mentioned the healer, but no one has dared to accuse him directly.”
“People are afraid.”
Dustan shrugs. “Or greedy. The instant the prince gave the order, people were lining up to collect the reward. That enchanted monster terrorized us all for so long. He is desperate to make sure it doesn’t happen again.” He pauses and adds a card to the pile. “It’s only a matter of time before people realize he’s not just searching for a magesmith. He’s searching for this missing heir.”
I clear my throat. “How do you know that?”
Dustan pauses with his hand on a card. “We were both in the Grand Hall when Karis Luran revealed what she knew.”
Back when I was a guardsman. Before I knew anything of my birthright. I’d forgotten. I run a hand across my jaw.
“That concerns you,” says Dustan. His eyes search my face.
I study my cards. I’ve said too much. So has he. Long nights and heavy darkness never keep secrets well.
“I bear you no ill will either, Grey,” he says. “In the arena—if you had not—if you had only said—” He breaks off and swears. “Silver hell. Why did you run? Why?”
“I would run again if I had the chance.”
He straightens in surprise.
I hold up my shackled wrists. “I am your prisoner, Dustan. I owe you nothing. You owe me nothing. Allow me to keep my secrets.”
For a moment he looks like he will challenge me, but either he’s too tired or too unwilling. He sighs. “For the good of Emberfall?”
I nod and flip a card onto the pile. “For the good of all.”
LIA MARA
At sunrise yesterday, my thoughts were a tangled mess of remorse and regret, made no better by the fact that my mother believed my letter.
At sunrise today, I wake with new purpose. I will find a way out of this castle. I will not be used as a pawn against my mother and my sister. I will not be used against my people.
These thoughts still poke at me. The prince is not using me against Syhl Shallow. He is using me to protect his people from my own.
Again, I shove those thoughts away.
Clothes were brought yesterday, as promised, but I had no interest in touching them. I was less interested in the dinner meal, some kind of seasoned shellfish that turned my stomach when I tasted it. Surely some kind of pointed commentary about the prince’s access to a saltwater harbor, when my mother has none.
The gold and red ribbon that threads the sleeves of the clothing left on a chair seems very deliberate.
Regardless, I’d rather wear his colors than Sorra’s blood. I strip off the stained robes and pull on soft calfskin leggings and a green chemise. These clothes are more formfitting than the robes were, and I feel very aware of the slope of my hips and the curves of my breasts. Nolla Verin would likely fawn over such clothes, while I feel self-conscious. I am glad the guards remain outside.
The room is lavishly appointed, with velvet blankets on the bed and silver-tipped furniture throughout. I’m too high up to jump from the window. Guards wait outside my door, and I have no doubt they’ll replace this room with a prison cell if I give them cause. If I’m going to escape, I’ll need to find another way.
I have time on my side, and little else.
Trellises line the outside castle walls, thick with blooming roses, but none are close enough to reach, and I doubt they would bear my weight anyway. No knives were delivered with the food, though I doubt I could overpower two armed guards on my own. Even the hearth is cold, lacking a flame in the summer heat. I can’t set the room ablaze in the hope of escaping in the resulting melee.
I frown, studying the hearth. Similar to the rooms of the Crystal Palace in Syhl Shallow, the fireplace is stationed along the wall between two rooms in order to share a chimney. In the Crystal Palace, a metal barrier exists to afford privacy between rooms, but it can be removed for efficiency, if necessary. When Nolla Verin and I were children, we would sneak into rooms this way to spy on people we thought were so very important.
A Heart So Fierce and Broken Page 10
