His hand eases on my neck, and sweet air floods my lungs. The weight of his body still holds me against the wall. No man has ever been this close to me. Even with his hand against my throat, Grey is not being rough, but he’s close enough for me to feel his heart beat nearly against my own. A flush colors my cheeks, and I hope it’s too dark for him to see.
His fingers tap at my neck. “Now you have little to say?”
I swallow. “I did not—you are not what I expected.”
“I did not expect to find a girl hiding in the draperies, so we have that in common. Who are you?”
“Lia Mara.” I pause. “My mother is Karis Luran.”
He inhales sharply, and his fingers flex against my throat.
“I am not your enemy!” I whisper quickly.
“A spy from Syhl Shallow is certainly not a friend.”
“Prince Rhen knows I’m here.” His expression turns skeptical. “Well—not here,” I amend. “I may only have a short time before the guards discover I’m missing.”
“You are his prisoner.”
“No. Yes.” Grey is so unyielding that I turn flustered. “I did not—I am not a spy. I came to the castle with a proposal of peace.”
“Ah, a proposal of peace. So often delivered in such a way.”
I make a frustrated sound and snap at him in Syssalah. “Fell siralla! Would you stop talking? I am trying to explain.”
He raises his eyebrows, as if to say, go on.
I quickly explain what happened when I arrived, how Rhen refused my offer and took me prisoner. When I get to the part where he executed Sorra, my voice begins to waver.
Grey’s expression does not change.
I steady myself and continue. “I saw you brought into the courtyard. I knew who you must be.”
“The prince himself does not know,” he says. “How do you?”
“I didn’t—not for sure. Mother only said you knew the true identity of the heir, so at first I believed you carried some secret. But I began to question why you would not reveal it to your prince. You were the captain of his guard, were you not?”
“Commander.”
“Yes. Commander. You forswear family, yes? If the heir were another man, you would surely volunteer that information.”
His eyes reveal nothing. I wonder if my hypothesis worries him. If I figured it out, surely the prince can.
“He will kill you if he finds out,” I say softly.
“As a matter of course.” He says this without emotion, without one breath of doubt.
“But you must have magic if you are the son of a magesmith! Why would you allow yourself to be taken prisoner?”
He swears. “Maybe I have the blood of a magesmith, but so far it has done me little good.”
I study him. “You could escape. My mother seeks you as well.”
“I want nothing from Karis Luran.”
His voice carries an edge like a knife, and I flinch. “She would offer her support to your claim on the throne.”
“I seek no claim to the throne.”
“Not even if it means peace between Syhl Shallow and Emberfall?”
“Peace between our countries cannot be achieved through trickery and treason.” His hand is very warm on my throat, a reminder that he could kill me right here and all my hopes would die with me. “Based on your story, it seems you’ve learned that lesson yourself.”
I frown. “I will not apologize for trying to save the lives of thousands of people. You and your prince may believe that the solution to all life’s challenges exists at the end of a sword, but I do not.” I look him dead in the eye. “If you will not accept my offer of assistance—”
“I will not.”
I square my shoulders, but all it does is press my chest into his. I force my voice to remain level. “I will ask you to unhand me, so I can return to my room to await my fate.”
He’s staring at me like he’s unsure what to make of me.
“Now,” I add.
It’s a bold request. He could call for guards, and they would certainly put me somewhere I can’t slip through the fireplace. He could kill me himself, to keep his secret.
The weight of his scrutiny crackles in the air between us.
He frowns, but his hand slips away from my neck.
Before he can say anything, the door creaks, and he jerks back. I dash behind the curtains again.
I expect him to drag me back out, to use my trickery and escape to his advantage, but instead, he says, “Move to the corner. You’ll be better hidden.”
I slide along the stone wall, shifting silently until I hear a guard announce, “Harper, Princess of Disi.”
Even my breathing stops. Why would the princess visit a former guardsman?
“My lady.” Grey’s voice, hushed with surprise. No, more than surprise. He was so impassive when he faced me that I wish I could see his face now.
A rush of skirts indicates she’s moving. I allow myself a slow breath and pull deeper into the corner. All the sconces in this part of the room are dark. Surely I’m well hidden. I peek around the edge of the curtain.
What I see almost makes me give myself away entirely.
They are embracing. My heart gives a sudden lurch in my chest.
I’ve been longing for a book in my hours here, but this is almost worth the hours of boredom in that room. The princess and the guardsman. What an absolute scandal. Nolla Verin will faint when I tell her.
If I can ever tell her.
Grey puts his hands on Harper’s arms and draws her back. “You are the Princess of Disi. You cannot—”
“I don’t care! Grey, you’re alive.”
“Indeed. Until sundown tomorrow.”
The princess’s face goes solemn. “Rhen told me.” She takes a step forward, reaching for him, but he steps away. She stops and wrings her hands. “Please, Grey. Please tell him.”
“Forgive me,” he says, and his voice is gentle in a way I didn’t expect. “I cannot.”
“I watched what Lilith did to him, Grey. I can’t watch him do something like that to you. I can’t. I know why he’s afraid, but I told him—he can’t—” Her voice breaks. “You just came back. I can’t—he can’t—”
“My lady.”
His voice carries a tone of command, and she steadies herself. A slender hand swipes at her face. A tear glistens in the dim candlelight. “What?”
“We once spoke of my duty to bleed so he does not. I swore an oath to die so he would not. If I die bearing this secret, and it allows him to take the throne without challenge, what difference is this?”
“This is not the same, and you know it.”
“It is the same. It is very much the same.”
Her voice turns sharp. “If he does this, I don’t know if I can ever forgive him.”
Grey’s expression is resigned, his eyes full of shadows. “A king should place his country above the woman he loves.”
Harper goes still. “That’s what he said, too.” She scowls. “You stupid men and your stupid ideals. You were imprisoned here together for like ever, but you can’t just talk this out and figure out a solution?”
I was right yesterday. She and I could have been friends.
“My lady.” Grey finally steps forward and touches a finger to her chin, lifting her gaze. “If you love him, you will try to understand his motives. Do not underestimate his ability to rule as he sees necessary. We have spoken of mercy and weakness.”
She sighs. “I know.”
“Do not underestimate my ability to stay alive either.”
Her eyebrows go up, her expression turning hopeful.
Grey shrugs and drops his hand. “I have been granted a day, and I did not expect that much.”
She reaches out to catch his hand, clutching it between her own. “You’ll figure out a way. Promise me you’ll try.”
“Easily done. You have my word.” He pauses. “I would ask a promise of you as well.”
“Anything.�
� Princess Harper straightens. “I’ll make a case for your innocence—whatever you need. Tell me the right words. I can go to his advisers—”
“My lady. You misunderstand. My request is not that you intercede.” He hesitates. “I do not want you to watch.”
She blanches and takes a step back. “Grey …”
His voice is firm. “I will keep my promise if you can keep this.”
She swallows. “Okay. I will.” She pauses. “I’m still going to try to stop him.”
He smiles, though there is little humor in it. “That is why you were destined to stand at his side.”
A tear slips down her cheek, but she hurriedly wipes it away. “You must be tired, but …” Her voice trails off, but then she looks up, her eyes hopeful again. “Maybe we could spend some time together tomorrow? He says you can do whatever you want as long as you stay on the castle grounds.”
He nods. “Yes, of course.”
“I’ve been working on swordplay. Zo has been helping me.”
His smile is a little sad. “I look forward to seeing your progress.”
“Good,” she says. Her face nearly crumples, but she swipes at her eyes again. “Tomorrow morning?”
“As early as you wish.”
The princess slips out as quietly as she came.
Grey stalks across the room, moving quickly despite his injured leg, and tosses the curtain wide.
I stare up at him. “And to think you spoke of treachery and treason.”
He frowns. “What?”
“You and the princess. No wonder you ran.”
To my surprise, he laughs. “Rhen would hardly allow me an inch of freedom if that were true.” He sobers quickly, which makes me think there may be more that he is not saying. “Do not speak of things you do not know.”
Interesting. “Did you mean what you said? That you’d rather die than tell him you’re the heir?”
“Yes.”
He answers so simply, so guilelessly. After the polished doublespeak of the prince, his forthright honesty is unexpected.
He frowns. “How did you get in here?”
“The fireplace. I pulled the barrier wide.”
His eyebrows go up. “Those barriers have not been moved in years.”
“That’s probably why it took me all day.”
He glances at the hearth, then back at me. Again, I am self-conscious of these clothes that reveal every curve, and I wish I could pull back into deeper shadows.
“You crawled through a lit fire?” he says.
I scowl. “It was not lit on my side, and I am more nimble than I look.” Outside, bells signal the change of guard. “Will you allow me to return, or do you intend to reveal my escape to your prince?”
He studies me for the longest moment, then stands back. “My room is guarded as securely as yours is. You will find no escape through here.”
I kneel on the hearth and put my back against the side wall so I can ease around the flames. “You told the princess not to underestimate your ability to stay alive.”
“I’ve made it this far.”
“So have I. Don’t underestimate my abilities either.” I shimmy through the narrow opening, flicking a lit ember off my sweater, mindful of his eyes watching me.
“I don’t suppose you would change your mind?” I say. “About working with my mother? Working toward peace?”
“Your mother is a monster,” he says.
I frown and put my hand against the brick, then ease through the gap and look at him across the flames. “Given what I’ve learned, so is your prince.”
Without another word, I put my day’s work to good use, and I pull the handle to snap the barrier smoothly back into place.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
GREY
When Rhen spoke of liberty and hospitality, he clearly meant it. I sleep fitfully and wake long before sunrise, but despite the early hour, I’m provided with anything I request, from a shaving kit to a platter of food to a pair of boots that fit better. Out of curiosity, I request a dagger, and the servant bobs a curtsy and says, “Right away, my lord,” before dashing off.
While I wait, I stand at the window and stare out at the dawn sky, quickly brightening as the sun breaks across the horizon. The castle grounds are alive with color, from the snapping gold and red pennants to the flowers that bloom everywhere. I spent so long trapped in an eternal autumn that I’d forgotten the beauty of Ironrose at midsummer.
Lia Mara has pulled the brick divider in the hearth closed, but I found myself studying it last night. The handle is hot when I put my hand against it, the barrier heavy enough that I’d have to brace against the brick wall to pull it wide. I’m impressed by her strength and ingenuity. I’m not sure I would have even considered it.
A knock sounds at my door, and I move away from the window. “Enter.”
Instead of the serving girl, Dustan pushes though the door and allows it to fall closed. “Why do you need a dagger?”
“I was curious to see how far the offer of hospitality would extend.”
“This far, it would seem.” He doesn’t seem irritated. If anything, he seems amused.
“Who is my jailor to be today, Commander?” I ask him. “Am I confined to my quarters?”
“You are free to roam as you please.” He pauses, then folds his arms. “And your ‘jailor’ is me.”
“Then I’d like to see Tycho,” I say.
Dustan nods. He leads me past the other rooms on this floor to the staircase that descends to the lowest level.
I frown. “Where is he?”
“The infirmary.”
I’d been worried he would say the dungeon, but this is worse. “He was injured?”
“No. You’ll see.”
The infirmary is not large, and it was mostly open space when I was in command of the Royal Guard. A dozen cots had lined the back wall of the room, and a small bench of supplies sat near the front.
In my absence these last few months, the infirmary has been transformed. The cots—now double in number—are larger, with more plush cushioning, and a white sheet hangs between each, affording patients some privacy. The bench has been replaced with two long tables full of rolled muslin and stacks of fabric, backed by corked jars of every color. The few wall sconces that once lit the space have been replaced by large overhead chandeliers, brightening the infirmary to a space where few shadows can linger.
Near the center of the room, a pale, shirtless, middle-aged man sits on a cot, cradling his arm in his lap. Sweat glistens on his brow. On a stool in front of him sits Noah, facing away from us, and beside him, on a chair, sits Tycho.
“Touch here,” says Noah, gingerly pressing his fingers against the man’s shoulder. The man winces but holds still as Tycho’s fingers follow the same path.
“You feel that bony mass?” says Noah. “Broken clavicle. That’s the beginning of new bone formation over the fracture line.”
“Broken clavicle,” Tycho echoes.
The man winces again. “Is that bad?”
“No,” says Noah. “I’ll give you a sling.”
“You’ve made quite a place for yourself, Noah,” I say.
He glances over his shoulder. “What else was I supposed to do?”
There’s a chilliness to his voice, but it’s overshadowed by Tycho spinning in his chair, smiling wide. “Grey!” But then his eyes settle on Dustan, and the smile melts into wary regard. “Are you well?”
“I am well,” I say. “I’m glad you’ve found a friend.”
Noah rises from the stool and moves to one of the tables, where he picks up a folded length of muslin. “Tycho’s welcome anytime. He’s a quick study.”
Tycho glances between Noah and me, and then his eyes flick cautiously to Dustan. “Can we go home?”
As if Worwick would welcome me with open arms. Then again, he always did like a spectacle.
These thoughts are useless. I won’t be going anywhere at all.
“Not yet,” I
say.
At my side, Dustan gives away nothing through his expression.
“I promised Princess Harper she could demonstrate her newfound skills,” I say. “Shall we go see if she is receiving visitors?”
Tycho’s eyes go wide. “You know the princess?”
Noah rips through the length of muslin. “They go way back.”
I frown at his tone, but Tycho’s curiosity is already taking over. “What kind of skills?”
“The kind you’ll like.”
We meet in the courtyard at midmorning, while the sun beams down to fill the air with heat and the scents of jasmine and honeysuckle from the flowering bushes surrounding the stable. My leg is beginning to ache from all the movement, but I’ll probably be chained to a rack later, so I ignore the pain.
Harper grins at me and palms three knives. “Watch. Are you watching? Watch.”
Her enthusiasm is almost infectious. I can’t help but smile in return. “I am watching, my lady.”
Zo stands at her back, her expression full of the same suspicion and disappointment I find on the face of every guardsman I knew before.
You too swore an oath to protect the Crown, I want to say. You would understand if you knew.
Or maybe they wouldn’t.
Harper flips one knife in her hand, then lets it fly. It sails into the space between two cobblestones, driving into the dirt with enough force that the handle vibrates.
I remember the day she first asked me to show her this, how the very act of learning weaponry seemed to be an act of defiance. At first, I thought it was against Rhen, but it didn’t take me long to realize she’d grown up thinking she could never learn to defend herself. The defiance was toward herself. Or who she’d thought she was.
She flips the other two knives, and they land in quick succession in an almost straight line. She turns to curtsy.
I smile. “I’m impressed,” I say, and mean it.
“Zo and Dustan helped me a lot.” She pauses. “I’m still not very good at the sword stuff, but I’m getting better.”
She wears a sword on her hip today, bearing the weight of the weapon and armor as casually as Zo does beside her. “Show me.”
Their blades fly and crash together in the sunlight, but she is right. The swordplay is more clumsy and less graceful than the knives she threw into the ground. Harper struggles with balance and strength in her left side, an effect of the cerebral palsy she says has challenged her since birth.
A Heart So Fierce and Broken Page 13
