“You are surprised I would help?”
He smiles sheepishly, and it makes him look very much like his sister. There’s a hardness hidden under the expression, an edge that Harper lacks, but no deceitfulness or guile. I wonder at the vitriol between him and Grey.
“From what I know of royalty,” Jacob says, “yeah, I am.”
“You are royalty, too, are you not?”
His eyes shutter and turn unreadable. “Where I come from, if we want something done, we do it ourselves.”
By the time we have a fire going, dusk has thrown long shadows across the stream and brought a cool breeze to wind through the trees. Somewhere in the branches above, a bird of prey screeches a warning. The silence among us is not easy or companionable. My stomach aches for food, but we have none.
“I have silver,” Jacob says to Grey. “I could walk into town.”
“Is a town close? I could go, too,” I offer. “We could pretend to be a married couple traveling together.”
Grey’s dark eyes find mine. “The farther north we travel, the more the people of Emberfall have seen invaders from Syhl Shallow. Your accent would give you away.” He glances at Jacob. “And yours would paint you as an outsider.”
“So what? You think they’re going to send word to Rhen that one random guy showed up with a weird accent?”
“The prince has offered a bounty of five hundred silvers. If you think people are not looking for bodies to sacrifice to the Crown, you are wrong indeed.”
Jacob looks like he’s about to retort, but Tycho says, “The enforcers executed a man in Rillisk.” His expression is tense. “They didn’t even have proof.”
Jacob shuts his mouth.
Grey shifts his weight, then grimaces. The pink streaks on his shirt have turned to red, but he’s turned down any ministrations. “You do not want to walk into a strange city after dark. Not now.”
At his side, Tycho sighs. “I’d give almost anything for a platter of Jodi’s crabs right now.”
Grey’s smile is grim. “I’d give anything for a bow and a dozen arrows.”
Jacob tips his head back and stares at the sky. “I’d give anything for a burger with everything from Chewie’s.”
“Oh yes.” Noah laughs, the sound low and warm, indicating a shared memory.
I smile, charmed. “What is a burger?”
I expect them to lean in and explain, but instead their expressions close off the way Jacob’s did when we were gathering firewood.
“Nothing we’ll ever see again,” says Jacob. “Unless Grey can get us home.”
I study him and consider Mother’s suspicions about Disi, and the way Harper did not carry herself with the manner of a ruler—nor does Jacob. When we were debating where to find sanctuary, no one ever mentioned Disi as a place we’d be safe. Not even Princess Harper. There was no mention of assistance from the King of Disi in managing Emberfall’s political unrest—and no mention of their alliance being at risk if Rhen was not the rightful heir.
Unless Grey can get us home.
My eyes flash to Grey’s. “Disi can only be reached by magic.”
He stares back at me, his expression inscrutable.
Now that I’ve found a thread to pull, it all begins to unravel. “That is why there are no forces to lend support. They are trapped in Disi.”
Grey’s dark eyes give away nothing, but Jacob looks abashed. Noah looks resigned.
Tycho looks fascinated.
“Are there forces at all?” I say, with a glance at Grey. “An army waiting on your magic?”
He says nothing.
But that says everything.
I blow a breath out between my teeth. Overhead, the bird of prey screeches again. “Quite the story your prince has told his people.”
He denies nothing. “We did it to save our people. And it worked.”
Well, at least that much is true. But now I understand why Rhen’s subjects have begun to rise up against him. He made promises that are failing to come true. He bought their confidence with lies, and now he will be weaker than when he began.
I look at Noah and Jacob. “And you are trapped here. You cannot return home.”
They exchange a glance.
“Yes,” Jacob says finally. “More or less.”
My heart trips along, trying to make full sense of this revelation. “And neither of you are royalty at all, are you?”
“No,” says Jacob. He offers half a shrug. “Noah is really a doctor.”
“Then Princess Harper is not a princess.”
“She saved the prince from a terrible fate,” says Grey. “She risked her life for Emberfall, and she risked her life to protect me. She may not be a princess by birth, but she is one in spirit.”
We all fall silent, but now there’s a contemplative tension to it. Somewhere in the darkness, another screech echoes through the trees.
Eventually, most of the men find spots in the shadows to retire to, but despite my exhaustion, my thoughts are still churning.
Grey hasn’t found sleep either. When I glance over, the firelight flickers across his cheeks, and I realize he’s watching me.
I meet his eyes and hold them, then wait.
“You’re clever,” he says.
It’s not what I expected, and the word doesn’t sound like a compliment—nor an insult, really. I can’t read his tone. The bird of prey calls out to the night again, and I shiver.
Grey doesn’t look away. “You knew I was the heir,” he says, his tone very low, very thoughtful. “And you figured out the truth of Disi. What else do you know, Princess?”
I keep my eyes on the fire and try to keep any despondency from my voice. “In truth, I am not a princess. I am the elder of two sisters, but only the named heir earns that title, and that is not me.”
“Then what do you know, elder sister?”
I hesitate, but he is so forthright, so lacking in hesitation, that it makes me want to act the same. “I know you must have been very loyal to Prince Rhen to keep this secret.” I pause. “I see how loyal Tycho is to you, and I think Prince Rhen’s actions must have been quite a betrayal.”
Grey snaps a twig between his fingers and tosses the pieces into the fire. When he speaks, his voice is rough. “I once told him he was never cruel. I meant it as a mark of respect.” He pauses. “Now I feel as though I issued a challenge, and he accepted.”
Nolla Verin can be cruel, but I cannot imagine her taking something dear to me and torturing it—even for political gain. Regardless of my feelings for Rhen, these men had a history. I do not understand what it must have cost Grey to endure the beating—nor what it must have cost Rhen to have it done.
The air has grown heavy and uncomfortable, so I tilt my head and look at him, forcing my voice to be light. “Earlier, when everyone wished for food, you wished for a dozen arrows. Why?”
The ghost of a smile peeks through his sadness. “If I had a dozen arrows, we’d eat for a week.”
Ah. Of course. I should have wished for a dozen arrows as well.
He winces then, and presses a hand to his side, where his shirt clings to a weeping wound. The bird screeches again, sounding closer.
“Should I wake Noah?” I whisper.
“No.” Grey pulls the shirt away from the wound, his breath shaking from the effort. He shifts, then shifts again, unable to get comfortable. Another screech echoes through the woods. “If I had an arrow,” he snaps, “I’d shoot that creature.”
Wings beat among the trees, followed by another long screech that’s cut off abruptly.
“Well.” Grey stares up at the branches. “I suppose something else took care of it.”
Leaves rustle, and a black shape falls out of the sky. A large goose slaps into the ground with a thump.
Grey swears and jerks back. I give a yip of surprise.
His eyes meet mine, and his hand falls on the sword lying beside him.
Out of the darkness above, another shape descends, buoyed by a pa
ir of wide black wings that nearly span the narrow clearing. Smoky gray feet settle into the leaves silently. It’s beautiful and terrifying, and I catch my breath.
“A scraver,” I whisper, torn between fear and wonder. Part of me wants to scramble back, but another part wants to crawl forward and take a closer look. I’ve never seen one outside the pages of a book, and stories of their inhuman feats in the ice forests did not prepare me to meet one face-to-face.
“Yes, Princess,” says the creature. Its words are soft, barely more than a whisper on the air. Fangs glitter in the moonlight when it speaks. Its eyes are pure black, no white showing at all. “And as for you,” it says to Grey, “do you go by Hawk? Or by Grey?”
Beside me, Grey swallows. His hand is tight on the sword.
The scraver’s skin absorbs the shadows as it leans toward us, shifting into a mockery of a courtly bow, wings flaring wide. “Ah, forgive me. Shall I call you Your Highness?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
GREY
Rhen himself could have dropped from the trees and I’d be less surprised.
The scraver appears larger than it did at Worwick’s, though the cage was small and I never saw it stand upright. Or clothed, for that matter; it’s found black trousers somewhere, held up by a length of leather, leaving its broad chest bare. The garment makes the scraver seem more human—yet somehow less human at the same time.
Those claws still look just as sharp.
Beside me, Tycho stirs and runs a hand across his face. “What—what’s—” His eyes settle on the scraver, and he goes still. “Am I dreaming?”
“You’re awake.” Noah and Jacob are asleep a little farther away, so the noise hasn’t woken them yet. I can’t decide if that’s a good thing.
“I thought the scravers were trapped in Iishellasa,” says Lia Mara, and her voice is a curious mix of fear and wonder.
The creature’s glittering black eyes shift to her. “Not all.”
When he speaks, his voice is low and clear, but I can feel each word against my skin, like a breath of icy wind. It’s unnatural, and unnerving, and I shift my grip on the sword. Rhen is not the only one who has a bad history with magic.
“If I meant you harm, I would not have announced myself.” The scraver nudges the goose with one clawed foot. “For now, I wish to help you survive.”
Beside me, Tycho shivers despite the summer warmth, and I know he feels it, too. He’s the first to shake off the awe, though, and he levers himself to his knees. With a wince, he crawls forward to grab the goose by the neck. He sits on his heels by the fire and begins yanking feathers free.
“The boy has some sense,” says the creature.
“The boy is starving,” says Tycho.
“Where did you come from, scraver?” My hand hasn’t left my sword hilt.
“You know where I came from. You yourself cut the ropes, Your Highness.”
“Stop calling me Your Highness.”
“Then stop calling me scraver.” He overemphasizes the word, with a C pulled from his throat and an R that ends in a low growl. This time I shiver as if ice brushed against my skin, and I’m no less inclined to take my hand off my weapon.
Beside me, Lia Mara is still and intent. “What shall we call you?” she says.
“My name is Iisak.” The way he says his name is both sibilant and not, like taking the word ice and dragging it to a hard stop.
“Iisak,” says Lia Mara. “Thank you for the goose.”
I’m not ready to see Iisak as our savior yet. “You’ve been following us.”
“I watched them take you prisoner,” he says. “I watched them drag you into that castle in chains.” He pauses. “I watched them torture you and the boy.”
Tycho frowns and keeps his eyes on the bird, but I do not look away. “Why?”
“You freed me. I owe you a debt.”
“I freed you as a distraction. You owe me nothing.”
“Perhaps, but you gave me the means to escape. You told me where to go.”
I cannot decide if this creature is toying with me or if he’s being genuine. I glance at Tycho, who’s removed the larger feathers and is now struggling with the light downy ones underneath.
Unbidden, a memory comes to me. I must have been twelve or thirteen, the summer my father—the man I thought to be my father—was injured. My younger brother Cade was trying, and failing, to pluck a goose for us to take to the market. He was desperate to help. Half our crops hadn’t been harvested, and we had little to sell. We were all so hungry and worried and uncertain of what our future would hold.
Much like right now.
I shake off the memory. “Hold it into the fire,” I say to Tycho. “Singe them a bit. They’ll be easier to pull free.” I look back at Iisak. “Am I to believe you followed me all this way because I opened your cage door?”
“I followed you because you are so clearly a magesmith, yet you use none of the powers available to you. I followed you because you are the rightful heir to the throne of this cursed country, yet you make no claim.” He pauses, his black eyes narrowing. “I followed you because you travel with a daughter of Karis Luran, and I cannot reach Iishellasa by myself.”
“The ice forests?” says Lia Mara. “No one can cross the Frozen River.”
Iisak flares his wings, making the fire flicker. “I can.” His expression darkens as his wings fold back into place. “Though perhaps not yet. I have spent months in a cage.” These words bring a bitter wind that ruffles leaves overhead.
“Perhaps not ever,” says Lia Mara, “if my mother discovers your existence. The scravers have been treaty-bound to stay out of Syhl Shallow since before I was born.”
“So you see why I thought we might help each other.”
The day has been long and exhausting and full of too many questions. I have no idea what the right decisions are. “We are traveling slowly now,” I say. “But tomorrow we will find horses and weapons and cover ground more quickly.”
“You will find an arrow in your back.” His eyes narrow, and that low growl rolls into his voice again. “I see much from above. The cities are full of guardsmen, searching for you both.”
I go still. I knew Harper wouldn’t be able to force his hand. Rhen organized guards and enforcers quicker than I expected. The thought of fleeing again right now is almost too much to bear. Even if I could manage it, I doubt Tycho could.
Tycho turns from the fire. The feathers lie in a pile at his feet. “I’d kill for a dagger. Lend me the sword?”
I begin to draw the weapon, but Iisak steps forward, plucks the carcass from Tycho’s hands, and, with two swipes of his claws, drops the bird in pieces at the boy’s feet.
Tycho stares at the carcass, then peers up at Iisak. “Ah … thank you.” He gingerly shifts to lay the meat on rocks that he set in the fire.
Iisak licks the blood from his claws.
I’ve seen enough monstrous creatures and done enough monstrous things that I don’t flinch at the sight, but I expect Lia Mara to grimace. Instead, she looks intrigued. “How did you get out of Iishellasa without breaking the treaty?”
The creature smiles. “I didn’t.”
“So you hope I will intercede for you with my mother.”
“If I only cared for myself, I would attempt to sneak through Syhl Shallow alone.” He pauses. “I believe your mother has something of great value to me. I am willing to risk punishment for breaking the treaty to acquire it.”
“What is it?” I say.
“That is between me and the queen.”
Lia Mara studies him. “If we allow you to travel with us, what do you offer?”
Tycho glances over. “Did you see what he just did to this goose? How are you going to stop him from traveling with us?”
Iisak smiles, but his fangs make it more frightening than reassuring. “I can see what you cannot, from the air. I can scout the cities for guards and enforcers before you attempt trade.” His eyes level with mine. “Until then, I
can feed your people, Your Highness.”
They’re not my people, but my pride takes a blow anyway. “Stop calling me that.”
“I can help you find your magic.”
I shiver as another unnaturally cold breeze slides across my back, making the lash marks sting. “How?”
“We are both creatures of magic. The magesmiths were once allies with my people.” Iisak steps forward, and I tense, putting my hand on the sword again. Tycho wasn’t wrong. I’ve already seen the damage Iisak can do.
The scraver stops, dropping to a crouch in the leaves in front of me. “If you knew how to use your magic, you would not fear me at all.”
I swallow. His eyes are level with mine, and I wonder how I ever missed the keen intelligence there. Nonetheless, it’s like meeting the gaze of a predator. Lia Mara has gone absolutely still beside me.
Iisak holds out a hand. “Your wrist, Your Highness?”
I remember what happened the day Worwick had me yank the canvas off the scraver’s cage, how I tried to feed him water and he sank those fangs into my arm. There’s a glint of challenge in his eyes now, and I’m distantly aware of Tycho and Lia Mara waiting with held breath.
I let go of the sword and hold out my hand.
I expect his touch to be icy, the way his words feel, but his fingers are warm as he turns my arm over to bare the underside.
He drags a razor-sharp claw along the jagged scar left by his teeth, and I fight to keep still. “You could have healed this.”
“You could’ve not bitten me.”
He ignores my tone. “Your blood is full of magic,” he says. “I would wager that you call upon it without knowing. Have you ever survived an injury that would’ve killed another?”
“No. Never.”
But then I stop. Think.
The first season, when Rhen was cursed to become a monster, he terrorized the castle and killed nearly everyone. I was injured—we all were—but I was one of few guardsmen who survived.
After the second season, I was the only guardsman to survive.
A Heart So Fierce and Broken Page 17
