CHAPTER 4 TYCHO
TYCHO
By midsummer, the grounds of Ironrose Castle are always vibrant.
Watching from the window of Prince Rhen’s strategy room, my eyes usually don’t know where to settle.
The vast gardens have exploded with color, and gold- and- red pennants flutter above every sentry stand.
Sunlight gleams off the cream- colored bricks of the castle proper, too.
Marble and polished brass in the outbuildings add glimmers and flashes of light when the clouds shift.
When I was younger, everything here seemed magical.
That was before I learned how much harm magic had caused.
Somewhere below the window, women are gossiping as they go about their tasks, their voices high and lively like wind chimes. A broom rasps against the cobblestones. More distant, a man’s laugh echoes across the grounds, followed by the high- pitched shrieks of delighted children.
Right now, none of that is a distraction. Instead, my focus is locked squarely on a building in the distance. Across the fields, smoke billows from the forge that sits near the Shield House.
Jax.
I imagine him crouched over some horse’s hoof, his hammer swinging while his hair falls into his eyes— just like the day we met.
My heart thumps, simply from the memory of it.
He’s so striking, and it’s like he’s not even aware of it.
I remember when we first arrived here, how I found him walking along a path, his gleaming hair loose and unbound, his features carved in shadow.
Sudden longing pulses right along with my heartbeat, and it’s nearly enough to make me abandon my duties so I can gallop across the grounds to see him.
It’s been so long since I was just Tycho and he was just Jax and we could speak truths without the pressures of magic and royalty or the threat of treason and war weighing on us both.
The sunlight carries a sense of contentment, and I’m desperate for fresh air and freedom.
Or, hell, maybe I’m just desperate to escape the tense agitation in this room.
Grey is sprawled in a chair, his heavy- lidded eyes aimed at the window as well, though his jaw is tight, and his gaze seems to be fixed on nothing.
“You’ve called your regiments home from Syhl Shallow, but you still haven’t indicated whether we should station a small regiment at the border,” Rhen is saying to his brother— though I’m not sure Grey is listening.
“Currently, Syhl Shallow maintains the guard stations north of Willminton and Blind Hollow. General Ruoff has received word of minor skirmishes to the north here”— he taps at a map on the table, moving some figurines to represent soldier placements—“possibly related to your withdrawal of Emberish forces on the other side of the border. But without any military support in the area, we have no control over—”
He catches sight of Grey’s absent expression and stops short. Silence swells in the room. One of those girls working down below the window bursts into giggles about something. A distant soldier shouts an order.
Grey doesn’t move. He doesn’t even appear to have noticed that Rhen stopped speaking.
“Your Majesty,” Rhen snaps.
That gets a reaction— but barely. Grey glances his way, and his eyes narrow. “Stop it.”
“I thought perhaps a reminder was in order.”
“A reminder of what?” Grey’s voice is rough, and he looks like he hasn’t shaved in the two weeks since we got here. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was hung over.
Honestly, he might be. I wouldn’t blame him.
Malin and I used to sneak bottles of liquor after we were stripped of our duties and forced to stay in Syhl Shallow.
This isn’t the same— not by a long shot— but Grey had to leave his wife and child to protect a country that didn’t even want him there.
I’m sure he’s feeling just as trapped, just as isolated.
Just as hopeless.
Hell, maybe he’s drunk right now. I know I would be.
“A reminder that you are king,” Rhen is saying evenly. “And you have a country to rule.”
Grey’s frown deepens, but he goes back to looking at nothing.
Prince Rhen’s eye narrows. “Grey—”
“Fine!” the king snaps. “Send a regiment to guard the mountain pass. Whatever you want.”
His tone is sharp enough that I inwardly flinch, but Rhen holds his gaze. “This is not a time to be cavalier—”
“You just told me to rule,” Grey growls. “Now you’re going to complain when I do it?”
Prince Rhen stares back at him, then sighs and makes a note on one of the papers arranged in front of him.
Every meeting has been like this. I wish I were somewhere else. Anywhere else.
Well. Not anywhere.
I glance out the window again, reimagining Jax in the forge.
This time, I wish myself into the vision.
If I were there, I’d be tucking the hair out of his face while he hammered a hot shoe onto a hoof.
I’d be listening to the quiet rumble of his voice as he murmured to an uneasy horse. Sudden longing swells in my chest.
But then the fantasy fractures. I imagine him frowning. Smacking my hand away. Jerking back, looking confused. Or, worse, scoffing.
All my emotion goes cold, and I look away from the window.
Because for all my longing, something between us has changed. Since the moment I returned from Syhl Shallow, everything has been different.
The worst part is that I’m not entirely sure what happened— though I’m fairly certain that whatever it is, it’s my fault.
I never should’ve been gone so long, and I should’ve realized it would alter things between us.
But I spent so long trying to figure out a way to get back, expecting to find Jax desperate for my arrival.
Instead, I arrived to discover that Jax was able to forge a path for himself here, learning the language and settling into his new role and making friends.
He’s always been a little defiant, a little cavalier, but while I was gone, that shifted into something new.
Like confidence. Or conviction. Either way, the tense, apprehensive young man I met in Briarlock is gone.
I should be glad . . . and I am. I want him to be happy. I didn’t want him to be longing and desperate and lonely.
But I suddenly feel like an outsider. Like I’m intruding. It’s left me completely unmoored. Untethered.
And maybe a little jealous.
As I gaze out the window, the sun begins to sink toward the trees, making shadows lengthen. The dinner bells will ring soon, and Jax will be heading across the fields with his friends. He goes shooting almost every night, and I’ve been longing to join them since I got back.
If I’d even be welcome.
The instant I have the thought, I shove it away.
It doesn’t even matter. My own duties keep getting in the way regardless.
I was in Hutchins Forge two days ago, I just got back from Little Cross this morning, and if Prince Rhen is arguing about Grey’s reluctance to rule, I’m sure I’ll be heading somewhere new tonight.
When we returned from Syhl Shallow, I stupidly thought I might get a brief reprieve from my duties.
Clearly, I thought wrong.
“Tycho.”
I snap my head around. They’re both looking at me now.
Silver hell. “Forgive me,” I say.
Prince Rhen drags his hand across his jaw. “I asked if you’ve had any contact from the scraver Nakiis.”
My ever- present frown deepens, and a shard of ice seems to lodge in my chest. The last time I heard from Nakiis, he was pinning me to the ground, refusing to allow me to assist the king. Xovaar had attacked, and Nakiis was worried he’d kill me, too.
When I convinced him to let me go, I hoped he’d follow. I hoped he’d help.
He didn’t. And I haven’t seen him since.
I’ve started to wonder if he’s dead.
After the way he tried to stop me, there’s a part of me that wouldn’t quite mind.
“No,” I say. “Nothing.”
“Good,” says Rhen. “Perhaps the scravers have gone to ground.”
I don’t think we’re that lucky. I remember how viciously Xovaar tried to kill Grey, how violently the other scravers fought on the training fields at the Crystal Palace. When the battle was done, blood and bodies were everywhere.
“The scravers believe that magesmiths stole their magic,” I say. “Xovaar wants it back— and the only way to get it is to kill us off. If the scravers have gone to ground, they won’t stay there long.”
The prince makes another note on his paper, spending a long moment in consideration.
His gaze flicks back to the maps spread across the table, and he leans forward, gesturing toward some northern cities.
“We’re still hearing talk about the ‘monster’ returning to Emberfall.
Perhaps the scravers are stoking these fears to help drive out the magesmiths.
You should ride north to Gaulter to inquire about treasonous notes from the Truthbringers— or scraver attacks.
Perhaps these skirmishes are related. They have a tourney there, yes? You could learn quite a bit.”
I have to keep myself from sighing. Gaulter is a two- and- a- half- day ride from here— and I didn’t exactly leave their tourney on good terms. I’m the one who broke their prized fighter— Nakiis— out of a cage.
But I’m not going to refuse a direct order. Not while the king is sitting there looking ready to set the world on fire. “Yes, Your Highness.”
At that, Grey actually looks up. “No. Gaulter is too far. If the scravers do resurface, your magic will make you a target.”
“I’m a target right here. So are you.”
His frown deepens, and I wonder if the king is going to snap at me the way he just snapped at Rhen. Before he can, the prince says, “There’s no need to go alone. Take some soldiers. Or some guardsmen.” He pauses, his tone turning pointed. “We should not hide, Grey.”
The king’s expression looks like thunder, but he considers this. “Take Malin,” he finally says. “He’s trustworthy. Have him choose a few others, too.”