CHAPTER 31 JAX
JAX
It’s midsummer, but the lane between the bakery and the forge are white with the snowdrifts we normally see by the winter solstice.
Ice and snow are dripping everywhere, melting in the warmth of the sun, but every now and again, Tycho will adjust his position or shift his weight, and a strong gust of wind will blast through, carrying the taste of snow.
“Is that you?” I whisper.
“I don’t quite know,” he whispers back.
I wet my lips as the wind blasts past us again. “Can you control it?”
“I don’t know that either.”
Well, that’s reassuring.
When Tycho was down in the barn, I heard him cry out, and it took everything I had not to leave my post in the forge. It was bad enough that I left Da’s bedroom to hide in the corner out here.
But I had to wait. I had to see.
The storm clouds swept across the sky unnaturally fast, and the cold descended in a way that made me want to hide. When the snow began to fall, it was so frightening because it was so wrong.
And then when Tycho emerged, he was the same, yet altogether different.
When he walked up the lane, the snow seemed to follow him.
Even now, there’s an aura to his being that wasn’t there before.
I’ve seen him heal wounds in seconds before, and I’ve seen him start a fire, so it’s more than that.
I’ve never been aware of the magic before.
He’s pressed against me, and the weight of his body is as warm as it ever was, but it’s not like sitting beside a sunbeam.
This is like sitting beside a bolt of lightning.
Tycho looks over at me. Again, the wind swirls. Snow falls. And I just stare at him.
“What?” he whispers.
“I . . . don’t know.”
But then I see it. Flecks of gray in the brown of his eyes, a narrow ring of bluish white around the pupil. Like the ice is inside him.
My breath catches, and I have to look away.
We fall into silence again, waiting. But as we sit, I can’t quite relax. It’s still Tycho— only now he’s put a target on his back. He’s not even doing anything, and this level of power is terrifying.
I wonder if the others would notice, too, or if it’s only because I’ve come to know him so well.
But they’re all tucked away in their assigned spaces.
Callyn is in the bakery with Alek and Malin.
They’ve each taken a room, and they’re hiding in the hopes that they can attack from behind if the Truthbringers go for Tycho and his magic, waiting farther down the lane.
Sephran and the queen are hidden in the depths of my house, both heavily armed, with Tycho and me posted out here as a first line of defense to protect the queen.
But so far, there’s been no sign of anyone. Just the wind and the snow. Tycho said Nakiis healed his arm, and I thought for sure the scraver might come out of the barn to stand sentry with us, but he didn’t.
I wonder how long we have to wait— or if they’re coming at all. My stomach has been begging for food for hours now, but we’ve been gone for months, so there was little here to scavenge. We went through the supplies in our packs hours ago.
The worst part of me wonders if we waited too long. Maybe this display of magic wasn’t a lure at all. Maybe the Truthbringers have already gone too far, and we’re wasting our time.
A new gust of wind slithers through the forge, and there’s nothing really different about this one, but Tycho stiffens beside me.
I inhale to ask, but he shakes his head brusquely, so I clamp my mouth shut. He’s got an arrow nocked, the string drawn a bit taut, but he’s not aiming at anything yet.
We’ve got a clear view down the lane. There’s nothing to aim at.
He cuts a glance at me, then nods toward the side of the workshop.
I nod in return, then move across the space, while he goes in the opposite direction, heading for the door of the house. I immediately understand why— we can see more of the space down the lane.
There’s still nothing to see.
But that gust of icy wind wraps around us again, stinging my eyes and making me cringe. I wince and search the lane for invaders.
Tycho snaps his fingers, and I look over. He points toward the sky.
At first I have no idea what he’s pointing at. There are just a few birds against the heavy clouds.
Then my heart thumps hard in my chest.
Those aren’t birds.
I tighten my grip on the bow, drawing the string a bit tighter.
Nothing is close enough to shoot. I know my range, and I can’t hit anything closer than a hundred yards with any kind of accuracy.
We have a limited number of arrows, too.
I have six tipped with Iishellasan steel, and ten tipped with regular iron. Tycho has the same.
I look back at the clouds. At least a dozen scravers are dark shapes against the sky.
A dozen. We have no idea how many Truthbringers are coming.
I glance across the workshop again. Tycho holds up a closed fist and shakes his head.
I don’t know all their military symbols, but I know this one. Don’t shoot.
My heart keeps pounding, begging me to disobey.
The scravers are growing closer now, becoming larger shapes against the sky, with wings in various colors.
I remember my awe when they came to Briarlock once before, descending from the sky in the midst of our battle against the Truthbringers. But then, they came to help.
This time feels very different.
Ice is forming along the exposed iron in the forge, crystals crawling along my anvil and tools. As I watch, flecks of ice appear on my bow, too.
When I exhale, it comes out in a stream of white, and I shiver.
I glance across the workshop, and Tycho shakes his head again.
It’s so odd to think I was right here months ago, a different bow in my hands, the king offering a litany of instructions— mostly warnings of what not to do.
Don’t waste your arrows. Take time to aim. Don’t wait to see if your arrow strikes true. Either it does or it doesn’t. Find your next shot.
Don’t forget to breathe.
I need that last reminder right now, because I have to force air into my lungs. Every muscle on my frame is as taut as this bowstring. The scravers are close enough for me to take a shot, and my fingers are itching to loose an arrow. I could take down two of them right now— I know I could.
But when I glance across the workshop, Tycho doesn’t even look my way. He gives one sharp, fierce shake of his head.
I understand why. The instant I shoot one arrow, they’ll know where we are.
I can take down two, but we can’t take them all.
The voice that carries on the wind is familiar, but there’s a flicker of power behind it that hurts my head when I hear it.
— We know you’re here, little magesmith.
My heart skips. It must be Xovaar. I heard him last night.
If he’s flying, he clearly healed the damage I caused. Is Karyl with him? Did Xovaar make her more powerful in the way Tycho is more powerful?
The scravers swoop wide, changing direction, looping to circle back over the trees behind the barn. My heart stumbles, not understanding— but then I realize that this is exactly what we hoped for. We’re under cover, and the winged creatures don’t know where we are.
Yet.
— Karyl isn’t far behind, the scraver continues. — We’ll flush you out.
This is our plan. This is exactly what we wanted. Lure them here, yet hide in the buildings where they don’t have the advantage of flight and weather.
The scravers begin to fly out of my range of vision, and my heart trips and falls again. I nearly inch forward, out of the shadows, but I have to force myself still. I can’t look. I can’t move. These creatures have such keen senses, and even the slightest motion will draw their focus.
But the scravers circle around the barn to where I can see them again, several of them dropping to land on the roof. One of them shrieks, the sound splitting the air. Another one shrieks more loudly, and I wince.
I wonder if they can sense Nakiis and Igaa inside.
Just as I have the thought, the wind kicks up wildly, snow spinning from the sky.
In any other situation, I’d be fascinated at the way snow is falling on a summer day, and I’d be begging him to make it happen over and over again.
But just now, I know it’s Tycho, and I know his magic is responding to the scravers closing in on Nakiis.
Despite everything, I know he sees him as a friend— or at least something close.
Despite all of this, I know he wants to protect him.
As soon as the wind swirls with his power, the scravers sense it. They’re off the roof and soaring this way.
Tycho swears under his breath. “I’m sorry, Jax. I’m sorry. I’m sorry—”
“No sorry,” I say. “We’re together, remember?”
And then I can’t say anything else.
All I can do is shoot.