A Vow So Bold and Deadly Page 10

  “What happened?” I say.

  “Nothing.” He swallows. “I didn’t—I didn’t realize the hours passed so quickly.”

  Before I was trapped in the curse with Rhen, I watched the royal family of Emberfall dance around truth with ease, so I can tell a lie when I hear one. “You’ve never lied to me before,” I say. “Do not start now.”

  Tycho flushes.

  “Grey,” says Noah. The easy tone is gone from his voice. “Leave it.”

  I go very still. The day has been too long, too full of threats from both inside and outside the palace. I don’t want to have to worry about half-truths and indecision here.

  Tycho must read the darkening thoughts behind my eyes, because he ducks to grab his bracers and weapons. “Forgive me,” he says quickly, and his voice is low and repentant.

  Maybe Jake can sense my mood too, because he says, “Tycho. Find your unit leader and see if you can run the drills now.”

  Tycho was moving toward the doorway, but at that, he hesitates.

  Noah looks at Jake, and some unspoken message must pass between them, because Jake straightens, pushing away from the table. “You know what? Never mind. I’ll do it.” He takes another bite of his apple. “Come on, T.”

  Once they’re gone, the infirmary falls very quiet. I don’t like feeling at odds with Noah. He has an easy sensibility: never aggressive, never overbearing. His bravery is simple, uncomplicated. Like the day he left Rhen and Ironrose behind, when Noah feels strongly about something, he’s calm and collected about it, but his will is iron strong.

  So is mine.

  He’s regarding me evenly. “He’s only fifteen, Grey.”

  “I was seventeen when I joined the Royal Guard.”

  He snorts. “Maybe you’ve been twenty for too long, because there’s a lot of ground between fifteen and seventeen.”

  He’s probably right on both counts, but I don’t like it. “When I was fifteen, I was trying to run my family’s farm.”

  “And how did that turn out?”

  His voice is quiet, not cruel, but the words hit me like a dart anyway. He knows how that turned out. My family nearly starved. It’s the very reason I joined the Royal Guard: I could forswear my family, and they would be rewarded richly for losing me to the castle. I don’t need the reminder of my failures or my sacrifices, especially not right now. “Do you seek a fight with me, Noah?”

  “No.” His tone doesn’t change.

  “I did not force Tycho into the army,” I say fiercely. I take a step forward. “It was his choice to join the recruits. I did not demand—”

  “Hey.” He lifts a hand, and his voice is placating. “I know you’re under a lot of pressure. I’m just asking you to take it easy on him, okay?”

  I hesitate, then run a hand across the back of my neck. My frustration is not with Noah. It’s not even with Tycho, really.

  If I’m being strictly honest with myself, my frustration isn’t with the soldiers here, either.

  It’s with Rhen. It’s with myself.

  I sigh and lean against the table.

  Something bats at my ankle, strong taps that I can feel through the leather of my greaves. I look down and see the kitten has emerged from under the table, and it’s smacking at my boot laces with its paws. I lean down to scoop the creature into my hands.

  It immediately digs in with claws that seem to rival Iisak’s. I let go with a swear, and it bolts under the table again. Blood appears in stripes across my fingers.

  Noah is laughing. “That kitten only lets Tycho and Iisak touch him.” He reaches for a square of cloth. “Cat scratches get infected easily. Let me get you—” He stops short and sobers as the wounds on my fingers magically close. “Well. Never mind. I forgot.”

  The air between us goes quiet again. The tension has lessened a bit. Maybe it was all on my side to begin with. “What happened?” I say. “Why did Tycho come here?”

  Noah hesitates. “I don’t want to betray his trust.”

  “If the other recruits are bothering him, I should know.”

  He shakes his head slightly. “I don’t think they’re doing anything wrong. I think they’re … just being soldiers.” He pauses. “When the guardsmen first took Tycho from Rillisk, he hid in the infirmary with me then, too.”

  In Ironrose. When Rhen captured me. The guards took Tycho prisoner to use as leverage against me. He clung to the shadows and refused to speak to them.

  When we worked at Worwick’s in Rillisk, Tycho was afraid of soldiers there, too. He’d make himself scarce when they came to the tourney, or he’d stick by my side in the stables. I spent an eternity as a swordsman, but Tycho was never afraid of me in Rillisk. He was the first person I trusted. I might’ve been the first person he trusted.

  I’d keep your secret too, Hawk.

  Hawk.

  He was never afraid of me because I wasn’t a swordsman. I was a stable hand, and then an outlaw, and then a reluctant prince.

  He’s grown into himself so much here that I’d forgotten that.

  “Does he want out of the army?” I say to Noah quietly.

  “If you asked him that, I think you’d break his heart.”

  I look at him in surprise, and Noah adds, “He’s worried he’ll disappoint you.”

  I glance at the window. Across the field, Jake and Tycho have taken up sparring positions, their shadows long in the fading light. Men like Solt will rely on strength instead of speed, and sometimes it makes them lazy and overconfident. Tycho never takes anything for granted, and I watch it play out in his skills whenever he’s on the field. It’s part of why he earned respect from the other recruits. He’s willing to risk his life in this war, and he demonstrates it every day. And not because he believes in Syhl Shallow or my right to rule. Because he believes in me.

  “Tycho has never disappointed me,” I say.

  “Maybe he needs to know that.”

  I think on that for a moment, unsure what to say. I feel like I am failing in so many ways here.

  A hand raps on the doorjamb, and an older woman with deep brown skin hesitates in the doorway. I recognize her as one of the shop owners in the city who does metal work. Her eyes flick from Noah to me. “Healer,” she says in Syssalah. She extends her hand, which is wrapped in wet cloth. She says something else, but I only recognize the words for burn and forge.

  Noah can fix a lot of ailments, but a bad burn will ache for weeks and likely scar. “I can help you,” I say, but she draws her arm back against her body warily.

  “Nah,” she says, shaking her head. “Nah runiah.”

  No magic. I frown.

  Noah speaks to her, and his tone is comforting, reassuring. He glances at me. “I’m not useless yet,” he says.

  His tone is wry, but there’s an undercurrent to his words that I can’t quite parcel out.

  I inhale to ask what he means, but he’s frowning at the woman, trying to ask her questions and understand her answers in broken Syssalah. I quietly move toward the door, and the woman looks relieved that I’m leaving.

  “Hey, Grey,” Noah calls after me, and I hesitate in the hallway.

  “For the record,” he says, “you’ve never disappointed us, either.”

  “Do not judge too soon,” I call back, but he’s already lost to his patient, and my words drift on unheard, while his words lodge in my heart, both a reassurance and a reminder.

  I have an hour until dinner, so I tighten the buckles on my breastplate and head out to join Jake and Tycho.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  LIA MARA

  My afternoon drones on, and I find myself looking at the windows more often than not. It’s difficult to be still, sitting attentively while advisors and representatives from my Royal Houses talk about our preparations for war. It’s impossible to focus on grain stores and the late harvest when my brain wants to fix on every glimmer in someone’s hand. The palace feels claustrophobic, as if I could be trapped in a hallway with assassins hiding behind
every door, while the training fields left me feeling vulnerable and exposed. I don’t like either option. I’m relieved when I can retire to my quarters to dress before dinner.

  My room has always been a sanctuary, and it’s no different now. I send for a tray of hot tea and lock myself inside, curling onto the chaise longue by the window. I used to hide here and read when I grew bored of court politics and my mother’s machinations.

  Or rather, I used to strategically position myself here. The thought makes me smile. I can see Grey from my window. He seems to have found Tycho, because they’re sparring with Jake in the fading light.

  But as I watch, the smile slides off my face. I was unprepared for the tension between him and the soldiers, especially the officers. A year of military service is mandatory in Syhl Shallow, but many of the men and women on the field have made a career of it. It was once considered an honor.

  Few of the people I saw today seemed to consider it an honor anymore.

  I don’t know if that’s because of me, or because of Grey. Or because of us both.

  A knock sounds at my door, and I jump, my heart pounding hard against my ribs. I have to remind myself that an assassin wouldn’t knock, and my guards wouldn’t let many people get that far anyway. It’s probably the tea I just requested.

  Either way, it takes me a moment to call, “Enter.”

  My sister breezes through the door almost before I say the word, letting the heavy wood panel close behind her. She’s still wearing her armor and weapons from the training fields, but somehow she wears them more elegantly than the gauzy belted robes we wear at court. Her hair gleams in its braids, her cheeks still pink from the chill in the air outside.

  “I’ve been waiting to talk to you all afternoon,” she says. “You should have let Grey make that man fight until he was coughing blood on his boots. Mother would have.”

  As if I don’t compare my failings to my mother’s victories every second of every day. “Hello, my dear sister,” I say tersely. “Please, do not hesitate to speak freely.”

  She puts her hands on her hips. “What are you doing in here? I thought you were meeting with the advisors about the food stores for the winter.”

  “I was.” I glance back at the window. “What are you doing here? I’m surprised you’re not still on the field, making some poor soldier beg for mercy.”

  “Ellia Maya was able to discover the identity of the woman who attacked you,” she says. “She lived in the city, not far from the palace. We do not believe she was working alone.”

  I go still, thinking of how Grey and I strode through the city streets this very morning. I bite back a shiver.

  Nolla Verin isn’t done. “Ellia Maya said her home was filled with documents on the history of magesmiths. There are records of weapons that are impervious to magic—weapons that were used against them in the past.”

  “Weapons?”

  “None were found.” She hesitates. “But that does not mean they don’t exist. The girl had drafted letters to the Royal Houses asking them to stand against our alliance with magic. She was not the only one who had signed them.”

  This time I do shiver. I knew the distrust for magic was strong in Syhl Shallow, but I was unprepared for an organized objection.

  “How many?” I say quietly.

  “Not many. The guards are tracking them down.” Nolla Verin pauses. “Many seem to have fled. Their homes have been ransacked.”

  I say nothing, and my sister moves close. “Lia Mara.” She puts a hand over mine. “After what happened yesterday … are you all right?”

  I look back at her in surprise. Nolla Verin can be so callous, so brutally practical, that I forget she can also be caring and dutiful.

  When I don’t say anything, she sits beside me on the chaise. She smells like sweat and leather and sunshine, and I’m reminded of how Mother originally chose her to be heir. Sometimes I wonder if she wouldn’t be better at this. Solt would not have been defiant on the training fields. That assassin wouldn’t have dared to draw close. I can hardly imagine Nolla Verin listening to petty complaints at all.

  I’m still irritated that she issued orders in the throne room yesterday—but I’m also envious that she had the strength to take harsh action, when I did not.

  “Lia Mara.” Her voice is soft, and she reaches out to touch my hand, and I realize I’ve drawn my arms across my midsection again.

  “I feel like such a fool,” I whisper, and then, against my will, my eyes fill with tears.

  Nolla Verin tsks, and she pulls me against her. She’s younger than I am, but just now, I feel like a child. I lean against her shoulder, the edges of her weapons pressing into my curves, while she strokes my hair down my back.

  “There, there,” she says after a moment. “Tell me who I can stab for you.”

  I giggle and straighten, swiping at my tears. “You’re terrible.”

  “I’m committed.” She’s only teasing a little bit. Her eyes search mine. “When Mother named me heir, when she announced her intent for me to marry Prince Grey, she did so without yielding her ability to rule. The people of Syhl Shallow had nothing to fear.”

  I snort. “But now they fear my rule.”

  “Yes,” she says simply. “They fear magic. They fear your alliance with a prince of an enemy land.” Her voice hardens. “Instead they should fear you.”

  “I don’t want anyone to fear me.”

  “Ah. So you hope to coddle them into loyalty.” She rolls her eyes, then clutches her hands to her chest mockingly. “Please don’t hurt me, assassins! Would anyone like a sweet pastry? ”

  “Stop it.” I shove her hands away and stand. “I want my people to know I care for them. I want them to feel confident in my abilities to protect them without making them cough blood on their boots.”

  She frowns. “Then you must show them you will not stand for insurrection. That you will not stand for disloyalty.”

  “I don’t need to be cruel—”

  “No.” She points out at the field. “But you’re asking them to fight for you. You’re asking me to fight for you.”

  “You don’t have to do anything you don’t—”

  “Ah, sister.” Nolla Verin swears. “How can you ask them to fight for you when you won’t fight for yourself?”

  The words draw me up short, and I stare at her. Is that what I’ve been doing? I don’t know. I can’t tell.

  “I might be able to fight for myself if you didn’t feel the need to issue orders on my behalf,” I say tightly.

  She snaps back, “I wouldn’t feel the need if you weren’t so determined to allow peasants to spit in your face.”

  “I don’t need to cut out someone’s tongue to prove a point.”

  “Maybe you should! No one can tell you have a point to prove.”

  I glare at her. She glares back.

  I wish I hadn’t cried on her shoulder now. It makes me feel immeasurably weak, especially since she’s standing in front of me adorned in leather and steel, fresh off the training fields, when I was hiding in my room.

  I straighten. “Thank you for sharing your thoughts,” I say through my teeth. “I have to prepare for dinner now.”

  A knock sounds at my door, but neither of us moves.

  “Enter,” I finally call.

  It’s a serving girl with the platter of tea I ordered. She’s young, with flushed cheeks and red hair pinned into a knot at the back of her head. Her eyes are fixed on the tray, which is almost as wide as she is tall. She eases into the room and bobs a curtsy that makes the dishes rattle. She has to clear her throat. “Your Majesty.” Her eyes flick to Nolla Verin and her voice trembles as she sets the tray on a side table. “Your H-Highness. Shall I pour a cup for you both?”

  Nolla Verin folds her arms and says, “Certainly,” just as I say, “My sister was just leaving.”

  “Fine,” we both say simultaneously.

  I fold my arms as well. The girl hesitates, then she must decide that this means
my sister is staying, because she sets two rattling cups in their saucers. The sound of the sloshing liquid is loud in the tense space between us.

  The girl lifts the saucer in one hand and moves toward me. Her eyes are downcast, and the way the dish vibrates makes me wonder if she’s been chastised by my mother in the past. She reminds me of the flinching barmaid in the tavern.

  “Thank you,” I say gently, but I keep my eyes on my sister. I reach for the saucer.

  The girl releases the dish and bobs another curtsy.

  Then, without warning, her hand swings.

  I’m so focused on Nolla Verin that I almost don’t see it coming, but my nerves are on edge today, and my body ducks to the side without my willing participation.

  It doesn’t matter, anyway. Nolla Verin is a better fighter than I’ll ever be, and she already has a blade free. My sister’s dagger is in the girl’s chest and my cup of tea is shattered on the floor before I even realized what happened.

  “Guards!” Nolla Verin is shouting, but my gaze is fixed on the girl on the floor. She’s gasping, choking on blood. Her hands flail limply at the blade embedded in her chest.

  “You—you—” she’s gasping.

  Nolla Verin kicks her in the ribs, and the girl’s eyes flare wide. She makes a loud choking sound as her lungs beg for air.

  My sister spits at her. “You’re lucky you’ll be dead before I can give you what you truly deserve.”

  I grab my sister’s arm. “Stop.” I stare down at the girl as guards swirl into my chambers, weapons drawn. “Me. Me what?”

  Her eyelids flicker. Her hands grasp at the blade. “You ally us with monsters.”

  Then her eyes stop moving and her hands stop struggling, and she just lies there, dead.

  The attack causes so much uproar that I wonder if I’ll ever find a still moment again, but in a way, I don’t mind the chaos, the questions, the intense scrutiny from Grey and my sister when they interrogate the guards. Clanna Sun begs me to move into the queen’s chambers, but I don’t want to leave my room. I feel like it’s my last source of refuge. Servants took away the body and the velvet floor coverings, replacing them efficiently while I clung to the corner and tried not to watch for hidden weapons.