A Vow So Bold and Deadly Page 4

Grey wouldn’t have hesitated.

  Finally, a servant approaches with a tray, and I seize a glass of wine. It takes every ounce of my self-control to keep from downing the entire thing in one swallow. As it is, I drain half.

  One of the Grand Marshals approaches. Conrad Macon, from Rillisk. Because of his city’s distance from Ironrose, I don’t know him well, but that’s not a bad thing. The only Grand Marshals I know well are those who live nearby—or those who were at odds with my father.

  Conrad has been quick to respond to any request since Grey was captured within his borders. And he showed up here tonight.

  “Forgive me,” he says, and his voice is conciliatory. “I did not intend to cause tension for the princess.”

  “There is more than enough tension to go around,” I say. “You are not the cause of it.”

  He looks relieved to hear that. “Ah … yes, my lord. I agree.” He hesitates. “I understand you are preparing the army for another attack by Syhl Shallow.”

  Now I do drain the glass. “Yes.”

  “Rillisk has a small private army, as you know,” he says. “I know you have faced … conflict with Silvermoon. But I was speaking with the Grand Marshal of Wildthorne Valley, and we believe that by aligning our soldiers, we could present quite a large force in the west, which may be large enough to prevent any other cities from attempting to defect to the false heir’s rule.”

  My thoughts were still tangled up in what Harper said to me, but this gets my attention. “You believe your armed forces would be enough to stand against Syhl Shallow?”

  “Well, Marshal Baldrick has a woman in his employ who’s been able to discern information from Syhl Shallow’s soldiers.”

  “A spy,” I say.

  He winces. “More of a mercenary,” he says, his voice low. “From what I understand, she’s not cheap. But she was able to infiltrate their forces before, and she kept Wildthorne Valley from suffering many losses.”

  If there’s anything I have, it’s plenty of silver. In Emberfall, five years passed without much activity from the royal family, because I had no need to spend a single copper. It’s part of why Syhl Shallow is so desperate to take over. “Have Marshal Baldrick plan a visit with this mercenary,” I say. “If money is a concern, I’ll make it worth her while. I would like to hear more from her directly.”

  “No need,” Conrad says. “He brought her with him.”

  Chesleigh Darington is younger than I expect, somewhere in her mid-twenties, with waist-length dark hair, olive skin, and calculating gray eyes. She has a scar on her cheek similar to Harper’s, though Chesleigh’s stretches into her hairline over her ear, where the hair has grown back in a narrow white streak. Unlike the rest of the women at the party, she’s wearing trousers—black calfskin, laced boots, and a slender tunic in deep purple. She’s more armed than most of my guards, and I notice that several of my guardsmen hover close when she joins us at a table in the corner.

  Marshal Baldrick and Marshal Macon sit at the table, sipping from glasses of wine, looking proud that they’ve brought something to offer. In another lifetime, I might be dismissive about their gloating, but tonight, I want people to envy them. I want people to seek my favor. I need Emberfall to be whole to stand against Grey. He’s already endeared himself to many of the northern towns, and I am on rocky ground with Silvermoon Harbor. It’s likely a miracle that Marshal Perry even showed up tonight.

  I wish Harper had not stormed out of here.

  I trace my finger around the stem of my wineglass and pay attention to the matter at hand.

  “You believe you have information on Syhl Shallow’s military?” I say to Chesleigh.

  “Not just on their military,” she says. “I can cross the border at will.”

  I frown. “How?”

  “I speak Syssalah. I’m familiar with their customs, and they’ve come to see me as a citizen.”

  I lean in against the table. “How?”

  “I was born there.”

  The Grand Marshals at the table exchange a glance, but Baldrick clears his throat. “Chesleigh is loyal to Emberfall.”

  My eyes don’t leave hers. “Why?”

  “Because their queen slaughtered my family.” Her words are even and unaffected, her eyes cool. But I was a monster created by the enchantress, and I slaughtered my own family, so my tone is just the same when I speak of it. I know how much anger and fury and loss can be hidden by a pair of cool eyes.

  “When their army first came through the mountain pass,” she continues, “I was surprised how easy it was to lose myself among their ranks. Few people in Emberfall speak Syssalah—and even fewer would walk right up to a Syhl Shallow soldier without fear after what they’ve done. Bold women are rarer here, but they’re common in Syhl Shallow.”

  “And they let you cross the border?” I say. “Just like that?”

  She gives me a darkly conspiratorial smile. “They believe I am a spy.”

  I don’t smile back. “How do I know you’re not?”

  “How do you know anyone is not?” She glances at the Grand Marshals at the table, then back at me. “I understand your … princess from Disi did not bring about the military forces that were promised. That the royal family perished while under the king of Disi’s protection. Perhaps she is the spy.”

  “I thought we were here to talk about what you could offer,” I say.

  “We are.” She pauses. “I can assure you that my word is good.”

  “Prove it.”

  She draws back in her chair and takes a sip from her glass. “I don’t work for free, Your Highness. A girl has to eat.”

  She’s very forward. I can see why she wouldn’t have an issue assimilating in Syhl Shallow. I’m used to polished doublespeak from the men at this table, so a forthright request is almost … refreshing. “Fifty silvers,” I say easily.

  She smiles. “Two hundred.”

  Marshal Macon snorts with laughter and someone else mutters a curse, but I don’t smile. “You must be very hungry.”

  Her eyes flash. “You have no idea.”

  “Fifty,” I say again.

  “You won’t negotiate?”

  “Not yet.”

  She studies me for the longest time. “There is a narrow passage through the mountains, three or four days’ ride northwest of here. It’s not wide enough to support the movement of troops, but it’s unguarded from this side.”

  I straighten. “And?”

  “It’s wide enough to allow small contingents of soldiers at a time, and after their forces razed many of your smaller cities, they could begin setting up camp inside Emberfall.” She pauses. “Without notice.”

  I go still. “Has this already begun?”

  She shrugs and takes a sip of her wine.

  I narrow my eyes. “I could find out for myself by sending scouts.”

  “Yes, and it would take you a week and possibly the loss of those scouts.” She drains her glass, then smiles. This one looks genuine, and it turns her expression from calculating to something more intriguing. “Is that truly worth another hundred and fifty silvers, Your Highness?”

  No. It’s not. “One hundred now,” I say to her. “One hundred when I’ve verified what you told me.”

  “You’ll risk men anyway?”

  “I’d rather risk a few now than risk my entire army on your word.” I pause. “Now. Tell me.”

  “Forces have already made camp on the western side of Blackrock Plains, just at the base of the mountains.”

  The Grand Marshals gasp.

  I don’t. “How many?”

  “At least a thousand.”

  Silver hell. A thousand enemy soldiers are stationed in my country and I had no idea.

  A part of me goes cold at the thought. Grey gave me warning. Even Lilith gave me warning.

  I didn’t want to believe it.

  I have to bite back a shiver. I glance at one of my guards. “Find General Landon.” He gives me a quick nod and rushes off. I lo
ok back at Chesleigh. “I will pay you your silver and verify your story. If you’re giving me the truth, return to Ironrose in a week and I’ll pay you the rest.”

  She doesn’t move. “I can tell you about more than just the soldiers, Your Highness.”

  “What else?”

  Her eyebrows go up.

  “There is a difference between hunger and greed,” I say.

  “Is there?” she says innocently.

  “One hundred fifty now.”

  She hesitates, and I can tell that she’s weighing whether to play me for more. I’ve never bartered with mercenaries, but I’ve seen my father do it, and I know from experience that once you set a level, they’ll only ask for more the next time. She won’t get more than that out of me today, and maybe my expression gives that away.

  “A faction has formed in Syhl Shallow,” she says. “There are many who fear magic. Many others who want no part of it among their people. There are records and ledgers of the magesmiths, of the things they could do, of the ways they were vulnerable.” She pauses. “There are those who oppose the queen, and her alliance with this magesmith.”

  I go still. “Are you a part of this faction?”

  “I could be.”

  “How are they vulnerable?”

  “I have heard that magic can be bound into a certain kind of steel forged in the ice forests of Iishellasa. This steel can be fashioned to bear magic itself—or it can cause wounds that are impervious to magic. Many of these artifacts have been lost to time, but some can still be found in the Syhl Shallow villages where the magesmiths once lived.”

  “Preposterous,” blusters one of the Grand Marshals.

  But it’s not preposterous. Grey once wore a silver bracelet that the enchantress bound to his wrist. It allowed him to cross the veil into Washington, DC.

  I have no idea where it ended up. But I know such a thing exists.

  My breathing goes thin, and my thoughts race. Is there a weapon that could harm Lilith? Has the solution been in Syhl Shallow all this time?

  “I have heard rumor of one such weapon,” says Chesleigh. She shrugs. “Doubtless there are others.”

  “Such a weapon could be used against the false heir,” I hear one of the Grand Marshals murmur.

  No, I think. Such a weapon could be used against Lilith.

  This feels like a risk. There is no proof. No surety. It’s not as if I could ask Lilith herself. Even now, I want to cast a glance around, as if she could be listening to this very conversation.

  I say, “Could you retrieve this weapon?”

  Her eyes flash. “It will cost you.”

  “For this, you can name your price.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  HARPER

  The sun set hours ago, and the stable hands have long since gone to bed. The silence is heavy around me, but I don’t mind. Silence means I’m alone. I’m not entirely sure where I’m going, but I’m not dragging Zo down with me this time. I sent her back to her quarters with the assurance that I’d head for my own.

  Instead, I’m in the stables, and this dress is cut for riding. I have Ironwill saddled in three minutes, and I’m on his back in one. I don’t really know where I’m going, but I don’t want to be here. I cluck softly to the horse, and we trot through the stable doorway.

  A hand appears from nowhere, grabbing the rein. “Whoa!” yells a male voice.

  Ironwill spooks, then spins, then rears.

  I gasp and tilt sideways. The horse skitters, his iron shoes striking the cobblestones frantically. I scramble for purchase, but I’m going to hit the cobblestones. It’s going to hurt.

  Instead, I’m caught, arms closing around me, stopping the fall. It’s dark, and half the people in Emberfall hate Rhen right now, so I shriek and struggle, my hand finding the dagger at my waist.

  “My lady. My lady.” Dustan’s voice. My feet are set roughly against the ground.

  I fight to right my cloak, shoving unruly hair out of my face. I’m gasping, my breath making quick clouds in the air. Another guard has hold of Ironwill’s reins, and the horse prances, tossing his head.

  I glare at Dustan. I’ve been ignoring him for months, since he was a part of what Rhen did to Grey. Since he was the one to tell Zo she was relieved of her duties. Since he turned from someone I thought might be a friend—into someone I’ve grown to resent.

  My heart is still in my throat. “What is wrong with you?”

  He doesn’t look any happier to be here than I am. “His Highness ordered me to keep you on the castle grounds.”

  OH, DID HE.

  I’m breathing hard, my thoughts full of venom. He’s blocking my path now, standing like he’s ready for me to take a swing at him—or bolt.

  Both sound like a good idea. “Give me back my horse,” I bite out.

  He looks aggrieved. “My orders were to keep you on the grounds and keep you safe.”

  “I’m right here. I’m fine.” I take a step forward and reach for the reins, but Dustan steps in front of me.

  “If you force my hand, I will accomplish that by locking you in your quarters.”

  I feign a gasp. “You will? Such chivalry.”

  He ignores my tone. “Would Grey not have done the same?”

  I freeze. I remember a time when Rhen and I were arguing, and I pulled a dagger. Grey pulled a blade to stop me, and Rhen said, “He’ll take your arm off if I order it.”

  I asked Grey about it later. I follow orders, my lady. I bear you no ill will.

  He definitely would have done the same.

  It takes some of the wind out of my sails.

  I frown and start forward. Dustan steps to block me.

  I grit my teeth. “I’m going to take the saddle off,” I say darkly. “If that’s all right with you.”

  He studies me for the longest moment, then steps back. I jerk the reins out of the other guard’s hands, then stroke a hand down Ironwill’s cheek. He chews at the bit and swishes his tail, looking aggrieved himself.

  I wish I were nimble and limber, that I had the kind of skills that would let me leap onto Ironwill’s back and gallop out of here, trampling Dustan in the process. But I’m not and I can’t, and if I tried, Dustan probably would drag me back to my room to lock me there.

  Back in the stall, I loosen the girth, then slip the saddle off the buckskin’s back. I’m not trapped, but I feel like a prisoner anyway. I trade the saddle for a brush and ease the soft bristles against Will’s coat. At some point, Dustan gives the other guards an order to stand outside the stables, but he stations himself across the aisle to stand against the opposite wall.

  I ignore him, leaning into the brush, and the silence settles in around us. My anger is flailing, wanting a target, leaving me tense and fidgety. A chill has crept into the stall, and I bite back a shiver, pressing closer to the horse. It doesn’t help, and I shiver harder, sucking a shuddering breath through my teeth.

  “My lady.” Dustan speaks from behind me, but I don’t turn.

  “Go away.”

  “You should return to the castle if you are cold.”

  “No.”

  He says nothing, and I wonder if he’s still standing there or if he’s returned to his spot across the aisle.

  I can’t decide if I’m being rude or if he’s being a jerk, and honestly, I don’t care. I stop brushing and press my forehead into Ironwill’s neck, breathing in the scent of hay and horseflesh. He’s warm and familiar and was a constant source of solace for me in the beginning.

  I have learned that when you go missing, I should check the stables first.

  Grey said that to me, on my second day in Emberfall.

  Against my will, my eyes fill, and my throat tightens. I lost my mother to cancer, and then I lost my friend when Grey fled, and then I lost my brother when he went to help.

  And I’m the idiot who stayed here. Because I believed in Rhen. Because I believed in Emberfall.

  I sniff the tears back, but I do it quietly, because I
don’t want Dustan to know. I shiver again, clutching my forearms to my abdomen.

  Dustan sighs. A moment later, a cloak drops over my shoulders.

  I turn, and I’m sure there’s fire in my eyes, because Dustan holds his hands up. “You don’t need to be cold to spite me.”

  The cloak is warm from his body, and I want to throw it back at him, but that feels petty—and I really am cold. I swallow the tears that sat ready, then put the brush against the buckskin’s coat again, using a little more force than necessary. “You don’t need to pretend to be kind.”

  Dustan is quiet for a moment. “I heard what you said to His Highness. In the Great Hall.”

  “Good for you.” I’m sure everyone heard it.

  “Do you truly believe that is why he gave the order for what he did to Grey and Tycho? As some sort of … retaliation?”

  “I don’t want to talk to you, Dustan.”

  “And do you believe that if I’d refused to obey, that the prince would have simply chosen another path?” He pauses. “Or do you think he would have relieved me of my duties, then given the order to another?”

  The brush goes still along Ironwill’s shoulder.

  “Do you think,” Dustan continues, “that Grey would have refused such an order, if given?”

  No. He wouldn’t. I have to swallow hard.

  “Grey’s final words,” Dustan says to my back, “were swearing an oath to an enchantress who nearly destroyed Emberfall. You can fault His Highness for the choice he made, and you can blame me for following the order he gave, but Grey could have simply admitted the truth—”

  “Enough. Please.” A stupid tear slips down my cheek.

  I don’t want Dustan to be right—but he is. Grey let me see glimpses of who he could be—gentle and kind—but there was a reason I called him Scary Grey. There was a reason I found him terrifying in the beginning.

  And as much as I don’t want to admit it, there was a reason Rhen had to go as hard as he did to get an answer.

  Grey would never have yielded. I begged him to tell Rhen what he knew. I begged him, and he refused. I don’t know if it’s pride or if it’s something that was drilled into him when he was in the Royal Guard, but Grey would never have given up that information.