Forging Silver into Stars
: Chapter 22

Despite the king’s summons, Lord Alek does not appear.

He’s traveling, we’re told by the servants of his House, reviewing shipments and deliveries of wool and silk, but the order will be obeyed the instant he arrives. A message is received detailing Alek’s accounting of what happened, and just as I expected, he paints me as the assailant, that he feared for his life when confronted with my “limitless magical power.” He says he was merely accepting a confidential message about a fabric delivery—and sends “proof” by way of an opened blood-stained letter that bears his House seal. He calls for me to have the rings stripped away if I can’t be trusted to use them responsibly.

I spend a lot of nights not sleeping. I worry about Nakiis, the scraver who might bear animosity toward Grey. I think about Alek, and whether he’s up to no good—or if he simply hates me and anything to do with magic. I consider Prince Rhen, and his comments about politically tricky rivals, and whether this Royal Challenge will make any impact on the people of Syhl Shallow and Emberfall—or if a competition will just be an excuse for more rivalry to breed.

And when it’s very late, and very dark, and the palace is quiet, I think about Jax: his watchful eyes, his cautious smile, his fierce determination that revealed itself in the most surprising ways. Like how he seemed almost afraid to succeed at something like archery—followed by clear eagerness to learn once he didn’t fail. I think about his hand on my wrist when we sat by the forge, how I wanted to pull away at first. I think about how his voice was low and soothing, how his fingers were so gentle against my skin that it held me in place.

I think about Jax more often than I’d like to admit.

I keep waiting for an assignment to return to Emberfall, just so I can ride through Briarlock again. But I’m not given any messages to carry aside from brief, unimportant missives to local nobles. At first, this seems typical, but as days—and then weeks—go by, boredom begins to set in, and I seek out further duties.

“Remain here,” Grey says every time I ask. “I have nothing yet to send to Rhen.” He’s tense and distracted, his eyes hard when I see him on the training fields. Lia Mara has been staying out of the public eye—the only visible hint that she’s unwell, but I know she hasn’t been sleeping. And neither, it seems, has Grey.

“It’s been many weeks,” I eventually say. “I could see if he’s discovered any further troubling messages—”

“Tycho,” he says firmly. “Stay here.”

Excitement for the Royal Challenge has built among the palace staff and the soldiers. Preparations for the first competition in Emberfall have continued, which means someone is carrying messages across the border, just not me. I know it’s not personal—the Royal Challenge is no longer a secret—but I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve let the king down, that this is a punishment. My role always felt like freedom, but now I feel as chained as Nakiis.

I try to keep busy, spending time on the training fields every morning, running the courses or sparring with any recruits looking for extra hours with a blade in their hands. But when Grey appears, his shadowed expression becomes a daily reminder of what I’ve done wrong. I always seek my horse and ride into the woods surrounding the soldier barracks, or I disappear into the palace. I begin to dine with the soldiers in the mess hall, or with Noah in the infirmary, skipping morning meals altogether.

I’m probably not being subtle. But after a month passes and I’ve been given no duties at all, I no longer care about subtlety.

By the sixth week, the wind and snow from the mountains have lessened, the air softening as winter begins to yield to spring. Mercy sheds her winter coat, and the servants pack heavy cloaks away. Buds form in the palace gardens, the promise of color to come. When I spar on the training fields, we’re sweating under our armor instead of shivering. My mood turns lighter than it’s been in weeks.

One morning, Jake surprises me by arriving on the fields early, when the air is still fresh and cold. I’m in the middle of a match with first-year recruits who’ve barely graduated from wooden training swords.

“Come on, T,” he says, drawing his weapon. “Let’s give them a real demonstration.”

There’s no bitterness between me and Jake, and I’m not one to turn down a challenge. I grin and whirl to face him almost before he’s ready. He’s athletic and blocks quickly, though. He’s strong and relentless with a blade, but there’s not a lot of finesse to Jake’s fighting: he’ll throw a punch or swing a dagger or drive your face right into the dirt if he gets the chance.

But this is my element: swordplay in the sunlight, facing someone who won’t easily yield. When he tries to get me off my feet, I counterattack and get him off his. But throwing knives unexpectedly spin free of his hands, forcing me to keep my distance, allowing him to get his feet underneath him again. A small crowd has gathered, mostly the early soldiers, but I keep my eyes on the battle before me.

Jake swings hard, forcing me to yield ground, and I swear. A light of victory glints in his eyes, and he bears down, single-minded and ruthless. “You’re going down, T.”

I smile and block, then attack just as hard. “We’ll see.”

A voice speaks from behind me. “Tycho won’t go down.”

Grey. Silver hell. I grit my teeth and try to focus. What was supposed to be fun now feels like pressure. Especially when Jake takes advantage of my moment of distraction. He spins and tries to hook my blade. It puts him close, and he’s nearly strong enough to wrench the sword out of my hand.

This reminds me of the battle with Nakiis. Or the fight with Alek. All the mistakes I made when I let my guard down. Grey is here, judging every movement, every step.

I can’t break Jake’s hold, so I draw my dagger and aim for his throat. He jerks back in surprise, but it’s all I need. I bring my sword down, and he’s off balance, so he can’t block effectively. Now it’s his turn to swear. He’s going for his own dagger, but I slam my shoulder into him hard. He grabs hold of my armor, and we go down together. We roll, grappling for leverage. I feel his fist connect with the side of my rib cage, right at the base of my armor.

It’s no harder than I’m used to, but it steals my breath. It’s right where Alek stabbed me.

I blink and in my mind, it’s night. There’s snow on the ground and the forge is glowing.

Perhaps I should have my guards add a few more stripes to your back. Help you remember your place.

I swing a fist without thinking. His head snaps to the side. I can feel his surprise, but now I’ve got the advantage. I pin his arm before he can swing a dagger this time, and I draw back my fist again.

“Tycho.” A hand catches my arm. “Hold.”

It’s Grey. I’m panting, my arm straining against his grip. The sky is blue and the air is warm. Below me, Jake has blood on his lip, and his jaw is already reddening. “What the hell, T. I said I yield.”

I stare at him for a moment. It looks like I’ve hit him more than once. “Jake. I—I’m—”

“It’s fine. Let me up.”

Grey lets me go, and I get to my feet. I put out a hand to Jake.

He spits blood at the turf—but he takes my hand. “What got into you?”

“I don’t know.” My side aches where he punched me, and my hand is tight and sore. I flex my fingers. It feels like I hit him more than once. I don’t know what made me so angry. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” He studies me, then claps me on the shoulder. “Gave them a good lesson on being cocky. I thought I had you.”

He nearly did, but I don’t say that.

“Find your units,” Grey says to the gathered recruits. “We’ll run drills in ten minutes.”

My insides are a jangled mess. My emotions won’t settle anywhere. I don’t know how I went from lighthearted sparring to slamming my fist into a friend’s face.

Grey is studying me.

Oh wait. Now I know.

I slide my weapons into their sheaths. I haven’t met his eyes yet.

“I have messages for you to take to Rhen,” he says. “They’re bound and ready.”

That gets my attention. I look up, my irritation forgotten. “Of course,” I say readily. Relief floods my veins. I haven’t failed. “I can leave this morning.”

“Good. Jake will go with you.”

The breath I’m inhaling turns to ice. I’m not sure what expression takes over my face, but it must not be good, because Grey holds my gaze.

I don’t know if I take a step or make a sound or just look like fire, but Jake hooks an arm around my neck and begins to pull me away. “Come on, T. We’re going to have a great time.”

I let him drag me.

The alternative is getting into it with the king of Emberfall in the middle of the training fields, and I don’t want to do that.

But he’s watching Jake drag me, and I’m sure he can read every thought I’m not voicing.

“Let me go,” I say to Jake.

To my surprise, he does—but he throws an arm across my shoulders instead. “I know that look. Keep walking.”

I grit my teeth and do it. “You knew,” I say. “You knew when you came out here and asked if I wanted to spar.”

“I did,” he says. “But Grey wanted to tell you.”

I say nothing and stomp alongside him. Now I want to punch him again.

“I told him I wanted to see my sister,” Jake says. “It’s not a punishment.”

I grunt and set my jaw. I don’t believe that at all. “I’ll be ready to leave in an hour. Try to keep up.”

We ride hard and fast toward the border. The air is brisk and the footing is sure, so Mercy makes the miles vanish. When we near the road that leads to Briarlock, every instinct is begging me to call Jake to turn, to wait.

As if she can read my thoughts, Mercy slows as we near the signpost.

I hesitate, considering—but Jax has probably forgotten I exist. We shot arrows and shared apple tarts. It was fleeting. A diversion. His father will drink himself to death and Jax will end up marrying Callyn and they’ll have a dozen beautiful children.

I scowl, cluck to Mercy with my tongue, and she puts her head down to flatten into a gallop.

I could talk to Jacob for a distraction, but I’m worried he’s going to dig at me about Grey, and that’s not better. I set a hard pace instead. It pays off, because when we stop at night, we’ve covered more ground than I usually do, and we’re both too tired to do anything more than pitch forward into sleep.

By the third afternoon, however, heavy clouds roll over Emberfall, bringing cold rains, with enough wind and lightning to force us into an inn earlier than I’d like. I see to the horses while Jake arranges for lodging. There are men in the stables, speaking low while they rub down their own horses, but I’m so tangled up with my own thoughts that I’m barely paying them any attention.

But then one of them says, “I haven’t seen that much damage to an animal since that monster was ravaging the towns.”

“When I was in Gaulter,” the other man says, “I heard the mountain lions would sometimes get their livestock.”

“This wasn’t anywhere near the mountains,” says the first. “Three of my best ewes, clawed from neck to flank.”

I turn Mercy loose in her stall, then latch the door slowly, listening.

“I heard this king once conjured a monster just like the old one,” the first man continues roughly. “Were you at the town meeting when those Truthbringers were talking about the things he’s done in Syhl Shallow?”

“I don’t care what he does over there. After the way they marched on us, they deserve whatever they get. The king wouldn’t turn a monster on his own people.”

“Are we his people?” the first man scoffs. “How long has that bastard been in Syhl Shallow?”

I’m frozen in place. I shake out my saddle blanket again, just for an excuse to be in the barn. It reminds me of the way Callyn was terrified of my magic, or the way Nora made whimsical comments about little Sinna having powers of her own. It’s so odd to be on both sides of this: to know that the king and queen truly do care about their people, but to hear the way gossip and rumor fly through towns so quickly that Grey and Lia Mara could never hope to stop it. Just like the conversation I’m hearing right now: anecdotes are accepted as fact, while true announcements from the Crown are viewed with skepticism—if not outright suspicion.

“Marlon,” the second man is saying. “Don’t be spinning stories about magic just because you don’t have enough dogs watching your sheep. I suspect Bethany might have a few words about the ale you’ve been drinking.”

“Dogs wouldn’t have stopped whatever did this! It’s not normal, I tell you. I think those Truthbringers might be right. Whatever magic they have on the other side of the border is coming here …”

His voice trails off as they walk out of the barn.

I try to decide whether any of this is significant. We’ve known that Truthbringers were becoming more prevalent on this side of the border. It’s not like wariness about magic is exclusive to Syhl Shallow. Emberfall has its own share of trauma.

It’s just a few dead ewes, though. Why would anyone do that with magic? We’re too far southeast for mountain lions, but wolves aren’t uncommon here. But then I realize what he said.

Three of my best ewes, clawed from neck to flank.

My heart thumps hard in my chest. I know a creature with claws that could do damage like that. A creature I broke out of a cage weeks ago.

Maybe the king was right.

I scowl, finish with the horses, then head for the inn.

I plan to lock myself in a room, but Jake has found a table near the hearth, and there’s enough food to feed an army.

“Quit hiding from conversation,” he calls to me mercilessly. “Sit and eat.”

I sigh and drop into a chair. “I’m not hiding.”

“Oh really?” He grins and grabs a roasted chicken leg. “Has someone been chasing us?”

Maybe being away from the Crystal City has taken some of my edge off, because that makes me smile. “We’re not going that fast.”

“Wait—are you smiling?” He reaches out to grab my chin. “Hold on—is this a disguise?”

I knock his hand away, but my smile widens. “Stop it.”

“Grey should have told me to drag you away from the palace weeks ago.”

That’s a reminder I didn’t need. The genial expression slips off my face. I’ve been irritated since I made the decision to skip the turn to Briarlock, and I can’t seem to shake it.

Jax may have forgotten about me, but I haven’t forgotten about him.

“Oops,” Jake says. “I broke it.”

“I don’t need a guardian, Jake. I’m not a child.”

He pushes a platter of food toward me. “Who said you did?”

I give him a look. “You’re here.”

“I really did want to see my sister.”

I finally pick up a chicken leg of my own. “You can see Harper anytime you want.”

“Maybe I wanted the pleasant company.”

I grunt and eat my food.

“Just like that,” he agrees.

I say nothing. We eat. The inn is packed with people trying to escape the rain, making the space too warm when combined with the heat from the hearth. No one draws near our table, though. Jake is a good four or five inches taller than I am, and broader across the shoulders. He’s not imposing—at least, I don’t think so—but he’s got a solid build, and eyes that promise a willingness to brawl at any given moment. Strangers usually give him a wide berth.

I’ve always liked him. As a couple, he and Noah couldn’t be more different. Noah is coolly practical and has no taste for violence. Jacob would step into a tavern fight just to stave off boredom. That bellicose spirit is part of why he’s so good with the recruits—and why he and the king are such close friends.

I have no doubt there’s a reason Grey chose him to accompany me instead of one of the palace guards. It’s the same reason I’ve been pushing the pace and keeping my mouth shut: Jake will tell Grey everything I say and do.

At this point, I would have preferred a reprimand.

“He doesn’t think you need a guardian,” Jake eventually says.

I take a second slab of meat. “Good. Go home.”

“Wow!” His eyebrows go up. “First you beat the crap out of me, and now—”

“I didn’t beat the crap out of you.”

He doesn’t respond to that. I keep my eyes on my food.

Eventually, his voice drops, and he says, “Why would you break into a tourney?”

I swear. “Is that why he wasn’t sending me anywhere? Does he think there are chained-up scravers all over the countryside?” As I say the word countryside, I think of those three ewes the men were talking about in the stable, and I have to shake it off. “Iisak was your friend, too, Jake.”

“Iisak was. Nakiis wasn’t anyone’s friend.”

“I just let him out of a cage. He’s scared of being bound by a magesmith. He wants nothing to do with Grey.”

“You hope.”

He’s right. I do hope.

I still don’t regret what I did.

Jake is studying me. “Grey is also worried that Alek is going to spread rumors that you can’t be trusted with magic.”

That’s a little too close to what Alek himself said right to my face, and I scowl. “I shouldn’t have threatened him.”

“He shouldn’t have laid a hand on you.” Jake frowns. “We searched his fabric shipments. Lia Mara thought we’d find messages like those from Emberfall.”

I snap my head around. “Really.”

He nods. “Grey might have told you if you weren’t working so hard to avoid him.”

That has the sound of a trap waiting to be sprung, and I’m no fool. “Did you find anything?”

“No,” he admits. “Not among Alek’s shipments. Not among anything that can be traced to the Royal Houses. But Grey suspects threats about the Royal Challenge.”

“Threats to him, or to Lia Mara?”

“To him.” He pauses, and his voice drops further. “The people are always vocal in their love for her. They’re afraid of him.”

I think about that evening with Jax, when Alek stopped to pick up a message. Would he be so bold as to pick up some kind of treasonous message right in front of me?

Maybe I should have stopped in Briarlock. Maybe I should have tried to find out.

Maybe I’m just looking for a reason to stop.

“What are you thinking?” says Jake.

I look up. “Rhen thought perhaps the different shipments weren’t about passing messages of worth. That they’re trying to establish a method that’s not caught.”

“So when we find it in a sack of grain, they stop sending them that way.”

“Yes.” I hesitate. “Alek was picking up a message from the blacksmith in Briarlock.”

Jake studies me. “You think maybe all these messages in shipments are a decoy? That they’re using trade workers in the towns for the real ones?”

I think of Jax, his hazel-green eyes boring into mine as I bled all over the floor of his workshop—just after Alek had thrown a handful of coins at him for holding a sealed message.

It’s not enough. That message could’ve been from anything.

I consider the first day I walked into the bakery, the first time I saw Alek in Briarlock. The tension was thick enough that I worried I’d walked right into a battle.

And then the next time I was there, Callyn was scrambling to pick up all those coins from the floor.

Look at all that silver! little Nora said. We made that much today?

My heart clenches. Her voice was so bright. I remember what it was like to be desperate.

“Maybe,” I say to Jake, my mood darkening. “Or maybe I just hate Alek enough to want a reason for someone to lock him up.”

He doesn’t say anything to that, and I pick at my food.

“Something else is up with you,” he says.

“Nothing,” I say, tearing a biscuit into pieces that I gracelessly shove into my mouth. “Truly.”

But as I say the words, again I’m reminded of what Noah said, how I keep people at arm’s length. I almost wish someone would start a brawl while we’re sitting here, just so I could escape Jake’s careful scrutiny.

I should have stopped. I should have asked.

I should have done a lot of things.

“What’s his name?” Jake says, and I choke on a mouthful of biscuit.

“Who?” I say, when I can breathe.

He looks at me quizzically. “The tradesman. The blacksmith with the message.”

Oh. That one. “Jax.”

“Do you remember how to find his forge?” he asks.

I school my face to remain neutral, and it takes a lot more effort than it should. “Probably,” I say.

“We should stop. On the way back. Check it out.”

My heart skips in my chest, and it takes everything—everything— I have not to ask if he’d like to turn back right this very second.

But I know my duties, and if I’ve learned anything from Grey, it’s how to swallow emotion and stick to the matter at hand.

So I nod, then shrug, then reach for another biscuit. “As you say.”

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