Forging Silver into Stars
: Chapter 36

I don’t know what wakes me.

The house feels absolutely silent, but I’m suddenly alert, my eyes on the pitch-dark ceiling overhead. I’m used to my father stumbling home from the tavern at all hours of the night, but he’s never quiet about it—and he’s locked up with the magistrate anyway. I can’t imagine they’d turn him loose in the middle of the night.

My ears pick up a soft whisper of sound somewhere nearby, and every muscle in my body goes completely still.

Another sound, though this one is familiar: the tiny creak of the door that leads into the forge workshop.

I sit straight up in bed. The blankets pool around me, and the cold night air bites at the bare skin of my chest. My heart is pounding.

I think of Callyn—but she wouldn’t be sneaking into my house in the middle of the night. Especially not now.

Lord Alek.

The instant his name appears in my thoughts, I can’t shake it. Even if it’s not him, anyone slipping into my house at this hour is a threat. I still have that dagger hidden under my mattress, but I don’t know how to use it.

My hand has already closed on the bow alongside my bed anyway.

By the time I hear the creaky spot in the floorboards of the main room, I have an arrow nocked on the string.

When a cloaked figure appears in my doorway, I catch the glint of light on weapons.

I don’t think. I shoot.

The man is quicker than lightning, ducking sideways and deflecting the arrow with his bracer. He’s got a blade in his hand before I can nock another arrow, but I try anyway.

He’s too quick, and he grabs hold of the bow before I can shoot again. I don’t try to hold on to it. I dive out of his reach, thrusting my hand under the edge of my bedding, hoping I find the dagger.

Just as my hand closes around the leather-wrapped hilt, I’m slammed onto the gritty floorboards and pinned there. One of his hands grips my wrist with the dagger, the other is attached to the sword against my throat.

I’m breathing hard, my heart pounding with fear and fury—but I’m terrified to move, because that cold steel promises pain if I do.

But then he’s leaning close, the hood of his cloak hanging a bit askew. I recognize the strong slope of his jaw, the gold in his hair.

“Tycho?” I whisper.

“I came to ask if you were truly my enemy,” he says. “Am I getting my answer?”

“Your—what?” Maybe I’m still sleeping. Maybe this is a dream.

“Jake showed me what he found in your workshop. Are you working with the Truthbringers? Are you plotting against the king?”

“What?” My eyebrows knit together. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I hiss a breath as the sword bites into the skin at my neck.

Tycho swears and draws back—but he doesn’t let go of my wrist that holds the dagger. “Drop the weapon, and I’ll let you go.”

“Clouds above, why—”

His grip tightens until it turns painful.

“Fine!” I snap. The dagger clatters to the floor.

He keeps his word and rolls off me, but he takes the dagger, slipping it under his belt. His sword stays in his hand.

I stare up at him, and I shift to sit against the bed. My heart is still skipping along, unsure whether it’s time to settle. I don’t understand how he can be so dangerous and so alluring all at the same time. I’m still shirtless, and there’s a part of me that feels the need to run, but there’s another part that wants to swing a fist, just so he’d have a reason to throw me to the ground again.

I have to scrub my hands over my face.

“Why were you shooting at me?” he demands.

I jerk my hands down in disbelief. “Why were you breaking into my house?”

“I knocked,” he says. “No one answered.”

I wonder if that’s what woke me up. “So you broke in?” I give him an irritated once-over. “I believe you said you didn’t like common soldiering, my lord.”

His gaze seems to darken, but he sheathes the sword, then extends a hand to help me up.

I smack his hand away, then get my foot underneath me on my own. “What would’ve happened if I didn’t wake up?” I touch a finger to my neck, and it comes away wet. I wince at the spark of pain. “Would you have cut my throat in my sleep?”

He reaches out a hand as if to touch my throat, and he sighs. “No. Jax—”

I plant my hands on his armor and shove him square in the chest. “Keep your magic.”

His eyes light with surprise, but he shoves me right back.

I don’t have the leverage to stay upright. I sit down hard on the bed.

I can’t tell if I’m overjoyed that he’s not treating me like a “crippled blacksmith”—or if I’m furious. Probably both. I get back on my foot and shove him harder, throwing some real strength into it, and I’m gratified to hear him grunt and take a step back.

Something about this is terrifying—but also exhilarating, especially when he steps forward and knocks me back down.

“You want to fight?” he says. “I can do this all night.”

I’m flushed and angry and stirred up and a whole cadre of emotions I can barely identify. I force myself to standing again. “Promise?”

“Try me.”

My heart skips. It’s definitely not fear.

A spark lights in his eye, and I wonder if he feels exactly the same way.

But then my thoughts settle on the first thing he said, when he pinned me to the floor. It steals some of my intensity. “Why …” My voice is husky, and I have to clear my throat. “Why did you ask if I’m your enemy?”

He blinks, then frowns and draws back. “Lord Jacob found seals in your workshop. Sketches. They bore the mark of the Truthbringers.” He pauses. “My intent was to ask you about them, but then you started shooting at me—”

“Because you broke in—”

“I know.” He pauses. “But that doesn’t change what he found.”

I take a breath and look away.

Tycho catches my chin and drags my gaze back. “And I would like the truth.”

If he were rough, I’d shove him away again. But his fingers are gentle against my jaw, and his eyes are intent on mine.

After a moment, I touch my fingers to his and nod. “Come. Sit. I’ll fetch a lantern.” I hold his eye. “Would you care for tea, my lord? Perhaps one cup before you drag me off to the stone prison?”

I’m partially teasing, partially not, but the edge of his lip quirks up. “Sure.”

I light a fire in the stove and fill the kettle, then join Tycho at the small table in the corner. I’ve only ever sat here with my father or Callyn, and I’m acutely aware of the chairs held together with rusted nails, or the cups with chips in the porcelain. I found a linen tunic in the corner of my bedroom, then loosely tied my hair into a knot, small tasks that took me less than thirty seconds, and gave me absolutely no time to stall before confessing my sins to him.

I wish I could dim the light from the stove and the lantern, because the flickering warms his features and spins gold in his hair, reminding me of the first night we met. I want to reverse time by a matter of minutes, when my pulse was pounding and he said Try me.

I’m such a fool. If I could reverse time, I’d go back to the moment Lady Karyl first appeared in the workshop.

I’m doubly a fool. If I could reverse time, I should go all the way back to the moment that wagon crushed my foot.

Or possibly the moment the very action of my birth killed my mother.

“Jax,” says Tycho quietly. “You know my secrets.”

Not all of them. I think of the scars on his back. “You should know …” My voice catches. “You should know that I wanted to tell you on that first day. The day you came to Callyn’s bakery. You—you were so kind. And clearly someone of importance.” I hesitate. “My father had been spending our tax money on ale, but I never knew until the tax collector showed up. Suddenly … the forge was at risk. Callyn was in the same situation. Her father had given all their money to the Truthbringers, but she didn’t know it until later, after the Uprising. So when a woman named Lady Karyl offered me good silver to hold a message …” I glance at him to see if the name sparks recognition, but it doesn’t. I run a hand over the back of my neck, which is suddenly damp. “I suspected it was for the Truthbringers, too. But … you must understand. It was so much silver. I’m not—well, I’m not suited for any other work.” My voice shakes, and I have to clear my throat again. “Lord Alek was—he was terrible. But he said he was loyal to the queen. You know what the rumors about magic are like, the stories we hear of the king. I didn’t have any reason to not believe him. He paid what I asked for, so I held his messages. We were able to make our first tax payment. It was easy, and we’re a long way from the Crystal City, and Cal and I figured there was little harm.

“But then … then you healed my hand. It scared Cal—and it scared me too. But even after I yelled at you, you still came back. The day you taught me how to shoot.” I draw a breath. “The way you spoke of the king … I’ve never met anyone close to him. And you were so loyal, and so kind, and I began to think that for someone like you to call him a friend … well, the rumors might be wrong.”

Lord Tycho is quiet, listening, his expression unchanged. My eyes meet his briefly, and I have to look away.

“When Alek showed up that night, I thought he was going to kill you. I realized then that I was on the wrong side of this. But he took his message and left.” I pause. “I haven’t seen him since. I thought maybe he’d found someone else, because it’s been months. I spoke true about that. But this morning …” I hesitate. This part isn’t my secret.

“Tell me.”

His voice is even, and not cold, but tonight is the first time that I’ve seen the true force behind all the weapons and armor. It’s like seeing a friendly dog snap at a threat and learning that the fangs aren’t just for show. I have to take another breath before I can speak again. “This morning, I discovered he’s been sending his messages through Cal. He’s been sending business her way, buying her attention with his favor, and I had no idea. But she thinks I’m the fool, because I was trying to trick him out of extra silver.” I have to look away when I say this. “But it wasn’t for me. I’m just trying to save the forge. I was trying to help her save the bakery. The lords seem to have endless silver, and we scrape for every coin.” I swallow hard, remembering how generous he was. “It wasn’t greed or trickery. I swear—”

My eyes fall on his fingers and I break off.

His rings are gone. All of them.

My eyes flash to his. “What happened to your rings?”

“I had to return them to the king.” Before I can reason that out, he says, “This doesn’t explain the seals, Jax.”

I glance at his hand again. “When I shot at you, I could have killed you.”

“I deserve a little more credit than that.”

I reach for his wrist, and there’s a tiny slice along his bracer, where he deflected the arrow. A tiny stripe of blood clings to his arm, where the arrow must have skidded off.

“No rings,” I say. “No healing.”

“No healing,” he agrees.

I trace a finger over the injury, but the kettle whistles, and I jump. I grab hold of the counter to pull myself out of the chair, then pour water into the cups, followed by a scoop of tea leaves into each.

“I don’t have honey,” I say.

“I prefer it without.”

He speaks from right behind me, and I turn in surprise.

He takes the cups from my hands and sets them on the table, but now he’s blocking my path.

“The truth,” he says evenly.

“I made the seals,” I say. “I made the sketches.”

His eyes go a bit steely, so I rush on. “Alek was very forceful. I thought he’d kill me if I read one of his letters. But it was so much money, and such a risk. I wanted to know what he was saying. So Callyn and I devised a plan to open the letters and reseal them in exactly the same way.”

“And what did you discover?”

“Nothing,” I admit. “Alek fought with you before I was able to re-create the right stamp. We were never able to open them.” I pause. “I spoke the truth when you asked me before. And I’m speaking it now. If I could go back to that first night and tell you right then, I would. I’ve wanted to tell you a thousand times since.”

He frowns. I can’t decide if he’s disappointed there’s not more information to be had—or if he’s relieved.

“Do you believe me?” I say.

He nods, then sighs. “I know what it’s like to be desperate.” He frowns. “So does the king, for what it’s worth. I don’t know of a Lady Karyl, and I know most people among the Royal Houses.”

“I remember thinking it was a fake name when she said it to me,” I say. “But Lord Alek’s was real.”

He thinks about that for a moment. “Maybe it had to be, because I recognized him when he came into the bakery.” He pauses. “Callyn didn’t tell you that she was working with him?”

I shake my head. “I knew she was getting a lot more business, but she never mentioned him.” I pause. “But she thinks I’m the fool for trusting you.”

His eyes meet mine. “Because of the magic.”

It’s not a question, but I nod.

His gaze centers on my neck, and he makes a tsk sound. His thumb brushes against the wound.

“Forgive me,” he says. “I shouldn’t have been so rough.”

“It’s just a scratch.” His fingers are still there, tracing along my hairline, and my pulse jumps. “And I was trying to kill you.”

“You’re a good shot,” he says. “The army would be lucky to have you.”

I roll my eyes. “You stopped me with your arm.”

“Just barely. There’s a reason I tackled you to the floor.”

I flush, because that’s a memory I’ll replay later. “Well,” I begin, but I choke on my breath. Because he’s shifted forward, and his free hand is at my waist, his thumb pressing into the muscle. I all but melt when the warmth of his breath eases along my jaw.

Then he tugs the pin free of my hair, and when his teeth graze my neck, I have to grab hold of his shoulder because my knee wants to go weak.

“Yes?” he whispers.

I nod quickly. My fingers are hooked on a strap of his armor. It seems unfair that he can shift his grip and find skin in seconds, but he’s all trussed up in leather and steel. I think of his secrets that I do know, and I wonder if that’s intentional.

I stroke my free hand up the column of his neck, and when his mouth goes still for the barest second, I know it is.

He could likely kill me in fifteen different ways without thinking about it, but this kind of closeness gives him pause.

I remember the day he fought with Alek, how the other man pinned him down by the throat. Tycho retaliated with magic, but now I understand there was more to the fight than what it looked like.

He said the king took his rings. I wonder what happened.

He’s tense under my touch now, so I draw back. “Your tea will go cold.”

“Ah, yes. The tea.” But he doesn’t let me go right away, and when he does, his hands are reluctant.

I all but fall back into my chair myself, and even though we’re close to the stove, I shiver anyway and take a sip.

Tycho unclasps his cloak and sweeps it around my shoulders. I’m so stunned that I don’t know how to react, and I find myself staring at him.

He drops into his chair. The lantern light glints off his eyes, casting shadows along the muscle of his arms revealed by his armor. “You seemed cold.”

I wasn’t shivering because I was cold, but there is absolutely no way I’m admitting that now. “I continue to doubt your claims of little courtship,” I tease.

He smiles. “I spoke true.”

I keep my hands wrapped around my cup, because otherwise I’m going to make a fool of myself. But then I consider the hour and frown. “Lord Tycho—”

“Tycho.”

“I’m not saying it for your benefit. I’m saying it for mine.”

His eyebrows go up.

I shrug and refuse to elaborate. “Why are you here at such a late hour?”

The smile slips off his face. “I have been ordered to return to Emberfall.”

“In the middle of the night?”

He nods, then takes a sip of his own tea. “I should have crossed over the border by now. My safe house will be locked up until morning.”

I stare at him for a long moment. “So … what will you do?”

“I can ride through the night. Mercy won’t lead me wrong.” He pauses. “I won’t sleep on the road. I have messages from the king, and now that I have no rings, I have to be vigilant.”

He’ll leave again. I don’t expect it to hit me like an arrow, but it does.

But I study him across the table. He doesn’t look like he’s in any hurry to move.

“You could sleep here,” I offer. “Leave at daybreak.”

For an eternal moment, his eyes hold mine, the brown of the irises glittering gold in the candlelight. There are a thousand reasons he could refuse. Should refuse, most likely.

Before he can, I rush on. “Surely that would be safer than traveling alone in the darkness. If nothing else, I wouldn’t have to worry about you galloping headlong into a tree.”

“You’d worry?”

Warmth crawls up my cheeks. “I’m sure you’d cross my mind at least once.”

He smiles. “Then I’d best do as you say.”

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