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.
Rhen couldn’t stop until he had it. Not with all of Emberfall at risk.
I take a long breath and blow it out. I finally turn and look at Dustan. He’s standing in the stall doorway, leaning against the frame.
“I still hate you,” I say.
“Yes, my lady.” His expression is inscrutable. I wonder if he hates me, too.
But some of the tension between us evaporates. Not all of it, not by a mile, but enough that I can feel it. No pretense, no hidden motives. We might not like each other right now, but we understand each other.
I wish it could be that easy with Rhen, but there’s too much between us. It’s one thing to understand why Dustan followed the order and why Rhen gave it. It’s entirely different to have seen the aftermath. To know it wasn’t done to some criminal plotting against the country, that it was done to Grey.
As if my tumultuous thoughts summoned him, the main stable doors are drawn open, and Rhen himself steps through. Dustan immediately snaps to attention.
I turn back to the horse. “Party over so soon?”
He says nothing for a moment, then, “Commander. Leave us.”
I hear Dustan’s quiet deferral, and then we’re alone. I smooth the brush along the horse’s coat, but Rhen must step up to the stall door, because Ironwill shifts his weight and turns, forcing me to step back. The buckskin pricks his ears and stretches out his neck to blow puffs of air at Rhen’s hands.
Traitor.
Rhen strokes a hand down the horse’s face. “I’m surprised I didn’t find you ten miles away.”
“You ordered Dustan to trap me here.”
“Half of Emberfall seems ready to take action against me. Syhl Shallow stands ready to attack.” He pauses, and his voice is low. “Surely you know I ordered him to keep you here for your safety, not as my prisoner.” Another pause. “Especially once you demonstrated to my Grand Marshals that we are not in accord.”
I say nothing. Every muscle in my body is tense, waiting for him to fully pick a fight, to finish what we started on the dance floor.
But … he doesn’t.
Rhen’s patience always takes me by surprise. He expects everything to be done on his command, but somehow it’s more powerful when he doesn’t command anything, and instead simply … waits. I resume my brushing, following each stroke with my palm, finding comfort in the warmth of the horse and the repetitive motion. Eventually, my shoulders loosen. My chest doesn’t feel like it’s going to cave in.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly, and as I say the words, I discover I really mean them. “I shouldn’t have done that … there.”