Lilith. Just her name is enough to cause me to shudder. “What will you do if you find him?”
“If he bears magic, he will be destroyed.”
I jerk back. “Rhen!”
Rhen says nothing. He doesn’t need to. The look in his eyes says enough.
I take another step back. “This man is your brother.”
“No. He is a stranger.” There’s no give in his voice. “I spent a near eternity trapped by one magesmith, and it almost drove my country to ruin. I will not risk Emberfall being destroyed by another.”
I’m rooted in place, filled with ice despite the fire at my side. I don’t know what to say. I’ve seen him order a man’s death before, but that was a man who’d killed one of our guards, a man who would have killed us if he’d gotten the chance.
This is different. This is calculated. Premeditated.
Rhen takes a step forward and reaches a hand to touch my face.
I flinch away, and his expression goes still. “I did not intend to upset you,” he says quietly, and I know he means that. “I did not realize this would be a surprise. You saw with your own eyes the damage Lilith caused.”
Yes. I did. I saw her torture Rhen time and again. He was powerless to stop her.
“I’m sure you’re right,” I say, even though I’m not sure at all. I draw a shaking breath and have to press a hand to my stomach.
Rhen has proven that he’ll do what he needs to do to hold Emberfall together. He’s proving it now.
“Do not draw away from me,” he says softly, and there is a new note in his voice. Not vulnerability—never that—but something close. “Please. I cannot bear it.”
He looks so tired. His body is so tense. I wonder when he last slept. I take a deep breath and chase the trembling out of my fingers, then move forward to put my arms around him.
“Tell me your fears,” I say quietly.
“We do not even know if Lilith is dead,” Rhen says. “If she were to find this heir—if they were to work together against me—”
“It’s been months. She’s either trapped on the other side or Grey is.”
“Or he’s sworn to her, as we saw, and she is biding her time.”
Grey swore himself into her service to save me—just before putting his sword to Lilith’s throat and disappearing to the other side. To Washington, DC.
“He wouldn’t help her,” I say. “Rhen. He wouldn’t.”
“I have to protect my people, Harper.”
He leans against me, and I listen to the pattern of his breathing as it slows. I lay a hand against his cheek, and his eyes close. There was a moment, months ago, when he was the monster, and he pressed his face against my hand and settled, just like this. I could feel his fear then. I can feel it now.
“You’re not a monster anymore,” I whisper.
“I sent guards to Grey’s mother’s home in Wildthorne Valley,” Rhen says carefully.
My hand goes still on his cheek. “What? When?”
“Last week,” he says. “To be thorough.” He pauses. “They returned today.”
Grey once told me that Lilith killed his whole family, leaving only his mother alive. “What did they find?”
“His mother was gone. The townspeople said she sold off her livestock and moved away months ago. No one knew where she’d gone.” Another pause. “Rumor said a wounded man stayed with her for a short while, but no one saw him.”
I hold my breath for a moment. “Grey could be alive,” I whisper.
“Yes.” Rhen’s voice is hard, but I feel the worry and uncertainty behind it. “Given what they reported, I suspect Grey is very much alive.”
I look up at him. “Grey wouldn’t be sworn to her, Rhen.”
“If he was not, why would he not return to Ironrose?”
I try to think of an answer and fail.
“Karis Luran could attack at any time,” Rhen says. “The heir could appear at any time.” He pauses. “And Lilith could be waiting for the perfect moment to strike.”
I lean my head against Rhen’s chest and look to the window again, gazing out at the stars spanning the sky. “Oh, Grey,” I say. “Where are you?”
“Indeed,” says Rhen. He sighs, and in the sound, I hear the longing and sadness and worry wrapped up in the word. He brushes a kiss against my hair. “Indeed.”
CHAPTER TWO
GREY
Late afternoon always bears the weight of the sun, but I don’t mind, because the stables are quiet, and I rarely have more than the other stable hand for company.
This is the last place anyone will look for me, so I welcome it.
Sweat clings to my arms, attracting bits of dirt and straw as I swing the pitchfork. The heat will get worse before it gets better, but I’m used to it. Worwick’s Tourney is closed for business until dark, deserted except for me and Tycho. Later, the stables will be loud with the sounds of men calling for horses or bickering over the weapons for rent at the end of the aisle. Once the drink starts flowing and the stadium is filled with people eager for a show, the noise will be deafening.
Now, though, the stadium is empty, and the stables are wanting for a good cleaning. A far cry from the extravagant luxury of Ironrose, when I was commander of the Royal Guard of Emberfall.
Tycho has been singing under his breath as he mucks the stalls, so quietly that I can’t catch the melody over the sounds of horses breathing. He’s small for his age, with a wiry build that makes him look closer to twelve than fifteen, but that doesn’t stop him from being quick and capable. Dark-blond hair hangs just past his chin, keeping the blue of his eyes in shadow.
Tycho likes this time of day, too, for different reasons. Men with a belly full of ale sometimes come looking for entertainment after the tourney. I’ve heard them offer Worwick coins for an hour of Tycho’s company. I’ve watched Worwick consider it.
The boy knows how to make himself scarce.
I’ve spent the last few weeks trying to make sure he knows how to defend himself instead.
“How many do you have left?” I call to him.
“Three,” he calls back. He drags a forearm across his brow. “Silver hell, it’s hot.”
I look out the stall window at the angle of the sun. We have a few hours left until sunset. “I’ll take your three. Head for the Growling Dog. Jodi said she would have crabs from Silvermoon this week.”
He steps out of his stall. “Hawk. Jodi’s tavern is on the other side of the city.”
Hawk. Three months, and I still haven’t gotten used to the name. I shove damp hair off my forehead and smile. “Then you’d better get running. Steamed crabs cost a copper apiece.”
He sighs—but a moment later, I hear his feet slap the dirt floor of the aisle. “When I win, I’m ordering a dozen,” he calls behind him.
He won’t win. Even with the head start I’ve given him.
He’s getting closer, though.
When I first came here, I was still healing from my final battle with Lilith. Nightmares plagued my sleep for weeks, leaving me exhausted and weak. Cleaning stalls and weapons took most of my energy.
Once I healed, however, the monotony of life at the tourney began leaving me bored and twitchy. I missed the physical rigors of the Royal Guard. A few hours with a pitchfork and a rag were nothing compared to hours of drills and swordplay. I began rising before the sun, running a loop of the city in the early-morning darkness, or climbing the laddered roof supports of the stadium.