A Vow So Bold and Deadly (The Cursebreaker Series Book 3)
A Vow So Bold and Deadly: Chapter 13

By the time I call for a break on the training fields, Tycho has not yet appeared. Solt made a comment about the scraver, but Iisak is as driven by duty as I am. He wouldn’t call Tycho away without telling me—and Tycho himself wouldn’t skip drills. He loves swordplay more than breathing.

The soldiers have begun heading back to their quarters, and I stare after them. I should return to the castle to check on Lia Mara, but concern set up camp in my chest when I first noticed Tycho was missing, and it hasn’t gone away yet.

Jake has sheathed his weapons, and he comes to my side. “I wish Lia Mara hadn’t made you stop,” he says, his voice low even though most of the soldiers have already moved off the field. “I wanted to see that guy puke on his boots.”

“Me too,” I say, and he grins.

When I don’t smile back, he says, “What’s wrong?”

“Tycho missed drills.”

“His unit leader said he was off his game this morning, and he asked for leave to skip the midday meal. Want to check the barracks?”

The youngest recruits sleep in the farthest building from the fields, near the stables and the edge of the forest that leads up into the mountains. Tycho has a room in the palace, but as the weeks have worn on, he’s spent more nights here to build a rapport with the soldiers.

We check the barracks and the stables, but he’s not there. When we walk past the armory, Solt is splashing water on his face from a bucket, speaking in low tones to another senior officer. She must call his attention to the fact that we’re nearby, because he glances over, and he swipes the water out of his eyes. His gaze could cut steel.

“Your Highness,” he says in Syssalah, his tone so cold that he might as well be telling me to dig myself a grave.

My steps slow, but Jake grabs hold of my bracer and drags me along. “Kill him later. Come on. If Tycho wasn’t feeling well, maybe he went to the infirmary.”

The palace has two infirmaries. One houses a healer named Drathea, an older woman with a pinched mouth and surly demeanor who says the healing arts are better left to the feminine mind. She wanted nothing to do with Noah, who proved himself better at curing fevers and stitching wounds and treating ailments in his first week in Syhl Shallow. Regardless of his talents, he still leaves many in the palace feeling wary and uncertain. I don’t know if it’s his supposed allegiance to me or to Emberfall, or if they believe he has some magic of his own, but Lia Mara doesn’t want to make her people uncomfortable. She gave Noah a space at the northern end of the palace, which leaves him closer to the training fields and the barracks.

I once asked Noah how many people come to him after Drathea fails to cure their ills, and he graciously said he doesn’t keep track—and then Jake leaned in and whispered, “I’ve seen his notes. He’s up to seventy-six.”

I know which one Tycho would visit.

By the time we stride through the palace, my worry has grown into a tension around my gut that I can’t shake loose. Tycho isn’t naive, but he’s young. Not overly trusting, but innocent.

I was so preoccupied with Lia Mara’s safety that I didn’t take a moment to wonder about the fate of the rest of my friends. No one would dare to hassle Iisak unless they wanted to see their skin in ribbons while taking their last breath, and Jake is more than capable of fending for himself. Noah is savvy and cynical, and he’s endeared himself to enough people here that he doesn’t face the same kind of grudging acceptance that I endure every day.

But Tycho … My breathing has gone tight and shallow by the time I stride into the infirmary. “Noah. Have you seen—”

I stop short. Noah is sitting on a bench by a low table strewn with an assortment of instruments. Tycho is right beside him. A small orange kitten is on his lap, chewing on one of his fingers.

“Grey.” Tycho leaps to his feet when he sees me, scooping the kitten onto the table. The animal hisses at me, then scrabbles at the wood, leaps to the floor, and dashes out of sight.

Tycho looks from me to Jake, then at the fading light in the window. “Silver hell.” He grimaces. “I missed second drills.”

“I knew they’d come looking eventually.” Noah glances at us. “Hey, Jake.”

“’Sup,” says Jake. A platter of nuts, cheese, and fruit sits forgotten at the corner of the table by Noah. Jake shoves it to the side to cock a hip against the wood, then grabs two apples.

He tosses one to me, and I snatch it out of the air, but I don’t look away from Tycho. He’s in an army uniform, trimmed in green and black, the colors of Syhl Shallow. His leather-lined breastplate and greaves are still buckled in place, though his sword and bracers are on the ground beside the table. His blond hair is shorter than it was when we were stable hands at Worwick’s Tourney, and his frame is a little leaner, a little more muscled from all the time he spends with a sword in his hands. But there’s a youthfulness to him that hasn’t been stolen away yet, an edge still waiting to be chiseled.

There’s also a shadow in his eyes, something I haven’t seen in months.

My eyes narrow. “Are you unwell?”

“Oh! I—no. I’m fine. I had—I had—” He falters.

I frown. I don’t want to be irritated, because this is unlike Tycho—but my role here is so precarious. I can’t chastise Solt for failing to take drills seriously if my own friends are going to skip out. I can’t expect a unified front from the Syhl Shallow soldiers if I can’t demonstrate it from within my own circle.

“What happened?” I say.

“Nothing.” He swallows. “I didn’t—I didn’t realize the hours passed so quickly.” sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ ꜰindNʘvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Before I was trapped in the curse with Rhen, I watched the royal family of Emberfall dance around truth with ease, so I can tell a lie when I hear one. “You’ve never lied to me before,” I say. “Do not start now.”

Tycho flushes.

“Grey,” says Noah. The easy tone is gone from his voice. “Leave it.”

I go very still. The day has been too long, too full of threats from both inside and outside the palace. I don’t want to have to worry about half-truths and indecision here.

Tycho must read the darkening thoughts behind my eyes, because he ducks to grab his bracers and weapons. “Forgive me,” he says quickly, and his voice is low and repentant.

Maybe Jake can sense my mood too, because he says, “Tycho. Find your unit leader and see if you can run the drills now.”

Tycho was moving toward the doorway, but at that, he hesitates.

Noah looks at Jake, and some unspoken message must pass between them, because Jake straightens, pushing away from the table. “You know what? Never mind. I’ll do it.” He takes another bite of his apple. “Come on, T.”

Once they’re gone, the infirmary falls very quiet. I don’t like feeling at odds with Noah. He has an easy sensibility: never aggressive, never overbearing. His bravery is simple, uncomplicated. Like the day he left Rhen and Ironrose behind, when Noah feels strongly about something, he’s calm and collected about it, but his will is iron strong.

So is mine.

He’s regarding me evenly. “He’s only fifteen, Grey.”

“I was seventeen when I joined the Royal Guard.”

He snorts. “Maybe you’ve been twenty for too long, because there’s a lot of ground between fifteen and seventeen.”

He’s probably right on both counts, but I don’t like it. “When I was fifteen, I was trying to run my family’s farm.”

“And how did that turn out?”

His voice is quiet, not cruel, but the words hit me like a dart anyway. He knows how that turned out. My family nearly starved. It’s the very reason I joined the Royal Guard: I could forswear my family, and they would be rewarded richly for losing me to the castle. I don’t need the reminder of my failures or my sacrifices, especially not right now. “Do you seek a fight with me, Noah?”

“No.” His tone doesn’t change.

“I did not force Tycho into the army,” I say fiercely. I take a step forward. “It was his choice to join the recruits. I did not demand—”

“Hey.” He lifts a hand, and his voice is placating. “I know you’re under a lot of pressure. I’m just asking you to take it easy on him, okay?”

I hesitate, then run a hand across the back of my neck. My frustration is not with Noah. It’s not even with Tycho, really.

If I’m being strictly honest with myself, my frustration isn’t with the soldiers here, either.

It’s with Rhen. It’s with myself.

I sigh and lean against the table.

Something bats at my ankle, strong taps that I can feel through the leather of my greaves. I look down and see the kitten has emerged from under the table, and it’s smacking at my boot laces with its paws. I lean down to scoop the creature into my hands.

It immediately digs in with claws that seem to rival Iisak’s. I let go with a swear, and it bolts under the table again. Blood appears in stripes across my fingers.

Noah is laughing. “That kitten only lets Tycho and Iisak touch him.” He reaches for a square of cloth. “Cat scratches get infected easily. Let me get you—” He stops short and sobers as the wounds on my fingers magically close. “Well. Never mind. I forgot.”

The air between us goes quiet again. The tension has lessened a bit. Maybe it was all on my side to begin with. “What happened?” I say. “Why did Tycho come here?”

Noah hesitates. “I don’t want to betray his trust.”

“If the other recruits are bothering him, I should know.”

He shakes his head slightly. “I don’t think they’re doing anything wrong. I think they’re … just being soldiers.” He pauses. “When the guardsmen first took Tycho from Rillisk, he hid in the infirmary with me then, too.”

In Ironrose. When Rhen captured me. The guards took Tycho prisoner to use as leverage against me. He clung to the shadows and refused to speak to them.

When we worked at Worwick’s in Rillisk, Tycho was afraid of soldiers there, too. He’d make himself scarce when they came to the tourney, or he’d stick by my side in the stables. I spent an eternity as a swordsman, but Tycho was never afraid of me in Rillisk. He was the first person I trusted. I might’ve been the first person he trusted.

I’d keep your secret too, Hawk.

Hawk.

He was never afraid of me because I wasn’t a swordsman. I was a stable hand, and then an outlaw, and then a reluctant prince.

He’s grown into himself so much here that I’d forgotten that.

“Does he want out of the army?” I say to Noah quietly.

“If you asked him that, I think you’d break his heart.”

I look at him in surprise, and Noah adds, “He’s worried he’ll disappoint you.”

I glance at the window. Across the field, Jake and Tycho have taken up sparring positions, their shadows long in the fading light. Men like Solt will rely on strength instead of speed, and sometimes it makes them lazy and overconfident. Tycho never takes anything for granted, and I watch it play out in his skills whenever he’s on the field. It’s part of why he earned respect from the other recruits. He’s willing to risk his life in this war, and he demonstrates it every day. And not because he believes in Syhl Shallow or my right to rule. Because he believes in me.

“Tycho has never disappointed me,” I say.

“Maybe he needs to know that.”

I think on that for a moment, unsure what to say. I feel like I am failing in so many ways here.

A hand raps on the doorjamb, and an older woman with deep brown skin hesitates in the doorway. I recognize her as one of the shop owners in the city who does metal work. Her eyes flick from Noah to me. “Healer,” she says in Syssalah. She extends her hand, which is wrapped in wet cloth. She says something else, but I only recognize the words for burn and forge.

Noah can fix a lot of ailments, but a bad burn will ache for weeks and likely scar. “I can help you,” I say, but she draws her arm back against her body warily.

“Nah,” she says, shaking her head. “Nah runiah.”

No magic. I frown.

Noah speaks to her, and his tone is comforting, reassuring. He glances at me. “I’m not useless yet,” he says.

His tone is wry, but there’s an undercurrent to his words that I can’t quite parcel out.

I inhale to ask what he means, but he’s frowning at the woman, trying to ask her questions and understand her answers in broken Syssalah. I quietly move toward the door, and the woman looks relieved that I’m leaving.

“Hey, Grey,” Noah calls after me, and I hesitate in the hallway.

“For the record,” he says, “you’ve never disappointed us, either.”

“Do not judge too soon,” I call back, but he’s already lost to his patient, and my words drift on unheard, while his words lodge in my heart, both a reassurance and a reminder.

I have an hour until dinner, so I tighten the buckles on my breastplate and head out to join Jake and Tycho.

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