Forging Silver into Stars
: Chapter 17

I’m on my feet so quickly that I distantly register Jax’s tongs rattling to the floor. My hand finds my sword, but I don’t draw. Not yet.

Knowing Alek, it’ll come to that, especially since he’s not alone. Two guards ride behind, every bit as armed as I am.

I knew I sensed someone in the woods. I knew it, and I ignored it. All I carry is a letter from Rhen to Grey about the Royal Challenge, but for Alek, that would be enough. He’ll steal what I have, just for a chance to prove that I shouldn’t have this role. Just for a chance to take an easy shot at the royal family.

My eyes skip to Mercy. I could be on her back and galloping away in seconds, but they’d give chase. She’s fast, but we’ve been riding hard for weeks, and they look fresh and alert. They’d probably take her down.

If I stand and fight, they’ll probably take me down. I finished yesterday in a bloody battle with a scraver, and I never slept last night. My armor is damaged, held together by a few scraps of leather. And Alek has many allies among the Royal Houses, while I have few. If I hurt him, the political ramifications could be immense.

I remember Grey’s voice in the barn. He’d be a fool to ambush you.

I guess we’ll see in a moment.

“Tycho!” Alek says brightly, though his blue eyes spark with hostility. “You’ve found a role better suited for one of your station. What luck.”

“What are you doing here?” I demand.

“We’ve already done this once.” He dismounts from his horse. “I do not answer to you.” Alek steps closer to me, and his eyes flick across my form, identifying every weakness, I’m sure. I just sat here telling Jax that I long to remember what it was like to just be Tycho, but now I need every ounce of authority my role can carry. I don’t have the respect of every Royal House, but Alek is the only one to treat me as lesser so openly. It’s jarring, and somehow it steals a shred of my confidence every single time.

Maybe Alek can sense that, because he steps even closer. “Why is the King’s Courier lingering in a mud pit near the border?”

I set my jaw. “Why are you?”

“My business takes me all over Syhl Shallow. Yours, however, does not.” He reaches out a hand as if to touch the breastplate of my armor. “Does the king know about your little diversions from duty?” sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ (ꜰind)ɴʘvel.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

I smack his hand away. “You have no business here, Alek.”

“Run along, Tycho, before you get hurt. Curl up in the palace with your master.” His voice lowers, and he takes a step closer. “I’m sure he’s missing his whipping boy.”

My blood turns to ice. There’s not much he could say that would stop me in my tracks, but that does it.

Alek glances at the forge at my back, his gaze settling on Jax. “Haven’t you heard there are plots against the throne? I think the queen would be interested in hearing that her trusted messenger is having secret meetings with a roughshod laborer in the middle of nowhere.”

“I am doing no such thing,” I say.

“You’ve been speaking privately for hours. I’m sure the queen would feel rather betrayed.” Alek doesn’t draw a weapon, but his eyes skip over my form again. “Maybe we should see how much use that armor has left.”

“My lord,” says Jax quickly, his voice a rough rasp, and Alek’s blue eyes shift left. “My lords—please—”

“Go in the house,” I say to him.

“No,” says Alek. “I have business with this blacksmith. Business you are interrupting.”

“Find another,” I snap.

“I’ve already hired this one.” Alek looks at Jax. “It seems your hand is no longer injured.”

Jax’s breathing is tight and shallow. He looks from Alek to me and back, then swallows tightly.

I step in front of him. “Leave him alone, Alek.”

He stops, glaring at me. “This is your last warning, Tycho. You have no right to interfere with my business dealings. You are not the king. You are not of the Queen’s Guard. You are not even a soldier in the army any longer. You are a messenger.”

I don’t want to fight him. I don’t. There are three of them and one of me.

Regardless of what I want, Alek tries to step past me, toward Jax, and I grab hold of his arm.

It’s all the excuse he needs—and it’s not like he needed one at all. Alek draws a blade, and almost without thought, I’m drawing my own, swinging. Deflecting. Fighting.

He’s always been a good swordsman. He blocks every swing, matches every parry. A strain builds in my forearms, and I try to call magic to reinforce my strength, but it’s sluggish. I’m sluggish.

I swing my blade viciously, knocking his sword out of his hand. One of his guards steps forward, but Alek ducks, using his dagger to deflect my second attack, and before I’m ready, he’s stepped inside my guard. His hand shoots out, catching me by the throat. He’s quick, his fingers digging into the tendons there with vicious accuracy. One of his guards has a blade against my sword arm. The other has an arrow pointed at my throat. I collide with the work table, and Alek has me pinned.

“You can’t kill me,” I grit out.

“I can hurt you.”

Yes. He can. He already is. The pressure of his hand on my throat is like a burn every time I inhale. It’s reminding me of another time a man pinned me with a hand against my throat, and I have to force my thoughts to stay present, to stay smart. “The king will take your head off for this.”

“For what? For preventing his messenger from committing treason? Don’t think I haven’t figured out how his hand was healed.”

“I’m—not—committing—”

“Well, I certainly know what it looks like. Perhaps I should have my guards add a few more stripes to your back. Help you remember your place.”

I surge against his hold and he laughs, shoving me back down. The edge of the work table is pressing into my spine.

“You’re awfully brave with those magical rings,” Alek says, his voice low. His blade glints in my peripheral vision. “Maybe I should cut your hands off and see how you fare.”

My hands are wrapped around his wrist. I don’t think. I let the magic flare. Flame erupts on his sleeves.

Alek shouts and jerks back, smacking out the flames. I’m suddenly free, choking on air, and my sword is gone, but one of my knives finds my hand.

I’ve never been so grateful for training. I step forward to throw—

Alek ducks my blade, deflecting with his bracer. His dagger stabs into my waist, just where the armor hangs a bit loose.

The pain is sharp and immediate, and it steals my breath. My knees hit the icy ground. I scrabble for the blade, but he’s stabbed it deep. I try to breathe around the pain, to call for the magic in my ring, but I swear the blade reaches all the way to my spine. I’m wheezing, and I think I’ve got a hand on the ground now. There’s too much blood, and I can’t get a grip.

He’s staring down at me. “You said I couldn’t kill you. Let’s see how true that is.”

Jax is shouting, but I’ve lost track of where he is. I’ve lost track of what’s happening. My forehead hits the ground. Blood is in my mouth. That can’t be good.

“Now give me my message,” Alek is saying.

I don’t understand. My thoughts are full of pain and anguish. “What—what—”

But he’s not talking to me. He’s talking to Jax, who’s nodding, his eyes wide and full of fear. “Yes, my lord.” He holds out a folded, sealed piece of parchment. I watch it change hands.

Alek tucks it beneath his cloak. His breathing is a bit ragged, and I smell singed fabric. “As you see, Tycho, this has nothing to do with you.”

“I’ll find you,” I growl, then cough on my own blood. “The king will—”

“The king will do nothing. You attacked me with magic. I defended myself. My guards witnessed it. This blacksmith witnessed it.” He leans close, his hand catching my throat again, fingers digging in. “I should cut your hands off and watch you bleed to death.”

My vision is blurring. I can’t tell if it’s lack of air or if it’s all my horrific memories assaulting me at once. I want to curl into a ball, but I need to find my weapons. I need to—I need to—

“No!” Jax shouts, and glowing steel swings in front of me. Alek flinches back in surprise. The guards rush forward. Firelight glints on their weapons, and I hear a body hit the dirt.

But Alek laughs humorlessly. “No. Leave him. He’s done his duty.” Alek flings silver into the snow. “You have my thanks, boy.”

I take a breath and cough on blood again. “You’re committing treason.”

“If I were committing treason, I’d kill you both right now.”

My head is spinning with confusion and betrayal and uncertainty. Nothing makes sense. I’m not sure what to make of this. But they’re turning away. I blink, and hooves pound the earth.

“My lord.” Hands are pulling at my clothes, rolling me over. “My lord. Tycho.”

I blink again and I’m looking up at Jax. His hair has spilled loose from its knot, and it falls across his face. His hazel-green eyes look gold in the firelight. He’s exquisite and terrifying. I can’t tell if he’s a friend or an enemy.

“Tell me what to do,” he says in a rush. “Tell me—should I pull the blade?”

My hand is still struggling to get a grip on the hilt. I can’t breathe. I can’t speak. I can feel the magic, but there’s so much damage, so much pain, and I’m having trouble focusing. I do know I can’t heal with a blade in the way. I nod. At least I hope I’m nodding.

He takes hold. The dagger is wrenched free.

It drags a shout from my throat, then a sob. The blade hurts just as much coming out.

Jax is on his knees at my side, pressing his hands to the wound. He’s swearing, looking from the wound to my face. There’s a streak of blood on his cheek. “Can you heal it? Tell me you can heal it.”

I don’t know. I don’t know. The pain is so intense I might vomit in the dirt. But stars flare in my vision as the magic begins to work, sparks of power swirling in my blood. It only takes a minute for the wound to close, but it’s the longest minute in the history of time. My insides will take longer. Blood is still in my mouth, hot and metallic. I feel wrung out. Magic has a price, and I’ve paid it many times today.

But Jax is still kneeling above me, his eyes golden pools. That dagger is somewhere.

I have business with this blacksmith.

I roll away from him, staggering to my feet, landing in a crouch. I’m panting from the effort, but I’ve got weapons in hand.

His eyes widen, and he draws away. I watch his gaze go from my blades to my face and back.

“Was this a trap?” I growl, and my voice sounds like I’ve swallowed gravel.

“No!”

“Were you to delay me? Were you working with him?”

“You came here!” he snaps. “You dragged me into the woods!”

That’s true. I have to breathe. I have to think.

“You should sit down,” Jax says. He shifts toward me.

“Stay where you are.” I tighten my grip on my weapons.

He goes still. “You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

“He said he hired you,” I say.

“I was asked to hold a message for him,” he says. “That’s all.”

“What kind of message?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t read it.”

I take a slow breath through my teeth. My head is beginning to clear. I study him. The feeling of betrayal is still thick in the air, sour and potent. But now that I’m looking at him, I can’t tell if it’s on my side, or if it’s on his.

I just sat here and told him I long for the days when I was just Tycho—and now I’m facing him with weapons in hand.

But I told him about Lord Alek. I told him that he was a dangerous man—and he said nothing.

“What was that?” I grind out. “How did you stop him from—from cutting my hands off?”

Jax hesitates. “Most people won’t mess with hot iron. I pulled the ingot out of the forge.” He points.

The block of steel is lying in the dirt. I stare at it for a moment too long.

He’s very lucky Alek and the guards didn’t kill him. His blood could be spilling into the dirt right here beside me, and he wouldn’t have Grey’s rings to protect him.

Jax is right about today, too. It was my idea to come here. It was my idea to shoot arrows, to ride Mercy, to linger.

It was my idea to provoke Alek.

All my idea. All my fault.

I think the queen would be interested in hearing that her trusted messenger is having secret meetings with a roughshod laborer.

Politically tricky indeed. I slide the weapons back into their sheaths and run a hand across my face. I need to get to my feet. I need to get back to the Crystal City.

But I look at Jax. That wariness is back in his eyes. It had almost completely vanished when we were sitting by the forge. My blood is a rich red streak on his cheek. His hair is much longer than I’d thought, shining black tangles spilling down across his shoulder.

His cheeks redden as if he sees me staring, and he gathers most of his hair back into a knot at the back of his head, then shoves a thin bit of steel through to hold it in place.

I straighten, rising to my feet, but I feel a bit off balance. I jerk my armor into place—or as close as I can get. My trousers are tacky with blood along my hip, and an alarming amount has soaked into the dust at my feet. That dagger did a lot more damage than the scraver did. I’m nowhere near rested enough for this much healing magic. “I need to return to the palace.”

“Maybe you should wait for a bit,” he says.

I shake my head, and the world goes a bit fuzzy around the edges. I don’t know where Alek went, but I can’t decide which would be worse: him spreading rumors that I’m disloyal, or coming back to finish the job. I’m definitely not in any shape to defend myself now. I stumble as I approach the horse, and I have to grab hold of the strap for her breastplate to keep myself on my feet.

“Are you sure you can ride?” Jax says.

“Better by the minute,” I lie. I take a long breath before pulling Mercy’s tether loose.

Jax stops in front of me. “My lord,” he says softly. “I worry—”

I reach out a thumb to brush my blood off his cheek.

He freezes. My fingers graze the tangles of his hair. “Thank you,” I say. “For … for what you did.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You risked your life.”

His breath catches, and he ducks away. “My lord—Tycho. You’re not thinking clearly. You’re in no condition to ride. Lord Alek could return—”

“Right. Yes. Lord Alek.” I grab the saddle and leap. Somehow I end up on her back, but I know I’m going to rely on Mercy’s steadiness to get me most of the way to the palace. I want to press my face into her withers, but I force myself upright. I inhale deeply, and it helps.

“Please,” Jax says softly. “Wait.”

“I can’t.”

Then I touch my heels to Mercy’s sides, and we’re off.

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