Forging Silver into Stars
: Chapter 45

After our card game, I expressed my concerns to Prince Rhen, that Alek might have weapons that could harm the king. The prince agreed to have the man’s chambers searched.

That search turned up nothing.

I’m not surprised. Alek wouldn’t make it that easy.

But it leaves me ungrounded, because Alek has done such a good job of turning any suspicion away from himself. I have no proof. I’m not even sure I have Grey’s trust any longer.

Grey isn’t one to stand on ceremony, so there isn’t much fanfare when he arrives, but his presence in the castle is impossible to ignore. Even if I can’t go directly to the king, Rhen takes my concerns seriously, and I see that he’s assigned additional security to any spaces Grey might linger. Lord Alek is never left to linger alone. Syhl Shallow guards suddenly line the hallways along with the Royal Guard of Emberfall. The languages of both countries can be heard in the Great Hall, on the training fields, in the arena.

If the queen were here, I know she’d be admiring the occasional sense of unity, of collaboration and trust.

She wouldn’t be ignoring the undercurrent of tension. The words muttered in Syssalah or Emberish when backs are turned. The exchanged glances between guards, underscored with distrust.

I doubt the king is ignoring it, though I have no idea. He’s been here for days, and I’ve been keeping my distance. The competition has started, so he’s always surrounded, always busy, always with both Rhen and Jacob and a dozen guards at his side.

The tension, the waiting, is terrible. I keep watching, expecting a trap to be sprung, for Alek to make his move.

But he doesn’t. He’s cordial. Polite. The perfect courtly gentleman, enjoying a bit of sport on the field.

By the fourth day, nothing has happened, and I begin to doubt myself. I’m sure Grey knows the source of my concerns by now, and the daily lack of any true danger must seem like one more failure on my part. The competition fields have turned to foot races, which I don’t care to watch. Instead, I head for the stables, which are mostly deserted, to fetch Mercy.

To my surprise, I find Prince Rhen there as well, feeding his horse a caramel. He’s still dressed in palace finery, which he’s worn to the competition every day. Palace guards from both countries are on duty in the aisle. I’m so startled that I stop short in the doorway, my eyes seeking Grey.

Rhen notices my expression, because he gives me a knowing look. “Don’t worry. The king is expected to watch the competitors, so you’ve got a few hours of safety left.”

I inhale to protest, but he’s too savvy—and I’m not one to lie. “Am I so obvious?”

“Yes.” He holds out a handful of candies. “Here. For your mare.”

Before I’ve even taken them, Mercy has her head stretched out of her stall, reaching for the sugar, as if she can inhale them from ten feet away. I feed them to her, then tether her to fetch her saddle.

“Were you going somewhere?” says Rhen.

I nod, then shrug. I’m not sure how to admit that I couldn’t keep waiting for … nothing to happen. I wonder if he’s feeling the same. A flicker of guilt pulls at me. “Nowhere of consequence. You?”

“A destination may be more prudent.” He pulls open the tack closet beside his horse’s stall. Much like Grey, when it comes to horses, Rhen isn’t one to pass on the care of his mount to another. “Either way, I’ll join you if you don’t mind the company.”

I hesitate, trying to figure out his tone.

I must wait too long, because he stops with a saddle hung over one arm. “That’s not an order. If you prefer the solitude, simply say so.”

I do prefer the solitude—but I’ve discovered over the last few weeks that I don’t mind Rhen’s company either.

Then I notice something else: he’s armed. A sword hangs at one hip, and a dagger is belted to the other. Maybe it’s for appearance’s sake, since he’s been at the king’s side all week.

But … maybe it’s not.

“I welcome the company,” I say.

“Good.” He slips the saddle onto the back of his buckskin. “Do you know the forests north of the castle? There’s an old clearing a few miles beyond the creek. Nearly half an acre of fresh clover. A good spot to let the horses graze.”

“I know it.” Barely. I’ve seen it once or twice. I think.

Rhen smiles, then buckles the girth into place. He looks to his guards. “You will remain behind. Tycho will be adequate defense.”

I stop with my hand on Mercy’s bridle. “Your Highness, are you certain that is a wise—”

“I’m certain you’re about to be left behind.” He slips a bridle on his own horse’s head, then leads the animal out of the stall. Without hesitation he swings aboard.

Then he’s gone.

I lose a moment to shock. Another to the buckles on her bridle. She’s already tugging at the reins.

But I smile for what feels like the first time in days. “Come on, Mercy. We’ve got a race to win.”

The only time I’ve ever ridden with Rhen, it’s been sedate journeys to distant towns, surrounded by guards or advisers. Everything I know of him is careful planning and thoughtful deliberation. I didn’t expect him to take off like an arrow shot from a well-strung bow.

He keeps a lead as we fly past the competition fields and dive into the shadowed woods north of the palace. I expect Rhen to stick to the broad, winding road through the woods, but his horse slips between branches to skip curves, leaping over fallen trees without hesitation, trusting that the ground won’t fall away on the other side. My heart is pounding in time with Mercy’s hooves against the turf.

I should be responsible here, should call for a slower pace, because if the king’s brother goes flying headlong into a tree, I’m pretty sure there’d be no forgiveness.

But the wind is in my hair, and the thrill of competition is in my blood, so I slip Mercy another inch of rein. “Come on, sweet girl.”

She flicks an ear in my direction and redoubles her speed.

It’s not enough to make up for Rhen’s head start. When we burst into the clearing, he’s at least three horse-lengths ahead of me. Both horses are breathing hard when we draw to a stop, but they’re fit and we haven’t gone far. Mercy is prancing in place, pawing at the ground in protest, wanting to run again.

Rhen is red-cheeked and windblown. His hair has fallen across the leather mask that covers his missing eye. “I haven’t done that in years.”

I smile. “Well, you couldn’t prove it by me.”

“You didn’t let me win, did you?”

That makes me laugh. “No. Mercy might feel better if I say that I did.”

He says nothing to that. He looks out at the stretch of sunlight-dappled grass, then swings down from the saddle and pulls the bridle free, giving his horse the freedom to graze. After a moment, I do the same with Mercy.

“You used to race with Grey?” I guess.

“I did. He could almost always best me in the arena, but I rarely find a horse that can beat Ironwill.” Rhen pulls another caramel from a pocket, slipping it to the buckskin.

I consider the sword at his side. The race. The lack of guards. The fact that we’re miles away from the competition fields and the watchful eyes of his brother.

“Did you drag me out here to practice swordplay?” I say.

He glances over. “No. I dragged you out here so you could freely ask about your king.”

I feel that like a fist to the gut. “Oh.”

We stand there in silence for the longest moment. I don’t know what to say.

Eventually, I put my hand on the hilt of my sword. “Perhaps we could do both.”

He studies me for a long moment. Then he takes hold of his own weapon. “Fine.”

I’m prepared for him to begin slowly, to ease into swordplay like a beginner, with straightforward thrusts and parries. Luckily, I have years of warnings from Grey about underestimating an opponent, so when Rhen comes at me like he means to wage war, I deflect and spin and disarm him in less than ten seconds. His sword lands in the grass, and he swears.

“I didn’t let you win that time either,” I say.

Rhen gives me a rueful glance. “Noted.”

He attacks again. I disarm him again.

He swears again. Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ (ꜰind)ɴʘvel.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“We could begin more slowly,” I say.

“Don’t make me stab you.”

“Haven’t you been trying?”

He looks startled, and I worry that I’ve poked at his pride too hard. But he laughs under his breath and claims his blade. We begin again. And again. And again. It’s not just that he’s out of practice, though that’s part of it. Some is his vision—but there’s nothing he can do about that. It’s his disappointment in himself. His impotent rage. He’s tireless, though, and he attacks with such surety.

I disarm him every time.

Eventually, sweat threads his hair. He abandoned his jacket long ago, and a few stripes of blood decorate his sleeves when neither of us could deflect quickly enough. I want to suggest returning to the armory for training blades, but I think he really would kill me.

But as time passes … he begins to compensate. His stance changes as he tries different angles. He’s begun to learn my movements. The arrogant frustration has slipped away, revealing a cool focus.

Before I’m ready, he blocks, swings, gets inside my guard, and ends with his sword against my throat.

We’re both breathing hard. I lift my hands. “I yield.”

He sheathes the blade, then runs a hand across his face. He has to lift the hem of his shirt to wipe away the sweat. When he speaks, his voice is quiet. “Thank you, Tycho.” He hesitates, then glances at me. “There haven’t been this many people at Ironrose in ages. After everything we’ve learned about the Truthbringers, I’ve worried that my closeness to Grey would make me …”

His voice trails off. I frown. “Would make you what?”

“A liability. I can’t fight like I once did.”

Maybe he really did want to get away from the castle as badly as I did. “You will,” I say. “With practice. Again?”

“I’d rather finish while I don’t feel like a complete failure. I’m going to be sore for days as it is.” He swipes at his face again, then drops to sit in the grass. He peers up at me. “Why didn’t you enter the competition? You’re very good.”

I shrug and drop to sit in the grass beside him. “I had a good teacher.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” says Rhen.

I shake my head. It was bad enough sparring with Jacob a few weeks ago. Fighting in a competition in front of the king would be ten times worse. “It felt inappropriate.”

“You didn’t ask anything about Grey.”

I’m not sure I want any answers. “That feels inappropriate, too.”

“You know I took your warnings seriously. For what it’s worth, Grey did as well. But I’ve spent long hours watching the competition in Alek’s presence. He speaks highly of the queen, and his worries about magic seem genuine. He’s either very clever or very innocent.”

I frown and wait for him to say more, but he doesn’t.

A cool wind sweeps between the trees, bringing a light drizzle of rain. In our time out here, poor weather has moved in again.

Rhen looks up at the sky. “We should return. My guards will come looking.”

“As you say.” I sigh and uncurl from the ground, then whistle for Mercy. I wait for him to have the bridle over Ironwill’s head before I say, “Your Highness?”

He looks up.

I leap into my saddle. “I’ll race you back.”

We fly through the woods again, cold rain stinging my eyes. This all feels a bit reckless, but the footing is sure, and I can hear his horse not too far behind me. I’d almost forgotten what it felt like to enjoy something simple. My heart feels lighter than it has in weeks.

Then we burst out of the woods and slam right into a group of men and women on horseback—guards from Emberfall and Syhl Shallow.

“Whoa!” I sit down hard in the saddle, and Mercy responds immediately, skidding in the wet grass, fighting my grip on the reins. The rain is pouring down, soaking us all. The guards shout in surprise, scattering a bit so we don’t collide with anyone.

And of course that leaves Mercy to skid right into the king’s horse, who prances and kicks out, leaving his rider looking aggrieved.

What’s worse is that Alek rides just behind him, astride his own mount. “Have some control of your horse,” he says to me.

If I have to apologize to him, I’m going to do it with a sword. I keep my eyes on the king. “Forgive me,” I say. “Your Majesty.”

Rhen skids to a stop beside me. “You interrupted our race,” he says.

The rain pours down. The king glares at both of us. “I came looking for you both.”

“If you’d waited five more minutes, we could be having this conversation in the warmth of the stables. Join us for a sprint?”

“No.” Grey’s tone is as cold as the rain.

“Very well. Tycho?” The prince clucks to his horse and turns away.

My heart is beating in my throat. I absolutely do not have the mettle to race away from the king. I can feel Alek’s eyes on me.

Grey catches Rhen’s rein and sighs. “I’ll ride back with you, Rhen. Just not at a full gallop.”

“Of course. As my king commands.” Rhen’s voice isn’t flippant, but almost.

Something about his tone makes me take notice. Maybe I should have asked questions. The tension here isn’t all between me and Grey. I wonder if Rhen taking my side in regard to Alek has painted him in a bad light, too.

But they begin walking, so I turn to follow. Grey says, “No. Ride alongside.”

I do as he says, though I feel like I’ve swallowed a handful of ash. Alek catches my eye, and I see something like triumph in his gaze. Rain sneaks under my jacket to make me shiver, reminding me of miserable assignments when I was a soldier. My fingers tighten on the slick reins.

Grey is never one to mince words, and he doesn’t now. “Alek has mentioned that you did not cross the border into Emberfall as I ordered.”

Silver hell. I’ve been so focused on threats against the king that I completely forgot about Alek’s threats against me. I steel my spine and answer. “You said you were not concerned about one random blacksmith. But I was.”

“You could not have shared your concerns with me?”

“I wasn’t hiding anything,” I say tightly. “You ordered me to leave, so I did.”

“I ordered you to cross the border and reach the safe house before midnight.”

I hate this. I don’t want to be at odds with him. I don’t want to feel like every choice I make is a poor one.

“And even if you thought you knew best,” Grey continues, “you didn’t think to tell me about this … investigation on the day I arrived?”

My eyes are fixed on Mercy’s mane, my jaw tight. “Jax didn’t know anything,” I say, keeping my voice low. “He wasn’t working with the Truthbringers.”

“Just like Nakiis would never cause trouble?” he says.

I wish he would pull his sword and end this right here. All the peace and joy from the race with Rhen, from the swordplay, is now shriveled in my gut.

Prince Rhen speaks into my silence. “We all make choices that seem right in the moment,” he says, “that turn out poorly later. I believe you’ve made a few such choices yourself, Your Majesty.”

“Enough.” The king’s glare is so lethal it’s a miracle it doesn’t knock Rhen off his horse.

That isn’t better. “I won’t disobey orders again,” I say. “I swear it.”

“Will this oath be similar to the one you already swore?” says Alek.

I glare at him. I wish I had the talent to strike a blow with words, the way Prince Rhen can. “You may be able to convince everyone else of your innocence, but I know you’re turning everyone against me to keep the suspicion off yourself.”

“What suspicion?” Alek says. “You’ve made countless accusations, Tycho, but it seems you are the one trying to point the blame at me. Don’t think I didn’t know who suggested that Prince Rhen’s guards search my things.”

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from snapping at him, and look at the king in the rain. I say the only thing I can think of. “I’m sorry I failed you. If you don’t need me here, I’ll return to the Crystal Palace and await further orders.”

I don’t know what I’m hoping for him to say, but he nods. “Fine.”

That wasn’t it.

I’m going to make the ride at night again. The rain continues to poor down, but I’ve got an oilcloth cloak over my armor, and I haven’t been scared of thunder since I was a child. Mercy’s tack is still slick from when I went galloping with Prince Rhen, but I don’t care. My chest is tight and my heart is heavy and I just want to be … gone.

A boot scrapes on the stable aisle, and I turn, expecting Rhen again. He won’t convince me to stay. He won’t convince me that I haven’t lost whatever trust I might have had.

Instead, I find the king.

I’m shocked into stillness, but I recover quickly. I frown and grit my teeth so I don’t swear at him. I’m sure he can read every expression on my face anyway.

I can’t read anything on his.

Mercy butts at me with her head, and I’m glad for an excuse to catch her bridle and fiddle with a buckle unnecessarily. To my surprise, Grey joins me at her side, unnecessarily adjusting a buckle himself. His eyes meet mine, and he stops, so I do too.

I feel like I’ve failed him in so many ways that there aren’t enough words to make up for it. But I feel like he’s failed me too.

Maybe that’s unfair. I don’t know what he’s waiting for me to say.

I don’t find out, because a guard from Syhl Shallow steps into the aisle. “Your Majesty,” she says breathlessly. “A runner from the sentry station at Willminton has arrived with urgent news of the queen.”

The king turns, our conflict forgotten. “What news?”

“I haven’t heard the report. I was sent to—”

“Grey.” Rhen bursts through the doors, a roll of damp parchment in his hand. “Lia Mara and Sinna have been taken.” He holds out a palm, and a ring set with three diamonds glints in the light. “Her ring was sent as proof.”

For half a second, Grey is frozen in place, stricken. He takes the ring, running his thumb over the stones. When he speaks, his voice is thin. “The scraver?”

“No. The Truthbringers.”

Grey strides forward to take the parchment before Rhen can even hold it out. “How?” he says, his words clipped. “Where?” He doesn’t even wait for an answer. He looks to a guard. “Saddle my horse.”

“It will take four days to ride to the Crystal City,” Rhen says. “We should arrange a team—”

“It won’t take me four days.”

I can hear the panic in his voice, though. Even with magic, it will take time. Even if they used runners from every sentry station instead of one single courier, there’s no way to send a message in less than two.

“They aren’t demanding a ransom,” Rhen says. “I know this is a shock, but you must—”

“I didn’t ask for your counsel, Rhen.”

“I’m giving it to you anyway. This message took days to arrive. An hour to formulate a plan won’t—”

“I’m not giving them one extra second.” Grey turns to me, and his eyes are like fire. He hits me in the chest with the parchment, and I’m so startled that I fall back a step.

“Jax doesn’t know anything,” he says flatly, mimicking what I said to him hours ago. “Jax isn’t working with the Truthbringers.”

I frown, grabbing the parchment. “He’s—he’s—”

“Read it.” A guard leads his horse out of a stall, and Grey takes the reins, turning away without hesitation.

I stare down at the damp parchment, the words scrawled hastily.

We have the queen and your daughter.

They will be treated well if you return to Briarlock to face judgment.

Our loyalty is to our queen.

Syhl Shallow will rise.

Jax wouldn’t be involved in this. He couldn’t be. Could Callyn? But wouldn’t that point the blame right back at Jax?

And … Alek? Despite everything, Alek has always seemed loyal to Lia Mara. As much as I hate him, I can’t see him being involved in a plot to kidnap the queen. And he’s been here. Not there.

I keep thinking of that moment during the card game, when he asked how someone could harm the king. Rhen said he’s either very innocent or very clever.

Maybe there’s more going on here than we realize. Maybe he’s both.

“Send whatever team you like,” Grey is saying to Rhen, and his voice is vicious. “Whoever took them will be dead by the time you get there.”

Without another word, the king swings aboard his horse, tearing out of the stable with as much speed as Rhen used earlier.

I don’t have time to think. Grey might hate me. He might see me as a disappointment. He might kill me for coming after him—or he’ll just use magic to accelerate his pace to where I can’t keep up.

But Jax didn’t do this. I know he didn’t. Maybe I’ve made mistakes, but on this point, I’m sure. Whatever’s waiting for the king in Briarlock is bigger than Jax and Callyn.

I remember the Uprising, how so many people died in the attack. How Grey’s magic tore through the Crystal Palace and killed anyone in its path. I remember walking the halls with the queen, looking for survivors.

I don’t want to consider what will happen when he gets to Briarlock.

And just as I have the thought, I realize why we didn’t find Iishellasan steel among Alek’s things. I realize why he’s been spending so much time in Briarlock.

Of course it’s not here. It’s there.

I yank the tie on Mercy’s tether and look at Rhen. “It’s a trap. I need to go after him.”

I don’t hear his answer. I don’t even know if he’ll figure it out. But I’ve already swung into the saddle, and Mercy flattens into a gallop before my feet find the stirrups.

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