Zo helped me.
It cost her a position in the Royal Guard. Grey once told me that his guards forswear family and relationships for exactly this reason. She was sworn to Rhen—but she acted for me. Rhen is never cold to her; he’s too political for that. But there’s an edge between them now. Like the ball of anger in my gut that won’t go away, I’m not sure it will ever soften.
I want to beg Zo to stay, because every moment I spend with Rhen feels prickly. But asking Zo to stay feels selfish.
Asking her to help Grey was probably selfish, too. Zo and I are friends, but she was my guard. Did she help me out of friendship, or out of obligation? I’m not even sure if it matters. She helped me, and now she’s out of a job—a job she loved.
Rhen isn’t heartless. He gave her a year’s worth of pay and wrote her a letter of recommendation, both of which she keeps in her quarters—but she hasn’t left, and he hasn’t forced her out.
She wanted to be a guard. She gave up her apprenticeship. She says she doesn’t want to leave me alone while everything is so precarious, but a part of me wonders if she doesn’t want to go home carrying the weight of the choices she made. Of the choices I made.
I’ve hesitated too long. Rhen comes through the doorway to the courtyard, trailed by two of his guards. He’s tall and striking, with blond hair and brown eyes, and his clothes are always finely detailed, right down to the ornate hilt of the sword at his hip or the silver hand-tooled buttons of his jacket. He moves with purpose and athletic grace, never a hesitation in his step. He moves like a prince. Like a king. A man born to rule.
But I can see the subtle changes. The shadows under his eyes have grown slightly darker. The edge of his jaw seems sharper, his cheekbones more pronounced. Unease has taken root in his eyes over the last few weeks.
His guards take a place by the wall while he strides across the courtyard toward us. Zo sighs.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper to her.
“Nonsense.” She curtsies to Rhen, even though she’s in breeches and armor. “Your Highness.”
“Zo,” he says coolly. His eyes shift to me. “My lady.”
I inhale to try to say something to ease the tension between them, but Zo says, “If you’ll forgive me, I was just about to return to my quarters.”
“Of course,” says Rhen.
I bite my lip as she moves away.
“She is running from me,” Rhen says, and there’s no question in his gaze.
I bristle immediately. “She’s not running.”
“It certainly seems like a retreat.”
Wow. Someone certainly seems like a jerk. “Zo is allowed to be mad, Rhen.”
“So am I.”
That stops my mouth from forming whatever words I was going to say. I didn’t know that he was still angry at Zo. I wonder if he’s still mad at me, if I’m not the only one with this burning core of anger in my belly.
Before I can ask him, he draws his sword. “Show me what you’ve learned.”
I put my hand on the hilt, but I don’t draw it. I’m not entirely sure why—especially since I told him to come show me. Maybe it’s because he said it like an order. Maybe it’s because his mood feels belligerent. Either way, I don’t want to face him with a weapon.
I glance away. “I don’t want to do this anymore.” I turn toward the door he just came through. “I should go get dressed for breakfast.”
I hear him sheathe his sword, and then his hand catches my arm gently. “Please.”
It’s a broken word. A desperate word that cuts the tiniest hole in my anger.
“Please,” he says again, and his voice is so very soft. “Please, Harper.”
He has a magical way of saying my name, his accent softening the edges of each r to turn a couple syllables into a growl and a caress all at once, but that’s not what gets my attention. It’s the please. Rhen is the crown prince. The future king. He doesn’t plead.
“Please what?” I say softly.
“Please stay.”
He means right now, but it feels bigger. Broader.
A memory flickers into my thoughts, from a year ago. Mom was already sick, cancer invading her lungs, and Dad had blown through our family savings trying to cover what insurance wouldn’t. He made bad choices to get money, choices that put our family in danger. When Mom found out about it, she told me and Jake to pack our things. Dad was crying at the kitchen table, begging her to stay. I remember my big brother shoving things into a duffel bag while I sat on his bed and stared with wide eyes.
“It’ll be okay, Harp,” Jake kept saying. “Just get your stuff.”
It wasn’t okay. None of it was okay. At the time, the thought of leaving was terrifying. I remember being relieved that Mom relented, that we stayed. That she stayed.
Later, as things got really bad, I remember wishing she hadn’t.
I stare up into Rhen’s eyes and wonder if I’m making the same choices. Jake left with Grey. My brother will be on the other side of this war.
I take a breath and blow it out. “I don’t want to fight.”
I’m not talking about swords, and I think he knows it. Rhen nods. “Shall we walk instead?”
I hesitate. “Okay.”
He offers his arm, and I take it.
CHAPTER FOUR
RHEN
My guards trail us as we walk. Harper’s hand on my arm is light, as if she might pull away at any time. Grey used to say I would plan my moves twenty steps ahead, and he’s right—but all of my moves now seem to be directed by another. I can’t plan out twenty moves when the enchantress might change course after the second or third or fifteenth.
I want to tell Harper about the enchantress so badly—but there are so many ways that could go wrong.
I kept this secret for more than three hundred seasons. I can keep it again.
“You are angry with me,” I say quietly.
Harper doesn’t answer, but then it really wasn’t a question. She’s been angry for weeks. For months.
The cobblestone path begins to thin as we approach the wooded path that leads into the forest. I expect her to turn when we reach the tree line, to keep our walk short, but she doesn’t. We step into the early morning dimness of the woods, letting the silence swallow us up. The trees haven’t fully changed, but red and gold leaves are plentiful, drifting through the air to litter our path.
“On my first night here,” says Harper, “when I rode through these woods and I went from sweating in the heat to shivering in a snowstorm, it was the first moment I really believed you about the curse.”
I glance at her. “Not the music that played on its own?”
“Well, that was … something. But going from early autumn to late winter was literally a smack in the face.” She pauses. “And then finding Freya and the kids …” She shakes her head.
“Ah. You saw how far my kingdom had fallen. The true depth of the curse.”
“No! I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know. But the truth remains.” I remember this too, when Grey and I rode out after Harper’s attempt to escape, when I was worried about what she would find. I’d spent so many seasons confining myself to Ironrose Castle that even I was unaware how difficult life had become for my subjects. I’d known they were hungry and poor, but I hadn’t realized how much. I hadn’t thought I could do anything for them unless I broke the curse.
Harper showed me I was wrong, that the curse wasn’t preventing me from providing for my people—and then she broke the curse anyway.
Yet Lilith is still here. Still making my life hell, just in another way.
I put my hand over Harper’s, where it rests on my arm, and she glances up at me in surprise. For an instant, I expect her to jerk her hand away, but she doesn’t. It’s the tiniest allowance, but it holds so much meaning.
This is why Lilith holds so much power over me. Too much emotion is churning in my chest. I have to draw a breath.
“What’s wrong?” she says.
<
br /> Everything. But I can’t say that. “We only have six weeks before Syhl Shallow will attack, and no matter how many times I try to plan a path to victory, I feel I am destined to fail.”
She’s quiet for a moment, and she looks back at the path. “You think Grey will win?”
I hope he doesn’t. I have no idea what Lilith will do if he does.
I have no idea what will happen to Emberfall if he does.
“Lia Mara once came to me hoping for peace,” I say. “And Grey has aligned himself with her. He has already begun to endear himself to my people. You’ve heard what happened in the town of Blind Hollow.” My guardsmen tried to take Grey—and ended up in a battle with the townspeople. Grey apparently used magic to heal anyone injured in the fray. “They know Emberfall is still weak. Grey did not have to give us a warning of their intentions.”
“I hear a ‘but’ coming.”
“But … it is one thing to be a ruler wishing for peace, and entirely another to be a subject wishing for vengeance. They may have allies here, but I am unsure of what support they have in Syhl Shallow. Lia Mara is one woman. Grey is one man.” I glance at her. “Much like you and me, my lady.”
“You think they’ll have a hard time staying in power?”
“I think they will face a lot of challenges, regardless of whether they win or lose this war. I think it will not be easy to have power shift from a woman like Karis Luran, who held her throne by violence and fear, to a woman like Lia Mara, who seems to value compassion and empathy.”
Harper keeps her eyes forward. “Well, I value those things, too.”
“I know.”
My words fall into the space between us. She is hoping for me to say that I value those qualities as well, and I do, but not in the way that she means. Not in a way that would matter to her.
The gulf between us feels so vast.
Harper frowns when I say nothing more. “I guess compassion and empathy isn’t winning us any followers either.”
I hesitate. “Despite the harm Syhl Shallow has caused to Emberfall, it may not be easy for my people to rally around me, when my entire claim to the throne relies on the line of succession—putting Grey ahead of me. When his magic seems beneficial, not a threat. When my promises of military support have worn thin and proved to be inaccurate.”
“Because of Disi,” Harper says.
“Yes.”
“And that’s my fault.”
She sounds both bitter and repentant. I draw her to a stop and look down at her. “My lady. You cannot possibly feel responsible for failing to produce an army.”
She sighs and starts walking again. “Well. I do.” She glances behind us at the guards, then drops her voice. “It was a lie, Rhen. And now everyone looks at me like I’ve let them down—or that I’m working with the enemy.”
“Your brother, the ‘crown prince of Disi,’ fled to Syhl Shallow with Grey,” I say. I cannot keep the tightness out of my voice. “How could they not?”
She says nothing. Her hand is tense against my arm.
“This sucks,” she finally says.
“Indeed.”
“So what can we do?”
We. Such a small word, but it tightens my chest and makes it hard to swallow. It’s more than I deserve, surely. I want to pull her against me, to bury my face in her neck and remind myself that she’s alive, that she’s here, that she’s safe.
But she’s angry with me, with the choices I’ve made.
I force myself to be content with her hand on my arm. With the word we.
She’s asked me for action. When Lilith asked, I balked.
When Harper asks, I want to leap.
“Many of my Grand Marshals have closed their borders,” I say. “They seem unwilling to acknowledge my right to rule. We were able to stop the rebellion in Silvermoon Harbor, but not without cost. I would be a fool to assume my people are content.” I pause. “Perhaps we should follow Grey’s lead.”
“You want to declare war?”
“No. I want to ask for unity.”
She shudders. “You want to go back to Silvermoon now? It was scary enough when we went before.” She’s quiet for a moment, and I know she is remembering our first visit to Silvermoon Harbor, when we were ambushed—and would have been killed, if not for Grey. “What if we ride up to the gates and they shoot you?”
“They won’t,” I say.
“How do you know?”
“Because I don’t intend to go to them.” A plan has begun to form in my mind. “I intend to invite them here.”
CHAPTER FIVE
HARPER
Freya, my lady-in-waiting, is lacing me into a corseted gown. The bodice is white silk, with red stitching and golden grommets edged by rubies, laced over the top of a layer of shimmering red voile spilling over crimson underskirts. The laces of the bodice are gold satin. The neckline is low and daring, and if I try to bend over, I’ll have a wardrobe malfunction. I generally gravitate toward the breeches and sweaters—the wool blousons, as Freya calls them—in my wardrobe, and I have dozens of stunning dresses for when I need to dress up, but this is by far the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever worn. Even my boots are red leather with gold trim along the heel.
Rhen sent word to all of his Grand Marshals a week ago, and I’ve been dreading this “party” since the instant he mentioned it, but it’s nice to feel pretty for five minutes. As much as I try not to think about it, the scar on my cheek and the limp in my step are a constant reminder that I’ll never be classically beautiful or effortlessly graceful. I’m confident in my strengths, but that doesn’t mean I don’t think about my weaknesses.
Lately, I’ve been wondering if the choice to stay here is a weakness.
But where would I go? I can’t go back to Washington, DC—and even if I could, what would I do? We disappeared in the middle of the night, facing a man with a gun. Our family’s apartment has probably been emptied out and rented to someone else now. I have no identification, no documents, nothing.
Without warning, I think of my mother, and the memory of her death almost smothers me. We lost her because of cancer. We lost everything else because of my father.
My chest grows tight, and I can’t breathe.
“Here, my lady,” says Freya. “Look.” She turns me to face the mirror.
It’s a huge testament to this dress that it jerks my thoughts away from a downward spiral. In the mirror, it’s even better than it looked laid across the bed. “Freya,” I breathe. “Where did you find this?”
“Ordered by His Highness.” Her blue eyes flick up to meet mine in the mirror, and her voice drops. “In the colors of Emberfall.”
“Oh.” I lose the smile. It’s not just a pretty dress. It’s a political statement.
“From what I understand,” she adds as she smooths my skirts, “he ordered a dress for Zo as well.”
“Really?”
She nods.
Freya is ten years older than I am, and since I helped rescue her and her children from an attack by Syhl Shallow’s soldiers, she’s been my lady-in-waiting in the palace. In a way, she’s also been like a surrogate mother. She knows about Zo and what we did for Grey. She knows how it’s driven a wedge between me and Rhen—and maybe driven a sliver between me and Zo.
It might have caused tension between me and Freya too, because I know how she feels about Syhl Shallow. Their soldiers destroyed her home, leaving her and the children shivering in the snow. Leaving them with nothing until Rhen offered her a position here in the castle. But the night Rhen had Grey and Tycho beaten, she was as horrified as I was. She’d never speak a word against Rhen, but I remember the hard set of her jaw, the way her breath had trembled.
I need to stop thinking about this. It was months ago. I made a choice. I stayed.
And it’s not like Grey isn’t planning to strike back.
“Why did he order a dress for Zo?” I say. Zo wasn’t planning to come to the party. She doesn’t like being in a position that rem
inds her of being a guardsman, and she definitely doesn’t like being in the same room as Rhen.
If he sent her a dress, I wonder how she took it. Worse, I wonder how he meant it. When it comes to strategic planning, Rhen can be downright brilliant—but he can also be an epic ass.
Freya arranges my hair across my shoulder, adjusting a pin here and there. “Well, I presume he hoped she would attend with you.” She pauses. “Perhaps His Highness wants a guard-who-is-not-a-guard at your side. Jamison said the soldiers are antsy because it is rumored that an attack from Syhl Shallow could occur at any moment.”
I glance at Freya in the mirror. “When did you talk to Jamison?” The soldier was one of the first to lend support to Rhen and Grey when I convinced them to leave the grounds of Ironrose and help their people. He’s another person who hates Syhl Shallow, after one of their soldiers took his arm and destroyed most of his regiment when he was stationed in Willminton. Now he’s a lieutenant in the regiment stationed nearby, but he’s rarely inside the castle.
“When I took the children to visit Evalyn last week,” she says. “We saw him on the road back.” She pauses. “He was very kind. He accompanied us to the castle.”
“Oh.” I’m not sure what to make of that. I used to spend so much time with the guards and soldiers. I would train alongside them. I’d be included in their banter and gossip. For the first time in my life, no one treated me like a liability. Like I was incapable. I felt like I belonged.
Now every interaction I have feels weighted with suspicion. I didn’t realize how important that feeling of belonging had grown until it was gone.
Now the only person I train with is Zo.
I have to clear my throat. I wish I’d known Freya was going to see Evalyn, because I would have joined her, just for an excuse to talk to someone. But maybe I wasn’t welcome.
I hate this.
A knock sounds at my door, and my breath catches. It’s probably Rhen, so I call, “Enter.”
It’s not Rhen. It’s Zo. The door swings open and she strides in, wearing a dress in a darker crimson than my own, her bodice so dark it’s almost black, with cherry-red lacings. Her muscled arms are bare, her braids twisting down her back to her waist.
A Vow So Bold and Deadly Page 2