The thought makes something inside me clench tight, and I shiver. I don’t want to think of Grey as being like Lilith. I don’t want to think of him using magic against me.
I don’t want to think of him having magic at all.
I remember a time early in the curse when Lilith sought to punish me for refusing to love her. We stood in the courtyard where the roses and honeysuckle were in bloom, the air full of their perfume. This was only the third or fourth season, after Lilith had seen my monster destroy my family due to her enchantments, but she still held some delusional hope that I would find a place for her in my heart.
She ran a finger across my cheek, drawing blood with her touch, sending fire through my veins so quickly that I fell to my knees. Grey grabbed her wrist and tried to stop her, but she turned on him instead. The bones in his fingers snapped, one by one. When he tried to jerk back, she grabbed hold of his wrist, and the bones cracked there, too. Then something in his leg, because he collapsed. I remember bone jutting from the fabric of his trousers. The sound of bones breaking still haunts me.
“Stop!” I yelled at her, coughing on my own blood. “Stop!”
But she didn’t stop. She drew his sword and drove the weapon into his abdomen. When he hit the ground, she yanked it free, then drove it straight through his shoulder, pinning him to the turf in front of me.
His free hand was trying to draw another weapon, but she caught that wrist too and proceeded to break the rest of his fingers. I remember the sound of his breathing, fractured and panicked as he tried to free himself with hands that wouldn’t work. He was swearing at her, cursing fate, cursing magic.
But never cursing me.
I was able to drag myself to her side, and I grabbed hold of her arm. “Please,” I begged.
“Oh, now you want to beg?” she’d crooned, her voice light and sweet despite the blood on the grass around her. She reached out to cup my jaw, and I flinched, expecting pain, but her fingers were cool against my skin.
“I like it when you beg,” she whispered, leaning closer. “Do it some more.”
Then she broke my jaw, and when I cried out, she knocked me onto my back. She knelt on my chest as my ribs cracked from her magic. She proceeded to pull every tooth from my mouth with her bare fingers, letting them drop into my throat until I was choking on bone and blood and begging for death. Her skirts pooled around me in piles of silk, and a honeybee droned somewhere nearby—or maybe that was me, keening from the pain and desperation of it all.
I don’t know if she answered my prayers or if fate did, but I woke in my sitting room as if her torture had never happened, Grey at my side, the curse beginning once more. The memories weren’t gone, though. For so long, they felt like a nightmare I’d just awoken from. I’d close my eyes and hear bones breaking. I’d swallow and taste blood.
That evening, I ordered Grey not to defend me from Lilith.
“I am sworn to defend you,” he said.
“You are the only remaining guardsman,” I snapped, as if that were somehow a failing, because I somehow didn’t realize how very meaningful that was. But the curse was torment enough. I couldn’t endure the prospect of watching her destroy someone else, season after season, for her own entertainment—because of a choice I made. “If you will not obey my orders, you will leave.”
He stayed—until he didn’t.
And here we are.
Grey will bring magic back to Ironrose, and he will take something I do not want to give. And there is a tiny part of me that worries I deserve all of it.
Outside my window, swords clash, and Harper cries out. A blade rattles along the cobblestones.
I stride to the window. “Harper!”
“I’m all right. I’m all right.” She takes Zo’s outstretched hand and pulls herself to her feet. My eyes search her form, but there’s no blood, no obvious source of damage.
Harper looks up at me, and I am relieved that the ready anger that used to cloud her eyes has dissipated. Our moments together now remind me of the last weeks of the curse, when she knew the enchantress was tormenting me, night after night, so Harper would hardly leave my side, day or night.
I should be protecting her. Instead it feels as though she is always protecting me.
She dusts herself off. “I suck at this.”
“You are chasing her blade again, my lady.”
She fetches her weapon from where it landed. “Come show me.”
I stare down at her, at the way curls have pulled free of her braids and the wind has painted pink along her cheekbones. Weeks ago we stood just like this, and I was worried she hated me. Now I’m worried she pities me.
“Of course,” I say.
By the time I make it to the courtyard, Zo has vanished. A week ago, I saw her frequent retreats as a weakness. Something worthy of disdain.
Since the moment Harper struck Lilith with a dagger, I have regretted those thoughts.
Dustan and three other guardsmen have trailed me to the courtyard, but they take up positions along the wall. I bite back a shiver and wish I’d thought to grab a cloak.
Harper lifts her sword, so I draw mine, but I’m struck by the realization that we haven’t faced each other like this in months—not since before Grey was dragged back to the castle in chains. Her stance is better than I remember, more balanced, which I know is a constant struggle for her. Something else to be grateful to Zo for, I suppose, because Harper does not spar with anyone else.
I begin with a simple attack from above, and she blocks it easily to counterattack. Her movements are precise but practiced, though I’m impressed at her speed. But when she blocks again and I withdraw to regroup, she follows the motion.
It puts her off balance, and I snap the blade right out of her hand.
“Ugh,” she says as she reclaims the weapon.
“You do not need to chase your opponent,” I say. “If someone is truly your enemy, they will come back to you.”
She stops and stares at me, and I realize what I’ve said. I wonder if she’s thinking of Grey—who didn’t try to come after me.
I’m thinking of Lilith, whom I can’t shake loose.
Harper’s eyes flash with challenge as she steels herself. “I’m not very patient.”
“As if you need to tell me.” Her conviction is one of the very first things I ever admired about her. I lift my blade.
We do it again. And again. By the eighth time, a bloom of sweat glints on her brow, but her expression is fiercely determined. She worries about her balance, about her left side weakness, but her footwork is almost flawless. It must be the result of careful practice and repetition, because it’s not something that would come naturally to her. It’s impressive, but it also tugs at chords of sadness in my chest.
I taught her how to hold a bow, how to dance, how to station an army. But when it came to swordplay, she first learned from Grey.
I don’t know if I’m distracted or if she finally convinces herself to wait, but she doesn’t come after me when I disengage. I’m not ready for it, so when I attack, she’s prepared, and she hooks my blade with her guard. Metal scrapes against metal, then locks into place, all but pinning us together. Our breath makes quick clouds between us in the chilled air.
Her eyes are wide and surprised, so I smile. “Well done.”
Her cheeks turn pink. “Did you let me do that?”
“My lady.” I feign hurt. “You wound me.”
That pink on her cheeks turns into a true blush. We’re so close together, blades crossed between us, but there’s no strain, no tension.
I wish I had something I could give her. Something that would steal away the sting of all my wrongs. I know I can’t undo what I’ve done or erase the mistakes I’ve made. Forgiveness can’t be bought, but I’m not entirely sure how I could earn it either.
She wets her lips, then unlocks her sword from mine. “Thank you for the lesson.”
I lift a hand to brush a tendril of hair from her cheek, and when sh
e leans into my touch, I let my hand linger, my thumb stroking the very edge of her lip. I want very badly to lean in and kiss her, but even this feels precarious. With Harper, everything must be earned. Patience is rewarded.
I kiss her on the forehead instead. “You should dress for our journey to Silvermoon,” I say, and my voice is rough.
“Freya already laid out a gown.” Her gaze searches mine again. “I won’t take long.”
Dustan holds the door for her when she approaches, but none of my guards follow her into the castle. They won’t unless I order it. They’re sworn to protect me, not her. There are so many rumors about Disi’s failures, about the true heir to the throne, not to mention the very real threats from Lilith, that even if I ordered them to keep her safe, I’m not entirely sure anyone would risk their life on her behalf. The only one of my guards who ever did is now preparing to wage war against me.
As I turn to head into the castle myself, I realize that’s not true.
The Royal Guard quarters sit along the lowest level of the castle, lining the rear hallway to the training arena, on the opposite side from the kitchens and the servant quarters, and the closest to the stables. I have little occasion to be down here, and in fact I cannot remember the last time I was. When Grey and I were trapped by the curse, he selected chambers near my own, because there was little sense in my sole guardsman being out of earshot.
When I turn down the shadowed hallway, a long-buried memory rises to the surface. I must have been six or seven, old enough that I’d learned how to escape the watchful eyes of my nurse or my tutors. Young enough that I was curious about spaces in the castle that I was not allowed to frequent. In my memory, I was seeking the dungeons, because my sister Arabella insisted they were haunted, but I found myself in this hallway, wide-eyed when I realized that the loud, angry voices I’d heard from the stairwell were not from ghosts or prisoners, but instead guardsmen having a heated argument.
Until that day, I’d never seen a guardsman put a foot wrong. I’d never heard one speak in anything more than a measured, deliberate tone, always with deference to the royal family.
But that morning, I watched as one guardsman shoved another into the stone wall, and two more tried to pry them apart. Their words turned into a fiery string of profanity that would’ve made my mother blush, but I was fascinated.
Then one of them saw me, because he swore and hissed, “The prince. The prince.”
They jerked apart and snapped to attention. I was so startled by their reaction that I did, too. I know now that they were probably afraid of earning a reprimand, but I was worried about being found here and angering my father. I wasn’t so young that I hadn’t learned the ramifications of his temper.
One of them must have finally found the courage to peel himself off the wall—or maybe he could read my own fear—because he approached and said, “Your Highness. Have you lost your way?”
I don’t remember what he looked like, or even what his name was. I don’t have any idea why they were arguing, or whether it continued once I was out of earshot. I just remember that his voice was kind, and I knew I would not be in trouble. I remember that he was startled when I took his hand, the way I would do when I went for a walk with my nurse.
I remember it being the first time I realized my father’s guards—my guards—had thoughts and feelings and actions that had nothing to do with the royal family, that they all would speak an oath, but it would mean something different to each man or woman who gave it.
This memory brings another. This one is less welcome.
Do you regret your oath?
I do not.
This is our final season, Commander. You must know you can speak freely.
I do speak freely, my lord.
My chest tightens, and I have to breathe through it. I don’t want to think of Grey, but as usual, my thoughts give no heed to what I want.
I stop in front of a door near the end of the hallway. Dustan and Copper, another of my guards, have trailed me here, and I can all but feel their curiosity in the air around us, but they won’t question me.
Usually my presence is announced, but I am already at odds with Zo, and I do not want to stand on ceremony, so I knock at her door.
“Ugh!” she yells, her voice muffled from the other side of the solid wood. “Go off, you fools.”
I raise my eyebrows and turn to look at Dustan. He meets my gaze steadily. “Some of the guardsmen may harbor a bit of resentment that she has remained in her quarters.”
“Do you?”
“No, my lord.”
I wonder if that’s true. He must harbor a bit if he’s allowing it to continue unchecked.
He clears his throat. “She does not endear herself. Her violin can be heard through the hallways hours before sunrise.”
I almost smile. It’s no wonder Zo and Harper are friends.
“I can hear you out there plotting,” Zo says from the other side of the door, her tone sharp. “Don’t you have better things to do with your time?” The lock rattles, and the door swings open. Zo has one hand wrapped around a dagger, and the other balled into a fist.
She takes one look at me and her eyes flare wide. “Oh!” She lowers the dagger. “Your Highness. I—forgive me—” She drops into a curtsy. “I should not—my words were not—”
“Not for me. I know. May I come in?”
The surprise vanishes from her eyes, replaced with a hint of suspicion. For a moment, I expect her to refuse, and I’m not sure what I’ll do. There’s probably a part of her that wants to use that dagger on me.
But she doesn’t. She takes a step back, drawing the door open wide. “Of course.”
I step into her quarters. The room is small but well appointed, like all of the guards’ lodgings. No windows, because the Royal Guard could not be vulnerable to attack, but there are a few narrow slats between the bricks to allow fresh air into the space. A wide lantern hangs in one corner, casting shadows along the whitewashed walls. A small wood stove sits in the other corner, thickening the air with warmth. At the foot of the bed is a wide chest, and a slim closet lines the front wall. The table is covered with books and parchment and a writing set. A rack is built into the rear wall to hold weapons and armor, but Zo doesn’t have much of that anymore, and one of the racks holds her violin.
Dustan and Copper have followed me inside, and there’s hardly room for all of us to stand. Zo watches as I take in the state of her quarters, and her gaze flicks to the guardsmen at my back. When my eyes return to hers, she swallows.
“I would have left without resistance, Your Highness,” she says quietly.
I frown. “What?”
“The guards are unnecessary. I would have left at your order. I know …” She hesitates and seems to brace herself. “I know you believe I would act in defiance to the Crown, but I would not—”
“Zo. You think I am here to order your dismissal?”
She glances at Dustan and Copper again. “I … yes?”
“No,” I say. “I believe I acted too hastily when I stripped you of your role with the Royal Guard.”
That cynical look is back in Zo’s eye. “You do?”
“My lord,” says Dustan, his voice tight.
I ignore him. “Yes,” I say. “You acted to protect Harper. You followed her order. Did you not?”
“Yes, Your Highness,” she says slowly. “I did.” She glances at Dustan again. “If you are here to offer me back my position among the Royal Guard, I do not think it will work.”
“That is not my intent.”
“Oh.” She frowns. “Then … why are you here?”
“I worry for Harper. The enchantress has made her threats known. An attack from Syhl Shallow is imminent. We may have spies in our midst. Many of my cities have refused to acknowledge my rule. All of Emberfall is at risk.”
The cynicism slides off her face. “I know.” She pauses. “I worry for Harper as well.”
“Because she is your friend.”
“Yes.”
I glance at Dustan. “I understand that the Royal Guard has expressed … ah, displeasure at the fact that you continue to reside among their ranks?”
She frowns as if trying to figure out the path of this conversation. “Harper does not want me to leave.”
I offer a shrewd smile. “And I hear you enjoy entertaining the other guards in the early dawn hours.”
“They love it,” she says flatly.
“I would offer you another set of chambers,” I say. “Opposite Harper’s.” I pause. “And I would like for you to accompany us when we leave Ironrose later today.”
She studies me. “Why?”
“I feel she would be more assured at having you close. As would I.”
Her eyes turn a bit flinty, and she inhales to respond, but then must think better of it, because she says nothing.
“I would ask you to speak true,” I say. Her eyes flick to the guardsmen at my back, so I add, “Dustan. Copper. Wait in the hall.”
They do, but they leave the door open. I don’t fear Zo any more than I fear Harper herself, so I reach out and close it in my guard commander’s face.
“You and I have been at odds,” I say. “I no longer wish it to be so.”
She curtsies again. “Well of course, Your Highness.” The sarcasm in her tone isn’t strong, but it’s there.
“I asked you to speak true,” I say levelly. “Do you not believe me?”
“I believe you care for Harper. I believe you want something from me, and it is inconvenient if we are in a state of conflict.” I watch her steel herself again. “I do not believe you understand why we are at odds to begin with.”
Her voice is cold and frank, so I let mine match. “You acted in defiance of my orders and you lost your position in the Royal Guard. What is to misunderstand?”
“I did not defy an order. I did not betray you. I did not betray my oath.” Her shoulders are tense now, her eyes flashing with anger. “I protected Harper. She would have gone after Grey by herself, and you well know it. You put all of us in an impossible situation.”
A Vow So Bold and Deadly Page 13