A Vow So Bold and Deadly

by Brigid Kemmerer

  I try not to think about what Rhen did to Grey and Tycho when he felt betrayed. Lilith just showed me how Rhen acted when a boy spilled tea in his chambers. I’ve never seen Rhen do anything like that now, but I know there’s a sliver of that inside him still.

  I try not to think of how Rhen will react if Dustan keeps something from him.

  “Let me tell him,” I offer. “Just … let me wait until when we get back.” Dustan still doesn’t look like he’s going to concede, so I say, “It’s just a few hours! What’s the difference?”

  He looks at me steadily for a long moment, then sighs. I’m not sure if that’s assent or exasperation, but either way, he doesn’t tell the other guardsman to fetch Rhen. He takes a step back and turns for the door. “You had best prepare, my lady. His Highness will be ready to leave shortly.”

  “Yes. Yes, of course.” I start yanking at the bodice ribbon that will probably need to be cut free after Lilith pulled it so tight. “Freya, will you—”

  “Yes, my lady. Right away.” She pulls away from Jamison, giving him a long look.

  Wait. I didn’t mean to stop whatever was between them. “No. I’m sorry. You can finish … whatever.”

  Jamison shakes his head. “I should return to my regiment, my lady.” He holds tight to Freya’s hand before she can pull away, and he bows to her, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “I’ll send word when I can.”

  Then he’s gone, and her eyes are welling.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “You and Jamison … I didn’t know.”

  “I hardly know myself,” she says. “We’ve only just been talking.” She brushes the tears off her cheeks and squares her shoulders. “Forgive me. We should—”

  I step forward and wrap her up in a hug. My insides ache and pull and I have to force Lilith’s effects out of my head, and I hold on to my friend.

  Freya’s not like Rhen. She lets me hold her, and her face presses into my shoulder—but only for a moment. She begins to pull away. “I am being inappropriate—”

  “I’ve cried all over you a dozen times,” I say. “I can return the favor.”

  That makes her breath hitch, and she says, “I’ve lost so much, and I didn’t want to dare hope … oh, I can’t think about it.” She draws back. “Did you hear the commander? You must dress.”

  I was right about the corset. We have to cut the ribbon to get it free. We’re both quiet and contemplative as she helps me into the pieces of a fancier gown, then urges me onto a stool in front of a mirror to try to tame my curls.

  In the mirror, her eyes are still red and swollen.

  I hate this. All of it. Every time I get a five-minute break from worry, something new pops up to smack me in the face. Or stab me in the back or whatever Lilith did.

  “I can ask him to keep Jamison here,” I say softly. “To assign him to—”

  “No,” she says curtly. “And he would not want that anyway. He considers it a great honor to protect Emberfall.” She pauses. “As do I.”

  “I know.” I swallow. “Me too.”

  Her hand settles on my shoulder, and she gives it a squeeze. “I know. Your bravery now is proof. Your bravery every day is proof.”

  I put a hand up to rest over hers, and I squeeze in return. My eyes suddenly feel damp. “You once told me that when the world seems darkest, there exists the greatest opportunity for light.”

  She nods at me in the mirror, but then her eyes fill again. “Sometimes I worry that the light can be doused too easily.”

  “Then we just light it again,” I say, even though I’m not sure this is true. But I can’t look at her tearstained face and say anything else. Again, I’m reminded of my mother, how she stood by my father for so long, even though he kept making the wrong decisions. I think of Rhen, and I wonder if I’m doing the same thing. My voice almost wavers and I have to steady it. “We light it again and again, as many times as we have to.”

  Her eyes meet mine, and she takes a steadying breath. “Yes, my lady.”

  A hand raps on the door frame, and I turn, expecting Rhen, but instead, I find Zo there, fully dressed in the leather armor worn by the Royal Guard. I have to do a double take. She looks severe and stoic, and I straighten. “Zo?”

  Something in her severe countenance shifts, and she cracks a small smile. “His Highness hired me.”

  I almost fall off my stool. “You’re back in the Royal Guard?”

  “Ah … no. I’m to be your guard. And only yours.”

  I want to tackle her with hugs, but now that she’s in a uniform, it probably wouldn’t be seemly. I squeeze Freya’s hand again. “See?” I say to her. “Another light.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  RHEN

  Before the curse, I had attendants who would help me dress and prepare, valets and manservants who would lay out clothes or shave my face or fasten my buckles. Servants who would have spooned food into my mouth if I’d ordered it.

  When the curse took over and the entire castle staff fled—or died—I was left with no one but Grey. For weeks, I felt helpless. I had no idea where my valets stored my underthings. Or socks! I wore boots without them for days, simply because I could not find them. I had never once shaved my own face, and when I tried, I nearly cut my throat.

  I remember finding Grey outside my chambers, standing at attention in the deserted, silent hallway.

  “Commander,” I said sharply. “You will show me how to shave.”

  He stared at me for the longest moment, and I felt like such a spoiled fool, especially when confronted with the clean-shaven face that he’d clearly accomplished himself, while I was standing there pressing a silk handkerchief to my neck to stop the bleeding.

  I waited for his expression to shift into scorn or disdain. For him to inwardly sigh. We were the only two people left in the castle, and there wouldn’t have been much I could have done about it. He could have turned the moment into something humiliating.

  He didn’t. “Yes, my lord,” he said equably. “Do you have a kit?”

  I expect the memory to sting, but for some reason, this one doesn’t.

  Since the curse was broken, I’ve hired servants to fill most of the roles in the castle, but I haven’t bothered to replace the attendants in my own chambers. Something that seemed like a necessity now feels like a frivolity.

  Today, though, I wish for an advisor to help me decide how to dress. When I visit my cities, I usually wear tailored jackets and polished boots, silk and brocade trimmed in silver or gold. Never as ostentatious as my father would have been, but enough to signify who I am. Not a subject, not a soldier. A prince—their future king.

  For this visit to Silvermoon, however, I need to look ready to command an army.

  I tie the laces of a thick linen shirt, then buckle rich leather armor into place over top. Red fabric lines the breastplate, matching the crimson rose paired with a golden lion on the insignia in the center of my chest, and a gold crown has been hammered into the leather directly over my heart. I thread my sword belt into place and add a dagger, then add laced bracers to my forearms that reach all the way to my knuckles. The weight feels solid, secure, and it’s surprisingly reassuring. Maybe I’m the one who needs the reminder of who I am, not my people.

  I catch a glimpse of myself in my long mirror, and my eyes shy away. I haven’t worn this armor in months, not since Grey and I were forced to venture off the grounds of Ironrose to chase after Harper, when threats of Syhl Shallow first made themselves known. I have no desire to get lost in those memories right now. I seize a cloak from a hook and buckle it into place along my shoulders.

  When I emerge from my chambers, Dustan and Copper are waiting in the hallway.

  “Call for horses,” I say as I stride into the hallway. “I will see to Princess Harper.”

  Copper gives me a nod and heads toward the stairs, but Dustan falls into step behind me. “My lord,” he says to my back. His voice is low.

  “Commander.” I don’t see Zo in the hallw
ay yet, but Harper’s door is open. Light spills across the carpeting in the hallway.

  “I must speak with you before you see the princess.”

  I don’t stop. “If you have further concerns about Zo—”

  “The enchantress has been in the castle.”

  There’s very little he could stay that would yank me to a halt, but that achieves it. I round on him. “What?”

  “The enchantress visited Princess Harper. She—”

  “When?” I demand. “Why did you not tell me at once?” Panic wraps around my heart, and I stride down the hallway. “Was she harmed? Was she—”

  “My lord. Stop.” He all but grabs my arm. “Please!” he says. “Allow me to finish.”

  I stop. My breathing feels too quick. I cast a glance at her doorway again.

  “It was not long ago,” he says quickly, his voice a quiet rush. “The princess was unharmed. The enchantress only issued threats.” He pauses. “But Princess Harper asked that I keep this information from you.”

  My pulse is still thundering in my ears. Lilith went to Harper? She issued threats? I know how the enchantress gets her point across, and I have to suppress a shudder.

  But then my thoughts seize on Dustan’s final words.

  Princess Harper asked that I keep this information from you.

  I can’t move. For days, I’ve been terrified of the enchantress returning.

  Now it has happened, and Harper sought to keep this from me.

  This feels like betrayal. It shouldn’t, but it does. It’s no different from the many times I kept information from her, but fury and fear still spin through my gut to wind together.

  Then I have another thought. My eyes snap to Dustan’s. “Has this happened at other times?”

  “Not to my knowledge.”

  A moment ago, the weight of this armor felt reassuring, but now it feels like a fabrication. Like I am only feigning competence. I kept the truth from Harper because I wanted to keep her safe. I did not want her to recklessly risk her life on my behalf.

  She keeps the truth from me because she does not think I can handle it.

  I have to draw a steadying breath. I want to confront her. I want to hide. I’m resentful. Humiliated. Afraid.

  Angry.

  Harper must think that Dustan was going to keep her confidence, because otherwise she’d be out in the hallway right now, pleading with me.

  “Who else knows?” I say to him, and my voice is rough.

  “Copper. Freya. The soldier Jamison.”

  So she not only asked my guard commander to keep a secret, she did it in front of others. I thought we had found a path to honesty and mutual respect, but perhaps I was wrong. My jaw is tight.

  “Fine,” I say. I turn to storm down the remaining distance to Harper’s chambers.

  I remember the second day she was here, she packed up foods from the kitchens to take to people who were lacking. Grey and I had to chase after her—again—and I asked why she did not ask for assistance.

  Because I didn’t think you would do it, she said.

  Shame curled in my belly at the time.

  This moment does not feel unlike that one.

  I stop in her doorway. A part of me was worried I would find her trembling and anxious, somewhat broken after facing Lilith. But she’s not. She’s resplendent in a violet gown meant for riding, a black leather corset laced along her waist, with a dagger belt drooping over one hip. Her hair is braided into twin plaits that are pinned to her head, with a few curls escaping, and her eyes have been lined in dark kohl. She doesn’t look afraid. She looks like a warrior princess.

  She had been speaking in low tones to Freya and Zo, but she stops short when she sees me. Her eyes flare wide. “Rhen.”

  Do you have so little faith in me? I want to say.

  I think I know the answer, and some of my waiting anger withers like my confidence. I feel as though we stare at each other across a distance of miles. I hate this.

  So many words wait for a chance to escape my lips, but all I say is “I have called for horses, my lady.”

  When I turn away, Dustan is taking a slip of paper from a servant who bobs a quick curtsy to me. Dustan reads it quickly and says, “Chesleigh Darington has returned from Syhl Shallow with information.”

  My spy. I have a war to wage. There are more important things at risk than my pride.

  Harper appears in the doorway. “Rhen,” she says. “What’s wrong?”

  I lock away any emotion and say, “Nothing at all.” I look at Dustan. “Tell Chesleigh we are about to depart for Silvermoon Harbor.”

  “I will have the servants prepare a room for her to wait—”

  “No. Give her a fresh horse. I want her to come along.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  HARPER

  I was so relieved to know Rhen hired Zo to ride at my side today, to think we’re finally on the same page and working toward a common goal that will satisfy Lilith. But now we’re riding to Silvermoon and he’s as cold and aloof as ever, choosing to ride alongside his spy instead of with me. I should be happy—he’s talking about military strategy and taking action. But my insides still ache from Lilith’s treatment, making me uncomfortable and short-tempered as we ride for miles, and I can’t help but think something has happened between us.

  Maybe it’s Chesleigh. I’ve heard her name spoken a dozen times, sometimes with reverence and sometimes with scorn, about how she’s demanding piles of silver in exchange for valuable information about Syhl Shallow, how she has information about a faction that is standing against magic. She’s ingratiated herself with Rhen’s generals, and clearly with the prince himself. For some reason I envisioned a grisly, weathered soldier, someone older and jaded by war and politics. I didn’t expect someone less than ten years older than me, someone with brutal confidence and clear skill, someone who’s captured Rhen’s attention not with flirtation or flattery, but with sheer competence.

  I don’t want to resent her. Especially not for those things. It’s good that we have someone competent working alongside us. But I keep thinking about how I’ve spent months learning how to find my balance during swordplay so I can protect myself, while this woman has been to Syhl Shallow and back with something to offer the kingdom. Lilith is using me to manipulate Rhen in this war, and I can’t even stop her. It makes me feel more like a hindrance than a help.

  I don’t like these thoughts.

  I can’t shake them loose.

  I remember when I first arrived in Emberfall, how I thought it would be so easy to help Rhen’s people. I would throw a few pastries and meat pies into a satchel and deliver them to the inn.

  It would not be enough to feed all of my subjects, Rhen said.

  Yes, but it would feed some of them, Rhen, I replied.

  Some, but not all.

  I remember thinking that should be enough. And it was, for a while. But the all comprised so many people.

  I keep thinking of Freya’s tears over Jamison. She has lost so much.

  Zo rides close. “You have said very little since we left Ironrose.” She peers at me. “Are you unwell?”

  “Oh. No, I’m fine.” I can’t very well say that I’m feeling insecure. I straighten my back and tell myself to get it together. “I was listening.”

  Chesleigh is talking about soldiers stationed just inside Emberfall’s border. “They’ve met no opposition, so the forces have been doubled,” she’s saying. “They’ve made camp some fifty miles northwest of Blind Hollow, at the base of the mountains. But they have orders to hold their position.”

  They’ve met no opposition because we don’t have enough people to fight this war long term. I wonder if this is why Rhen is sending Jamison’s regiment to the border—to prevent Grey from gaining more of a foothold than he’s already got.

  “At least Grey is still honoring the sixty days,” I say.

  Rhen glances at me over his shoulder. “I would not consider stationing forces in my lands to be
honoring anything at all.”

  His tone is bitter. Before I can comment on it, Chesleigh says, “Nor would I.” She glances at me. “Do you have any experience with military strategy, my lady?”

  Okay, now I want to resent her.

  No, that’s not true. It’s a simple question. An honest one.

  “Very little,” I say.

  “It was your brother who was leader of your king’s army, is that correct?” She glances at Rhen. “And then he fled with that traitor.”

  “Jake isn’t a traitor,” I snap.

  Chesleigh glances at Rhen, and then back at me. “Prince Jacob has stationed himself as Grey’s second. He trains with their military and answers to no one but Grey or the queen herself. If he is not a traitor, then he was never loyal to Emberfall at all—and perhaps never to Disi either.”

  Wait. Wait. Her sentences hit me like bullets from a machine gun, like I can’t react before more slam into me. I haven’t seen Jake since the day he and Grey returned to the castle, since the moment they declared war, since my brother had dinner with me and said, “Yes, Harp, I’m going back.” The way he paused and said, “You could come, too.”

  And I didn’t.

  I knew he and Grey had moved past their early hatred of each other. I knew my brother was on the other side of this war.

  I never thought about him being at Grey’s right hand. I never really considered him plotting against Rhen. Against us. When he was here, in Emberfall, he and Noah kept to themselves. He certainly never made any effort to endear himself to Rhen—and honestly, Rhen wasn’t quick to remedy that himself.

  But my brother has never hesitated to do what he believes needs to be done—even if that means getting his hands dirty. For the first time, I wonder what he thinks of this war. Is he taking a stand against Rhen? Or is he taking a stand for Grey?

  Or is it neither? Is he taking a stand for himself, something he believes in?