A Vow So Bold and Deadly

by Brigid Kemmerer

  Am I on the wrong side here?

  I wonder if this is what happened to my mother—if she was buried by self-doubt when it came to my father and his choices. I don’t know. That scene Lilith showed me keeps playing in my brain, when Rhen ordered Grey to drag the serving boy out of his chambers for spilling a little tea.

  They’re all monsters, aren’t they?

  Rhen has turned back to Chesleigh without acknowledging her comments about Jake. I can’t tell if that’s out of kindness to me or if he genuinely doesn’t care. Either way, that old familiar knot of anger has re-formed in my belly, fighting for space against the uncertainty.

  “Before you left,” he says tightly, “you mentioned there were certain … artifacts in Syhl Shallow.”

  Artifacts. What kind of artifacts? I hate that there are clearly secrets he’s still keeping from me.

  Or maybe they aren’t secrets at all. Maybe it’s just military stuff that he wouldn’t bother to share.

  I need to turn my brain off.

  “You mentioned I could name my price,” she says.

  Something in my chest clenches tight. “I can’t see Rhen saying that.”

  He looks at me, and if his eyes could shoot laser beams, they would. “About this, I did.”

  What is his problem? I set my jaw. He once told me to never offer all I have, because someone would ask for it. What if Chesleigh asks for the whole kingdom? What is he willing to sacrifice for an advantage in this war?

  She doesn’t. “A thousand silvers,” Chesleigh says.

  My heart gives a jolt. It’s a lot of money. He offered five hundred silvers to find the heir, and people were ready to kill each other to claim it. At my back, Zo gives a low gasp.

  “Tell me what you have,” says Rhen.

  Chesleigh draws a dagger from her belt and holds it out. “Made of steel from the Iishellasa ice forests,” she says. “Impervious to magic.”

  Rhen takes the blade from her, and he weighs it in his hand. The weapon looks aged, with braided leather around the hilt that seems to have thinned in spots from wear. But the blade itself is polished silver, and it looks sharp enough to cut through stone.

  He looks back at her. “It could be just a dagger.”

  She shrugs. “Indeed. It could be. The blade will cut through flesh regardless.” She pauses. “I have no magesmith handy. Do you?”

  Impervious to magic.

  I have no magesmith handy.

  I stare at Rhen, but he’s looking at Chesleigh. “A thousand silvers.” He slips the dagger into his belt. “Done.”

  Does he mean to use this weapon against Grey? Or Lilith?

  Or both?

  I’m scared of the answer—because I think I already know. This is like the moment he chose to string Grey up on the wall. He didn’t tell me, because I didn’t want to know. I don’t want to know now. I don’t want to think of him plotting to kill Grey.

  But of course, this is war.

  In a move that surprises no one, Rhen has decided to inquire about strategy. “How big of a force does Syhl Shallow have remaining?” he says.

  “At least a thousand soldiers,” she says. “They’ve been training hard. Twice a day.”

  “His soldiers will be fit and prepared for battle,” says Rhen. “As will mine. I’ve given orders to send a regiment to the border this morning.”

  At least I know about this. I’m spurred into offering, “Jamison mentioned that.”

  “Yes,” Rhen says, and his tone is almost clipped. “I heard you spoke with the lieutenant.”

  I inhale to snap at him, but Chesleigh’s head is turned just a bit, and I’m aware that we have the attention of everyone in our traveling party. At my side, Zo murmurs, “My lady.”

  I clamp my mouth shut. I let my horse drift back a bit, putting distance between me and him. I’m so … something. I can’t even pick apart my own emotions, but I want to give Rhen the finger, and at least that’s better than sobbing.

  I wish I hadn’t come along. I’m not even sure why I’m needed right now, especially when riding feels like torture, each step jolting through my body and reminding me of what Lilith did.

  When we reach Silvermoon and leave the horses in the livery, Rhen says, “My lady, you will surely be bored with my negotiations with the Grand Marshal. Chesleigh will be able to accompany me to discuss our plans.” His tone is a bit cold. “Perhaps you would like to walk the market with Zo?” He holds out a pouch of coins.

  I might have been able to keep my mouth shut while we were walking, but there’s only so much I can take. I shove the coins back at him. “I’ve got my own money. Thanks.” I offer him a belligerent curtsy and turn away.

  At my back, I hear Chesleigh chuckle and say something under her breath.

  My hands form fists. The only thing keeping me from swinging one is that Chesleigh looks like she could knock me flat without breaking a nail.

  Zo quickly says, “Come, my lady. Which stall would you like to visit first?”

  “Let’s hit the bowyer,” I say, making no effort to keep my voice down. “I have a feeling I’m going to want a weapon later.”

  What’s really sad is that I never travel anywhere without Rhen, so I don’t have my own money.

  Despite my tumultuous emotions, I’m glad to be walking the stalls in the late autumn air instead of listening to Rhen and the Grand Marshal. I really don’t know much more than basic military strategy, despite the number of times I’ve watched Rhen pore over his maps and discuss troop placements with his advisors. When they’re little steel figurines on a map, it’s easy to forget that the whole point is to chart out the locations of real live soldiers who will be expected to kill or defend. I care about people. I don’t like thinking of ways to kill them more efficiently. For months, I had nightmares about Syhl Shallow’s first invasion, when Rhen was a monster who tore the soldiers apart. Night after night, I’d hear the cries of men and women whose limbs had been severed, or the screams from people whose intestines were spilling out of their bodies, or I’d see the blind eyes of people who’d never draw another breath.

  And we’re just going to do it again. I should have let Lilith take me back.

  “Harper,” says Zo, and I swallow and blink at her.

  “Sorry,” I say. “It’s been a long day.” I pause. “Thanks for getting me away from Rhen. I don’t know why he’s being so … whatever.” I blink away tears. “It’s really good to see you in armor again.”

  Zo smiles. “It is good to wear it again.” She gives a self-deprecating shrug. “I was worried you would be upset that His Highness did not ask you first.”

  “No.” I shake my head quickly. “No, I’ve felt guilty for … forever. It was my fault that you lost your job.”

  She looks at me like I’m crazy. “No. It wasn’t.”

  “I shouldn’t have made you go after Grey—”

  “You didn’t make me.” She takes a breath and blows it out through her teeth. “You wouldn’t have had to make me.”

  I think back to that moment when we stood in the small yard behind the inn, when Grey and Tycho were so injured from the flogging that they could barely stand. Back then, even though Lia Mara was not destined to be queen, she offered to grant them safe passage to Syhl Shallow. She offered them an escape from Rhen.

  “I’ve wondered a thousand times if I should have gone with them,” I say quietly, as if the words need courage to be spoken fully.

  Zo nods, her expression musing, which makes me think she wonders the same thing.

  “Would you have gone?” I ask, and my voice is very soft because I’m not sure I want the answer.

  It’s probably not even the right question anyway.

  Should I have gone?

  As usual, I don’t know if I’m more angry at Rhen or more angry at myself.

  “Yes,” says Zo, and I flinch. She looks at me. “I would have gone, if you had wanted to go. But you did not just stay for the prince. You stayed for Emberfall.” She sw
ears and looks away. “The guards should know that. His Highness should know that.”

  Tears flood my eyes again, and there are too many to blink away. I’m sure I look super regal right now. I glance around at the merchant stalls to find that many people are peering at me with dark curiosity, but there are a few glimpses of outright hostility. Rhen is not popular here in Silvermoon. Neither am I, I guess. Or maybe they don’t know who I am. This is the first time I’ve ever visited a city without Rhen by my side.

  Either way, it makes the tears dry up real quick.

  I wish I’d taken the pouch of silver. Rhen always says that a little bit of honest coin in someone’s palm can shift loyalties. It would sound callous and manipulative from anyone else, but I’ve seen his generosity toward his people, the way he’s bolstered business and trade across Emberfall. Grey has supporters here, people who would rather see him on the throne because so many people blame Rhen for the kingdom’s downfall during the time of the curse. But they forget that Rhen was the one to bring this country back from the brink of ruin.

  I can see it here in Silvermoon, the changes since I first visited: No one is thin anymore. Clothes, while simple, are not worn threadbare. Shoes and boots seem well-tooled and free of holes. At the food stalls, plates are piled high with roasted meats and spiced vegetables, and goblets are filled to the top with wine, not halfway as they were the first time we visited.

  But they believe someone else is heir, so none of that matters.

  They believe my inability to produce Disi’s “army” left them vulnerable, so none of that matters.

  I’m guilty of it, too, I realize. Rhen did so much good—so much good that I used to be in awe at his never-ending work ethic—but as soon as he took action against Grey, it seemed to overshadow everything else.

  I sigh. We wander. The marketplace doesn’t seem crowded, which takes me by surprise. There’s a weird feeling in the air. It’s not hostile, and I can’t quite figure it out, but it’s leaving me unsettled. I thread my fingers through silken fabrics and examine blown glass figurines. Everyone is cordial—at least to my face—but I can’t help remembering the first time we were in Silvermoon, when Rhen and I were attacked, and we barely escaped alive.

  I have to swallow my nerves. It’s not like that now, but I’m keenly aware that I only have Zo at my side.

  By late afternoon, no one has tried to kill me and I’m starving. The ache from whatever Lilith did has gone away, and my pride won’t let me seek out Rhen. He’s probably busy anyway. Zo and I have made it to the back part of the market, where the vendor stalls are twice as wide, selling more expensive goods: finely tooled weapons, beaded gowns, leather and furs, and polished jewels. Silvermoon’s guards and enforcers are more plentiful back here, and I relax a little bit.

  When we draw near to the musician’s stall, Zo’s eyes light up, and a short, round woman in a dress of dyed homespun wool dashes out from behind the counter. She looks to be near fifty, with weathered tan skin and gray hair that’s been cropped short. Her smile is brighter than the sun.

  “Zo!” she cries, rushing toward us. “Oh, Zo, you are a sight.” Then she stops short and grabs hold of her skirts, bobbing a quick curtsy to me. “I beg your pardon, my lady.”

  I can’t help but smile back. “No need.”

  “I know better than to run at a member of the Royal Guard,” she says, with a bit of feigned awe in her voice. “Even if I knew the guard when she was still tripping over her braids in her rush to beat my boys at whatever nonsense they were getting up to.”

  “Someone had to,” says Zo. She’s smiling. “My lady, this is Grace. Her husband is the Master of Song for Silvermoon. Grace, this is Princess Harper of Disi.”

  Grace’s face freezes for just the briefest moment, making her smile seem a bit forced, but then she curtsies again. “I am honored.”

  “So am I,” I say. “Zo speaks fondly of her time as his apprentice.” This is true, but I also know Zo hated that her parents forced her into music when she longed to be a soldier or a guard. She spent every free moment she had learning swordplay and archery.

  As someone who was once forced into taking ballet with bribes of horseback riding lessons, I think it’s the first thing Zo and I ever bonded over.

  “Where is Master Edmund?” says Zo. “Will he be playing later?”

  Grace hesitates again, but then she waves a hand. She probably intends for it to look casual, but it seems a bit forced. “Oh, he’s with the crowd that went to meet the prince.”

  I frown. “The crowd?” There wasn’t supposed to be a crowd. Rhen was supposed to meet with the Grand Marshal about his soldiers or his army or some kind of military planning. We didn’t bring a contingent of guards to meet a crowd.

  Especially in a town like Silvermoon, where Rhen’s popularity is questionable at best.

  A spike of fear drives right through my spine. I might be pissed off, but I don’t want something to happen to him.

  I don’t want him to be forced to take an action he’d later regret.

  Zo is already two steps ahead of me. Her eyes are on the people around us suddenly, as if she senses a threat. “Harper,” she says urgently, her voice low. “We should—”

  “I know. Let’s find him.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  RHEN

  No one has tried to kill me, but this feels like an ambush all the same.

  Hundreds of merchants and laborers pack the courtyard in front of the Grand Marshal’s home. They’re angry, all shouting questions at once. They want to know why they should pay taxes to the Crown if I’m determined to remain allied with a country that failed to produce an army. They want to know why soldiers forced their way into Silvermoon when the Grand Marshal attempted to block access a few months ago. They want to know how we’re going to stop another invasion from Syhl Shallow.

  They want to know why I think I have any right to be here.

  I can’t answer any of their questions like this—and it wouldn’t matter anyway. They’re too loud, too angry. Dustan and the other guards have formed a barrier between me and the people, but I only brought eight guards for this visit. Our horses are stabled in the livery, so we can’t flee.

  I do not understand how fate can consistently deliver such conflicting results all at once. I’m at odds with Harper again—but I have a dagger at my waist that could stop Lilith. I finally have insight into Syhl Shallow’s movements—but I have an angry crowd at my feet.

  Dustan has a hand on his sword, but he hasn’t drawn it yet. Neither have the others. Right now, the people are just angry, but a weapon has the potential to turn anger into a death sentence. I’ve heard Dustan’s reports about their attempt to take Grey when he was in Blind Hollow, how the townspeople turned on the guards and soldiers and drove them out of the city.

  Rebellion is contagious, my father used to say. All it takes is one unchecked rebel and you’ll have a dozen more in a matter of days.

  This is more than a dozen. I wore armor as a symbol of strength, but now I’m wondering if it’s going to be a necessity. My earlier frustration with Harper has vanished, replaced with a biting panic that she’s somewhere in the marketplace, mostly unguarded.

  I can’t even send a guard to find her, because they’d have to fight their way through this crowd first.

  Anscom Perry, the Grand Marshal, is on the steps with me, standing to my left, but he looks a bit smug. His own guards surround the courtyard, but they’re taking no action. At this point, I’m not even sure whose side they’d be on if a fight erupted.

  Chesleigh is off to my right, and she looks grim. She’s got a hand on her own weapon. She brings me stories of unity and progress in Syhl Shallow, of preparation, and here I can’t even meet with a man about aligning his private army with my own.

  I felt like a failure for the entire duration of the curse.

  Now I feel like a failure for an entirely different reason.

  I look at Marshal Perry and keep my voic
e low. “You will ask them to disband.”

  “Why?” he says, unimpressed. “Do you not always ask your people to speak true?”

  “Not like this and you know it.”

  A man shouts from the crowd, “You lied about forces from Disi!”

  “You aren’t the rightful heir!” shouts a woman.

  Another man rushes forward and shoves one of my guardsmen, but he’s quickly knocked to the ground. A child nearby screams. The guard begins to pull a sword.

  “Hold!” I snap, and the guard hesitates. “I will hear your complaints, but I will not—”

  “Liar!” shouts a man. “Liar!”

  Quickly, others bring up the same chant. That man shoves my guardsman again, and I can feel the guard’s frustration when he’s been ordered not to draw a weapon. When the shove is unchecked, the crowd begins shoving at my other guardsmen. Someone spits in Dustan’s face. He sets his jaw and holds his stance.

  Chesleigh pulls closer to me. “Sometimes making an example of one gets the attention of many.”

  “If we draw blood first, this will end in a massacre. Possibly of my own men.”

  “I’m not talking about the crowd.” She looks at Marshal Perry. “I’m talking about making an example of him.”

  “The courtyard is surrounded by my own guards,” he says with a laugh. “Go ahead and try.”

  Months ago, when I traveled to Hutchins Forge with Grey, we were ambushed, but it was nothing like this. The Grand Marshal and his Seneschal had plotted to manipulate me out of silver, and when they failed, I was forced to make an example of the Seneschal. I ordered Grey to kill him—the first time I’d ever given an order to end someone’s life. I’d caused a lot of destruction as a monster, but it was the first time I’d been responsible as a man. It was horrible then.

  It would be horrible now.

  My heart is pounding like someone has drawn a weapon on me. This is like the moment Grey refused to reveal the name of the heir. Emberfall is in danger, and my hand is being forced.

  Every time I need to take an action like this, I hate it.

  I hate it. But I see no other way out.