A Heart So Fierce and Broken

by Brigid Kemmerer

  Tycho stands nearby, hanging closer to the castle wall, silent as a ghost, but his eyes are locked on the match.

  Dustan moves closer to me. He’s been little more than a shadow all morning, so I’m surprised when he speaks low to say, “What has happened to the boy?”

  “Perhaps he watched as you put an arrow through my leg and took him prisoner.”

  He ignores my tone. “It’s more than that.”

  I shrug a bit. “I don’t know his history. He does not like soldiers.”

  “He likes the swordplay, though.”

  Anyone could see that. I understand why Noah made the comment about him being a quick study. Tycho never misses an opportunity to watch and learn. “He can handle a blade. He’s quick on his feet.”

  Harper and Zo have broken apart. Harper is breathing quickly, but smiling.

  “What do you think?” she says to me.

  “I think I should watch my back.”

  Her smile widens, and she blushes, sliding the sword back into the sheath at her hip. Her tenacity is what I have always liked best about her. How the first day she came here, she lay in wait, then pulled a dagger on me. In Rillisk, Dustan said I’d go down fighting. So would she. When we were trapped by the curse, I never dared to allow myself to think of the girls as anything more than a means to an end.

  But now the curse is broken and I find myself looking down at Harper, her dark curls shining in the sunlight, her eyes wide and piercing.

  Her smile fades, sadness clouding her eyes. “I really missed you, Scary Grey.”

  “And I you.” I offer half a smile. “But I am no longer scary.”

  She leans in. “You’ll never not be scary.”

  For a fleeting moment, I wonder what it would feel like to trace a finger along her skin.

  Rhen’s going to kill me anyway. Probably.

  “Zo,” Commander Dustan is saying. “Allow me your sword?”

  That draws my attention. Zo has given him her weapon, and Dustan has turned to face Tycho. He offers the borrowed sword. “Grey says you’re quick on your feet.”

  Tycho has become a hare in the sights of a predator, frozen in place against the wall. A twitch of movement above him catches my eye, and I glance up.

  In the shadow of the window above, that Syhl Shallow girl, Lia Mara, looks down on the courtyard. Her eyes all but glitter in the dimness, but she quickly withdraws, vanishing from view.

  I blink and look at Tycho. “Go ahead.” I keep my voice easy, almost bored. “Dustan will give you a fair fight.”

  If anything will lure him away from the wall, it’s the promise of a lesson in swordplay, so I’m not surprised when he steps forward and puts his hand on the hilt. He tests the weight of the weapon and swallows.

  Dustan waits until he’s ready, and then, just like at Worwick’s, he starts easy, with a light thrust.

  Tycho nearly knocks the sword right out of his hand.

  I laugh and cough to cover it, but Dustan is a good sport. He backs up and regroups, eyeing Tycho more appraisingly.

  “You won’t get another opening like that,” I call. Tycho nods tightly. This time, when their swords meet, Dustan is less easygoing.

  At some point, I become aware that Rhen has entered the courtyard. He’s flanked by a few guards, and he waits near the corner of the castle, where the cobblestone walkway changes color to lead to the stable. He’s watching Dustan and Tycho, though I can’t read his expression from here.

  Harper is whispering with Zo, so I ease across the distance between me and the prince.

  When I reach him, I discover his expression is troubled, and he is watching the match as a distraction, not a point of interest.

  I straighten. “Something has happened.”

  His eyes meet mine in surprise, and it takes me a moment to discover why: I’ve spoken like a guardsman sensing a threat and seeking orders.

  Rhen looks away, back at the match before us. His voice is dispassionate. “He is good. You taught him?”

  “Yes.”

  “I can tell. He does not hesitate.”

  Tycho would likely fall down to hear the crown prince praise his swordplay. It’s a good thing Dustan is keeping him busy. “He pays attention.”

  Rhen’s eyes are shadowed with tension. The uncertainty from the latter months of the curse is gone, but after seeing his fear in his chambers last night, I’m not sure what’s replaced it is better.

  From across the courtyard, Harper has noticed we’re together. I can see her weighing the decision of whether to join us.

  “Silvermoon Harbor has closed its borders,” Rhen finally says. “They sent word this morning.”

  I turn and look at him. “I do not understand.”

  “The Grand Marshal sent notice that they would not recognize the rule of an illegitimate heir, nor an alliance with a country that has not provided promised assistance against Syhl Shallow. They have closed their border, and they are prepared to use military force.”

  I go still. Silvermoon Harbor is the closest major city, as well as Emberfall’s sole access to the sea. Closing the border would have a massive effect on trade and travel, to say nothing of the people who rely on the city for access to food and their livelihoods.

  “They have such a force?” I say quietly.

  “With private armies, they could easily have such a force.” He pauses. “This is not the first city to make such a statement of refusal. But Silvermoon is by far the largest—and the only city with the might to achieve it.”

  “How will you respond?”

  I don’t expect an answer, but perhaps our history earns me more information than he’d offer otherwise.

  “I will take back my city,” he says.

  I stare at him. “By force.”

  “It will quite obviously have to be.”

  “You will march on your own people.”

  “Grey.” His voice is weighted with intensity. “If Silvermoon’s actions are allowed to stand, other cities will follow. I cannot be at war with them all.” His expression is grim. “There are surely other cities biding their time to see how I respond. And they are likely prepared to ally with Silvermoon.”

  If he tries to take back the harbor by force, it could lead to civil war. It will lead to civil war, if his estimations are correct. All while Syhl Shallow waits in the shadows to strike against Emberfall.

  We could barely hold the country together while its people were united. With cities at war against the Crown, Karis Luran could swoop in and take everything.

  I glance at that window overlooking the courtyard again.

  “This is bigger than another magesmith,” Rhen says. “This is about more than just magic putting my country at risk. Do you understand why I must have this information from you?”

  “Yes.”

  His eyes light with surprise. “So you will give me the name of the heir?”

  My throat stalls. If I thought offering my name would put everything to rights, I would reveal myself right here.

  It won’t. This has already gone too far. Executing me will not satisfy his people’s quest for the heir. It no longer matters. They don’t want him.

  In his heart, Rhen surely knows that, but like me, like Harper, he will not go down without a fight.

  In the courtyard, Dustan and Tycho break apart. Tycho’s hair is damp with sweat, and he’s breathing hard, but he looks pleased with himself. He’s looking to me for something, for approval, for a word, a judgment, a critique. Something.

  I can’t look away from Rhen.

  “No,” I say. “I will not.”

  His expression hardens. “You will. At sundown, you will.”

  The words are spoken with such certainty that I feel them at my core. Season after season I never truly feared Lilith, though I hated her.

  For the first time, I fear what Rhen could do.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  LIA MARA

  An uncomfortable quiet has fallen over the castle. Torches
in the courtyard have been lit, the cobblestones freshly swept. I do not know what Prince Rhen has planned for his former guard commander, but the guards who bring me dinner are subdued and preoccupied, all but tossing the tray on the hearth before they can leave.

  “What is going on?” I ask.

  One of the men ignores me, which is typical, but the other glances at the window before pulling the door closed. “Wait till full dark. You’ll have a good show.”

  Then he’s gone, and I’m locked inside as before.

  I return to the window, but nothing down below gives a clue as to what’s planned. A crowd is beginning to form. Morbid fascination at work. Perhaps it’s another measure of the ways I am not equal to my sister, but I have no stomach for torture. Mother is no stranger to using violence to get her way, but I am rarely forced to observe it. I have no desire to watch Prince Rhen carry it out either. I’ve seen enough of his cruelty.

  I sit on the hearth and pick through the food they’ve brought—shellfish again. It turns my stomach. I want to dump it out the window on the crowd below.

  My fire has fallen to embers, and I do nothing to restore it. On the other side of the brick barrier, the room is silent. Not empty—I can see the flicker of shadows through the tiny gap I’ve left.

  Grey is in there. I can sense his apprehension from here. I have so many questions about him, but so few answers.

  He is the rightful heir. He should not be afraid. There is much unrest in Emberfall because of his very existence. Does he not think he would find support among the people? Why does he not wish to claim the throne? Why yield to a man who allowed his people to fall into poverty and ruin?

  Light shifts through the tiny gap, and I can hear the low rumble of voices next door. Three or four guards, at least. They must be worried he will try to run. The tension is so potent I can feel my own heartbeat in my throat.

  But once he’s gone, the guards will be too. There will be no reason to guard an empty room.

  You’ll have a good show.

  If I can feel the foreboding in the castle, it is likely twice as strong in the people who know what’s going on.

  Grey will be in the courtyard with his guards. His room will be empty and unguarded. Most likely everyone will be in the courtyard or at the windows, watching. My own guards have already delivered my evening meal, and I know from experience they will not look in on me until the guard shift changes near midnight. I’ve proven myself to be harmless, so they pay me little mind.

  I am used to being underestimated.

  For once, it’s going to work in my favor.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  GREY

  Giving me a day of liberty seemed like an unusual choice last night. A luxury afforded in friendship.

  I see now that it was a calculated move to demonstrate what I have to lose.

  As sunset draws near and heavy clouds roll across the sky, I begin to seek a path to escape. My thoughts spin, but each path seems futile. Dustan must notice my restless watchfulness, because four guards now trail me everywhere I go.

  I don’t know what Rhen will do when I refuse to yield. He cannot torture me forever.

  Then again, perhaps he can. I definitely cannot endure it forever.

  The thought sends an icy breath of fear down my spine. When Lilith tortured us, we knew our bodies would eventually give out and the season would begin again. Even if her cruelty had no limit, we did.

  A knock sounds at my door at the very instant the sun vanishes beyond the forest. I stand frozen between the hearth and the window. Every fiber of my body wants me to run.

  There is nowhere to go.

  I think of that bracelet stashed inside my mattress in the loft at Worwick’s. I close my eyes and imagine the other side. I imagine passing through the veil. I imagine Harper’s world, the garish lights and loud machines. I wish for magic. Hope for it. Pray for it.

  A knock sounds again.

  My eyes open. Nothing has changed.

  Dustan moves forward to take hold of the door handle. Rhen stands outside, flanked by six guards.

  “Do you yield?” he says.

  I wish I could run. I wish I could fly. I wish I could reverse time and undo the curse that bound us to this castle, that bound us together and gave us this shared history that’s impossible to shake while so much is at risk.

  “No,” I say.

  “Take him.”

  The guardsmen approach with the chains. I should run. It would be futile, but every fiber of my being is screaming at me to fight. Maybe it’s Rhen’s presence that keeps me still. Maybe it’s my memories of being the obedient guardsman. Maybe it’s the broken look in Rhen’s expression that makes me wonder if he’ll go through with any of this at all. He keeps waiting for me to yield. Maybe I’m waiting for him to.

  Then the shackles are locked in place, and I don’t have a chance to do anything.

  Few people line the dim hallways as we walk. I expect to be taken to the dungeon, but we make the turn down the staircase to the Great Hall, then head for the heavy glass doors that lead to the courtyard where I spent the morning with Harper and Tycho.

  A guardsman pushes the door wide, revealing the torchlit space beyond. A small crowd has gathered.

  He’s not going to yield.

  My feet stop, almost of their own accord. The guards begin to drag me forward. My heartbeat roars in my ears.

  “Stop.” Rhen’s voice. The guardsmen halt.

  He turns and walks right up to me.

  “Grey,” he says softly. “Do not make me do this.”

  I cannot look at him. Each breath that fights its way out of my throat is fractured and broken.

  I war with the same thoughts I’ve had for days: If I tell him the truth, he’ll kill me. He will have to kill me. I’ve seen what he’s done to protect Emberfall—to protect his throne.

  If I say nothing … he’s going to make me wish I was dead.

  When I was a guardsman, I would have laid down my life for him, so it seems like this choice should be easy, but it’s not. This is not stepping in front of a blade.

  There is no blade. I am no threat.

  When I say nothing, he turns away.

  They drag me through the doorway. My eyes rake over the gathered crowd. No Harper. No Tycho.

  Good. I can endure this crowd. I can endure this torment. Tycho is safe somewhere, hopefully guarded by Harper’s kindness. Hopefully being sent home with the bag of coins Rhen promised.

  Despite the dozens who have gathered in the courtyard, the space is nearly silent. A horse kicks against the wall of the nearby stable. My breathing seems to echo.

  I have no idea what Rhen intends, but the guards tow me right up to the castle wall, then reach high to affix my chains to a hook suspended there.

  A sudden stillness overtakes me. It’s a whipping hook. There are others along the wall, but none have been used since Rhen’s father sat on the throne. If a member of the castle staff wronged King Broderick in some way, he’d have them flogged out here for all to see. He’d leave them hanging here, too, for hours, until insects would gather on the wounds.

  My eyes are fixed on my wrists, suspended above my head. My breathing slows fractionally. I imagine it will hurt, but I can survive a flogging. This is far preferable to being dragged by a horse or having my bones broken one by one.

  I close my eyes and wait for the first bite of the lash.

  Instead, I hear another set of feet being dragged along the cobblestones, someone else’s fractured breath, so much quicker and more panicked than mine.

  My heart stops even before he speaks. “No,” he says. Chains rattle, and I know he’s struggling. “Please. I don’t know anything.”

  Tycho.

  My hands jerk against the chain. There’s no give, and I can’t see anything but bricks and darkness. “Rhen!” I yell. “Don’t do this. Let him go.”

  A thin whistle splits the air. I barely recognize the sound before leather lays into my back.
>
  It hurts a thousand times more than I thought it would. It’s worse than a blade. Worse than an arrow. The lash seems to bury itself in my skin before dragging free. I cry out without meaning to.

  Another thin whistle. I brace myself, but this lash doesn’t hit me.

  Tycho screams.

  I see stars. I plant my feet against the wall and brace against the chains.

  Another whistle. Another lash lays into my back.

  I can’t breathe. I can’t think.

  Another lays into Tycho.

  “Rhen!” I can’t hear myself speak. I’m not even sure I am speaking. “Rhen, stop! He’s a boy—”

  Another lash. This one is lower, and I swear I feel it touch my spine.

  I’ve stopped hearing the whistle. I just hear Tycho scream.

  Then he’s babbling, the words thick with tears. “Please. Stop. Please. Please. Please.”

  He’s talking to the guards, to Rhen, to anyone. He’s not talking to me.

  But he knows I could stop this.

  Another lash tears into my skin, bringing pain like fire. The stars in my vision multiply. I’ve pulled so hard against my chains that I can no longer feel my hands.

  Tycho screams again. He chokes on his breath and makes a gagging sound.

  He is no one to this fight. He is nothing to Rhen. He deserves none of this. My rage seems to swallow me whole, burning me up with fury. Stars fill my eyes with blinding light.

  Another lash strikes me, but this time I barely feel it. I hear the crack of the whip striking Tycho, and his resounding scream.

  Something inside me snaps. A crack of lightning fills the air, a blinding white that steals my vision, as if the sun fell to earth. Wind rushes through the courtyard, raking across the wounds on my back, stealing my breath. For an instant, I think I’m dead. I can’t see. I can’t hear.

  Then it’s gone. The stars in my vision shrink down to nothing. The wind is gone.

  The courtyard is silent.

  I wait for the next lash, but it doesn’t come. Blood is trickling from the wounds on my back, hardly noticeable on top of the raging pain. All I hear is my breathing, quick and ragged.