A Heart So Fierce and Broken

by Brigid Kemmerer

  Nolla Verin grins, her face bright like a moonbeam.

  My mouth forms a line. “You should go prepare.”

  My robes for dinner are pale green and shimmer in the light, and my attendants have laced a wide black belt adorned with emeralds in place over the top of them. I sneaked a slender book from my collection into a tiny bag that disappears among the folds of my robes. I wish I could read it for distraction right here at the dinner table, to avoid watching Nolla Verin using my information to manipulate Grey. But I have no desire for my mother to set my entire library on fire. So I sit, and I listen politely, and I wait for the moment when everyone will leave the tables to mingle and dance and drink, and I can vanish onto the veranda.

  Candles are lit throughout the crowded hall, making every inch of silver and gold gleam. For her “small gathering,” Mother has accumulated over one hundred people, mostly families from the five Royal Houses. Grey sits at the middle of the center table with Nolla Verin. His clothes are the finest Mother could provide, the colors echoing the gold and red of Emberfall. The others sit to his side: Jake and Noah and Tycho, all dressed similarly.

  Nolla Verin, in white robes, leans close to Grey, brushing a hand across his forearm. His height and the breadth of his shoulders make her look like a doll beside him. A tiny, lethal, agile doll. I can’t hear what she says, but he laughs.

  I scowl and fix my gaze on my plate. I am at the end of the table, seated across from Lady Yasson Ru. She is at least ninety years old, and she smells like she hasn’t bathed for the last five. Every word she says to me is a shout, but she is the head of the most wealthy of the Royal Houses.

  Luckily, she has an attendant to distract her every time she begins speaking.

  Her wrinkled face is frowning. “DOES OUR QUEEN TRULY THINK WE CAN ALLY WITH—”

  “Here, my lady,” says her attendant. “Have you sampled the spiced wine?” She thrusts a glass in her face.

  Yasson Ru’s wife, Lady Alla Ru, sits beside me, and she’s already asleep.

  I have no desire to look at Grey and Nolla Verin again, but my eyes are traitors, and they flick that way anyway. Her hand is on his upper arm now, and she’s whispering something to him, her mouth inches from his neck. Grey is listening to her, but his eyes find mine.

  I jerk my gaze away and down my own glass of spiced wine all in one gulp.

  Lady Yasson Ru watches me. “YOU SHOULD BE CAUTIOUS WITH DRINKING SO QUICKLY. YOU ARE OF ROYAL—”

  “My lady, more bread?” says her attendant.

  I give the girl a grateful look.

  I only have to survive dessert. When the plate is set before me, a pile of decadent chocolate and whipped frothy topping, I nearly pour it down my throat.

  “GOODNESS,” says Lady Yasson Ru. “YOU HAVE QUITE THE APPETITE.”

  Beside me, her wife jerks awake. “WHAT, YASSON? HAVE THEY SERVED THE FIRST COURSE?”

  I ease my chair back. “If you’ll excuse me.”

  Musicians in the corner of the room have begun to play, low drums mixed with stringed instruments combine to make my pulse step up. I slip between guards and guests and aim for the glass doors to the veranda.

  No one stops me. No one cares. I am not the queen and Nolla Verin has been named heir, so I am unworthy of much attention at such a gathering. I don’t want to enjoy it—but in a way, the change is nice. Right now I don’t want any eyes on me.

  The veranda stretches wide from the side of the castle, jutting out with a view of the dark mountains looming overhead and the moonlit city glittering to my left. Only two torches are lit out here, allowing me a perfect view of the starlit night. The air is too cool to be comfortable, but for now I will enjoy the solitude. At least, until more wine has been poured and inebriated guests begin spilling onto the veranda.

  I am feeling the first effects of that spiced wine. Not enough to offer any bravery or social ease, but enough to turn my thoughts a bit free in my head.

  I wonder what Nolla Verin said to make him laugh.

  With a sigh, I sink into a cushioned chair. Then I pull my book free and begin to read, ever grateful for stories about other people and their adventures.

  “What are you reading?”

  I jump so hard I nearly fall off the chair. The book goes flying.

  Grey snatches it out of the air. The ghost of a smile finds his lips. “Forgive me.” He holds the book out.

  I lurch to my feet and take it. I try to smooth down my robes and my hair, grateful for the warm shadows that will hide any blush on my cheeks. “I am glad you were not an assassin.”

  “Indeed.” He casts a glance around the empty veranda. “You should have guards.”

  “For what purpose? No one here would have anything to gain from my death.” He frowns at that, but I say, “And what of your guards, Your Highness?”

  He smiles. “We have come to an understanding.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I do not need to beg for privacy.” He pauses, and any amusement slips from his face. “I am unused to being the center of attention.”

  “You looked as though you were enjoying yourself at dinner.” I sound snippy and jealous, and I wish I could suck the words back into my mouth.

  Grey studies me, and I know he’s noticed. He notices everything. “I am glad I gave that impression.” He pauses. “If I am disturbing you, I can return.”

  There does not seem to be a safe answer to that.

  No, I do not want you to return. I want you to stay here with me in the moonlight, where I can pretend we are sitting among the trees again, no mothers or sisters or alliances between us.

  I swallow. Grey’s eyes, so dark in the night air, have not left mine.

  “Or perhaps I could join you?” he says.

  I nod, because I do not trust my voice. I do not ease back into my chair, however. Standing feels safer than sitting. Cool wind rushes down from the mountain to slip through my robes and make me shiver and think of Iisak, trapped in the dungeons.

  Grey unbuckles his jacket and slips his arms free, then extends it to me.

  I blink at him. “What are you doing?”

  “If you are cold. Is it not a custom for men to offer a lady a jacket?”

  I frown and square my shoulders. “It would be considered impolite to acknowledge a weakness.”

  “How is being cold a weakness?”

  Wind slips across my neck again. I am unsure how to proceed. Wearing an article of his clothing feels very intimate, very much like something I should not do.

  I inhale and want to take the coat so very badly.

  He waits, reading my silence, then adjusts his grip on the jacket, holding it between two hands. “May I?”

  I swallow, then nod, then close my eyes as he slips it around my shoulders. The leather and silk are warm from his body, the jacket heavy across my back.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  His fingers, feather-light, brush against my chin, tilting my face up. I inhale sharply and open my eyes.

  “You are far from weak, Lia Mara.”

  I smile slightly. “Carrying that buck nearly killed me.”

  “I am not talking about the buck.” He pauses. “I am speaking of the moment in Blind Hollow, when you should have run for safety, but you began helping the injured. I am speaking of that moment when you offered me sanctuary, when you could have been miles away on horseback, long before dawn. I am speaking of every moment and every step of our journey here.” His voice lowers. Softens. “I am speaking of that moment when Iisak tore my arm open and you took my hand.”

  He’s so still that he might be a shadow, a whisper of imagination. If I did not have the warm weight of his jacket on my shoulders or the faint gleam of his eyes, I would not believe this was happening. I am very aware of my breathing, of his breathing. Music escapes through the doorway to invade our tiny cocoon of silence.

  “Are you drunk again?” I whisper.

  He laughs, and that’s such a rare thing
that it makes my heart skip. “Quite sober, I assure you.”

  I swallow. “You should be inside,” I say. “You should be with Nolla Verin.”

  He does not move. “Why did you run from the party?”

  “I did not run. I was not needed.”

  His eyebrows draw together. “Since the moment we arrived here, you have hidden yourself from me. I do not understand why.”

  “My sister—”

  “This is not about your sister,” he growls.

  “But it is about my sister,” I insist. “Do you understand? She is the chosen heir now. The favored daughter. You ask why I would leave the party, as if I have any place there. My goals do not align with theirs. What do I have to offer?” I spread my hands wide and turn, indicating the wide expanse of air surrounding us. “I am alone on this veranda because I have nothing. Nothing! I have no throne, no crown, no country, no—”

  I gasp as he catches my waist and forces me still. His hands are strong and sure against me, and his voice comes very low. “Do not ever say that you have nothing to offer.”

  I’m breathing so hard that I might cry, or laugh, or break into a million pieces that will drift away on the wind.

  “Do you know,” he says quietly, “when that soldier pressed a knife to your throat, I could have taken his head.”

  His words are so callous, so practical, belying the softness in his voice. That empty blackness glimmers in his eye, a hint at what he can become when the need arises. I shiver. “You didn’t need to.”

  “You didn’t need me to save you.” He pauses. “And your words stayed my hand.”

  “My words?”

  “You said that not every problem can be solved by the end of a sword. I have carried those words with me for days.” He pauses. “Since you made me realize that I am no longer a weapon to be wielded by another.”

  Emotion tightens my chest, but his closeness, his warmth, have slowed my breathing. “You are not a weapon, Grey.”

  “I can be.” His hand lifts from my waist to brush a lock of hair from my cheek. “But you are by far more dangerous.”

  I can hardly think with his fingers tracing a line down the side of my face. “Ah, yes, the most dangerous person at the party is always the girl sitting alone with a book.”

  He doesn’t smile. “You underestimate yourself. Your sister seems determined to be as ruthless as possible—to impress your mother, I am sure. And while ruthlessness may have its place, I believe your brand of strength would garner greater loyalty. That is what makes you dangerous. Not because you would ride in with a blade and take control, but because you could quietly sit in this chair, in the dark, with your book”—the corner of his mouth turns up—“and you could determine the best way to achieve what needs to be done.”

  I flush. “No, Grey, I’m sitting here with a book because—”

  He leans down and brushes his lips against mine. So light, like the touch of a butterfly’s wings. Hardly a kiss, barely a kiss, but the motion lights a fire in my belly and robs every thought from my head, leaving us standing there, sharing breath.

  His fingers are still against my cheek, his thumb beside my lip. “Forgive me,” he begins. “You stopped me once before, and—”

  I shake my head fiercely. “I shouldn’t have.”

  This time, when his mouth finds mine, there’s nothing light about it. His strength radiates through his hands, and his kiss is like a flame. My knees are weak and trembling, but my hands are sure and steady, finding the column of his neck, the breadth of his shoulders, the unruly hair at his nape.

  Then his arms are against my back, holding me against him, and that is almost better than the addictive pull of his kisses: to be held, to feel cherished. When his mouth finally releases mine, I sigh and press my face into the hollow below his chin.

  This is foolish. Risky. Terrifying. Anyone could come out onto the veranda. He should release me.

  He does not. One hand is idly stroking the hair down my back, and I’m powerless with his breath in my hair and his scent buried in my head.

  “Fell siralla,” he says, and I giggle.

  “Nah,” I say. “Fell bellama. Fell garrant. Fell vale.”

  “I hope those aren’t worse than stupid.”

  I shake my head against his neck. He must feel my blush through his shirt. “Beautiful man. Brave man.”

  He waits, then says, “There were three.”

  “You notice everything!”

  “What is the third?”

  He never lets me back away from anything either. I love it and hate it. “You’ll have to learn Syssalah to find out.”

  “Fell vale,” he muses, and his terrible accent makes me giggle again. “You’ll have to give me more lessons,” he adds.

  “Someone will.”

  A finger brushes my chin, and I tilt my face up. His lips find mine again. The night sky seems to close in around us, wrapping us in silence and warmth.

  Then a screech splits the night.

  Grey jerks his head up. “Iisak.”

  Another screech. Then another. Louder and more vicious than I’ve ever heard. I want to clamp my hands down over my ears.

  I remember my mother’s words to the scraver, something about tonight. Oh, what has she done?

  I don’t have much time to wonder, because everyone inside begins screaming.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  GREY

  People are spilling out of the doors and onto the veranda, and Lia Mara and I fight our way through them to get back into the main room. Most of the guards have a hand on their weapon, but none have drawn them. Chairs have been overturned in the rush, dishes shattered on the ground.

  In the center of the room stand Karis Luran and Nolla Verin. A man’s body is at their feet, his chest and abdomen torn open. Four long scratches cross his face, so badly I cannot make out his features. The scent of blood and worse things taints the air.

  “No,” Lia Mara whispers at my side. “No.”

  Iisak is off to the side, a silver band locked around his throat, attached to a glittering chain. Karis Luran holds the other end. His fangs are bared, his claws red with blood. He’s drawn away from her as far as the chain will allow.

  Most of the dinner guests have not run, though a few look a bit sick, their expressions a mixture of horror and fascination.

  The only people who don’t look fascinated are Tycho and Noah. A guard blocks them from approaching the man on the ground. Noah looks furious.

  Jake appears at my side. He speaks in a low rush. “She said she had a demonstration for those who would dare defy her. Then she dragged this guy in here. We thought she was going to cut his head off or something, which was bad enough. Then one of her guards hauled Iisak in.”

  I had somehow forgotten why Karis Luran has such a brutal reputation among the people of Emberfall.

  I had somehow forgotten what her soldiers did to our border cities.

  I had forgotten because I looked to Lia Mara, instead of paying attention to who was truly in power.

  I stare across the room at Iisak. His chest rises and falls rapidly, like the chain makes it hard to breathe. His eyes are cold and black and resigned.

  Now he is the weapon to be wielded by another. A steep cost, he said. Indeed.

  “Come, Your Highness,” says Karis Luran. “He may already be dead.”

  My eyes meet hers. “I do not understand.”

  “We are told you can restore lives,” says Nolla Verin. “Show us.”

  This evening was not a celebration. It was a means to a test.

  I feel like such a fool to have not suspected. I take a breath and move to step forward.

  Jake shifts close and blocks me with his shoulder. “Don’t do it for free,” he says, his voice hardly louder than breath.

  I meet his eyes, reassured by the cool practicality there.

  I give him a short nod, then move forward. The man’s abdomen is shredded so badly that there’s more blood and muscle vis
ible than skin. Iisak’s claws caught one eye, though the other is intact. One cheek is slashed so severely that I can see the teeth beneath. His breath comes very slowly.

  I’ve never flinched at the aftermath of violence, so I do not flinch now. I look back at Karis Luran. “What payment do you offer?”

  Her eyes narrow. “I offer no payment.”

  “Then I offer no healing. You ordered this done, not me.”

  Behind her, the resignation slips from Iisak’s expression. His eyes are fixed on me.

  “Please,” Lia Mara gasps from behind me. “Please, Grey. Please save him.”

  The desperation in her voice tugs at my chest, and it takes everything I have to keep from dropping to a knee to press my hands to his wounds. I lock the emotion away, into the dark corner of my mind, until I feel nothing. He could die at my feet. I could pull my sword and finish the task.

  No. I could not. For the first time, those thoughts fight their way loose.

  I stand my ground. Karis Luran stands hers.

  Finally, Nolla Verin says, “What payment do you ask?”

  I consider saying, my freedom. Freedom from this dance, this charade, this delicate balance. In a way, I feel as chained as Iisak.

  I glance at the man on the ground. His hair and beard are sandy brown, and he’s built like a soldier, though he’s not dressed like one. “A life for a life, I should think.”

  Nolla Verin meets my eyes, and she smiles. “Who would you like to kill?”

  “I don’t want to kill anyone. I would like the scraver’s debt to be erased.”

  “No,” says Karis Luran. Her voice is flat and level and offers no room for negotiation.

  “Very well.” My tone is exactly the same.

  “Grey!” shouts Noah.

  “Please,” cries Lia Mara. My gut clenches.

  “The scraver’s debt will be erased by one year of service,” says Karis Luran.

  “Fine. Transfer his one year of service to me.”

  She regards me coolly. “You are not in a position to make demands from me. I have offered sanctuary to you and your people.”