I don’t mean to doze off, but Alek’s arms are so warm, and I can’t remember the last time I felt so safe, so secure. But time passes, and somehow I’m under my quilt, my hand reaching out in the darkness, finding nothing more than an empty bed beside me.
For a quick moment, I wonder if I dreamed everything. My eyes blink sleepily, and I see that the door is no longer closed and locked, the very edge of Nora’s bed visible across the hall. Candlelight flickers off my walls, so I roll over.
Alek is sitting in my chair beside Mother’s old writing desk. The chair is angled so he can see out the window, but his eyes are on one of her books.
Definitely not a dream.
“You didn’t strike me as a reader,” I say softly.
He turns a page without looking up. “Whyever not?”
“You seem like the kind of person who would be having adventures,” I say. “Not the kind of person who has to read about them.”
“Surely I can do both.” His blue eyes flick up and find mine. “As can you.”
Said like someone with no shortage of silver—and no younger siblings to consider. “You don’t want to sleep?”
He glances out the window for a bare second. “No,” he says. “I told you why I came here.”
I’m making sure you’re not in harm’s way.
Again, this feels too easy. Too comfortable. My thoughts conjure the memory of his hands against my skin, and I shiver. I think of all the things he’s said to me in the weeks we’ve known each other, and I can’t reconcile it with the way he treated Jax.
He looks back at the book. “Perhaps I’m reading about all the other things we could do together.” He flicks another page.
Clouds above. I know what kind of book he’s reading now. I pull the blankets over my head.
He laughs, the sound warm and low in the confines of my room. I don’t hear him move, but a moment later, the blankets pull free, and he flops down on the bed beside me. He’s removed some of his armor, but he’s still fully dressed, sheathed blades everywhere.
“My mother had quite a collection of books as well.” He pauses. “Some like these, but also history, artistry, military strategy—everything you can imagine. I had tutors since I was very young.”
Of course he did.
Then his voice takes on a heavier note. “I used to read them when she was away. And then … after.”
The weight in his voice tugs at my heart. “Me too,” I say softly. “Jax and I would sit and read for hours. I always liked the stories of romance, but he was partial to the ones about magic.”
“Ah.” He reaches over and tickles my nose with a worn piece of paper. “What is this?”
I frown, reaching for it. I have to squint in the dim light, but as soon as I recognize it, I flop back on my pillows.
“It’s the note from the tax collector,” I say. “From the midwinter levies.” I want to crumple it up. I should have crumpled it up weeks ago. So much stress and worry and harm over one little note.
“That’s quite a sum.”
I roll onto my back to stare at the ceiling. “I’m sure it’s nothing to you.”
Alek touches a finger to my chin and turns my gaze to meet his. “It’s not nothing to you.”
I don’t know what to do when he’s like this.
“Yes, well.” I bite at my lip and wonder if I’m revealing a secret. “Jax owed twice as much.”
“Truly?”
I can’t read anything from his voice. We could be discussing the weather.
“Yes. Truly.” I tug the blankets back up. “Why do you think he started carrying messages at all?”
“I have no idea.” He pauses. “So now he’s conning silver out of the King’s Courier?”
“I don’t think he’s conning anything. Jax isn’t like that. He was very regretful that he lost your trust.” I pause. “Especially since you brought your business to me.”
Alek is studying me now. “I didn’t trust him the first time I saw him speaking with Tycho. He couldn’t expect to play both sides. I told you before, if he doesn’t like dangerous games, he shouldn’t play.” He tickles my nose with the note again.
I grab it and crumple it in my palm. “He didn’t bring him here.” I pause. “I didn’t bring you here.”
“Would you like me to leave?”
“No. I just …” My voice trails off. I stare at the ceiling.
He touches my chin and brings my gaze to meet his. Those blue eyes are so intent on mine. “Tell me your thoughts, Callyn.”
“These notes you’re passing,” I say quietly. “They’re not really about fabric shipments.”
“Some of them are,” he says.
“But not all.”
He traces a finger down my nose. “Not all.” His finger drifts along my cheek, to my jaw, and then down my neck, sweeping along my collarbone until I shiver and catch his hand.
“Are you trying to distract me?” I say.
“Are you distracted?”
“No.” But yes. I am. He’s shifted closer, and he’s warm against me. His hand is like a lit coal under my own, burning against my skin. When he slides his hand under the fabric of my shift again, I inhale sharply.
But then his fingers close around my mother’s pendant. “Where did you get this necklace you wear?”
“It was my mother’s.” There’s a part of me that’s tense about him touching it, as if he’ll yank it off my neck just because he can. “It was given to us with her things. After … after.”
As always, he doesn’t take anything. He just eases it back against my skin, the warm, familiar weight settling into place.
Then he says, “It’s Iishellasan steel.”
I freeze. “What?”
He nods. “From the ice forests. It can bind—”
“Magic,” I whisper.
His eyebrows go up. “You know.” A dark look flickers in his eyes. “Ah, yes. The king’s pet used his rings to heal the blacksmith. So you’ve seen what it can do.”
I touch the pendant the way I’ve done a thousand times. I suddenly expect it to feel cold, but it’s warm as ever under my fingertips. “My mother … my mother had a magic pendant?” I say.
Alek shrugs a little, as if this conversation is somewhat dull, as if he hasn’t completely knocked my world off its axis. “Likely not. Iishellasan steel can be bound to repel magic just as easily. The Truthbringers have found many such artifacts of old. There are swords and daggers and even arrows that can bring harm to a magesmith—but there are a few, like this, that can bring protection to the wearer.” He taps the necklace. “I’m glad you wear it. You’re lucky she left a bit of protection for you.”
I close my fingers around the warm steel. My throat is tight with so much emotion I’m not sure what to do with it. If my father had been wearing this necklace, would he still be here today?
Or did it keep me and Nora safe when we were mere feet away from the magic that burst through the Crystal Palace?
Oh, Mother. There are so many things I wish I could go back and ask her.
Alek traces a finger along my hairline, and I blink up at him. “You said the Truthbringers have a lot of this steel?”
“More than a bit. Less than a lot.” He pauses. “The Truthbringers are loyal to Syhl Shallow. We would never seek to harm the queen.”
I stare at him, the candlelight flickering over his features. I can’t decide if he looks passionately earnest or terrifyingly sinister. Somehow, as usual, it’s both.
“You want to kill the king,” I whisper.
“I’m not the only one. You were there on the day of the Uprising. Many of those people had no desire for violence—but they all died anyway. There are rumors that he can’t control his magic. That he’s injured the queen somehow, but they’re hiding it.” He pauses, his eyes searching mine again. “What would you do, if the king were to show up on your doorstep?”
“Faint from shock.”
“Callyn.”
“I would! What would you do?”
“The king has shown up on my doorstep.”
Of course. He’s probably had all manner of royalty on his doorstep. I almost laugh—but something about his expression stops me, and I study him carefully. “And what did you do?”
“It was years ago. He’d just returned from claiming his throne in Emberfall.” Alek hesitates. “He and the queen arrived with news that my sister was a traitor. That she’d been killed during a skirmish with soldiers from Emberfall. That she had worked against the throne. They wondered if I was doing the same. If I was disloyal.”
I roll up on one arm to face him. “And were you?”
“No. I’m not disloyal now.”
I feel like we’re finally speaking truths. There’s a part of me that wants to back away from this conversation. So much that we’ve said would already be considered treasonous. But ever since Jax took that handful of coins from Lady Karyl, I’ve been desperately wondering what was in these notes. What they’re planning. What I’ve become a part of.
“Would the queen think the same?” I say carefully.
“My sister was an adviser to the queen. She was never disloyal.” He pauses. “But … she was never loyal to our new king. Our mother was a tactician in the army. A strategist. Her death … it hit us hard.”
“I know.” My voice is soft yet full. My mother’s death hit me equally hard.
He lifts my fingers to lay a kiss across my knuckles. “I know you know.”
“So you’re hoping to avenge your mother and your sister?”
“I am hoping to restore Syhl Shallow to what it once was. When the magesmiths first crossed the Frozen River, the queen refused to allow them to settle here. When they settled in Emberfall, you’ve heard the stories of what happened. Their former king tried to kill them all. Only a few survived—and look at the trouble they caused. Look at the deaths, the destruction. There’s a reason they were not allowed to settle here, and now one is married to our queen?”
He’s right. I’ve read the histories a dozen times.
“Are you the leader?” I say.
His eyes flash to mine. “Me? The leader of the Truthbringers? No.”
“You’re so … assured. I assumed.”
“I was only seventeen when my sister was killed. My family has the old texts. Several of the old artifacts. I was recruited early. Because of my access to the royal family, I have some power. Some sway. But like you, I am but a soldier for the cause.”
“And your messages are about killing the king?”
“No. Nothing so overt. We learned from the first attempt that the king cannot be overtaken by sheer numbers. So we have discovered … other methods.”
Other methods. So there must be a limit to his willingness to share information. He strokes a finger across my cheek. “Have I shared enough to earn your trust yet?”
“Maybe.”
He grins. “That’s an honest answer if I’ve ever heard one.” He leans down to brush his lips over mine. His fingers drift across my breast, pulling a gasp from my throat before I’m ready.
But then he stops there, and speaks low. “I’ll earn your trust one day, lovely. For now, you need your sleep.” He pulls his hand free and kisses me on the forehead.
I don’t know if I should be disappointed or relieved.
My body is definitely disappointed.
My head is, too, when he slips out of the bed to take a seat by the window again. My entire body seems to be humming.
He picks up a book. “Sleep. I’ll keep watch.”
“I’m not scared of Lord Tycho.”
“I’m not scared of him either.” He pauses. “But he’s lost the king’s trust. As I said, something has happened with the queen. The rumors at court are … exceptional. I don’t know what to believe, but I don’t know what Tycho will do now that he’s been stripped of his magic and sent away.”
I study him. “So you think he’s working against the king, too?”
Alek snorts disdainfully. “No. I think Tycho would cut his own throat if the king asked him to.” He hesitates. “He knows I’ve painted a target on his back—but it’s not as if he didn’t give me the opportunity. He’s not happy about it. Even a lapdog knows how to bite.”
I remember the first day I met them both, how the tension in the bakery shot to a point of discomfort. “Why do you hate him so much?”
“At first, it wasn’t personal.” He shrugs. “I hated everyone the king brought with him. They represented a country that stole too much from ours. But after he and the king killed my sister, Tycho took an active role in trying to make sure I had no place at court. As if he had a right to be there. I had to fight my way back in.”
I consider that for a while. I remember thinking about the nobility, how their problems seemed petty and far distant from Briarlock. But I hear the current of pain riding below Alek’s glib words, and I realize that we’re all affected by grief and loss, even if we’re from wildly different stations in life.
“I’m sorry, Alek,” I say.
He gives me half a smile. “You don’t have to be sorry. You’ve done nothing wrong. You’re helping me put things to rights for our queen.” He glances at the window again, then lifts his book meaningfully. “Now sleep.”
My thoughts are swirling. I don’t think I’ll ever sleep again.
But he’s so quiet, and it’s so late, and I’m so tired. I do.
When I wake, the room is cold and full of sunlight, and he’s gone.
Beside me on the bed are two pieces of paper.
The first is a folded note, sealed with a broad circle of green-and-black wax, the silver stars in the seal familiar.
The second is the crumpled slip of parchment that has the tax collector’s handwriting on one side.
Alek has written a note on the other.
Callyn,
Lady Karyl will arrive for this letter in a matter of days. Take care. This message isn’t for your eyes, but it’s not about fabric orders at all.
Hopefully this tiny admission is enough to buy a bit of your trust.
Yours,
Alek
My heart is pounding.
Yours. It’s meaningless. Meaningful. I can’t tell. Like we’ve moved away from the business of passing messages, and now my heart is on the line. Much like when he calls me “lovely,” it lights me with joy and inserts a spike of worry in my chest.
Something has happened with the queen.
I am but a soldier for the cause.
As I think back over all our words, I realize that he answered many questions—which is why I didn’t notice how he so skillfully dodged others.
You’re helping me put things to rights.
I think about everything he didn’t say, and I realize I don’t know if that’s true at all.
I remember discussing the queen with Tycho and Nora, how my sister was spinning in circles and imagining the baby as if she’d be welcoming her own little sister. Alek said the queen was very sick and the king wasn’t using his magic to heal her. We hear so many stories here, though. I’m not sure what to believe—or who. I know my father believed everything said about the king. It’s part of why he participated in the Uprising—and part of why I agreed to work with Alek. I often think my mother would be doing the same.
But I touch my fingers to this pendant. Would she be part of the Uprising? My mother was loyal to the queen. I know that much for sure. She took great pride in her role as an officer in the army.
Alek, too, keeps declaring his loyalty to Syhl Shallow, to the queen.
But our queen married a magesmith—which the Truthbringers hate.
Where does that put their loyalty? Can you respect someone and still deride their choices? If they want to kill the king, is that loyalty? Or is that treason?
Mother told Father he should have enlisted, but he didn’t. She didn’t force him to do it. She didn’t take his choice. Just like he didn’t want her to go off to war—but he didn’t stop her.
Is it any different from Alek repairing my barn when I told him not to? He thinks he’s doing the right thing, and from the outside, it looks like a benevolent action … but is it?
I don’t want to think about this too hard. I’m too involved, and the answer feels like it will hurt. But I’m realizing what’s at the heart of my distrust of Alek.
Taking a choice away from someone else isn’t devotion, and it isn’t loyalty.
He talked about Jax playing dangerous games, but Alek is playing the most dangerous one of all. A game of make-believe with lethal stakes: disguising control as faithful devotion.
Disguising assassination as an act of protection.
I just wanted to save the bakery. I just wanted to protect my sister.
It was just supposed to be a few letters.
“Cally-cal?”
I look over. Nora stands in my doorway.
“Good morning,” I say. “I’m going to need you to milk Muddy May. I have something I need to do.”
