: Chapter 29

I haven’t started calling the daily crowds typical yet, but there’s usually a lull before the dinner hour, and I’m often glad for the break.

Today, I’m not. I’ve been glancing at the doorway all afternoon, waiting for armed guards to storm into the bakery and drag me off to the gallows, while Nora wrings her hands and wails after me.

I should give my sister more credit. She’d probably attack a cadre of guards with a pastry knife. Or, more likely, she’d try to sell them a platter of sweetcakes.

These worries are surely foolish. No one has accused me of anything. No one has accused Jax of anything. I’ve had nobles through the bakery for weeks, and the most drama I’ve seen was when two women argued over which was finer, my meringue-topped peach tarts, or the savory egg pies I laced with cinnamon and cloves.

I wish Alek hadn’t appeared. He could have told me nothing and my answers to anyone from the palace would have been the same: I haven’t seen him. I don’t know what he’s doing.

Ugh. He’s insufferable.

But also … not. The barn has been repaired. The door leading into the bakery. Even the manger in the barn was replaced one day, and two new pairs of boots were left by the door, along with an oilcloth cloak for my sister.

His voice was full of worry when he told me about Lord Jacob. Worry … for me? It’s a new angle to all his visits, and I can’t quite make it match up. But it lights a flicker of intrigue in my chest, one I can’t quite douse.

I keep trying to balance all his acts of generosity and kindness with the way Alek treated Jax, and I never end up in the same place. Was Jax too greedy? Am I too gullible? Did Tycho really threaten Alek with magic, or was Alek the aggressor?

I don’t know, and I can’t ask Jax without making Alek think I’m revealing his secrets.

Nora is sweeping the floor while I fold meat and vegetables into pastries for travelers seeking dinner.

Outside, hoofbeats thunder in the lane, and my heart jolts. I wipe my hands on my apron and head for the window just in time to see three horses gallop past the bakery.

But the only thing down the end of this lane is the forge.

Jax.

Nora is at my side. “Clouds above. Was that the magistrate?”

Yes. It was. The horses were going too fast for me to identify the others. Just dark horses, two men and one woman.

My heart won’t stop pounding. I know he doesn’t have any more messages from the Truthbringers. Would Jax have taken to doing something else to get silver? Or could this be related to the first messages he carried?

Guilt drops in my stomach like a red-hot stone.

“Do you think Jax is all right?” Nora says. “Should we go see?”

I don’t know. I don’t know.

I do know Alek won’t like it. But I don’t care. Jax is—was?—my best friend.

I return to the table and finish folding the pastries together, crimping the edges as quickly as I can.

“I’m going to go see about Jax,” I say to Nora. “I’m going to put these in the oven, and I want you to watch them. No drifting off into your stories just because I’m not here, you hear me? If we have a dinner rush and we don’t have meat pies, I’m going to make you tell all the nobles you got lost in a saucy romance. If you need something to do, you can make a few more cheese biscuits.”

I expect her to roll her eyes at me, but she glances worriedly at the window. “We haven’t seen him much, Cally-cal. Do you think he did something very bad?”

I swallow, and it feels like there’s a rock in my throat.

“No,” I say roughly. I’m worried that I did. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

I don’t run, because I don’t want to give the impression that there’s cause for concern. I’m just walking up the lane to see my friend. But nerves keep prodding me, and my feet nearly sprint anyway.

I’m halfway there when the magistrate rounds the bend, walking on horseback, a rope tied to her saddle. She rarely comes out this way, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen her quite this close, but she’s a striking woman, stately and stern, with deep brown skin and close-shorn hair.

The other end of her rope is attached to the bound hands of Ellis the blacksmith. Jax’s father.

Ellis has a black eye and a split lip, and he’s stumbling along like he’s still drunk. His eyes alight on me, and he says, “Callyn knows me! Tell the magistrate, girl.” He hiccups and stumbles, then makes a retching sound and spits at the ground. “Tell her,” he croaks. “Tell her I’m a good father to Jax.”

He must be joking.

The magistrate does nothing more than give me a nod before giving the rope a sharp jerk. “I’ve already heard enough about your son from Lord Jacob,” she says. “The only person who can speak for you now is the queen herself. Now walk.”

Lord Jacob. Oh Jax, what happened?

I stare from Ellis to the magistrate to the lane leading to the forge, which suddenly feels twenty miles long. I don’t know if I should run the rest of the way—or turn around and run back to the bakery and get Nora out of here. An unusually cold wind whistles through the trees, making me shiver despite the warmth in the air.

I force my mouth to work. “Is Jax all right?” I call after Ellis.

“He won’t be!” he snarls back. “Not after what he’s done!”

Oh. Oh no. Does this mean— Should I go back for Nora—

But the magistrate hardly glanced at me. Those horses didn’t stop at the bakery—and I’m sure they wouldn’t have gone galloping past if they suspected me of being a part of something. I grab hold of my skirts and hurry the rest of the way down the lane. I don’t know what I expect to find, but everything my thoughts conjure is terrible. Jax on his knees, in chains, begging for his life. Jax being mouthy and irreverent with the magistrate’s people, earning himself a trip to the stone prison.

Or worse, Jax broken or bleeding or dead. Or all three.

When I come skidding into the courtyard, there are two men in the workshop, but no Jax. One man is middle-aged, a bit more round and portly, with ruddy cheeks and thick brown hair peppered with gray. The town crest for Briarlock is on his sleeve, so he must have come with the magistrate. He says, “I’ll check the inside, my lord.”

“Sure,” says the other man casually. He’s younger, in finer armor, with what must be a dozen weapons strapped to his body. He’s tall and broad-shouldered and looks like a fighter. He’s frowning down at his palm, at something he must have picked up from the work table, something too small for me to identify from here.

I don’t know if I make a sound or if he senses my presence, but his eyes snap up in surprise. He slides whatever he was looking at into a pouch on his belt, then gives me a clear up-and-down glance. “Hello,” he says.

“Hello.” I offer a quick curtsy and wonder if this is the Lord Jacob that Alek mentioned. “My lord.”

“If you need something from the forge,” he says, “it seems that both blacksmiths are unavailable for the time being.”

His accent is unusual, slightly different from people who come from Emberfall, his words not quite as hard edged. It throws me for a moment. “I … ah …” My eyes sweep the area. No sign of Jax.

The man steps out from under the overhang. “Who are you looking for?”

My eyes snap back to his. He’s savvy, this one. “No one,” I say, and his eyes narrow just the slightest bit. I take a breath. “I mean—I’m looking for my friend.” I frown. “I saw his father. Is—is there trouble?”

“I’m not entirely sure yet.” He pauses. “Who’s your friend?”

“Jax.”

“Would that make you Callyn? You own the bakery?”

“Yes.” I hesitate. “Is Jax all right?”

“He will be.” His voice is grave. “His father roughed him up. The magistrate will hold him for a couple weeks.”

Those words take a moment to register and rearrange all my thoughts. My pounding heart begins to slow. This has nothing to do with the Truthbringers—and everything to do with Jax’s horrible father.

“You’re sure he’s all right?” I say.

“I think so. Tycho will bring him back once we’re done here.” He pulls a few coins from a pocket and holds them out. “I get the sense he might have a hard time getting around. Can you make sure he has enough to eat?”

“Of course!” I shake my head. “You don’t need to pay me.”

“Food isn’t free.” He takes my wrist and drops the coins into my hand.

Tycho will bring him back. I’m frozen in place for a moment, because I can’t wrap my head around all of this. Has Jax befriended Lord Tycho? Is Lord Alek right?

I close my fingers around the coins just as hoofbeats pound in the lane again. I’m expecting the return of the magistrate, but instead, a chestnut gelding slows to a stop beside me, and Alek himself swings down from the saddle to stand at my side. “Callyn,” he says. “Is Lord Jacob troubling you?”

“No,” I say. “I heard the horses—and I was worried about Jax, so—”

“Alek.” Lord Jacob looks absolutely gobsmacked—but it takes him less than a second to recover. His gaze darkens. “You’ve been ignoring a royal summons,” he says, with unveiled anger. “I know what you did to Tycho. I should drag you back to the palace right now.”

“A royal summons?” Alek says. The air flickers with danger. “I feel certain I sent word regarding my side of the events.”

“Fine. I’m going to give you my side.” Lord Jacob draws a blade.

So does Lord Alek.

Clouds above. Like a fool, I jump right between them. “Stop!”

“Move,” Jacob snaps. “You don’t know who he is. What he’s done.”

“I can tell you what he has done,” says Alek. “Jacob was involved in the first assault on Syhl Shallow’s army.”

My heart freezes in my chest.

Alek isn’t finished. “He was commanding the soldiers who killed your mother. The same soldiers who killed my mother.” His voice is ice cold. “He was with the soldiers who slaughtered my sister.”

“Your sister was a spy.”

“My sister was loyal to Syhl Shallow,” Alek snaps. “While you were involved in the insurrection that allowed this magical king to take the throne.”

“If you want to talk about insurrection,” Lord Jacob growls, “maybe we can talk about what you are doing here.”

The words fall like a guillotine. I’m not sure how or why, but the tension seems to triple.

The flat side of Alek’s sword touches my elbow. “Step aside, lovely. I’m not sure words are going to solve this.”

Maybe my mother would think I’m a coward, but I’m not going to watch them hack each other to bits right in front of me.

“He’s here for me,” I say to Lord Jacob. I wish I’d thought to bring that ax I keep near the barn. I focus on what Alek just said about my mother. About his family. That same fire from his voice lights a spark in mine. “I don’t know anything about a royal summons, but Lord Alek has been coming to Briarlock to see me.” I take a step forward, toward his blade, and Jacob falls back a step. “He’s here now because he saw you talking to me, and he doesn’t trust you. If what he said is true, then I don’t trust you.” Those coins are still clenched in my fist, and I fling them at him. “I’ll take care of Jax. I don’t need your money.”

The coins scatter in the underbrush. Lord Jacob is staring at me in disbelief. His eyes go from me to Alek and back. “Look,” he says to me. “I don’t think you understand who he is. What he’s done.”

“I haven’t treated Callyn with anything but kindness,” Alek says from behind me.

“And you drew your sword first,” I say sharply.

Lord Jacob swears in a language that’s not Syssalah. His jaw is tight, his eyes full of anger. “Fine. Fine.” He sheathes his weapon. “I will gladly return to the Crystal Palace to inform the royal family that I found you here, and you feel your presence at court is not warranted.”

“Oh, I’ll return to court,” says Alek. He hasn’t put his sword away at all, and there’s enough vicious promise in his voice that I worry he might finish the fight that Jacob almost started. “When I decide I have the time. My business keeps me rather occupied.”

“I’m sure.”

Alek inhales, and I realize he really is going to continue this fight, so I turn and put a hand against his chest. “I’ve left Nora alone too long. Would you walk me back?”

He falters, which is more surprising than the almost-violence.

“For certain,” he says. He gives Lord Jacob a contemptuous nod, takes up the reins of his horse, and turns to walk by my side.

We’re both silent, our footsteps crunching on the lane, underscored by his horse’s hoofbeats. Lord Alek says nothing as we walk, leaving me with my own swirling thoughts. Jax and I only wanted to save our homes. Now we’ve somehow ended up on opposite sides of a brewing rebellion.

But of course, instead of wholly focusing on that, a tiny part of my brain is replaying the moment when Alek called me lovely.

When we get to the bakery, I expect Alek to leave me at the walkway, but he tethers his horse and walks me right up to the door instead—and looks like he’s going to follow me in.

I stop on the doorstep. “You don’t have to come inside,” I say to him. “You really didn’t need to walk me home. I just wanted to make sure you two didn’t slice each other in half.”

“You were very brave,” he says.

My heart skips, but I roll my eyes. “I jumped in front of his sword. I was very stupid.”

“They often look the same. But I know the difference.”

That makes me flush. I’m not used to anyone calling me brave. I spend so much time thinking I should have followed in my mother’s footsteps, that remaining here in the bakery was dishonoring her memory. But Alek’s words light me with a glow that refuses to dim.

“Did you really ignore a royal summons?” I ask him.

He lifts one shoulder in half a shrug. His blue eyes haven’t left mine. “I sent a letter.”

“Why didn’t he … I don’t know … arrest you?”

“Do I give the impression I would’ve gone willingly, Callyn?”

The chill in his voice makes me shiver. My eyes skip over the weapons he wears, which are every bit as plentiful as the other man’s. “No,” I say truthfully.

“I have many allies among the Royal Houses. Not many of them are content with the queen’s alliance and marriage to a magesmith. With the queen being so ill and out of the public eye, rumors have continued to spread. The Truthbringers don’t have to sow discord when it’s obvious that something is amiss with the royal family. The king’s magic can kill hundreds of citizens crying out against magic, but he can’t protect the queen? If Jacob wants to forcibly drag me back to the Crystal Palace, he wouldn’t be doing it unscathed—and it wouldn’t be seen well politically.” His eyes narrow. “I’d make sure of that.”

I have to fight not to shiver again. “Do you feel better about him being here?”

“Yes. In truth, it no longer matters why I come to Briarlock now.”

“Wait. Why?”

“Because you declared quite passionately my reasons for being here.”

Well, that makes me flush. “I didn’t—it wasn’t—” I hiss a breath of air through my teeth. “It was true. You do come here to see me.”

“Indeed. Who else would attack me with a pitchfork?”

This entire conversation is wildly terrifying and breathlessly exhilarating, like being spun through the air as a child.

“Follow me out to the barn and I’ll do it again,” I say.

A light sparks in his eye. “If I follow you out to the barn, we won’t be sparring with pitchforks.”

“Oh no?” I tease. “What will we be doing?”

Alek takes hold of my waist and presses his mouth to mine.

Whoa. I was being coy. Alek was not.

Based on the strength in his hands and the intensity in his mouth and the sudden fire in my belly, Alek is probably never coy. I keep waiting for my thoughts to catch up, but instead, I’m leaning into the warmth of his body, feeling his hand slide up my waist to graze my breast, stroke my neck, and bury his fingers in my hair. My throat keeps making helpless little sounds. He tastes like the cinnamon and sugar of my apple tarts, but better, like I need to add him to my recipe. I’ll never be able to eat apples again without thinking of this moment. Without longing for this moment. This can’t be simple kissing. This is—this is—

The door clicks. “Cally-cal?”

I break free of him, and it feels like I’ve been tossed into a snowbank. “Clouds above, Nora!” I cry.

She starts prattling like she didn’t just interrupt the most captivating moment of my life. “I think I did the meat pies right, but the edges are a little more brown than—”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” I gasp.

“Well, I need you to come look, because the tops are a bit soft, and yours are always—”

“Give us a moment, please, would you, Nora?” Alek’s eyes are shining.

“Of course.” She gives him a flourishing curtsy—but then she doesn’t close the door.

“GO INSIDE!” I snap.

“Well,” she huffs. “If you—”

I yank the door shut so hard that the glass panes rattle. Then I put a hand over my eyes.

“Just leave me, my lord,” I say. “Allow me to die, right here, on this step—”

“Alek,” he says, his voice rough and soft and right against the shell of my ear.

I inhale sharply, but he’s right there.

“Alek,” I whisper, and he smiles.

“The meat pie situation seems rather urgent,” he says. “I should leave you to it.” He casts a glance up the lane. “I do not want to face Lord Jacob again.”

I nod, then swallow. My thoughts are still disorganized, and I want to pick everything up right where we left off.

“I’ll be back soon,” he says. “You have my word.”

“No messages?” I whisper.

“Not this time.” His hand finds my face, his palm gentle against my cheek. When he kisses me this time, it’s slower. Warmer. Lazy sunlight instead of a bonfire. Forget the barn and the pitchforks. I want to hook my fingers in his sword belt and drag him up the stairs.

Then he’s gone, and I’m all but falling through the door. It clicks closed, and I lean against the door frame and sigh.

Nora clears her throat emphatically.

“I know, I know,” I say. “Don’t marry that one.”

She giggles. “That was better than Mother’s old books. I think I might have changed my mind.”