Forging Silver into Stars

This isn’t where I expected my day to end up. I thought I’d spend a few hours shooting with Jax, I’d find Jacob at the dice tables, and then we’d ride back to the Crystal City.

Instead, I’ve all but kidnapped Jax and left a man half-conscious in the dirt.

Jake closes the door and leans back against it, then rubs his hands over his face. “Tell me everything.”

I do.

Well, mostly everything. I leave out the moment when Jax was yelling at me to go away. I’m not sure what happened there, and he still hasn’t said. I keep thinking about the way his hand lifted to press over mine. Was that fear? A moment of vulnerability? Or something else?

Jake listens to every word, and after all that’s happened with Grey, I expect him to give me a censorious glare and insist that we leave this mess behind us while we return to the Crystal City.

But he doesn’t. “I am going to the magistrate,” he says.

“It won’t matter,” Jax says bitterly. “You should take me back.”

“You’re not the only one with a shitty father,” Jake says, and Jax looks surprised that his tone is equally bitter. “Trust me. I’ll make it matter.” He looks at me. “Stay here. I’ll be back. Are you hungry? I’ll have some food sent.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer to any of this; he just goes through the door.

The air between us still feels prickly and uncertain, and I’m not sure how much of that is on my side, and how much is on his.

“You said he’s … Counsel to the King?” says Jax.

“His closest friend, in fact.” I grimace a little, wondering how word of this excursion is going to sound when it hits Grey’s ears. Rhen told me there was nothing wrong with seeking moments of levity, but right now, I think the king would disagree. Strongly.

But then I think about the way Jax smiled when he said, I’ll get my bow. Or the way tears made tracks through the blood and dirt on his face.

Much like freeing Nakiis from the tourney, I wouldn’t undo it.

Jax uncurls from the chair, and I look up. His eyes scan the floor, likely searching for crutches that aren’t there.

I wince. “I should have thought to grab them,” I say. “I was more worried about getting you away from your father.”

“It’s all right.”

“I can help you.”

He shakes his head. “I’m used to it.”

This isn’t said with scorn, but I frown anyway. He hops across the room to the washbasin, where he splashes water on his face—and seems surprised at the amount of blood that washes away. Somewhere along the line, he lost the nail that pinned his hair in a knot, and it hangs down over his shoulders again, a wild mass of shining black waves. He’s pushed back his sleeves, revealing the cords of muscle in his forearms, honed from what must be years of work as a blacksmith.

If you need nothing from the forge, my lord, then go away.

I jerk my eyes away. I shouldn’t be staring at him. I suddenly realize why the awkward silence exists at all. “I can leave,” I offer. “Surely they have other rooms. Or I can wait for Jake in the tavern.”

He dries his face and hands on the towel there, but his eyes are on the window. “I don’t understand.”

“As usual, I sense I have made you uncomfortable, Jax.”

He laughs without any humor, but he doesn’t look at me. “Uncomfortable is not the right word, my lord.”

Ah. We’re back to my lord again.

I give him a nod and reach for my weapons. “As you say.”

He looks over in surprise. “No! I didn’t mean … you don’t have to leave.”

I hesitate with my hand on my sword and bracers. I wish we were in the woods again, where we could shoot things, where our conversation could revolve around arrows and fletching and aim.

Jax is studying me now, his hazel-green eyes a bit narrower. Every time I’m with him, I feel as though we wordlessly dance around our real thoughts and true intentions. Some of it is due to our relative positions, I’m sure.

But some of it is not.

“Back at the forge,” I finally say, “why did you tell me to go away?”

Jax leans back against the table with the washbasin and folds his arms. Sometimes, when his eyes dodge mine or heat crawls up his jaw, his emotions seem as easy to read as text printed on a page. But other times, like now, like the moment he told me so emphatically to go away, his expression will level out, locking everything away. It’s a very measured look, revealing nothing, and it reminds me of Grey.

I don’t expect him to answer, but he does, his voice very quiet. “Because I didn’t want to spend hours in your company again, only for you to disappear for weeks or months or … forever.”

Ouch. I frown and take a step forward. “Jax—”

“You owe me nothing,” he says earnestly. “Truly. I know my life is …” His voice trails off a bit, and he shrugs. “Marked by misfortune. I am grateful for what you’ve taught me. For what you did today.” He flexes his hand, the one he burned that I healed. “For what you did before. But you will return to your duties in the Crystal Palace, and I will return to the forge. It doesn’t matter if Lord Jacob drags my father before the magistrate. You will be gone and my father will eventually come home, and my life will continue as it has.”

There’s something so bleak about the way he says that, because there’s no tone of resignation. This is a fact that Jax believes to the core of his being.

The worst part is that … he’s not wrong. Not entirely.

I draw a long breath and take another step. “Jax, please, allow me—”

“To explain? You don’t need to explain. I know who you are. I know who I am. I know what my life is.” His eyes are piercing now. “Do you, my lord?”

Maybe I shouldn’t have taught him how to use weapons, because he’s clearly capable of eviscerating a man with nothing more than words. I wish he would stop calling me that—but maybe that’s exactly the point he’s making.

A knock sounds at the door, and we both jump.

“Jake said he’d send food,” I say evenly, and I open the door to a serving girl, grateful for the interruption.