Forging Silver into Stars

Jax returns to the chair by the fire while I divvy up the food. Jacob arranged for sliced beef and cheese to be delivered, along with a loaf of bread, a pitcher of raspberry wine, and a variety of fruits. Jax hasn’t said anything, so I haven’t either, and I’m glad to have something to occupy my hands. I take the other chair, and we eat in silence for the longest time. But maybe the food or the fire or the closeness eases a bit of the tension between us, because after a while the quiet becomes more amiable.

Uncomfortable is not the right word, he said.

I want to know what the right word is.

Jax ate hesitantly at first, as if he wasn’t sure he should dare. But I piled as much food onto his plate as I did my own, and it doesn’t take long before he’s eaten it all. I think of how far his forge is from town, and I remember Callyn sending him the apple tarts. I’m sure Jax is mostly reliant on his father for food, and I wonder how often he has to go hungry in addition to dealing with that awful man.

I don’t ask if he wants more. I just take his platter and load it with more food when I take my own.

“You shouldn’t be serving me,” Jax says, and it’s the first thing he’s said since the food arrived.

“If you can hop on one foot while balancing a full plate of food and a glass of wine, I will be truly impressed.”

“The glass might be a challenge.”

I ease the food onto the table between us and drop into the other chair. I’m not really hungry anymore, but I’m tired of making him uncomfortable, so I pick at the bread and cheese.

“I did not mean to disappear for months,” I say quietly.

He doesn’t look at me. “As I said, you owe me no—”

“Shut up, Jax. Eat.” I wish I could smack him with an arrow again.

He dutifully stabs a fork into a piece of meat. “Yes of course, Lord Tycho.”

His voice is both wry and a bit sad, and now it’s my turn for warmth to crawl up my neck. I take a long swallow of wine while I fight to remember what I was going to say.

“I made a misstep with the king,” I eventually admit. “After what happened with Lord Alek, I wanted to return to Briarlock, but Grey all but ordered me to stay at the Crystal Palace. For weeks, I begged for the chance. But then … well, he sent me to Ironrose Castle with a chaperone. It felt like a punishment.” I breathe a long sigh. “I would have stopped here on our way to Emberfall, but I was worried Jake would see it as a deviation from my duties, which … in a way, it is.”

Jax stabs another piece of meat, but his eyes are on me now. “What was your misstep with the king?”

You.

But I can’t say that. And it wasn’t just him, anyway. I have no idea how to explain everything that’s gone wrong since I first rode into Briarlock.

I inhale to answer, but he’s set down his fork to pick up his wine, and I find myself watching the movement of his arm, the way his fingers curl around the stem, the way the glass touches his mouth. I keep thinking of that brief moment when his hand lifted to press my fingers to his face, when tears were making tracks through the blood and dirt. As he sets the glass down, a solitary pink droplet clings to his lips. A lock of dark hair falls across his face, and he absently shoves it behind his ear.

Without thinking, I reach out to tug it loose again, my fingers lingering on the strands before I let go.

He instantly goes still. His eyes lock on mine.

I have to shake myself. “Forgive me.” I drain my entire glass.

“You apologize a lot.”

That makes me smile, and I feel heat on my cheeks again. “Well.”

But then I’m not sure what else to say.

Jax drains his entire glass.

I raise my eyebrows. “More?”

He hesitates. I fetch the bottle and pour for us both.

He doesn’t take another sip. His voice is rough. “I … don’t want to turn into my father.”

“I’ve seen the man. You could never.”

Jax traces a finger around the base of the glass, but he still doesn’t pick it up. He doesn’t nod—but he doesn’t deny it either. “I’ve heard wine will make me too honest.”

“That doesn’t sound like a problem.”

His lip quirks up, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. If anything, there’s a spark of sadness in their depths. “You do realize this is quite possibly the finest meal I’ve ever had.”

“I can send for more.”

“No.” His voice is the tiniest bit husky. The wine must be hitting him. “Thank you. My lord.”

“Please stop calling me that.”

“Please stop leaving me with memories that will only hurt later.”

I freeze.

Jax swears, then sighs. He pushes the glass away by a few inches.

I want to apologize again. I want to take away all the reasons these memories will hurt, because I know what he means—maybe too well. I want to shoot arrows and feel the heat of the forge and learn how he pulls a useful shape out of a block of iron.

But not just that. For the first time, I want more.

I want to teach him to fight so his father never dares to lay a hand on him. I want him to press my hand to his cheek again. I want—I want to feel—

My thoughts stumble to a stop. Like the day I told Rhen I don’t like to linger in the courtyard, my emotions are such a tangled mess. I keep thinking of what Noah said, how I keep people at a distance. I can’t even argue the point. I spent weeks avoiding Grey in the Crystal Palace—and then I rode right past the turn for Briarlock when Jake and I were heading for Emberfall. Even now, my chest is tight, and there’s a part of me that wants to draw back. I don’t know what’s wrong with me that fighting and swordplay feel safe, but sharing a quiet moment feels terrifying.

Please stop leaving me with memories that will only hurt later.

I turn the words around in my head and examine them from all angles, until I see them from the clearest one: the first three words. Please stop leaving.

I reach out and touch his hair again. My fingers barely graze his jaw, and I wonder if he’s going to pull away, but he doesn’t move. His eyes are intent on mine.

I follow that strand to the end, then do it again. He’s so still, his breathing slow and even. Outside of training and sparring, I never touch anyone else. I rarely allow anyone else to touch me. This is hardly touching anyway. This is … I’m not sure what this is.

I know I don’t want to stop.

When I do it a third time, a strand winds around my finger and nearly tangles, tugging gently before going loose, and Jax lets out a breath.

He gives me a rueful look. “You’re going to make this memory hurt more than the others.”

I draw back, but he catches my hand, his thumb gentle against my palm. “I don’t think I’ll mind the pain of this one.”

That makes me blush and smile, and I duck my head. “I’ve never—well.” I shrug a little, then chance a glance up. “I don’t know much about …” His eyes are so intent, and now it’s my turn to look away and stumble over my words. “Ah, that is to say, I have very little experience in … in courtship, if that’s what this is—”

“With a commoner?”

“With anyone.”

His eyebrows go up. “Really.”

“You don’t have to look so shocked.”

He grins, and it’s truly amazing how transformative it is for his face. He wears his worries so plainly, but when he smiles, his eyes practically gleam.

I need to stop drinking wine. Or maybe I need to drink more wine.

Especially when he says, “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen, so forgive me for finding that hard to believe.”

“I think you’ve had too much to drink.”

“Well.” His smile broadens. “Admittedly, I rarely leave the forge.”

I laugh outright. He turns his hand so our fingers are loosely intertwined, but just for a moment before he lets go.

“I have little experience with courtship either,” he says, lightly mocking my so-serious tone.

“Not … Callyn?”

He shrugs. “We grew up together. Cal is like a sister.”

“She is very fond of you,” I say, and mean it.

His smile fades, and a dark look slides through his gaze. Something has happened between him and Callyn. I wonder if he’ll tell me—or if I can ask. We’re still dancing around truths, but we seem to have tightened the dance floor.

I take a sip of wine that nearly turns into a gulp when I realize Jax is watching the movement.

I have to close my eyes and take another sip. I can’t stop hearing him say, Please stop leaving. But I’m going to leave. Probably by nightfall. And once again, I’ll be stuck at the Crystal Palace, awaiting my next orders.

And Jax will be … here.

“Why?” he says.

My eyes flick open. He seems closer somehow.

“Why what?”

“Why no courtship?”

“Ah.” I hesitate. “Not none,” I say. “But very little. When I came to Syhl Shallow with Grey, we were seen as outsiders. There are many who would hate the king, but they cannot do so openly. They can hate me without provocation.”

He’s studying me. “Like Lord Alek.”

“Exactly.” I pause, riffling through my memories. “There was a girl who sought my favor a few years ago,” I say, musing, “when I was a young soldier. But that quickly ended when I learned she was trying to anger her family. Lia Mara tried nudging me toward her sister at one point, and we’ve enjoyed a few moments together—but I don’t think Nolla Verin will be happy unless she finds someone as bloodthirsty as she is, and that is definitely not me. I grew close with a soldier named Eason when we were recruits … and perhaps that might have been more, but romance among the ranks was not allowed.” I shrug, remembering Eason’s gentle smile, the way we’d stay up well past curfew because he’d beg me to teach him another card game from Emberfall. He didn’t like being a soldier any more than I did, but it’s tradition here for someone in every generation to serve in the army. The instant his two-year commission was up, he took his leave.

But looking at the memory now, I wonder if it was truly my commitment to duty that kept me in line, or if it was something more. The scars on my back aren’t the only ones I bear.

I don’t want to examine that thought too closely, so I look at Jax. “Why no courtship for you?”

“Not none, but …” He gives me a look. “Haven’t you heard the saying that men are best suited for hard labor and dying in battle?”

“Yes. For what it’s worth, the queen hates that expression. I haven’t heard it spoken at court in years.”

“Just because people can’t say it openly doesn’t mean they don’t still think it. I can’t take a commission as a soldier. I’m lucky that I can make a living as a blacksmith—but there are still people who see my missing foot and demand that my father do the work, even though he’s drunk half the time.” He pauses. “I’ve had … romantic offers from travelers. Once or twice I’ve been intrigued, but no one ever stays for long. They’re usually bored traders who think I’m an easy mark or a quick lay. I don’t need anyone’s pity.” A vicious glint shines in his eyes. “Sometimes they’re not asking, if you get my meaning, but that’s rare—and no one can get close enough to pin me down when I’ve got a white-hot iron in my hands.”

I’ve gone still, and I have no idea what expression is on my face, because Jax frowns. “What?”

I have to shake off a memory before it can grab hold, but his words—no one can pin me down—have dragged it to the forefront of my thoughts. It was so long ago, but I can still hear my sisters screaming. I can still smell the fresh cut hay of my parents’ barn. Tiny claws were digging at my chest. I’d shoved one of the barn kittens down the front of my shirt because a soldier was killing them.

I like when they squeak, he said. His fingers closed on my throat, pulling me forward. I bet you’ll squeak, too.

Jax’s fingers brush over mine, and I nearly jump.

“Something I said upset you,” he says quietly.

“No.” But I drain the rest of my wine.

“Clearly yes.”

“I said no,” I snap, and he jerks back.

His eyes flick from my face to the wineglass and back. There’s a new tension in his eyes that wasn’t there a moment ago, and his voice turns very careful. “Forgive me, my—”

“Stop,” I say softly. I lift a hand, and I mean for it to be calming, placating. But he flinches, just a little, and I remember how he jumped a mile when I tried to offer him Callyn’s apple tarts.

I remember his father, the reason why we’re here at all.

This is what we’ve been skirting around. Not the spying or the messages. Not even the agony of courtship.

We’re dancing with the trauma of my past … and his present.

“What you said—” I hesitate. “You caught me in a memory. It wasn’t a good one. I shouldn’t have snapped.” I want to touch his hair again, to put my palm against his cheek and brush my thumb against the curve of his lip. But now there’s a wary set to his gaze, and I don’t know how to undo it other than offering my own truth.

“When I was a boy,” I say slowly, “my father was … well, he wasn’t like yours. He never beat me. He never hurt my mother. But he was a horrible gambler.” I frown. “He nearly lost our home a dozen times. We never had enough food because every time we’d earn a coin, he’d lose it. One time he bet more than he had, and he made the mistake of playing with soldiers in the King’s Army—in Emberfall. When he couldn’t pay, they followed him home. There were three of them. My younger brother tried to hide with my mother—and he saw everything they did to her. I took my sisters into the barn, and we thought we were safe there. But—”

My voice chokes off. I don’t think I’m breathing. The words won’t come.

I glance at Jax’s hazel-green eyes, and just like that moment with Rhen in the courtyard, I have to remind myself that I’m here, I’m safe, it’s over, it’s done. His gaze is steady, unflinching now, his expression patient.

He doesn’t move. He waits, and he doesn’t look away.

Maybe that’s what gives me the courage to continue. I take a long breath. “I was twelve,” I say. “I kept begging them not to hurt my sisters, and they said that I would have to do. I didn’t even know what they meant. But I …” I have to grimace. “I learned rather quickly. And then, after it was done, my mother begged my father to figure out a way to make it right. So he went into town and tried to find someone to help with his debts. A man named Worwick owned a tourney, and he was known to offer good money for trade. I don’t know what Worwick asked for, or if my father simply offered me, but I was sold into his service for five years.” I rub at the back of my neck. “Worwick wasn’t a bad man. I worked in the stables and I cleaned the tourney. I had food to eat, and I could scrape together a few coins of my own every now and again. But after what happened … the soldiers always frightened me. I used to hide …” My voice trails off. My body wants to shudder again, but I force myself still.

“Yet you became a soldier,” Jax says softly.

“I did.”

“Why?”

“Because …” I take a long breath and let it out. “Because Grey expected it of me. And I never want to disappoint him.”

He’s studying me so intently. “So when you said you made a misstep …”

“I spoke true. He ordered me to remain at the Crystal Palace after what happened with Lord Alek. But I don’t regret the time I spent here with you. I don’t feel remorse, and I think Grey can sense that. For the first time, it’s put us at odds.”

“You’re at odds … with the king.”

His tone makes me smile. “Well. Yes. But you must understand, our relationship has always been deeper than simple friendship, different from that of a ruler and his servant. When we met, Grey didn’t just save my life, Jax. He put a sword in my hand and taught me how to save myself. He is good and he is just and he will do everything in his power to protect Syhl Shallow and Emberfall. I was the first person to swear fealty to him, and I would do it again right this very instant if he asked it of me.”

Jax is staring at me, and I wish I could read his expression. The wariness is gone, though, and that heavy lock of dark hair has fallen across his forehead again. I reach out to twist it through my fingers.

“You didn’t have to share that with me,” he says.

“I wanted you to know.” I let my thumb graze his mouth, and his lips part, just a fraction.

I shouldn’t do this. All the talk of the king should be a reminder of my duties and obligations. Instead, I feel like the Crystal Palace is a million miles away, and here in this room, I’m just Tycho, and he’s just Jax. His hair is like silk and his eyes are like jewels and now he knows my darkest secrets, just like I’ve learned his. I shouldn’t be thinking about his lips or his hands or imagining the taste of his breath.

But I am, and once I have the thought, there’s no room for anything else. I tangle my hand in his hair, then slip out of my chair to press my mouth to his.