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  Myah blanched at the comment. Every ounce of her being wanted to defend Skye, to justify his response to the man, but her uncle didn’t even bristle at the barb. “All houses are welcome in my home,” Edgar said. “They are my guests, as you are.”

  Phillip sniffed. “As you like.” He paused only a moment before that maddening smile plastered back on his face. “And who may I ask are these beauties?” Phillip’s unyielding gaze fixed on Myah.

  She narrowed her eyes. Her muscles tensed now that she was under his scrutiny.

  “My sister, Lady Caitlyn Leicht, and her daughter, my niece and heir, Lady Myah Leicht.”

  As Edgar introduced them, Myah rose to her feet alongside her mother and descended the steps. She hung back, uneager to meet the representative of the queen. Caitlyn extended her hand, and Phillip took it as he bowed.

  “I see the tales of your beauty are not exaggerated, Lady Leicht,” Phillip said. For a moment, Myah thought he was going to press his lips to the top of her mother’s knuckles, but he stopped, hovering there for a moment longer than was customary, before he released her mother’s hand. Caitlyn flexed her fingers and then rubbed her hands together the way one would brush off dirt. “It is my honor to meet you.”

  Then, his attention found Myah. She had to fight the urge not to reflexively recoil. The shape of his eyes, the sweetness slithering off his tongue reminded her of a serpent ready to strike.

  Myah swallowed the lump in her throat and dropped into an awkward curtsy, even as he bowed. Phillip reached for her hand, but she kept her arms firmly at her sides—not wanting him to touch her.

  His head tilted to the side. “It is my honor,” he spoke again, “to meet you, Lady Leicht. You are as striking as your mother.”

  She wanted to gag. “Thank you, Lord Ashen,” she managed instead.

  She took a step back, positioning herself partly behind her mother and uncle. She didn’t want to look as if she were hiding behind her mother’s skirts, but she definitely wanted to be out of reach of this nobleman. His countenance made her feel ill; his attention only exacerbated it. The knot in her stomach twisted tighter.

  Edgar cleared his throat. “I have prepared rooms for you, Lord Phillip. Your guardsmen may quarter with the Nordlin Guard in the barracks. They will be expected to remain unarmed while in my home.”

  “Certainly, high lord,” Phillip said. “And it is most gracious of you to provide such fine accommodations. However, I would prefer the master of the guard, Garrett, stay within the castle walls with me.” Phillip gestured to a guard standing behind him, practically shadowing the man. She could not see his face, but he seemed to be watching her even as she watched him. “Garrett.” Phillip gestured him forward with a flick of his hand.

  The guardsman stepped to his lord’s side and dropped his hood. Myah gasped. The dark hair and sharp jawline, the eyes that danced like fire, the scars that marred his neck and hand—the solider from the forest stared at her. His face was as stoic as it had been that day.

  Her limbs trembled beneath her dress, and she hugged her arms around her torso to keep them from shaking in fear. Her heart hammered in her chest and in her ears, blocking out her uncle’s continued conversation with the Ostens. A rush of heat started at her throat and flushed her cheeks. Her chest tightened as if the stays on her corset were done too tightly.

  “Are you well, Lady Leicht?”

  When she looked up, Master Garrett’s strange eyes affixed to hers. They danced with a golden flame, and she was certain it was a trick of the light. She had seen eyes sparkle with magic after weaving a spell, but his eyes hypnotized like fire.

  “Yes ...” She tried to speak, but her mind buzzed with too many thoughts, too many feelings.

  Myah’s body trembled more under his attention, and goose bumps rose on her skin. She stepped back, wanting to put distance between them. Her foot landed half on the dais step and half on the floor. The uneven footfall made her lose her balance. She let out a yelp as her leg gave out, and she felt her body fall, and then just as quickly stop.

  A warm hand supported her elbow, guiding her upright.

  “Steady.” Garrett’s voice flowed to her ears, and the velvet of his tone would have calmed even the most skittish of foals. It eased her for a moment until she remembered who he was.

  “Myah, dear, are you all right?”

  She freed herself of his touch and stepped toward her mother, forcing a smile and hoping it would mask the anxiety raging inside of her. “Of course, just lost my footing.”

  “Well, then,” Edgar continued. “We have much to discuss during your stay in Nordlin, Lord Phillip. Our servants will show you to your rooms. Please settle in and relax. I’ve ordered a banquet for this evening to welcome you.”

  Lord Phillip dropped another bow before following a servant back to the doors.

  The guardsman lingered, even as the rest of the Ostens followed Phillip. He nodded to her, a quick drop of his chin, before following the others.

  When the doors shut, the lords and ladies spoke all at once, their voices rising in a wave.

  Myah felt the muscles in her body uncoil and relax. She laid a hand on her stomach, taking a deep breath.

  “Myah?” Caitlyn eyed her. Her thin brows pinched together.

  “Just glad that’s over,” she said.

  “Agreed.” Her mother patted her hand and stepped away to converse with Lady Lamar and her companions.

  Immediately, Myah sought Skye where he stood with his father. The hard press of his lips, the tint of red to his pale complexion; the tautness of his shoulders, neck, and jaw. They spoke of one thing—anger. And at that moment, she knew she didn’t need to explain to him what had happened. He knew her as well as she knew him.

  And Skye knew she was afraid.

  ~SEVENTEEN~

  Thwack.

  The tip of the knife wedged into one of the exposed wood beams that rose from floor to ceiling in the wall.

  “Must you do that?” Phillip hissed. “It’s unnerving.” The lord lay on a settee, one leg dangling off the blue furnishing, and an arm draped over his eyes.

  Thwack.

  Phillip nearly launched off the settee, his dark hair flipping wildly into his face. His shirt was half-untucked, and he hardly resembled anything close to a future king in his disheveled state. Perhaps that was why Garrett found it entirely comical.

  Garrett smirked. “Are you offering to be a moving target?” he asked. He plucked the third knife from the table and weighed it in his hand. The balance was slightly off in this one. The handle weighed more than the steel. Keeping that in mind, he took aim and released, embedding the blade right next to the other two with yet another thwack.

  “Are you threatening me?” Philip blanched.

  Garrett guffawed, hardly able to keep it in any longer. The poor soul had been ridiculous all through the evening meal and seemed to be the only one unaware that he played the fool. This fact alone made him an easy target for Garrett’s wicked sense of amusement.

  “And have Elysia hang me from Turris’ walls … Never.” He plucked the fourth knife and tapped the blade against the palm of his right hand.

  Phillip harrumphed and threw himself back down on the settee, tossing his arm over his eyes again. It reminded Garrett of a woman fainting, but then Phillip had always been the most delicate of the Rainecourt siblings. He was amazed Elysia had chosen him at all as the heir for the house of Ashen. Phillip’s older brother Wayland or his younger sister, Cecily, carried themselves with far more dignity and grace. However, Wayland was heir to the house of Rainecourt, and their father planned to marry Cecily to a lord in the southern islands by way of creating an alliance. Thus, Phillip became the heir, and Garrett was stuck fighting the urge to use him as a pincushion.

  “What do you make of Lord Edgar?” Phillip mumbled, his words almost incoherent from all the wine he’d imbibed and fatigue from the journey.

  “I think you should probably consider long and hard whethe
r you want to trifle with him.” He threw the knife at the wall.

  “For lords’ sake, Garrett!” Phillip shouted.

  Garrett paced to the wall and plucked the blades from the beam one by one. The wood splintered as he tugged them out. Garrett flopped on the sofa next to the fire and dropped the blades on a side table beside him.

  “I just hope he agrees quickly to the terms so we can be done with this place. I hate Nordlin. It’s always so … cold.”

  “They call it winter, Phillip. It happens every year.”

  “It’s called summer, Garrett. It happens all year in southern Morgensol.” Phillip made a sound of disgust and shook his limbs. “I’m counting the days until I can return to the Rainecourt lands.”

  Garrett was counting the days until Phillip returned to Morgensol as well. The man was insufferable.

  “What do you make of Lady Myah?” Phillip asked.

  “She favors the Leichts too much. All red and pale and freckled.” It was a thoughtless lie, but Phillip was too dense to ever figure out when Garrett was being sincere. The truth was he found her fire-hair and blue eyes a stark, beautiful contrast to the darker hair and complexions that dominated the people of the other three kingdoms. The red hair seemed confined to the lands of the north, and those with it could usually trace their lineage back generations to a Leicht or half-Leicht family ancestor.

  “Yes, I must say I prefer a good Morgensollen or Osten woman. I just hope I don’t have to marry the girl. I could never learn to admire her freckles. But then, as long as she gave me children and kept her mouth shut, I could probably get past that spotted complexion and those thin eyebrows.”

  And she would put an arrow through your heart in an instant if she heard you say that, Garrett thought. But this feckless waste of existence didn’t need to know that. Frankly, Garrett was more than happy to leave him and the queen to their own petty driveling. He had more important matters to tend to.

  “What say you?”

  “Women are a waste of breath.” He closed his eyes and laid his head on the back of the couch.

  “You only say that because none look twice at you. Your scars are positively frightening,” Phillip said.

  “As are your manners,” Garrett retorted.

  “My manners are fine.”

  “Yes, so fine that you often forget them.”

  Phillip snorted. “Why would I have manners with you? You’re nothing but a—”

  “Are you sure you want to finish that sentence, Phillip? My knives are sitting right here, and I’m always happy to practice.” Garrett cracked an eye, watching the young nobleman.

  “You’re welcome to go sleep in the guardhouse if you don’t like my manners.”

  The guardhouse was infinitely better than the adjoined suite he shared with Phillip. He would take unwashed soldiers and foul body odor over Phillip’s snoring any night. In fact, the only reason he wasn’t already in the guardhouse had more to do with Phillip’s fear of assassination than any kinship Phillip held for Garrett.

  “Scream when the assassins come, then,” Garrett shot back. He drew himself up from the sofa and gathered his knives. He plucked his cloak off a hook near the fire and threw it over his shoulders. “Sleep well.”

  Phillip’s protests died as he shut the door.

  Served the prig right, Garrett thought.

  ~*~

  When Myah awoke, the crest of the first moon loomed outside her window, while the second piece of the broken orb was dark, a blotch against the backdrop of stars. The light breeze whipped her curtains, and her shutters periodically thumped against the stone, clanking in an uneven rhythm.

  Her mind toiled with what had awakened her. A dream? A memory? Some noise within the palace? Or a far-off shout from the city below? But she could not latch on to anything in particular. What she did know was that the Ostens were a ridiculous bunch, and beyond ill-mannered. Where had that man learned etiquette? She had thought her mother was going to have hysterics when he patted Caitlyn’s leg beneath the table.

  Myah wanted to bathe just thinking about it.

  And the soldier?

  Not a single word through the entire meal. He watched her, her mother and uncle, Phillip, as though he measured everything and weighed how best to destroy it.

  Myah sucked in a breath. No, she would not let anyone hurt Nordlin. As long as breath remained in her body, she would fight. She particularly loathed that part of that fight was playing demure, proper future high lady when she wanted to use Phillip as target practice with her arrows. She doubted anyone would miss him.

  She threw back her blanket and kicked her legs over the side of the bed. The stone floor was cold against her bare feet, leaving prickles of pain where flesh and stone connected as she padded across the room. She plucked her robe from where it hung on the corner of her dressing screen and pulled it over her nightdress. She wrapped the fabric around her body, securing the sash as she sought a pair of slippers. Moments later, she slipped into the hallway. The chilled air struck her face, and she inhaled it, clearing her lungs.

  However, it did not clear her mind.

  Myah teetered on the edge. One small push could send her into an abyss, and that soldier would be the catalyst to her ruin.

  All he had to do was open his mouth.

  But what could she do? What could be done?

  If she couldn’t think of something, the man would use her deeds as a weapon against Nordlin, a bargaining chip in Ost’s favor.

  Myah needed to speak to Skye and Cal, but the day hadn’t allowed for it and she would not be at ease until they came up with a plan to deal with the guardsman.

  At an impasse with her thoughts, Myah exited into the garden. High hedges marked the maze and at its center was her favorite of the many fountains. She had walked the maze enough times to know the route by heart, and the secluded corners had always been a favorite place to think, to clear her mind of troubles. The rushing water was like a soothing balm on most occasions. Unfortunately, the fountain had been drained before the weather turned cold. She would have to do without its music tonight. Fortunately, it lived in her memories.

  Myah closed her eyes, picturing in her mind’s eye the marble woman holding her pitcher, the water flowing from it back into the pool, and the carved salmon ringing the statue’s pedestal. She inhaled a cleansing breath before reopening her eyes. She rounded the last bush blocking her from the maze’s center and immediately was pulled backward, a hand over her mouth.

  On instinct, she threw her elbow backward, connecting with something warm, solid, and the arms around her released.

  “My,” Skye hissed. “It’s me.”

  Myah turned around, her heart still sputtering in her chest, and searched for her friend, finding him in the shadow of the hedges.

  He cupped his nose and rubbed it. “Ouch.”

  “You scared me half to death,” she chided.

  Skye stepped forward, enfolding her once more in his arms. As he drew her to him, her feet lifted from the pathway until she was on her toes. His warmth radiated through the fabric of her robe. “I only wanted to do this,” he whispered, before leaning down and finding her mouth in the dark. He tasted of peppermint, the flavor cool on her lips. And then he pulled away, and she slid back down until her feet were flat on the path once more.

  “How did you know I was out here?”

  “I was coming to find you when I saw you leave your room.”

  “So you followed me?”

  With a shrug, he pulled farther away from her. “Why are you out here alone? You shouldn’t be alone, not with the Ostens here.”

  “I needed some fresh air.” She slid her hand down his arm until she found his right hand, with a gentle tug she drew him over to the bench near the fountain. The faint light of the moon caught his figure. He wore his cloak and riding boots. “Have you been out?” she asked.

  “Cal and I have been going out to the caves regularly. Owl isn’t himself with Allen gone …”
/>   “He’s alone,” Myah finished for him. “They were friends for many years. Is he still thinking about leaving?”

  They sat on the cold stone bench. “He’s talking about going south to join one of the other groups.”

  Myah folded her hands in her lap. “Does he really wish to leave us?”

  Skye shrugged. “I don’t think it’s a wish, but more of a necessity. He wants to make a difference, and people willing to help aren’t exactly plentiful here, not with the wards protecting the borders. They feel safe, far from the reach of the Ostens.”

  “You agree with Owl’s choice, then,” she reflected.

  Skye heaved a sigh. “I empathize.”

  Myah sat up straighter and angled her body toward him. “Empathize? Does that mean you want to leave too?” She held her breath.

  “I think …” Skye’s voice trailed off. “I think it would be safer for Nordlin if I did. I want to make a difference and that means fighting back. It also means drawing Ost’s attention, and look where that has gotten us.”

  Myah’s throat tightened. “Perhaps soon none of that will matter. If my uncle is successful and his deal ends the war—”

  “You know whatever deal your uncle strikes with them, they’ll break as soon as he brings the wards down.”

  “Yes.” She did know that. Elysia Ashen had made a similar tactical play with the high lord of Namir. When he peacefully surrendered the capital city, she murdered his entire family. But if a deal could bring peace … If a deal could keep Skye in Nordlin, with her … She sucked in a shuddering breath.

  Skye touched her hand and brought it to his lap. His fingertips pressed into her palm, his gentle rubbing causing her fingers to flex and extend with each smooth movement. “Edgar has a plan?” he asked.

  “My uncle is buying time.” She shifted her focus to the constellations lifting above the trees of the eastern horizon, but Skye’s touch anchored her to the gardens. “We’re still trying to get the supplies from the Stone Isles, but there seems to be a never-ending string of complications. I think …” She stopped, processing all the words flowing through her mind—the hows and whys of how they reached this moment, this place. “I think saving the refugees was still the right choice. Even though it led us here. But, I never thought I would live to see the day that Osten soldiers would be bunking in our guardhouse.”