A Vow So Bold and Deadly (Cursebreakers, #3)(45)

Of course. It reminds me of the way Harper faced me on the dance floor, when she told me not to take out my frustrations on her friends. It makes me wonder if everyone expects the worst of me.

I’m not unused to this feeling, but it’s different now, when I am not trapped by the curse, when decisions are mine alone and have far-reaching effects.

I do not like it.

“In truth,” I say, “I was coming to offer you a new position.”

“As … what?”

“A guard.”

She looks exasperated. “The Royal Guard will not—”

“Not a guard for me,” I say. “A guard for Harper.”

Her mouth snaps shut.

“There is too much uncertainty in my kingdom right now,” I say. “No matter what orders I give, I know the Royal Guard will value my life over hers. You, I think, will not.”

She says nothing. Her eyes have closed off now, and I cannot tell if she is in favor of this idea, or if she resents me for asking.

“You have trained with the Royal Guard,” I continue. “You are well suited to stand at her side when we are in public.”

She still hasn’t said anything, so I hold her gaze. “Or you can refuse. We can continue as we have.”

“Have you asked Harper if she wants this?”

That question throws me. “No. I have not.”

She sighs. Says nothing.

“Well,” I say. “You have my thanks for your consideration.” I begin to turn for the door. Disappointment isn’t an unfamiliar emotion at all.

But then I turn before I reach for the handle. “Zo. Please.” I pause. “You were right. Harper will risk herself without hesitation.”

“I know. I’m trying to decide if I should say yes before Harper has a chance to say no.”

That makes me smile. “So you are not refusing?”

“Of course not.” She doesn’t smile back. “How much are you willing to pay?”

“What salary would suit you, Zo?”

Her eyes narrow, and she names a figure that’s more than twice what the guardsmen make.

I don’t know if this is an effort to challenge me on Harper’s behalf or on her own, but either way, it doesn’t matter. “Done,” I say easily, and her eyes nearly bug out of her head. “I will send servants to help move your belongings. We would like to leave for Silvermoon within an hour. I trust you can be ready?”

“But—yes? Yes.” She has to clear her throat. “Your Highness.”

“Good.” I reach for the door.

“You know,” she calls behind me, “for Harper, I would have done it for free.” She pauses. “I was curious how much it was worth to you.”

“I would have given you ten times as much.” I think of the moment Harper plunged a dagger into Lilith’s chest. I have to put a hand against my midsection to shake off the sudden emotion. “For Harper, I would have given you everything.”





CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

HARPER

I’m glad it’s finally cold outside, because one of the things I miss most about Washington, DC, is the ready access to antiperspirant. Freya has half a dozen jars of lotions and potions and powders to make me smell good, but none of them stop me from sweating. I’m halfway through unbuckling my bracers when I turn the corner to head down the hallway, but I hear low voices from the room beside mine, and I stop short. Freya’s voice is familiar, but it takes me a moment to place Jamison’s. I’ve only ever known him as a temporary guard and then a soldier, as a man who lost his arm in battle and watched the army from Syhl Shallow destroy his entire regiment, but was willing to put a uniform on again to serve Rhen.

The slow, gentle murmur of his voice takes me by surprise. Clearly Freya knows him as more than that. I hesitate in my doorway, and a small smile finds my face. She mentioned Jamison on the night of Rhen’s party, but their low voices make me wonder if there’s more between them than just casual friendship.

I bite my lip and shift to ease into my room silently, not wanting to disturb them. Things here are so precarious, so uncertain, and it gives me hope to remember that love can bloom anywhere, even in the darkest times.

But then I hear Freya’s breath hitch, and Jamison says, “I must. I must.”

She’s crying? Her door is open, so I grab hold of the doorjamb and rap my knuckles against the frame. They snap apart, but not so quickly that I don’t notice that they were pressed up against each other, Jamison’s hand stroking the hair down her back.

Freya swipes at her eyes hurriedly. Tendrils of her blond hair have pulled loose from the ribbons holding it back from her face, and her cheeks are mottled red. There’s a damp spot on the shoulder of Jamison’s uniform, but he stands at attention when he sees me. “My lady,” he says.

“Oh, my lady,” says Freya. She swipes at her eyes again. “Forgive me.”

“Don’t apologize.” I hesitate in the doorway. “Are you all right?”

“Of course. Of course.” But her breath hitches again.

My eyes sweep the room, looking for the children, but they’re not here. “Are the kids all right?”

“Oh! Yes. Dahlia and Davin are down in the kitchens. The baby is next door, asleep.” She takes a long breath and smooths her hands along her skirts. At her side, Jamison is silent and stoic. I can’t read anything from his expression.