A Vow So Bold and Deadly (Cursebreakers, #3)(66)

I don’t have any supplies. I don’t even have any clothes aside from a cloak and my dressing gown. The only weapon I have is this priceless dagger that was worthless in my hands.

But I suddenly have a plan.

“Evalyn,” I whisper, and I almost shudder when I speak, because I have already asked so much of everyone in this room. “I don’t—I don’t have any silver, but I need your help.”

She exchanges a glance with Coale, and new tears well in my eyes. I don’t know what I can use to bargain. I don’t even know when I’ll get more silver.

But I’ve been poor before. I’ve been desperate before. Rhen teased me about asking for help—but I know what it’s like when no one is around to give it.

“If you can’t,” I say, breathing away the tears, “I understand. I know—I know times are hard for everyone—”

“My lady.” Evalyn puts her hands over mine and squeezes tight. I look up and meet her eyes. “You’ve done so much for us,” she says. “So has the prince. All we have is yours.”

“Tell us what you need,” says Coale, his deep voice rumbling. He strokes at his thick beard. “We are well stocked for winter.”

I swipe at my eyes. “I need clothes. And a map. And enough food for …” I do some quick calculations, trying to remember all the times Rhen talked about distance and travel time. I have no idea whether this will work, but I have no other options. “Four days. I think. Maybe five.”

Evalyn’s eyes widen. “My lady. Are you returning to Disi?”

“No.” My tears dry up as hope flares in my chest for the first time. “I’m going to find Grey.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

GREY

“Again,” says the scraver, and despite the icy chill in the twilight air, I have to swipe sweat from my eyes. I’m breathing harder than I do after a long bout of swordplay or drills.

Honestly, I’d rather be doing swordplay or drills. It’s been weeks of this. “I hate magic,” I mutter under my breath.

“Yet you expect to coax it to your will with such adoring words? Again.”

I give him a narrow glare, but then I crouch and touch a hand to the ground, trying to send my power into an ever-widening circle. Some aspects of magic have come easily, like drawing flame from the wick of a lamp, while others have been more difficult, like knitting skin back together to heal. But sending power away from myself is proving the most challenging of all. It feels like running in an infinite number of directions at once—while tied to a boulder. Like I’m trying to tear myself apart and hold myself together simultaneously.

We’re in the woods beyond the training fields, and snow flurries drift through the branches overhead, collecting in the grass between my fingers. My power feels each one strike the ground as I try to let my magic expand. I feel each blade of grass, each fallen branch. The warmth of the lone lamp I set near the base of a tree, which was unnecessary when we began but is now casting thin shadows along the ground. I achieve ten feet. Twelve. A hare leaps into a thicket, and I send my power to follow.

My power snaps back to me. It’s like being shot with an arrow. I rock back and sit down hard.

I sigh.

Iisak drifts down from the high branch where he’d taken roost, landing silently in front of me. He’s barefoot and bare-chested as usual, his dark gray skin like a shadow in the darkness, but knife-lined bracers are buckled to his forearms. Snow is collecting in the black hair that curls to his shoulders, drifting across the stretches of his wings.

“You run yourself too thin, young prince,” he says.

I grunt. Maybe I do. But right now, I’d rather rely on skills I know will protect me in a battle than skills I haven’t yet mastered.

“This should be effortless,” he presses. “You should spend fewer hours on the field with your soldiers and more—”

“More here in the woods with magic?” I give a humorless laugh and spring to my feet. “Reports say that Rhen has sent soldiers to the border, and my magic can’t stop them all. Spending less time on the fields isn’t the answer.”

“If you reached for your magic before reaching for a blade, perhaps you would not need to worry.”

“Everyone here in Syhl Shallow thinks magic is a threat,” I snap. “There are secret factions in the city that plot the queen’s death.”

“I believe they plot your death.”

“Ah. That’s better.” I scowl. Iisak would have me practice magic until dawn if he had his way. I sometimes wonder if he is so focused on our success here because he regrets his failures with his son, the long-lost aelix of Iishellasa. I wonder if he dotes on Tycho and lectures me in an attempt to fill a chasm of loss. Right now, I don’t care. This lesson in magic reminds me of the way I drove Solt through his drill, and it’s not a fond memory. We’ve been at this for hours, and I was exhausted before we even started.

I nod at the knives Iisak wears. “I’m done with this. It’s your turn.”

“I hate weapons,” he growls, and I can’t tell if he’s mocking me or if he’s serious.

“Come on,” I say. “I’ve already missed dinner.” He’s pretty lethal on his own, and I’ve seen him tear soldiers apart with his bare hands. But that all requires close proximity, and he was captured once before. A bow and arrows proved too cumbersome in flight, but the knives and bracers don’t slow him down.