A Vow So Bold and Deadly (Cursebreakers, #3)(75)

Nolla Verin is still staring at me. Rain, cold and heavy, begins to drop from the sky.

Suddenly, I realize she’s not the one I owe words to. She’s not the one I need to convince. I look at the soldiers. “I do not doubt my army,” I call in Syssalah. “I do not doubt your ability. I do not doubt your loyalty. I do not doubt your strength. I ask that you do not doubt mine. We are Syhl Shallow.” I take a deep breath and shout into the rain. “We have magic on our side, and we will rise, and we will be victorious.”

For the briefest second, there’s absolute silence, so much potential riding on the air. I’m not sure what happened between Grey and Captain Solt, but it brought us halfway to this point. I have to bring us the rest of the way, and I’m not sure if this is enough.

But then Solt drops to a knee. “Syhl Shallow will rise,” he echoes fiercely. “We have magic on our side.” He hits a fist to his chest. “Syhl Shallow will be victorious.”

At his back, row by row, hundreds of soldiers do the same, falling to a knee in the rain on a muddy field. For the first time, all eyes are on me, not my sister.

My sister, who takes a deep breath, then drops to a knee herself. “Syhl Shallow will rise,” she says, and despite everything, there’s conviction in her voice. “We have magic on our side. Syhl Shallow will be victorious.”

Grey steps closer to me and takes my hand. “Our strength,” he says softly.

I nod up at him. A small flame has started to burn in my chest, and it’s not love, because that’s been brewing there for a while, and it’s not doubt, because that’s been pounded into submission. Instead, it’s hope. I squeeze his hand.

Far across the field, near the road that leads away from the palace, a horn blares. The sound is loud and carries through the rain, and a hundred heads swivel to look. It’s an announcement of approaching scouts, but it’s uncommon for it to happen at midday. Then I hear galloping hoofbeats, and I look at Grey. It’s doubly uncommon for them to return at high speed.

Something must have happened in Emberfall. Some change that requires urgent attention. Our reports said Rhen had stationed a regiment near the pass, and I assumed it was to prevent ours from moving forward.

But maybe it was intended to mount an assault against us.

Grey looks at Solt. “Have them get back into formation. Tell the other captains to be ready for new orders.”

My heart is in my throat. I just made a vow to these soldiers, and now it’s my chance to keep it. I look at Nolla Verin. “I want to meet with the generals. Find Clanna Sun and have her report to the fields at once.”

She nods quickly. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

The scouts cross the fields, their horses skidding to a stop in front of us, spraying slush and mud and blowing steam into the cold air. The animals are winded and slick with sweat and rain.

One of the scouts slips out of the saddle and offers me a clumsy, breathless bow. “Your Majesty,” she says in Syssalah. “Captain Sen Domo is holding a prisoner at the guard station.”

“A prisoner?” says Grey.

“Yes,” says the scout. She’s speaking rapidly, gasping between sentences. “She rode straight into the army camp. She has made many demands, including that she be allowed to see the queen. At first they believed she was addled, because she was quite injured, but she would not deviate from her story that Prince Rhen has been hurt, his guards and soldiers slaughtered.”

I gasp.

“What?” says Jake. “I only caught like half of that.”

Grey’s brow is furrowed, too. “Prince Rhen is injured?”

“His guards and soldiers killed, too,” I say. I look at the scout. “His regiment?”

“Still stands,” she says. “They seem … unaware. Our soldiers did not engage.” She pauses. “They don’t know where she came from.”

“Is she a soldier?” says Jake.

“Or a spy?” says Grey.

“Neither, Your Highness.” The scout finally catches her breath. “She claims to be Prince Rhen’s beloved, Princess Harper of Disi.”





CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

HARPER

Everything here is damp and freezing and miserable. Or maybe that’s just me.

The knife wound on my thigh is swollen and hot with a bit of yellow crust around the edges, and I can’t tell if I’m shivering because I’m cold or if I have a fever. Probably both, especially since I’m sitting on a stone floor, leaning against a stone wall. The pain in my thigh has long since blocked out whatever happened to my ankle when I was in Silvermoon, and now everything hurts. My wrists and ankles have been chained for two days now, the skin rubbed raw, and I can’t remember the last time I ate anything. I’m only wearing calfskin pants, a blouson, and a laced vest.

My cloak and armor are long gone, but they’ve left me with my dagger. I’ve begged and pleaded for it, declaring that it was meant for Grey, babbling that it would help him. The soldiers rolled their eyes and left it strapped to my thigh—but I’m clearly not much of a threat. The soldiers haven’t been cruel, but they haven’t been accommodating either. I’m not entirely sure what I expected—I bolted away from the Crooked Boar as if I could just ride into their camp and they’d take me straight to Grey and Lia Mara.