Maybe he didn’t expect me to obey, because he looks suspicious as he rides ahead to be parallel to Noah. Their voices are low and barely carry over the wind, but I can tell they are discussing whether it would be more prudent to wait.

I don’t know, and I shouldn’t care.

We press on.

The sun eventually begins its crawl up from the horizon. When I catch sight of Dustan, his jaw is dark with bruising, and he does not meet my eyes. None of them do. When Tycho wakes, he stays huddled by the bench, but the guards leave him alone, too. The heat of the day bears down on us, and eventually one of the guards throws cheese and bread and a water skin onto the floorboards. Tycho and I divide it between us. His movements are small and quick, like a rabbit, his eyes watchful.

We stay quiet. I listen, hoping for information, but the guards are careful and no one says anything to me.

Near nightfall, a guard tumbles from his horse.

Noah examines the man, then ducks his head and wipes sweat from his brow. “Heat exhaustion. We’re going to have to camp for the night.”

“No,” says Jacob. He’s glaring at me.

I raise my eyebrows and say nothing. He scowls.

“Jake.” Noah sighs. “We’re still hours away. I’m exhausted. You’re exhausted. I want to go home as badly as you do, but we’ve been here for months so a few more days won’t matter. You think Harper is going to decide whether to go home at midnight? Come on.”

So we camp. A guardsman binds my chains to a tree, yanking at the shackles so hard he nearly pulls me off my feet. He’s spoiling for a fight, and I remember what boredom and fatigue can do to a guardsman’s temperament, so I don’t give him one. Tycho is unchained, but he clings to the gathering darkness, hovering near the tree. I’m torn between wishing he would look for an opportunity to run, if one presents itself, and worrying he’d get himself killed. Darkness falls—and with it, Jacob, Noah, and the guardsmen drift into sleep. Only Dustan remains awake, standing guard at the back of the wagon.

His own exhaustion is obvious, but it makes me think well of him that he put his men first.

Eventually sleep claims Tycho as well, curled into the dry grass at the base of the tree beside me. Silence fills the space between me and Dustan, broken only by the occasional pop from the cooking fire that no one bothered to bank.

I say nothing to him, and he says nothing to me, but his eyelids begin to flicker, and he shifts against the back of the wagon. Despite everything, I understand his position. Possibly better than anyone. “Commander,” I say softly.

He’s instantly alert, his eyes narrowing. “What?”

“Do you have cards?”

“I will not be tricked into releasing you.”

I lift my shackled wrists. “I can hold cards. You need not release me.”

He hesitates, but he must realize the risk is low, because he straightens and moves across the campground to sit across from me. He’s cautious, staying just out of my reach, and he eyes me as he pulls a deck from a pouch on his belt.

Dustan shuffles quickly, dealing cards between us with practiced accuracy. I take up my hand, he takes up his, and we play in silence. He wins the first game, I, the second. By the time we begin the third, he’s relaxed into the rhythm of the game. He’s been keeping his eyes on his hands, on the shifting cards between us, but he gives me a rueful look when I lay down a prince card and capture one of his kings.

A crack of wood echoes from a copse of trees nearby, and we both snap our heads up. After a moment, a stag leaps from the foliage, then sprints off into the darkness.

We exchange a glance, then look back at our cards.

Dustan plays a four of swords. “That movement in the arena. With the armor. You asked who taught me.” His eyes flick up to meet mine. “You did.”

I play a nine of swords. “I know.”

“You could have killed me.”

I rub a hand across my jaw and sigh. “A man should not die over a bit of sport.”

“But you might have escaped,” he presses.

“Indeed, with a bounty on my head.” I glance up at him. “I bear you no ill will, Dustan.”

“That man Journ said you fought in his stead. Because he was injured.”

I nod and wait for him to lay down a card.

He’s watching me. “He said it was an act of kindness.”

I shrug. An act of foolishness, more likely.

Dustan continues, “He said he would have withdrawn if he’d seen me enter the arena, rather than risk harming a member of the Royal Guard.” He drops a card on the pile. “You could have withdrawn.”

I lay down a card. “It is not in me to withdraw.”

He considers that for a while as we play.

Eventually, he glances up. “Why did you leave?” When I say nothing, he continues, “I do not believe you’re a deserter. A deserter would not have faced me.”

I don’t meet his eyes. “Perhaps it is easiest to assume I am.”

“No. It’s not.” He pauses. “You said it was for the good of Emberfall. What does that mean?”

Those words were spoken when I believed he was going to put a sword through my chest. I already regret them. “I cannot tell you, Dustan. But I truly meant the words I said. I did not make my decision to leave lightly.”

He sighs and rubs at his eyes. I know he’s tired from the day, but true exhaustion sits behind it.

I carefully select a card from my hand and add it to the pile between us. A warm breeze makes the fire flicker. “How long have you been traveling with Prince Jacob?”

“Nearly two weeks.” He shrugs. “We are on a tour of goodwill, in the hopes the healer’s talents will endear Disi to the people of Emberfall.”

I keep my tone easy, like no time at all has passed, and we’re guardsmen sharing a fire and a game of cards. “I am surprised the crown prince would send you away.”

His expression darkens, and he tosses a card onto the pile. “It is not for me to question the prince’s orders.”

It is, actually, if he is guard commander, but I do not correct him. I toss a card on the pile.

Dustan glances at Tycho. “Who’s your shadow?”

“A stable boy.” I choose my words carefully, because I do not want to give Dustan any more control over me than he already has. “He was sworn to Worwick.”

“I thought he was going to throw himself on a sword to save you.”

“He saw the Grand Marshal’s enforcers execute a man in the tavern.” I pause. “He was worried you would do the same to me.”

Dustan’s eyebrows go up. “A man was executed?”

“Yes.” I pause and turn my cards over in my hands. “A man suspected of magic.”

“Ah.” He nods. “We’ve heard of such things in other towns.” He glances around and his voice drops conspiratorially. “At court, some people have mentioned the healer, but no one has dared to accuse him directly.”

“People are afraid.”

Dustan shrugs. “Or greedy. The instant the prince gave the order, people were lining up to collect the reward. That enchanted monster terrorized us all for so long. He is desperate to make sure it doesn’t happen again.” He pauses and adds a card to the pile. “It’s only a matter of time before people realize he’s not just searching for a magesmith. He’s searching for this missing heir.”