He ignores my tone. “It’s more than that.”

I shrug a bit. “I don’t know his history. He does not like soldiers.”

“He likes the swordplay, though.”

Anyone could see that. I understand why Noah made the comment about him being a quick study. Tycho never misses an opportunity to watch and learn. “He can handle a blade. He’s quick on his feet.”

Harper and Zo have broken apart. Harper is breathing quickly, but smiling.

“What do you think?” she says to me.

“I think I should watch my back.”

Her smile widens, and she blushes, sliding the sword back into the sheath at her hip. Her tenacity is what I have always liked best about her. How the first day she came here, she lay in wait, then pulled a dagger on me. In Rillisk, Dustan said I’d go down fighting. So would she. When we were trapped by the curse, I never dared to allow myself to think of the girls as anything more than a means to an end.

But now the curse is broken and I find myself looking down at Harper, her dark curls shining in the sunlight, her eyes wide and piercing.

Her smile fades, sadness clouding her eyes. “I really missed you, Scary Grey.”

“And I you.” I offer half a smile. “But I am no longer scary.”

She leans in. “You’ll never not be scary.”

For a fleeting moment, I wonder what it would feel like to trace a finger along her skin.

Rhen’s going to kill me anyway. Probably.

“Zo,” Commander Dustan is saying. “Allow me your sword?”

That draws my attention. Zo has given him her weapon, and Dustan has turned to face Tycho. He offers the borrowed sword. “Grey says you’re quick on your feet.”

Tycho has become a hare in the sights of a predator, frozen in place against the wall. A twitch of movement above him catches my eye, and I glance up.

In the shadow of the window above, that Syhl Shallow girl, Lia Mara, looks down on the courtyard. Her eyes all but glitter in the dimness, but she quickly withdraws, vanishing from view.

I blink and look at Tycho. “Go ahead.” I keep my voice easy, almost bored. “Dustan will give you a fair fight.”

If anything will lure him away from the wall, it’s the promise of a lesson in swordplay, so I’m not surprised when he steps forward and puts his hand on the hilt. He tests the weight of the weapon and swallows.

Dustan waits until he’s ready, and then, just like at Worwick’s, he starts easy, with a light thrust.

Tycho nearly knocks the sword right out of his hand.

I laugh and cough to cover it, but Dustan is a good sport. He backs up and regroups, eyeing Tycho more appraisingly.

“You won’t get another opening like that,” I call. Tycho nods tightly. This time, when their swords meet, Dustan is less easygoing.

At some point, I become aware that Rhen has entered the courtyard. He’s flanked by a few guards, and he waits near the corner of the castle, where the cobblestone walkway changes color to lead to the stable. He’s watching Dustan and Tycho, though I can’t read his expression from here.

Harper is whispering with Zo, so I ease across the distance between me and the prince.

When I reach him, I discover his expression is troubled, and he is watching the match as a distraction, not a point of interest.

I straighten. “Something has happened.”

His eyes meet mine in surprise, and it takes me a moment to discover why: I’ve spoken like a guardsman sensing a threat and seeking orders.

Rhen looks away, back at the match before us. His voice is dispassionate. “He is good. You taught him?”

“Yes.”

“I can tell. He does not hesitate.”

Tycho would likely fall down to hear the crown prince praise his swordplay. It’s a good thing Dustan is keeping him busy. “He pays attention.”

Rhen’s eyes are shadowed with tension. The uncertainty from the latter months of the curse is gone, but after seeing his fear in his chambers last night, I’m not sure what’s replaced it is better.

From across the courtyard, Harper has noticed we’re together. I can see her weighing the decision of whether to join us.

“Silvermoon Harbor has closed its borders,” Rhen finally says. “They sent word this morning.”

I turn and look at him. “I do not understand.”

“The Grand Marshal sent notice that they would not recognize the rule of an illegitimate heir, nor an alliance with a country that has not provided promised assistance against Syhl Shallow. They have closed their border, and they are prepared to use military force.”

I go still. Silvermoon Harbor is the closest major city, as well as Emberfall’s sole access to the sea. Closing the border would have a massive effect on trade and travel, to say nothing of the people who rely on the city for access to food and their livelihoods.

“They have such a force?” I say quietly.

“With private armies, they could easily have such a force.” He pauses. “This is not the first city to make such a statement of refusal. But Silvermoon is by far the largest—and the only city with the might to achieve it.”

“How will you respond?”

I don’t expect an answer, but perhaps our history earns me more information than he’d offer otherwise.

“I will take back my city,” he says.

I stare at him. “By force.”

“It will quite obviously have to be.”

“You will march on your own people.”

“Grey.” His voice is weighted with intensity. “If Silvermoon’s actions are allowed to stand, other cities will follow. I cannot be at war with them all.” His expression is grim. “There are surely other cities biding their time to see how I respond. And they are likely prepared to ally with Silvermoon.”

If he tries to take back the harbor by force, it could lead to civil war. It will lead to civil war, if his estimations are correct. All while Syhl Shallow waits in the shadows to strike against Emberfall.

We could barely hold the country together while its people were united. With cities at war against the Crown, Karis Luran could swoop in and take everything.

I glance at that window overlooking the courtyard again.

“This is bigger than another magesmith,” Rhen says. “This is about more than just magic putting my country at risk. Do you understand why I must have this information from you?”

“Yes.”

His eyes light with surprise. “So you will give me the name of the heir?”

My throat stalls. If I thought offering my name would put everything to rights, I would reveal myself right here.

It won’t. This has already gone too far. Executing me will not satisfy his people’s quest for the heir. It no longer matters. They don’t want him.

In his heart, Rhen surely knows that, but like me, like Harper, he will not go down without a fight.

In the courtyard, Dustan and Tycho break apart. Tycho’s hair is damp with sweat, and he’s breathing hard, but he looks pleased with himself. He’s looking to me for something, for approval, for a word, a judgment, a critique. Something.

I can’t look away from Rhen.

“No,” I say. “I will not.”

His expression hardens. “You will. At sundown, you will.”