He says nothing. He expects a trap.

“Do you have a number or not?” I say.

“I do. Forty-eight.”

“Forty-eight!”

“Your personal guard was once half that, not including castle guards.” His tone borders between frustrated and curious. “One must allow time for training, and drills, as well as alternating schedules to ensure vigilance—”

“Fine.” I raise a hand. “Could you find and train forty-eight new guards before the change overtakes me?”

“Presuming … what? Six weeks? Seven? If we had an army and I could choose from among skilled warriors—maybe. As things stand now? Unlikely.” He pauses. “Why?”

“How many do you think you could find and train?”

“If you wish to order me to stay away from the Lady Harper, you need not create diversions—”

“That’s not what I’m doing. How many?”

“I have no idea.” His expression turns incredulous. “I have been confined to the castle with you. I have no sense of the state of the people aside from the few we’ve encountered.” He raises a hand to point at the inn. “Do you wish me to enlist children? Perhaps the infant will display a talent for swordplay.”

I level him with a look. “Watch your tone, Commander. I seek your counsel, not your contempt.”

“If you seek my counsel, then I need to understand what you hope to accomplish.”

“Those men assumed I was dead. The people think the royal family has abandoned them. I want to be able to walk among my people and show them I still live, that this is still my kingdom.”

“But—for what purpose? Your obligation is to Harper—”

“No. My obligation is to the people of Emberfall.” I take a step forward. “And your obligation is to me.”

He does not back down. “As always.”

The wind whistles between us, and I bite back a shiver. “Could you do it or not?”

“Even if I could find individuals willing to serve—which is doubtful, given what we’ve learned—and even if we cut that number by half, there is no way they could be effective at providing any kind of unified defense in a matter of weeks.”

He’s right. Of course he’s right. “What if we do not concern ourselves with defense?”

He frowns. “Forgive me, but—”

“What if we fake it?”

Grey looks as though I’ve completely lost my mind. He might not be too far off the mark. “So—to be clear—you wish for me to recruit individuals to the Royal Guard, outfit them with weapons and uniforms, and … what? Allow them to accompany you into the masses with a bare modicum of training?”

“Yes! Exactly that.”

His eyes narrow. “And this is not a diversion?”

“Do I have need to create a diversion, Commander?”

Grey does not look away. “No.” He pauses. “You have a plan, then?”

I have the shadow of a plan. The barest glimmer of a plan. “Yes. Could you do it? Could you create the impression of a functioning guard?”

“I suppose.” His words are cautious. “What happens if you are truly at risk?”

I imagine it, riding into the more populated cities, people crowding near. I haven’t done such a thing in ages. The people of Emberfall are hungry and desperate. The very idea is akin to insanity. To suicide.

But what difference does it make? I have nothing left to lose.

“That’s why I have you.”

He looks taken aback.

I clap him on the shoulder before turning for the inn. “You did say you prefer to be useful, did you not?”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

HARPER

Coale and Evalyn are bickering.

My hands and face are frozen after being out in the cold for most of the afternoon, but overhearing an argument about what to serve the royal guests convinces me to slip up the steps.

The room is freezing despite the snapping flames in the fireplace. When I move to check the window, it’s closed, but down in the courtyard, Rhen and Grey are locked in tense conversation.

I think His Highness will not like it.

Well, that was patently obvious.

I sigh and draw the curtains closed, then move to drop on the side of the bed. I rub my hands against my thighs, trying to warm them. The bulky hand-stitching of the doeskin riding pants catches on my knuckles. I wonder how it’s possible I’ve only been here a day and a half.

That moment in the stables, when here felt real and home felt like a dream, has grown stronger, like a bizarre kind of vertigo. Or maybe it’s the reverse. Maybe all this still feels like a dream and I’m not panicking because I’m just waiting to wake up.

I pinch myself.

This isn’t a dream.

I close my eyes and hug my arms to my body, thinking of my mother. When I was little, she would tell me that we all have a spark inside of us, and our sparks can find each other no matter where we are. It gave me a lot of comfort when I was young.

It’s giving me a lot of comfort now. I never asked her what would happen to her spark if she dies.

When she dies.

I have to press a hand to my chest and hold my breath.

No, I need to breathe. I gulp for oxygen and try to sob without making any noise.

But then it passes. I can breathe. I can survive.

I don’t know how long Mom can. A season is three months.

I pull the phone out of my pocket. The battery tells me there’s six percent left. I go to the photo album again. Mom. Jake. Noah. Me. Repeat.

The phone flashes a warning: 5% power remaining. It’s meaningless, really. What does that mean? Five minutes? Ten? One?

My face itches and I swipe at my cheeks, surprised when my fingertips come away wet. I remember once reading an article about the psychology of crosswalks, how adding a countdown makes it less stressful for drivers because they know how long they have to wait at a light. There was something about knowing how long you have to suffer that was better than just waiting.

The article was right.

It makes me think of Rhen, too, the indeterminate length of this curse. It’s some kind of miracle it hasn’t broken him.

I keep swiping through pictures.

Four percent.

I swap over to Jake’s text messages. Nothing has changed. They’re all there. I read as far as the chat history will load for his messages with Noah and with Mom—but it’s not far. The screen scrolls back about twelve hours, and then I get the spinning wheel. With Mom, I can imagine her voice. With Noah, I’m just curious, but the messages don’t give much context. He mentions working a night shift, but that could be anything.

For the first time, I click on the messages from Lawrence.

LN: If he doesn’t have it, take care of it

JAKE: I will

LN: No excuses

JAKE: I know

LN: You will, or we’ll take it up with your sister

JAKE: I’ll do it

My heart turns to ice. I’ll do it.

I don’t want to guess. I don’t need to guess. I know what they’ve tried to get him to do.

“No, Jake,” I whisper. My gentle brother.

The timer counted down. He wasn’t out.

We’ll take it up with your sister.

If he made it out, I wouldn’t have been there. He would have been frantic trying to find me.

If he didn’t make it out …

I press an arm against my abdomen, using my other hand to cover my face. I can’t stop the tears now. My shoulders shake fiercely. I’m sobbing openly.

The phone vibrates. Powering down.

“No!” I scream. I jam my finger on the button. The screen dies anyway.

The bedroom door swings open. Grey stands in the doorway, his eyes seeking a threat. “My lady?”

I gasp and press the phone to my chest. My heart is beating so fast I almost can’t breathe. My hands are shaking to where I can barely keep a grip on the phone.

I don’t even know why. It’s nothing now. A brick of glass and plastic and circuitry.

“My lady.” Grey’s voice is very quiet and right in front of me. He’s dropped to one knee. “What has happened?”

“It died.”

“Your device?” I can hear the confusion in his voice. “But they do not work—”

“I know.” I sniff hard. “I know. But there were pictures. My mother—my brother—it’s all I had.”

I don’t know if he understands. But he says, “Should I call for—”

“No.” I almost choke on my tears. I can’t stand the thought of facing Rhen’s arrogant composure when I’m dissolving into despair. “Please.”

He’s quiet for a moment, during which my tears sound very loud. “You have a way to see your world?” he finally says.

“No. Maybe. Sort of.” I drag a sleeve across my eyes. “Not anymore. Just—just pictures. But it died. I don’t know if they’re okay. They don’t know if I’m okay.”

“Your brother. Your mother.”

“My brother was in trouble. Before—before you took me. I was his lookout. And my mom is sick—she could be dead—”

Rhen appears in the doorway. I watch as he registers our relative positions.

Great. Like I need this right now. I glare up at him. “Go away. You’re the cause of all of this.”