A Heart So Fierce and Broken (The Cursebreaker Series Book 2)

When Rhen spoke of liberty and hospitality, he clearly meant it. I sleep fitfully and wake long before sunrise, but despite the early hour, I’m provided with anything I request, from a shaving kit to a platter of food to a pair of boots that fit better. Out of curiosity, I request a dagger, and the servant bobs a curtsy and says, “Right away, my lord,” before dashing off.

While I wait, I stand at the window and stare out at the dawn sky, quickly brightening as the sun breaks across the horizon. The castle grounds are alive with color, from the snapping gold and red pennants to the flowers that bloom everywhere. I spent so long trapped in an eternal autumn that I’d forgotten the beauty of Ironrose at midsummer.

Lia Mara has pulled the brick divider in the hearth closed, but I found myself studying it last night. The handle is hot when I put my hand against it, the barrier heavy enough that I’d have to brace against the brick wall to pull it wide. I’m impressed by her strength and ingenuity. I’m not sure I would have even considered it.

A knock sounds at my door, and I move away from the window. “Enter.”

Instead of the serving girl, Dustan pushes though the door and allows it to fall closed. “Why do you need a dagger?”

“I was curious to see how far the offer of hospitality would extend.”

“This far, it would seem.” He doesn’t seem irritated. If anything, he seems amused.

“Who is my jailor to be today, Commander?” I ask him. “Am I confined to my quarters?”

“You are free to roam as you please.” He pauses, then folds his arms. “And your ‘jailor’ is me.”

“Then I’d like to see Tycho,” I say.

Dustan nods. He leads me past the other rooms on this floor to the staircase that descends to the lowest level.

I frown. “Where is he?”

“The infirmary.”

I’d been worried he would say the dungeon, but this is worse. “He was injured?”

“No. You’ll see.”

The infirmary is not large, and it was mostly open space when I was in command of the Royal Guard. A dozen cots had lined the back wall of the room, and a small bench of supplies sat near the front.

In my absence these last few months, the infirmary has been transformed. The cots—now double in number—are larger, with more plush cushioning, and a white sheet hangs between each, affording patients some privacy. The bench has been replaced with two long tables full of rolled muslin and stacks of fabric, backed by corked jars of every color. The few wall sconces that once lit the space have been replaced by large overhead chandeliers, brightening the infirmary to a space where few shadows can linger.

Near the center of the room, a pale, shirtless, middle-aged man sits on a cot, cradling his arm in his lap. Sweat glistens on his brow. On a stool in front of him sits Noah, facing away from us, and beside him, on a chair, sits Tycho.

“Touch here,” says Noah, gingerly pressing his fingers against the man’s shoulder. The man winces but holds still as Tycho’s fingers follow the same path.

“You feel that bony mass?” says Noah. “Broken clavicle. That’s the beginning of new bone formation over the fracture line.”

“Broken clavicle,” Tycho echoes.

The man winces again. “Is that bad?”

“No,” says Noah. “I’ll give you a sling.”

“You’ve made quite a place for yourself, Noah,” I say.

He glances over his shoulder. “What else was I supposed to do?”

There’s a chilliness to his voice, but it’s overshadowed by Tycho spinning in his chair, smiling wide. “Grey!” But then his eyes settle on Dustan, and the smile melts into wary regard. “Are you well?”

“I am well,” I say. “I’m glad you’ve found a friend.”

Noah rises from the stool and moves to one of the tables, where he picks up a folded length of muslin. “Tycho’s welcome anytime. He’s a quick study.”

Tycho glances between Noah and me, and then his eyes flick cautiously to Dustan. “Can we go home?”

As if Worwick would welcome me with open arms. Then again, he always did like a spectacle.

These thoughts are useless. I won’t be going anywhere at all.

“Not yet,” I say.

At my side, Dustan gives away nothing through his expression.

“I promised Princess Harper she could demonstrate her newfound skills,” I say. “Shall we go see if she is receiving visitors?”

Tycho’s eyes go wide. “You know the princess?”

Noah rips through the length of muslin. “They go way back.”

I frown at his tone, but Tycho’s curiosity is already taking over. “What kind of skills?”

“The kind you’ll like.”

We meet in the courtyard at midmorning, while the sun beams down to fill the air with heat and the scents of jasmine and honeysuckle from the flowering bushes surrounding the stable. My leg is beginning to ache from all the movement, but I’ll probably be chained to a rack later, so I ignore the pain.

Harper grins at me and palms three knives. “Watch. Are you watching? Watch.”

Her enthusiasm is almost infectious. I can’t help but smile in return. “I am watching, my lady.”

Zo stands at her back, her expression full of the same suspicion and disappointment I find on the face of every guardsman I knew before.

You too swore an oath to protect the Crown, I want to say. You would understand if you knew.

Or maybe they wouldn’t.

Harper flips one knife in her hand, then lets it fly. It sails into the space between two cobblestones, driving into the dirt with enough force that the handle vibrates.

I remember the day she first asked me to show her this, how the very act of learning weaponry seemed to be an act of defiance. At first, I thought it was against Rhen, but it didn’t take me long to realize she’d grown up thinking she could never learn to defend herself. The defiance was toward herself. Or who she’d thought she was.

She flips the other two knives, and they land in quick succession in an almost straight line. She turns to curtsy.

I smile. “I’m impressed,” I say, and mean it.

“Zo and Dustan helped me a lot.” She pauses. “I’m still not very good at the sword stuff, but I’m getting better.”

She wears a sword on her hip today, bearing the weight of the weapon and armor as casually as Zo does beside her. “Show me.”

Their blades fly and crash together in the sunlight, but she is right. The swordplay is more clumsy and less graceful than the knives she threw into the ground. Harper struggles with balance and strength in her left side, an effect of the cerebral palsy she says has challenged her since birth.

Tycho stands nearby, hanging closer to the castle wall, silent as a ghost, but his eyes are locked on the match.

Dustan moves closer to me. He’s been little more than a shadow all morning, so I’m surprised when he speaks low to say, “What has happened to the boy?”

“Perhaps he watched as you put an arrow through my leg and took him prisoner.”

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.”

The words are spoken with such certainty that I feel them at my core. Season after season I never truly feared Lilith, though I hated her.

For the first time, I fear what Rhen could do.