Forging Silver into Stars

When Jax invited me to stay, my thoughts were wrapped up in prolonging my eventual departure, because as usual, our time together feels too short, and my list of responsibilities seems never-ending. But when I go out to tend to Mercy, the cool night air bites at my skin, chiding me to be on my way. I have duties. If the king knew I stopped here—if anyone knew I stopped here—there’d be trouble.

But as I strip Mercy of her gear, I see my bare fingers, the skin a bit more pale where the rings used to sit. There’s already trouble.

I think of the look in Grey’s eyes when he was demanding to know why Sinna was in my room.

The way he took his magic back without speaking a word in my defense.

The way he hit the table. Tycho. Talk.

If he doesn’t trust me, what am I risking, really? He didn’t send me to Emberfall out of necessity. He sent me back to Ironrose Castle to get me out of the way. The thought is a tiny spear of bitterness that lodges somewhere near my heart. I tether Mercy and find her a bucket of water, with a promise of a large measure of grain for the morning, then go back into the house.

Jax is still curled in the chair with a mug, my cloak hanging askew, his hair a tumble of loose dark waves hanging over his shoulder.

It’s a sight, and I almost stumble to a stop.

He offered to let me sleep here, and I’m no fool. I know what it means. But my heart is tripping along, and needles of tension find my spine. I don’t know if I want it to mean that. I don’t know if I can handle it meaning that.

I can’t quite believe he started shooting at me. I wish he’d do it again. I know what to do with violence. It’s intimacy that feels frightening.

He surveys me for a long moment, his eyes glinting in the light from the lantern, and I wonder if he can sense every doubt I’m not voicing. A shadow crosses his face, and he stands, setting the mugs aside and reaching for his crutches.

“I can take Da’s bed if you like,” he says softly, easily. “You can have mine.”

I falter. I can’t tell if I’m disappointed—or relieved. “I don’t want to chase you out of your own bed.”

“Well, I have no idea about the state of my father’s bedding,” he says. “But I promise I’m giving you the better option.”

When I fail to move, he studies me, his eyes searching mine.

“Is that what you want?” I finally say.

“No,” he says. “But I’m not taking anything you don’t want to give.”

The words hit me harder than I’m ready for. Not just in a romantic way. In any way. No one’s ever said anything like that to me. Not even Grey. It’s not just the words, it’s the heavy truth behind it. I have to close my eyes and take a breath.

“Should I get the bow and shoot at you again?” His voice is low and teasing.

“That would likely be easier.” My eyes flick open, and my chest is tight with emotion. “What do you want, Jax?”

His eyes search mine again. “Do you need me to choose, Lord Tycho?”

Maybe I do. “I’m very good at following orders.” I mean for it to be honest, but it sounds a little coy, and I can feel warmth crawl up my cheeks.

“In that case, come keep me company. An armed man broke in earlier.”

That makes me smile. “If I lie beside you, I rather doubt I’ll be able to sleep at all.”

“Good,” he says decisively. He steps forward and taps me right in the center of my breastplate. “You’ll be well suited to guard against intruders.”

I catch his hand and hold it there, then lean in. “I wouldn’t let anyone put a hand on you.”

His breath catches, and now it’s his turn to blush. “Go on then,” he says, and his voice is rough. “I can’t drag you.”

I let go, then take hold of the lantern and obey.

In his bedroom, Jax unbuckles the cloak and hangs it neatly over the back of a chair. I don’t pay this much mind, but then he jerks his linen shirt over his head. The golden light from the lantern traces the cords of muscle across his shoulders and down his arms. My brain entirely stops thinking. I’m frozen in the doorway. By some miracle I don’t drop the lantern.

I have absolutely no idea what I’ll do with myself if he drops the trousers, but he flops onto the bed and pulls a blanket over himself.

“Oh, stop with that look,” he says. “I’m sure you’ve seen hundreds of soldiers undress.”

“Hundreds of soldiers aren’t you.” I ease the lantern onto the side table, then reach for my sword belt.

“True enough.” He gestures at my armor. “Surely all that is going to take a bit longer.”

I smile. “Less time than you’d think.”

I can—and have—removed armor in the dead of night in a snowstorm, so my fingers are swift and methodical, slipping buckles free. I lay the sword alongside the bed, within easy reach, along with two throwing knives and my dagger on the ledge above the pillows. My breastplate, bracers, and greaves are piled nearby, but I keep the folded length of leather containing royal messages and tuck it beneath the edge of the mattress.

Jax watches me the whole time, which is both unnerving and flattering, but his eyebrows go up when he sees me tuck the length of leather away.

“Messages from the king and queen,” I say. “Meant for Prince Rhen in Emberfall. I keep them with me always.”

“What happens when you’re not sharing a bed with a wayward blacksmith?”

“If I have to share a room with a stranger, or if I have to make camp on the road, I sleep in my armor.”

“Really?”

I nod and unlace my boots, then kick them free. When I straighten, my hands land on the hem of my shirt, and I freeze.

He’s right—I have seen hundreds of soldiers disrobe. And I’ve never hesitated to yank a shirt over my head before. My scars aren’t a secret.

But this isn’t the training barracks. This is Jax. And we’re alone.

“I’ve seen your scars,” he says softly.

My gaze snaps to his. His eyes are pools of darkness in the shadows.

He shrugs a little. “After you healed the damage my father caused. You removed your armor. I caught a glimpse.” He leans across the bed to douse the wick of the lantern, and the room plunges into moonlit darkness. “Do as you like, my lord.”

He eases back to the far side of the bed, then draws up the blankets.

I’m still frozen in place.

He puts an arm across his eyes. “I’m rather tired anyway,” he says, and yawns. “That brigand who broke in earlier woke me from a sound sleep.”

I smile, but it still takes me a full minute to force my limbs to move.

I’m not taking anything you don’t want to give.

I want to wrap those words up in my thoughts and hold on to them forever. It’s such a gentle statement. Such a patient statement. He spoke of my kindness, of my generosity. But it’s him. He’s the kind one. The generous one.

I take a deep breath and pull the shirt over my head. The bed shifts under my weight, but Jax is immobile. His breathing is soft and even, his arm still thrown across his eyes.

There’s at least three feet of space between us, but I keep my voice very low. “I know you’re not asleep.”

He doesn’t move. “I was plotting how to get your weapons.”

I grin. “Want to try?”

He bursts out laughing, and his arm slides off his eyes to land in the spill of hair above his head. “You really would fight all night.”

“I would.” I pause. “I wasn’t sure,” I say, “that you saw them.”

“Scars are nothing to be ashamed of,” he says. “I’m missing an entire foot and somehow the King’s Courier is in my bed.”

“The King’s Courier considers it an honor.”

He blushes deeply, but his eyes hold mine. “Was it done to you by those men who were after your father?”

“No,” I say. “It was done by Prince Rhen.”

He rolls up on one arm to look down at me. “In Emberfall?”

I nod. “When I was fifteen.”

“I hate him,” he says immediately.

I laugh softly. “Jax.”

“I do. Take me with you. I’ll tell him to his face.”

He probably would. I can just imagine Rhen’s reaction.

I also can’t stop the thrill of intrigue that races through my thoughts when he says take me with you.

“It was a long time ago,” I begin.

“Not too long. You can’t be much older than I am.”

“I’ll be twenty by midsummer.”

“As I said.”

“Prince Rhen was trying to protect his kingdom,” I say. “He bears his own scars. I’ve made my peace with it.”

“Truly? Then let me see.”

Well, he’s got me there.

Jax stares down at me. “You were fifteen. Barely more than a boy. I’m sure you were a huge threat to the kingdom of Emberfall.”

“King Grey was the rightful heir,” I say. “He would not reveal himself.”

“And what does that have to do with you?”

“I alone knew his secret.” I pause. Much like what happened with the soldiers when I was young, I don’t often discuss this—with anyone. “The … the whipping … it was done to us both.”

These words fall into the darkness like a stone into a pond.

“But the king has magic,” Jax says. “He couldn’t protect you?”

“He didn’t know how to use it then.” I pause. “He bears the same scars.” I take a long breath, run a hand down my face, and roll onto my stomach before I can lose my nerve. “You can see.”

Now it’s his turn to freeze.

He’s absolutely silent, but I can see the moment his gaze shifts from mine to my back. My head rests on my forearms, and I watch the tiny movement of his eyes as he traces the lines.

When he reaches out a hand, I tense, but I force myself to remain still.

His hand stops before reaching me, though. “Can I touch you?”

The question takes me by surprise. It’s four simple words, almost ridiculous words, considering we’re lying beside each other. But maybe that’s what allows me to nod. It’s the patience. The waiting. A request instead of a demand.

He doesn’t touch the scars, which is what I expected. His hand drifts along my shoulder, down across my biceps, following my forearm until he reaches my face and lets his fingers run through my hair before he does it again. And again.

By the fourth time, the tension has eased out of my body, and my eyes flicker closed. I want to stay awake, to keep talking, to listen to the easy rumble of his voice. There’s still a tremor of worry in the back of my thoughts, that this will lead to more before I’m ready for it, but his hand never strays from the chaste path along my arm. My thoughts begin to drift and loosen.

When the stroking stops, I wonder if he’s begun to fall asleep, too, but the bed shifts, just the slightest bit, and my eyes barely open to find the tiniest smile on his face, his arm reaching over my head.

Jax barely has a hand on the blade before I pin him to the bed, trapping his wrist.

He gasps in surprise, but then he laughs, full out.

“You’re dangerous,” I say ruefully.

“I was curious about how serious you were.”

“Well, now I’m very serious about not sleeping.”

He frowns. “You’re not really, are you?”

“No.” I wince. “Maybe? Not because of you,” I add. “But Alek. Anyone.” I flex my fingers. “It’s very different to be on the road without my rings.”

“You mean, you’re just like the rest of us?”

That gives me pause, and it reminds me of the day I healed his hand. “Yes,” I admit.

He glances at his hand with the knife, which is still trapped against the mattress. “You clearly don’t need them.”

I wonder if that’s true. Maybe I’ve grown too reliant on magic, and I’ve forgotten how to rely on myself.

“Maybe not.” I hesitate and think of the moment Alek thrust that dagger under my ribs—or the battle with Nakiis in the arena. I frown. “But … sometimes I take risks I otherwise wouldn’t.”

“Sometimes risks remind us of what we have to lose.” He flexes his wrists under my grip. “More of your soldier training?”

I nod.

“Show me how to get free.”

I smile and squeeze his left wrist. “Slide this one straight overhead. It’ll break my balance. If you do it fast, you can push off with your foot and flip me—”

He flips me onto my back so quickly that it takes me by surprise. He really is stronger than he knows. I think it takes him by surprise, because he’s wide-eyed and staring down at me.

“I told you the army could use you,” I say. “Now you’re in a position to punch me in the face or cut my throat.”

He smiles and lets go of my wrist to set the knife back on the ledge, but then he leans down close, his hands braced beside my shoulders, his hair tickling my skin. But there’s a part of this that’s making my heart skip in a way that’s wary and uncertain. I wish I had my armor back.

Maybe he can tell. “Can I kiss you instead?” he says, and his voice is quiet.

Every time he asks, it’s like a bit of the unease in my chest melts away, dissolving into nothing. I wonder if he knows.

I look into his earnest eyes and nod. “Yes.”

When he closes the distance, his mouth is gentle and soft, and he bites at my lip in a way that steals my thoughts and lights a fire in my belly. My breathing goes rough and ragged at once, and he draws back to study me.

He’s straddling my waist, and my hands fall on his knees. His pants are loose, but revealing shadows are everywhere. If he were to shift his weight by a few inches, my lustful thoughts would be no secret either.

I slide my hands up his thighs, and he sucks in a quick breath—then traps my hands under his own. I go still, but he smiles, then lifts my hands to press them into the mattress, threading our fingers together. It leaves him all but hovering above me.

“Forgive me,” I whisper.

“You’ve done nothing wrong,” he says, and there’s a smile in his voice, but a note of seriousness as well. “But too many people have taken too much from you. I don’t want to be one more.”

My chest constricts in a way that’s both painful and exquisite. “Jax,” I whisper.

He kisses me again, and this time he’s more sure, his fingers tightening on mine, his knees tight against my rib cage. He finally does shift, and our chests meet. Our hips meet. I gasp into his mouth. That fire in my belly turns to liquid honey that spreads through my veins. I’m desperate, wanting, making small sounds low in my throat. When I get a hand free, I grab his waistband to pull him tighter against me, and I’m gratified to draw a gasp from him as well.

But then he smacks my hand away and grins. He touches his nose to mine and whispers against my mouth. “No.”

“As you say.”

I expect him to pull away, but he grinds against me harder, burying his face in my neck. As his teeth graze my skin, his hand finds my waist, his fingers five points of heat. His hand slips under the edge of my trousers, finding the bare edge of my hip.

I can’t breathe. I’m all but panting underneath him, my hands wanting skin but clutching the night air. I get a fistful of his hair, and he growls against me. That almost does me in.

“Jax,” I’m gasping. “Jax.”

His response is slow, languorous, murmured against my throat. “Yes?”

“I—I—”

His hand goes still. “Stop?”

I shake my head fiercely. “No—no—I—”

“Then hush. And take for once.”

I want to protest, but his teeth find my bare chest, and I forget everything I wanted to say. His tongue brushes my nipple, drawing it into his mouth, and I forget my own name.

Then his hand slips the rest of the way under my clothes, his gentle fingers closing around me, and I shudder. I hear him whisper, but the words don’t find my ears. My body knows, though, and I’m nodding without thinking, my fingers sliding through his hair. Every breath feels like fire, and my back is arching against the mattress under his touch.

Jax kisses his way down my chest, tugging at the waist of my trousers. I’m aware of the cool night air, of the way our legs have tangled together, of the sudden warmth of his mouth. I’m aware of his eyes, still dark and intent on mine. I’m aware of his patience. Of his gentle kindness.

And later, when I tug him back up my body, whispering my devotion, my gratitude, my reverence, he presses his lips to mine, and I kiss him deeply. I have a momentary worry that he’s going to pull away, that he’s going to leave. But Jax tucks his face into my neck, his breath sweet and warm against my skin, his palm a spot of heat against the center of my chest.

This is a different kind of magic, one that no one can take away from me.