Chapter 12
The servants bowed, lanterns thinning the encroaching dark. A breath of cold air raised her skin into gooseflesh.
Blainor fell in step with her, shoulders brushing, a trace of evergreen and cedar teasing her nose. No matter how she tried to ignore him, heat prickled at her spine. His silent nearness further frayed her nerves.
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere more private than a table full of ears.” A smile softened his voice. “I would expect you to appreciate discretion.”
“Your generosity knows no limits.”
Their footfalls echoed as they ascended, granite around them exuding coolness. The long hems of Trisha’s skirt tangled around her feet, and she stumbled, the bodice squeezing her ribs.
“Careful, Starling,” Blainor murmured, reaching out. Light touch on her elbow, the heat of his skin tingling through her sleeve. “Wouldn’t want you to fall at my feet without me even trying.”
She jerked her arm free. “Sorry to disappoint you, my lord, but it’ll take much more than an accidental tumble.”
He led them on. The hush of the evening amplified every sound: the wood’s groan, wind lamenting outside, their breathing. Through the arrow slits, the dwindling sphere of light still burned.
Blainor stopped in front of a decades-cracked door, thin film of rust coating the hinges. It wailed under his push.
A gust slapped against Trisha’s cheeks, rich with salt, sweet heather, and the earthy soil.
Blainor’s cloak flapped behind him as he stepped through the doorway.
Over the parapet’s crumbling crenellations, the landscape unfurled like a painting—the sun upon waves, the mountain ridge disappearing with the gloaming.
It stole Trisha’s breath. For a moment, she even forgot his reason to bring her here, the keep’s battlement.
Stopping by the balustrade, Blainor placed his hand on its crown. Moorhafen’s walls, towers, and fields spread around them.
“Is this why you brought me here? To admire the views?”
He turned. “Would you want it to be so?” His eyes shimmered in the soft twilight, but beneath their steel flickered something almost… tender. The emotion was gone in a blink. Blainor stepped forward. “Is that what you’ve been hiding from me—your true home? The linden tree and dancing lights?”
Despite her attempt, Trisha couldn’t quite suppress her wince. Her unruly magic. She should have known better. Shouldn’t have forgotten that she could never let go of control.
Smothering her curse, she smiled. “If you are so sure, why even ask?”
Another step. “Showing your talons, Starling?” The sun caught in the golden threads of his collar, in the metal of his bone-hilted knife. His body was tense, a coiled power waiting to break free.
Pulling herself straight, Trisha met his gaze. There was no avoiding the inquisition, but she wouldn’t give in without a fight.
“I’m not a bird, and I have a name,” she said. “You wanted me to follow you. If my music’s not what you wanted, then say it.”
“When have I complained about your songs?”
Damn her. When would she learn to keep her mouth shut? “What do you want?”
“Want?” he repeated slowly. The wind blew, beating his cape and billowing Trisha’s dress unceremoniously. “I want to understand what it is about you that reminds me of things I spent years to forget.” There was darkness in his words; it crawled down her spine.
“I have no idea what—”
“Trisha.” The name, said like an endearment, silenced her.
Blainor lifted his hand, tilting up her face, a soft touch of his thumb grazing her jaw. “Lie to yourself, if you must.” A sliver of darkness eclipsed the fog of his eyes. “Just don’t expect me to believe.”
Quickly, she pulled back, but his touch burned like a brand. “So, my music invoked an image of a tree. Hardly something of interest.” Trisha shrugged, but her heart pounded too fast. Surely he could even see the ripples on her clothes.
“Oh, I find it very interesting.” Blainor raised a finger. “This many bards can do the same as you.”
“Is that why I’m here? Some southern keepsake flaunted off to your people?” She brushed away the wayward strands of hair the wind kept pushing into her face. “You don’t own me, Warlord. No one does. I follow the road.”
“And the road brought you to me. Let me lay out a reminder—I didn’t force you to follow me.”
“I never had a true chance to decline,” she accused. “You knew what would happen when you asked me to join on the road north.”
“And have I mistreated you along the way somehow, Trisha?”
“That’s beside the point. You’ve maneuvered my every step since our meeting. When have I done something of my own volition? Why should I trust you now?”
A soft trill as a sparrow swept overhead.
“Maybe you shouldn’t,” he said. “But I haven’t misled you in that I want you alone to play within the walls of my home.”
“But will that be enough?” The words escaped before she caught them. The wind rose. Beneath it, the faint rumble of the nearby waves echoed.
“Such a peculiar question,” Blainor mused, edging closer.
His gaze traced her face, sharp and intent, as though reading her thoughts before they even took form. It left her shivering—from enthrallment or fear, she couldn’t tell. She needed more distance, and still, somehow, he stood too far.
“My music,” she clarified, but her voice sounded breathless. “Will it suffice?”
A small smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “Your music? Yes, it enchants. Moves the heart. Reaches the deepest trenches of a person’s soul. But for it to be enough…”
She couldn’t move, rooted in her place. The sunlight caught in his eyes, and the notes of cedar and evergreens grew stronger. Achingly slow, his hand lifted to tug a strand of hair off her face behind her ear. Sliding down her cheek, it left a trail of tingling heat.
Blainor smiled. “How could it ever be enough?”
Words abandoned her. His touch lingered, the ghost of his finger skimming across her skin.
A sudden ache as magic flared. With her heart hammering like it wanted out, Trisha stumbled back.
Her heels scraped against the low, rough stone barrier.
The drop below was too deep; he stood too near.
Quickly, she banished the memory of his comfort, the way darkness pooled in his eyes.
She couldn’t afford to lose herself in them.
“What will satisfy you, then, Warlord? You told me you needed a bard. That’s why I agreed to come, and that’s all I’m offering.” She refused to acknowledge how her neck perspired, icy cool when the wind blew.
“Can you fault me for wanting to understand what you’re capable of?
” Blainor’s tone gained a harder edge. “I’m the master of these lands, responsible for my people’s safety.
We both know your music’s not just music, and your grip is slipping.
” He leaned closer. “Or what would you say of today’s performance, Trisha?
Seems you were lost in your own vision.”
“I didn’t realize becoming your bard meant interrogation,” she hissed. “I’m starting to wonder why I agreed to follow you at all.”
“Why did you?” He was quick to ask. “You’ve made it clear that permanence isn’t for you. Every time I suggest you stay, you resist. And yet you came to my court. You said yes.”
“You invited me, yourself, my lord,” she reminded him through her gnashing teeth. “Offered your protection.”
“Do you take me for a fool? Since I don’t like to be played as one.”
“You understood exactly what my music does already at that roadside inn—from the start. You set me to claim my title as your bard. That doesn’t make you my confidant.”
Blainor raised a brow. “Should I be glad you’ve not enthralled my soldiers to abduct you?”
“I don’t know, my lord. Should I worry for your people wanting to abduct your bard?”
“If you want advice, Trisha, never play your song from Graystein.” The way he said that, flat and void of anger, chilled her to the bone.
Retreating to the other side, Blainor placed his hand on the crenellations. Curls at his nape dangled at his collar as the man’s face shifted toward the slowly darkening sky, where a few speckled lights winked.
“Can you fault me for my curiosity?” he asked. “I’ve encountered illusions, Starling. Until now, none of them were real enough to touch.”
She flung back his words at him, “You said it yourself—my home.”
His mouth arching, Blainor slid a hand over the weathered stone. “And that is all you offer? You have a long way to go if you believe that’s enough to satisfy me.”
“So, my music can summon images and evoke emotions. What else is there to know?”
His finger didn’t stop, tracing shapes of the slabs. “I’m not questioning the magic in your music, but why you’ve kept it hidden.”
A chill went through Trisha. “That doesn’t concern you.”
His hand stilled. “Forgetting my advice already? Careful to whom you show your talons.”
There was no way she’d tell him about where she had learned her magic. Demons, ghosts—she’d learned fast what people called the fae.
Once, she’d been naive enough to confess where her magic originated. She’d paid for that mistake and swore. Never again would she allow herself become anyone’s tool. She didn’t trust Blainor enough for the truth about her home.
Best to direct Blainor’s interest elsewhere, and since he’d admitted knowing about the magic seeping into her songs, revealing it would little matter anymore. She could only hope it would be enough. That he’d never learn what she could do with it.