Chapter 23
Trisha had hoped for Rilka to forget her words. After all, a fairy’s promise was a double-edged sword. Instead, as they faced the morning, Rilka chirped cheerfully, “There’s no better traveler than I.”
As if to prove her words, once Trisha began preparations, she undid the saddle belt. It fell with a thud. “Thank you,” Trisha muttered. Biting her tongue, she knelt to pick it up.
A piercing cry jolted her, the saddle slipping from her hands back to the ground. Dapple turned his head, giving her an accusing look. The fairy was dangling from his mane, giggling as she used it as her swing.
“Rilka,” Trisha called out. “Would you get me a flower? I think Dapple would like one.”
His snort echoed in the dusk-wreathed clearing. I’ll eat it, he promised.
“You bet! I’ll get the biggest flower you’ve ever seen. We can feed it with your blood.”
The fairy leaped into the air, zigzagging into the forest. Only when Rilka was out of earshot did she exhale. “Needed to distract her. Don’t eat the flowers—if she remembers to bring them. Not until we’re beyond the portal.”
Dapple whinnied softly. Then, oats?
“Yes, my sweet boy.”
Trisha fumbled with the buckles, setting the stirrups, Dapple flicking his tail. Tilia watched her preparations, quiet, half-merged with her tree. Rilka had yet to come back, and Trisha, afraid she’d start to cry, hugged the tree nymph quickly.
“I’ll return, I promise. I promise.”
Tilia only smiled, quiet sadness in her green eyes.
Fearing her tears, Trisha mounted Dapple and gathered her woolen skirt onto her lap. Cradling the lyre in her arms, she snapped the reins. “Let’s go home.”
She almost grinned before nervousness wiped away her expression.
Nearly four days in the Undying Lands. What would she find in the mortal world?
Welcome or banishment? Would it have changed at all?
She refused to think about it or what she’d tell Blainor.
What she’d feel when facing him. His touch, his musk—the memory of his cedar drifted from nowhere.
Her hands tightened on the reins. She didn’t know if he’d even be willing to see her when she reached Moorhafen.
But she knew she had to go back, apologize for running away. For not having the strength to face him after Midsummer. She drew a shuddering breath, not daring to hope. But she’d apologize, and if he turned her away, so be it; she’d accept.
Dapple swished his tail, and they were on their way. Mid-journey, on the Morrow Path, Rilka joined them. She carried an armful of morrowflowers, having already forgotten why she’d picked them, but she promptly landed on Trisha’s head and started weaving them into her tresses.
“When you bear children,” she murmured, “I’ll be their sister and aunt. I’ll teach them to fly.”
Trisha huffed, guiding Dapple away from the obsidian path, back to the waiting Opening. “You’d drop them from a cliff and then wonder why they didn’t unfold their wings.”
Rilka tilted her head in naive innocence. “That doesn’t work for humans?”
In the sylvan’s forest, the weight of unseen eyes prickled on her skin.
Rilka didn’t seem to mind, though. Her shrill voice shattered the screaming quiet all the way until the forest’s edge, where the white stone ring stood above the crested hill.
The golden light danced in the air, clutters of white yarrow blossom growing between delicate blue bellflowers, intrusive travelers of the mortal world.
Rilka fell quiet, and Dapple trudged back a couple steps. Before them, blocking the entrance to the white stone circles, lounged the massive body of a snake. Dark horns gleamed in the twilight, the golden light of the portal reflecting off his scales, the long body stretched as though for repose.
Slowly, Trisha dismounted. Holding the lyre against her chest, she approached the serpent. “Why are you here, Shi’as?”
The ancient creature gave her a fanged smile. “To wish you good luck. What kind of teacher would I be if I sent my favorite mortal back to her world without parting words?”
Beyond his writhing coils, the portal shimmered, so close yet too far. Trisha hugged the lyre.
“Go away, snake!” Rilka snapped, abandoning the safety of Trisha’s hair. “We’ve no need for your advice. Begone, or I’ll sing your scaled body under the ground!”
“Ah, the little sprite. Found new confidence alongside that wing?” Shi’as hissed.
Rilka scoffed, but she still flew a bit higher.
Trisha sighed. “Go ahead, then. I see there’s no avoiding your lessons.”
“I so dearly enjoy teaching you, Trisha. You show some sense in contrast to your witless friend.” He glowered at the fairy before his expression smoothed.
“My offer still stands. If you’re so adamant about tearing open your mortal heart, no need to travel further. I’m here. Don’t you want to ask me?”
“No, Shi’as. Get on with your ‘advice,’” Trisha said. “Unlike you, I don’t have eternity.”
“So feisty. So shortsighted. So mortal.” With a sly glance toward the Opening, he hissed, “Don’t forget what I’ve taught you. You don’t need the stone circles, Trisha. You know how to find me.”
She scoffed. “Whyever would I want to find you? You’re here to prevent me from leaving.”
“You mistake me. I want you to go. So, go. Find what your songs can truly awaken.” His eyes landed on Dapple behind her, pupils narrowing as his black tongue flicked out.
“Just be prepared to pay their price. My advice, Trisha—my parting gift—twice you can call me, but on the second time, I’ll take my due. ”
“Don’t listen to the snake,” Rilka chirped, glaring at him. “Why would you want to call for him?”
“Insolent sprite,” Shi’as snarled. “Next time, I won’t be satisfied only with your wing.”
“Leave Rilka alone,” Trisha snarled right back. “And she’s right. You shall wait until the stars come down.”
He chuckled, and his white-scaled form scraped against the ground as he slithered away from the standing stones. “Promises, promises, Trisha. I expect you to keep mine better than the one to your Warlord.”
“You’re in for a disappointment, snake.”
He turned one last time, eyes like shining lamps. “Only one way to find out.”
Trisha exhaled when he disappeared, not realizing she’d been stifling her breath the entire exchange. And then, they marched on.
After a few moments of silence, the fairy let out a pout as Trisha led her horse toward the stone circle. “Y-You’ll be back, won’t you?”
“Of course. Next time, I’ll bring something to taste, too.
” The fairy would appreciate yields from Moorhafen’s orchards—a pear or an apple, perhaps.
Something drenched in sunlight would certainly appeal to the fairy.
Trisha’s smile faltered. That is, if she were still welcome at the castle.
Blainor was not a man to forgive easily.
A touch of her lyre sent the portal rippling, the light brightening. Images from the other side shone through, the restless swell eating the shoreline. No people in sight. Trisha turned, fixing Rilka with a serious look. “Don’t go challenging Shi’as anytime soon, okay? He’s out for blood.”
“That old serpent doesn’t scare me,” Rilka huffed. A silver-winged moth flitted past her. “Oh! Hey! Stop—” she cried, shooting after the night butterfly. “I’ll make a steed out of you!”
She gave a careless wave, chasing the moth.
Never change, Rilka, she thought with a coy smile. Trisha shook her head. No reason to delay further. She’d gotten what she needed from the Undying Lands.
Bracing herself, she stepped into the rippling light, Dapple at her heel.
Blinding brightness, traces of salt and seaweed, and the mortal world yanked her back.
She stumbled, boots skidding off the wet sand.
The wind tugged at her hair, whipping her gown.
The tide was low, the sun high. White shapes of seagulls curved through the air, their screeches loud.
Trisha inhaled. Sunlight warmed her skin, the crash of waves against the sand almost deafening. How she’d missed the sea.
As they trudged back to the castle, Trisha saw how much the world had bloomed.
The leaves were greener, lusher than she remembered—grass taller, too.
The air was rich with the sweet heather, and the bright-colored flowers sprouted among the stunted shrubbery.
Dapple wagged his tail, driving away the horse flies as the pair crested the hillside.
Behind them, the cliffs dropped to the sea, and before, the swell of the hills rose and fell, leading further inland.
She was back with salt on her lips, her dress wrinkled and frayed, carrying a reborn lyre.
A flock of birds burst into the air, their dark forms converging in a maddening formation.
They swarmed and changed shape in restless waves as the wind billowed around her.
A sense of premonition made Trisha pull Dapple to a halt.
The rolling landscape spread before her: the grass and heather rippling in the breeze.
The boughs of the straight, ancient trees swayed.
The moors unfurled, unchanged, peaceful, but something made her throat tighten. And then—
Shapes. Riders. From the direction where the birds had taken to the sky.
Their horses devoured the ground, the riders bent low.
She had only a moment to wonder what to do before the decision was made for her.
A sharp shout echoed; they’d noticed her already—there, silhouette framed against the sea, a lone woman and her horse in the middle of the meadows.
The riders veered toward her at a gallop. The hoofbeats grew louder with each moment. Startled, she gasped as their leader took a familiar form. Blainor.
On his bay stallion, riding Skarr as though spurred by devils, his dark cloak billowed behind him, his face fixed on his target. Her. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t slow, urging his mount to go faster. Dark hair, face drawn. And all the time, his gaze remained locked on her.
Trisha’s heart pounded faster, her hand tightening on the reins, the other pressing the lyre against her chest. It wouldn’t shield her from his wrath.
He tore away from his men, his stallion lathered, white froth stringing from the bit.
Hooves thundered rhythmically against the ground.
They bore a new air about them—one of bandits.
Of danger. For a split second, Trisha considered turning Dapple away and attempting to vanish into the moors. But no. She was done with running now.
Her fingers curled around the leather reins, the sunlit-warmed saddle rubbing against her bare calves. As Blainor approached, she told herself that she wasn’t nervous. It wasn’t her heart that beat in her chest like a frightened bird trying to escape its cage.