Chapter 24
Skarr reared before his hooves sank into the dry earth with a thud. The stallion snapped its teeth at Dapple, who merely sighed.
Blainor remained motionless. His face, still, knuckles jutting under the leather gloves.
The wind blew harshly in the space between them, pulling at the dark strands of her hair and his cloak.
Trisha resisted the impulse to fidget, her palm brushing the soft wool of her gown.
Her mouth went dry as a memory flickered to life: the bonfire, the brief twilight, and his fingers pushing away this same fabric.
The other riders reached him, but he raised his right hand, elbow bent. They stopped, a group of silent men. Among them rode Kaiden and Fjorten, both open-mouthed and wide-eyed. She would have smiled, greeted them, but their faces blurred beneath Blainor’s presence.
At last, he broke the silence. “You’re back.” His narrowed gaze grazed her bare legs, the lyre clutched tightly against her chest. “Why now? And here? Don’t tell me the road didn’t love you enough?”
She opened her mouth—to explain or possibly argue—when Blainor’s eyes fixed on her head. “Or perhaps you were just running away again? You seem to collect adornments in your hair whenever you do that.”
A sense of understanding drained all color from her face. She touched the morrowflowers Rilka had woven into it and wanted to groan. “Blainor, I—”
Again, he didn’t allow her to explain. “In Moorhafen,” he curtly said. “You’ll explain everything back there.” Without looking, he barked a command to the waiting shieldsmen. “She rides with me. We turn back now.”
For a moment, Trisha debated whether to refuse him. But she’d intended to find him. Arguing wouldn’t help her. She simply nodded.
Blainor waited for Dapple to move before guiding Skarr to fall into step with him. His men followed, their regard burning her back.
Keeping his stallion tightly reined, Blainor remained by her side.
Even without speaking, he radiated fury.
And those flowers. She wanted to curse. She should have remembered, but it was too late now.
If he pressed her, it would be nearly impossible to deny where they’d come from or where she’d been.
The horses’ hoofbeats drummed against the earth.
His dark cloak billowed, the details of his padded gambeson and its polished buckles glinting in the light.
His sword hung at his belt, a quiver attached to his saddle.
Turning, Trisha tossed a timid smile at Fjorten.
The warrior’s expression didn’t change, but a glimmer of hurt shone in his eyes.
He and Kaiden, too, were armed. Had they been hunting?
Each step into the soil ground chipped away her certainty, the silence so heavy it made the air crack under its weight.
Even the wordless bewilderment of Blainor’s men felt more welcoming than his.
Anxiety and frustration wound her stomach in a tight knot that refused to loosen despite her fingers tracing the shape of her lyre, the touch of its eighth string.
Did he think she’d taken a leisurely stroll under the sun?
That she’d enjoyed her time in the Undying Lands?
When he asked—and she knew he would—her carelessness would cost her.
There was nothing she could say without compromising that other world.
So, she stared at her hands, thoughts churning.
It was almost a relief when Moorhafen’s walls rose in the distance. Up the road, past the outer wall, through the portcullis, they rode, Blainor keeping pace with her, his men guarding at the flanks.
Maids and footmen hurried across the courtyard, chickens clucked, as the sentries stood on guard. She was glad to hear the everyday sounds of this mortal realm’s life again—but that joy was quickly robbed. Everyone seemed to pause at the first sight of Trisha, shooting her long, curious looks.
“Coming?” Blainor had dismounted and now stood beside Dapple.
She nodded, but before she could slide off the saddle, his hands gripped her waist, guiding her gently down. Blainor’s fingers pressed into her stomach, and the world dizzied for just a moment. Trisha’s feet landed on the ground. His hold tightened—just a fraction—before he let go and stepped back.
“No need to delay the inevitable,” Blainor said, voice stern. “Come with me, Trisha.”
With her chin lifted, she stepped toward the looming main doors of Moorhafen. Gravel crunched behind her, and Trisha’s nape prickled, the tension making her pulse race.
Inside, the entrance hall looked the same: the purpure banner, the dark lanterns and torches affixed to the walls, the tapestries covering the granite.
Trisha shivered in its shadows, a faint whisper of mildew and smoke wafting into her nose.
She stopped, unsure where to go: the Assembly Hall on the ground level? Fir Hall?
Blainor took her by the elbow—not painfully, but firm enough. “This way,” he muttered, steering her up the main stairs, to the right, toward the winding staircase. His personal shields followed silently, their steps echoing in the circular space as they ascended.
The crossbar of her lyre poking into her chest, she glanced at the broad-shouldered man beside her, trying to parse his mood and read his thoughts.
Her magic coiled outward, almost hesitant.
All it met was that thick barrier. Soon, they reached an arched landing, the walls covered with tapestries, two men guarding a heavy door.
Blainor strode forward, pulling her with him, as though she might vanish if he were to let go.
At his approach, the guards quickly opened the door. He stopped, turning to face her. A brief flicker in his eyes, a tiny crack in his armor. Not warmth—not exactly—but something closer to pain. He nodded. “Inside. Now, Trisha.”
With his silent storm following, Trisha took in her surroundings. She’d never been to his private quarters. The corridor where she’d stepped in contained only a few tapestries, ancient weapons, and hollow armor, but it wasn’t where Blainor was leading her.
“To the right.”
She stepped into a spacious room overlooking the moors and the sea.
A sturdy table with ornate carvings stood near the window, high-backed chairs positioned beside it.
A chunky rug covered the floor, along with a few portraits on the walls.
Sunlight shone on the polished wood, beaming off the frames.
The air was warmer here. It smelled like him.
The door slammed shut; Trisha whirled around.
Blainor leaned his entire weight against the door, eyes narrowed on her. A blink of emotion made her throat tighten. Then, the man pounced forward, walking across the room side to side, parallel to Trisha.
“Let me hear them, Trisha. Your reasons.” Underneath his low voice, she heard the strain. He continued to pace to and fro. “Why did you run away? Where did you go?”
All those answers she’d been preparing vanished in an instant.
“I—” she started. “I should never have left. I’m—”
“Not what I asked,” he ground out. The man stopped his pacing, instead taking a slow step toward her.
His attention strayed to the fae flowers atop her head.
“You disappeared, Trisha. Without a word. Without any warning. Do you even realize what you left me to face? All clans gathered under my roof. My chiefs. My people, to whom I introduced you as my bard. And now, you appear as though it means nothing. Wearing a crown of flowers that are not of this world. What am I supposed to think?”
Excuses and reasons failed her.
“I came back, didn’t I?” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to…” The impossibility of her explanation drowned all her excuses.
“To what?” he snapped. “To vanish? To forget?” Blainor’s nostrils flared before he reined himself. His next words were softer but no less harsh. “At least, tell me it was worth it ‘this time’?”
“No!” The denial tore out of her. Trisha blinked, furious at herself.
“It was reckless and stupid of me. I just couldn’t stay.
Not after…” She blushed. The memory of his mouth, his touch, whispered back to life, but she forced herself to speak despite it.
“I was afraid,” she said in a quiet voice, unable to bring herself to look at him. “Of what you’d do. Of myself.”
Blainor stilled, as though her words had frozen him. His hands tightened into fists before he forced his fingers to relax. “Afraid? You ran away because you felt too much? Because you thought leaving would fix it?”
Trisha flinched.
“What am I supposed to do with that?” Blainor shook his head. He strode past her to the window and leaned on the sill. And where did you go?” Blainor gestured toward the sea. “Dapple’s tracks lead toward the water and vanish. Are you going to tell me your horse sprouted wings?”
“I—” The lie died before it took shape. She wanted to tear the flowers Rilka had woven into her hair. “Please, Blainor. Don’t ask me that. I don’t want to lie.”
“So this is the extent of your trust.” He spoke through his teeth, tone cutting. “I shouldn’t be surprised. You clearly take me for a fool.”
“No! It’s not that. I… It’s not my secret to tell. I made a vow, and I cannot betray it.”
Blainor scoffed. “Cannot, or will not?”
Her breath hitched.
“Four weeks. Four weeks of silence—no word, no explanation. Chaos in your wake, questions I had to answer with no answer. And now, you appear out of thin air and offer half-truths and vague pleas.” Blainor stepped closer, face drawn. “What exactly are you expecting from me, Trisha?”
The question felt like a slap. Of course, he wouldn’t understand. What a fool she’d been to think she still had a chance. Her few days had turned into four weeks for him.