Chapter 28
It wasn’t one specific thing, but a combination of many that disturbed Trisha’s sleep.
The mattress? Too soft. The blankets? Too luxurious. The fur tickled her skin.
Wrinkling her nose, she sniffed. That scent—sharp, with a whiff of pine and earth.
Alluring. Familiar. Next came the awareness of her body: bone-deep contentment, a slight soreness in the muscles, and a warm touch on the swell of her hip.
Trisha stretched her leg, and it rubbed against something solid.
Her eyes flew open as the memories flooded back.
Across from her, Blainor’s gray eyes met hers.
He lay on his side, head propped on one arm.
Through the bed curtains, pale dawn highlighted his cheekbones, the line of his jaw.
He was watching her. Not guarded, but alert, as if to catch every change of emotion on her face.
And what did Trisha feel? She wasn’t sure. Not when the moments came crashing down on her: the press of bodies, his hands, his mouth, the way he’d fit inside her. In spite of herself, blood flushed her face.
And still, no regrets. He’d made her body sing.
“Morning,” she muttered with a drowsy smile. The sleep still clung to her thoughts.
A quick tremor passed over his face, an easing of sorts. A breath left him, as though he’d been holding it for a long time. “You slept soundly.”
Trisha blinked, trying to interpret his tone and expression. But it was true. No nightmares this night. The memory from her childhood, the stone circles, the thistledrift reed, had faded. As if they didn’t matter anymore. “I guess I did.”
A sliver of rough satisfaction slipped through. “Good.” Blainor edged closer. His hand slid upward, brushing the underside of her breast. A trail of heat followed in its wake.
“You seem pleased with yourself.” But she smiled and didn’t resist when he captured her lips with his.
“Don’t see you complaining,” Blainor muttered. He trailed down and tasted her neck.
“That depends,” she breathed, skin heating under his touch, body alert and willing, “on what you’re offering.”
“If you ask”—his lips pressed against her, the smile more felt than seen—“I’ll just prove it to you again.”
His hands chased the shape of her body. His mouth explored her as though witnessing each curve for the first time.
The touch rekindled the same burn all over again.
Unlike last night, he took his time. If she had thought him torturing her before, this morning, he was steadily driving her insane, teasing her near the edge, never allowing her release.
Afterward, he helped her back into her dress. Stealing small kisses on her neck, near her shoulder blades, as though there wouldn’t be a chance for it again.
“You’re faster when it’s about taking off clothes,” Trisha huffed. Beyond the windows, the day was brightening.
“More rewarding an outcome,” he agreed and nibbled her ear before tightening the vest.
There was no use trying to tame her long hair, tangled beyond repair without a comb. She’d just brave the castle, the awakened corridors, aware of how every person she’d meet would think their own thoughts. And let them.
At the door, they lingered: she, in her gown, and Blainor, half-dressed and chest bare.
Daylight drew on the pale scars of survival, a silent past of violence.
Curiosity mingled with a whisper of desire; her fingers twitched against the need to touch him again.
He smiled, and Trisha blinked, blush creeping up her neck like a crushing schoolgirl.
“I should go,” she muttered, self-conscious. “I agreed to meet Reike after her drills.”
“Then, you’d best hurry.” But he didn’t let go, not immediately. A transient thought shadowed his brows, and his posture changed as though he’d prepared himself to carry its expectations once it settled on him. “Today, the chiefs will arrive.”
She sighed, the loss of privacy sinking in.
Behind his door, the world awaited. Its never-ending tasks and people with their demands.
The wind picked up, howling through the cracks and crevices.
Cold air sent a shiver through her. Once she’d stepped out, they both would step back into their roles.
Swallowing, she searched for words but found none.
His thumb kneaded the inside of her palm before he lifted it to his mouth. “But after dinner. You’ll come?”
She rested her hand against his cheek. Wanting wasn’t the problem. The echo of the door closing stayed with her. So did the look in his eyes. She didn’t want to name it. No regrets, she reminded herself.
Dapple needed a ride, and she—nameless gods knew—needed to clear her mind. Against expectation, she reached the stables not long after the morning drills were concluded. Reike stood ready, waiting by her mare.
“Planning for an audience in the moors?”
The soldier quirked a brow, her gaze on the lyre Trisha had brought with her.
Unnamed restlessness had driven her. Perhaps the moors, the wind’s whisper, and the sun on her skin would bring relief.
Trisha’s thoughts remained tangled in the night, with the memory of Blainor’s naked skin and everything that had transpired.
Her world had altered overnight. She needed it in balance.
To find out if she was still the same woman as before last night.
“For inspiration,” she offered her shield with a small smile.
Reike gave her another look, longer this time. A quick emotion passed over her features, an understanding of sorts, perhaps. But she didn’t speak, just turned to tighten the buckles of her saddle.
They rode out of Moorhafen. Hooves sank into the ground with a squelch, and grass glimmered after last night’s rain.
The air was rich with the scents of fresh hay and wet soil.
Trisha resisted looking behind, but her neck prickled when she thought about the keep’s heart, Blainor’s quarters, and if he were watching.
“What kind of inspiration do you seek to find?” Reike asked.
Trisha shrugged, cradling the lyre case in her lap. “Whatever the road may bring. Sometimes it is the sky. The trees. I know only after I encounter it.” She sighed. “I need something to distract me.”
Reike’s lips twitched. “Heavy thoughts to require tethering, eh?”
Trisha blushed but didn’t respond, urging Dapple to move faster.
They followed the northbound road, skirting near the path that led to the stone circles.
Trisha banished their lingering presence from her mind.
The Opening would wait by the sea, silent and present.
She didn’t need to witness it, didn’t need what it offered.
Not now, not when Blainor’s touch warmed her skin, when the trace of evergreen and smoke and his memory clung to her.
She pointed toward a trail leading toward the moors. Reike complied with a nod.
The few puddles reflected a rising sun. Above their heads, the wispy clouds trailed lazily. Wagon marks on the ground, the worn surface—they weren’t the only ones to ride this stretch.
“Where does the road lead?” Trisha asked.
“To the northbound road, all the way to Halsdal,” Reike answered.
“You go there often?”
“Occasionally. When I do, I carry messages on the Warlord’s behalf.”
Trisha slowed Dapple as a dark-clad figure suddenly appeared on the horizon. White hair fluttered around the person’s head, glowing in the rising light. Next to her, Reike stiffened, slowing her horse.
“By the ancestors,” she swore under her breath. “Witch in the morning, bad news in the evening.”
Trisha glanced at her. “Katla?”
“Aye.” Reike’s mouth pressed tightly, eyes fixed on the small figure ahead. “She’s out here for a reason. Best be done with it.”
Katla stood still as they approached. The strands of cobweb hair fluttered in the wind, dark robes flapping around her like a moth’s wings. Wrinkles formed over her sun-darkened face at the move of her mouth—not a smile exactly. Something crueler. Her yellow teeth missed one in the middle.
“Good morning, Karring Katla,” Reike greeted her with a nod.
“Blutmeer sword,” the witch returned in a creaking voice. “The past is catching up with you. Bled acrid blood, I see.”
“I’m the Warlord’s shield. I’ve bled a lot of blood.”
Katla smiled wider, spinning to face Trisha. “I heard you,” she said, eyes almost as white as her lashes and brows. “Your words, your little prayer. Do you want to know if the ancestors heard it, too?”
Trisha’s heart went to her throat, voice failing her. She nodded.
“Oh, how they lament for you, Warlord’s Bard, they do” the witch cackled, spite and glee mingling in equal measure.
“You should have never come back, no. They heard you, your songs of the twilight world.” She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath.
“It follows you, spins around you, twists the very fabric of what is. The lost music of the elder gods. But they remember. The ghosts. They hear…” The grooves in her face deepened as she turned toward the shield.
“Tell the Warlord the ghosts have stirred, they have.”
Reike drew a sharp breath, her face blanching. “Karring—”
“That’s all I have to say,” Katla cut her off, gathering the hems of her dark woolen gown in her arms. “I’ve delivered what the spirits have asked, yes.
Let the Warlord know.” Her age-weathered face furrowed, colorless eyes glinting in the morning light as she looked at Trisha. “Remember what I told you, bard.”
Dark cape swathed around her, she turned and walked away. Dapple shook and snorted, eager to return. The exercise across the uneven grounds had lathered his flanks.
“We should go back,” Trisha muttered, Katla’s ominous premonition echoing in her ears. She resisted the impulse to glance at Reike. If the soldier asked, she didn’t know what to tell.
“Aye,” Reike agreed.
Birdsong threaded through the wind and rustling grass, the hum of insects sounding louder. Katla’s words thundered in Trisha’s skull like a foreboding storm.
“What… what did her warning mean?”