Chapter 31
All she could do was stare at him. No. She couldn’t be hearing right. He wouldn’t ask that of her. Trisha’s throat worked, but no sound came.
“Come now, Trisha. Why so surprised? A power such as yours. Your weapon… You just said it—who wouldn’t want it?” Blainor’s voice remained cold, but the look in his eyes was haunted. “My land, Eichlandt. My people need it more than any other.”
Despite the pain twisting in her chest, she forced herself to speak. “A-And what exactly do you want? That I burn Normark to the ground?”
Blainor leaned back on his heels, mocking her. “Whyever would I take you into battle like my shields?”
Her fingertips were cold as she squeezed the glass. “Oh, no. It’s your witch, Katla. She’ll burn me on some cursed altar in another quaint northern tradition you failed to mention.”
“Katla would be happy to stick bone-needles in your arm and drain your blood,” Blainor said dryly. “But again, not what I need.”
“What is it, then? What do you need?” Her lips felt dry and parched, her body cold as though all life had abandoned her.
“Why are you even asking, Trisha? You know.”
And just like that, she understood. How he’d shut off his men on the first night, the way people quieted, their uneasy whispers and reactions when they talked about the north. Katla’s ominous warning this morning.
“The death in the north,” she whispered. “In Everfrost.”
“Not just any death. Something worse. Something… left behind.”
It all clicked into place. His reason to travel to the south, Orin’s words in Graystein, what Byne and other ladies had discussed. He was preparing for an assault.
“That’s why you were in Normark, wasn’t it?”
A displeased scowl broke through before he mastered his reaction.
“The Baron agreed to host a meeting between King Leopold’s trusted man and me.
I had low expectations.” Blainor’s lips twitched, but not with a smile.
“And I was right. To his benefit, he didn’t try assassinating me at the dinner table. ”
“Much good it does to him. I heard you clearly enough in Graystein. Riding to Normark in the spring, aren’t you?”
“First, I must survive the winter.”
The collar of her tunic constricted her throat. Trisha couldn’t breathe. “What’s in Everfrost, Blainor?”
A flicker in his eyes, like a painful memory. “Ghosts of the plains. Nivorans, we call them. Not seen in a century. But they’re back.”
Ghosts? That’s what Katla had said. Trisha’s spine stiffened, fury replacing the shock. He must have planned this all along, gauging her magic to learn what it could achieve. And now he knew. Everything. Because she had trusted in him.
She placed the glass away, movements careful. Far away, muffled sounds, the distant clang of steel, scraped her nerves. Her thoughts churned. “So, what? You plan to take me to them, throw me to the wolves, is that it?”
Blainor stood firmer, jawline rigid. “You can’t understand, Trisha. Not if you haven’t seen them.” He paused, and when he continued, his voice was strained, “An absence of sound. Of life. Nothing survives them.”
Incredulous, she shook her head. “And what good am I against such a threat? Gods, I’m a bard.”
“You wield inhuman magic,” he said. “Your beast took away my chief and his intended heir to whatever destiny they deserved.”
Trisha groaned. “You don’t understand, Blainor.
The fae, they’re not friendly. Nor are they kind.
On the contrary, they’d relish the destruction and death you told me about.
” She shivered, recalling Shi’as’ promise.
If she called him, he’d take her. “And even if I could do what you want, it would be my undoing.”
His hand dropped on the next chair’s backrest, finger tapping the wood.
“I’ve met them. The ghosts. You don’t know what they’re like, Trisha.
They smell wrong. Sweet, sickly.” He paused, as though hesitating.
And when he spoke, his words came heavy, as if speaking them aloud cost him something. “The same as your magic.”
Her eyes widened, shock crushing the air out. “That’s why you wanted me to follow you to Eichlandt.”
Blainor looked away, shoulders tensing.
Trisha was hollow, an icy sensation spreading through her veins. The wind from the open balcony doors met her cheek, but it was all wrong. Too warm. Too gentle. A choked sound left her, bitter and acrid. There were no words to describe the depth of her distress.
“You must’ve enjoyed it,” Trisha spat. Playing me like a fool. Making me think that you really—”
No. She wouldn’t speak those words.
Blainor’s expression shuddered, regret, or sorrow, softening the hard lines of his face.
“Trisha, don’t. Don’t twist my intentions.
” He sucked in a sharp breath, facing the portrait wall where his ancestors watched with their dead eyes.
“I didn’t know at first—just suspected. And I thought to myself.
Why not invite you to the north, find out if I was right? ”
“Go ahead, tell more lies,” she shot out, venom dripping from every word. “Be proud of yourself. So perfect in your manipulation. Worming your way into my bed.”
His straining patience snapped as he spun around. “Don’t put words in my mouth, Trisha. I wasn’t supposed to care. I didn’t plan this…” Words caught in his throat, a vein pulsing in his temple. “This damned entanglement.”
“Entanglement? That’s all it is to you?”
He looked aside. His hand pressed the chair’s backrest, knuckles whitening.
“Oh, I see now. I see. You know what? Don’t bother, Blainor.” Fury made her tremble, her fingers drawing tightly. “I can only blame myself for ever even thinking I could trust you. You’re just like everyone else. All you care for is power.”
“I do what I must,” he said, voice strained. “If it means choosing between a single soul and thousands of lives, I choose my people. Even if I damn myself all eternity for it.”
“Yes, you’ll be damned,” she scoffed. “And to think I’d help you? That I’d stay, voluntarily, knowing this? I’d rather die.”
A breeze tossed a lock of his hair and blasted the memory through. Of how soft it had felt under her hands, his warm breath, the heat in his gaze. His gentle nature. The man before her now was unrecognizable. No, he had only steel in his eyes.
“I’m not asking, Trisha.”
“Of course you’re not. But you’ll be waiting for a long time for me to bow.”
Blainor made a sound, almost a chuckle. “And sacrifice all the lives you’ve come to know and care about?”
Trisha’s lips pressed together, bile of fury rising. He saw her too clearly. She hated him for it. Hated herself for being such a fool.
“I don’t even understand what you want from me.” No matter how much it hurt, she went on, “Call the fae to whisk away these… ghosts? What are they, Blainor? Why do you believe I could help you against such a threat?”
Faint sounds, birdsong, and wind in Moorhafen’s walls. Blainor didn’t respond, retreating where the light didn’t reach.
“A legend. Something told to children from the time of Ergoth,” he said, cadence slow.
“Or at least, that’s what they should be.
A legend, a song to honor our forefathers.
Or so we thought until seven years ago… They emerged and caught us by surprise.
” Blainor’s hand resting on the mantel clenched into a fist. The thick, white scars on his knuckles rippled in a wave like a snake.
She couldn’t look away. His voice, when it came, was hoarse. “All they leave behind is death.”
Despite his lies and how he’d wounded her, despite her splintered insides, Trisha’s throat tightened. Damn him. Damn his pain.
She refused it, shoving any feelings she might have into the very bottom of her heart. Blainor deserved nothing from her. No sympathy. No pity. Nothing. He had betrayed her, and she could never forget it.
“Blainor, that didn’t answer my question.”
He dropped his arms by his sides. “There are signs, passed down over generations. Snow in the southernmost peaks of Everfrost, frozen pastures, wolves moving to the south.” The words were like an omen.
The way he stood, dressed in black, eyes emotionless, bearing no remorse.
The only drop of light was the silver embroidery in his cuffs and collar, glistening in the afternoon sun.
“This winter they’ll come again. And I will not let my land burn to ash. ”
She tried to comprehend. Her thoughts remained muddled, the exhaustion aching in her bones.
The jagged teeth of disappointment tore at her chest, numbness spreading.
She turned away, but it didn’t help against the torment of her thoughts.
If he was right… All his people. Dietric, Aine, Asa, and the others. If Blainor didn’t lie. If—
She inhaled sharply. To even entertain this thought was a betrayal. She couldn’t accept his words, nor could she trust him. All these months, he’d concealed the truth, and she’d been a fool enough to fall into his lies. She could never help him.
“Listen. I’m sorry for your plight, but it’s not my concern.” Hands on her knees, she willed them not to shake. Doubt stabbed at her gut, but she dismissed it. “I won’t help.”
“Once the first snow arrives, you’ll see how mistaken you are.”
Trisha’s fingers dug into her knees. “You think you can make me stay?”
“How do you plan to leave, exactly? Where’s your precious lyre?”
In a disquiet haste, Trisha rose from the chair, but vertigo quickly assaulted her, stripping the strength from her muscles. She slumped back into soft cushions, gripping the wooden armrests, and glared at him, prematurely gasping.
“Where is it, Blainor? What did you do with it?”
“It’s a sublime instrument, you know. Its craftsmanship…
magnificent.” The words were delivered in a deceptively velvety tone.
“And the magic woven into its grains… I’ve never seen anything quite like it.
” A few steps brought him closer. He leaned in.
A slanted smile curved his lips, more mock than admiration. “Don’t worry. It’s safe.”