She could hardly contain her joy knowing she would share a house with Gisli again. He was a talented woodworker, and I had few doubts he’d find work aplenty in the fortress.
When the queens settled beneath a bower lined in fresh blooms, other ladies found spots to soak up the last rays of sunlight. I wanted nothing more than to return to my chamber to be free of crowds.
“Lyra.” Freydis took hold of my hand. “We’re to see one of the cottages the king has given us before the feast. Care to join? Or must you remain here?”
My shoulders slumped. “I’m not permitted beyond the gates without an escort. One who happens to be missing.”
I’d not seen Roark the whole of the day. The man did not speak out loud, but his absence had become thundering and aggravating. Whatever affection I festered for the Sentry, I’d be wise to crush it before the king, or Kael, or worse—Roark—found out the truth.
“Pity you can’t join.” Freydis placed a hand on my arm. She was a gentle woman, from her features to her temperament, so it was unnerving when her lips curved in a sly sort of grin. “But I don’t think it will be so terrible to stay behind. You’ve caught someone’s attention.”
A man, from the colors cascading over his tunic I guessed a Myrdan, shifted on his feet, occasionally looking my way.
My palms started to sweat.
“Surely he’ll escort you back to the palace.” Hilda winked.
Before Stonegate, we’d been nothing beyond friendly, chatting at market stalls or in the great hall. Through all this, we’d fashioned a new bond. One where I was not the servant of the jarl, but we were simply two women who looked out for each other.
But I cursed her now.
The woman I thought I could trust took Freydis’s hand, grinned when the young Myrdan took a step my way, and turned to abandon me.
“See you soon, Lyra,” Hilda said through a muffled snicker, then disappeared with her sister-in-law down a set of stone stairs leading to the lower township.
“Súlka Bien,” the man said, voice smooth and light.
My heart stalled. With a soft breath through my teeth, I faced him.
I said nothing, merely held his stare, feeling a fool. Never one to know how to act in front of strangers, I was more accustomed to growing silent, invisible. Nothing but a bit of the foliage in the background.
He swiped his tongue over his lips, and grinned brightly. “My name is Tomas Grisen. Son of King Hundur’s fallen seneschal.”
“My sympathies.”
Tomas lowered his chin. “The raids took many lives.”
Dammit. Another house with blood spilled at my feet. Still, he didn’t look at me with anger, more demure interest.
“I don’t mean to disturb you,” he said, “but I have been looking forward to meeting the new melder.”
“Oh?” A prickle of defensiveness rolled up my arms.
Tomas held out a hand, perhaps a little taken aback by my abrasive tone. “Yes. I, well, one of my ancestors was a melder in old wars before the kingdoms were so divided. I’m not a bone crafter myself, but I find all magics fascinating. Did you know, it has been centuries since a female melder was born?”
“I didn’t, only that it has been some time,” I said, intrigued despite myself.
Tomas nodded vigorously. “Many sagas believe the female melders have stronger craft. Tends to connect deeper with their gentler souls, I suppose.”
If only he knew an assassin’s shadow drew me in whenever I slipped into the mirrored lands of the fallen.
“I wouldn’t know.” I clasped my palms in front of me. “I’ve only recently been introduced to my craft.”
Tomas flushed in a bit of embarrassment. “Of course. Forgive me for rambling. I’m merely awed by melders.”
I took a step back. “Well, I must dress for the feast. It was good to—”
“Allow me to walk with you.”
