You think she is a spy.
“I think it’s possible. Probable, even.” She stopped pacing, facing him. “I know I might be wrong. I know I might be—” She bit off the word jealous before it could escape. “I might be biased. But something feels wrong. Trust your instincts.”
He studied her for a long moment, his gaze unreadable in the torchlight. Then he set down the sword he’d been examining and closed the distance between them.
I trust yours,he signed, his hands moving slowly, deliberately.You see things I miss. You always have.
“So you’ll be careful? Watch her?”
I will watch her.His hand came up to cup her cheek, thumb brushing across her cheekbone.But I will not stop trusting you. Whatever she says. Whatever she does.
The words, the gesture, sent warmth spreading through her chest. She leaned into his touch without thinking, and his eyes darkened with something that made her breath catch.
“Gareth, I?—”
“My lord!”
They sprang apart as Bertram burst through the armory door, his weathered face pale with alarm.
“Forgive the interruption,” the steward gasped, “but riders have arrived from the border. Two more villages were hit last night—and this time, they left a message.”
Gareth’s hand dropped from her face.What message?
“A note nailed to the church.” Bertram swallowed. “It said, we are coming.”
Outside,the autumn evening was crisp and cold, the sky the colour of bruised plums above the bare-branched oaks. Somewhere in the courtyard, a servant was carving a turnip lantern, and children were practicing their Samhain masks, getting ready for the celebration.
All Hallows Eve was ten days away. Elodie peered through her window, watching as the guards took up their posts with the grim alertness of men who knew trouble was coming. She could see torches flickering on the walls, and beyond them, the dark mass of the moors stretching toward Dunharrow. The trees stood skeletal against the sky, their last leaves torn away by the evening’s wind.
She pulled the heavy wool blanket tighter around her shoulders. Even with a fire crackling in her small hearth, the chill crept through the stone walls, and then she found herself on the battlements without quite meaning to go there.
The night air bit at her cheeks, sharp with the scent of leaves and something else—something electric, like a storm gathering beyond the horizon. She wrapped her arms around herself and stared at the stars, thinking about costume parties and faerie wings and a life that felt increasingly like a dream she’d once had.
The sound of boots on stone didn’t startle her. She’d known he would come. Gareth emerged from the shadows, moving with that silent grace she’d grown to love. He wore a heavy wool cloak against the cold, and when he settled against the parapet besideher, close enough that she could feel his warmth, he wordlessly extended one edge of it toward her.
She stepped into the shelter of it without thinking. His arm came around her shoulders, drawing her against his side, and for a moment they just stood there watching the stars wheel overhead, feeling each other breathe.
“You leave in the morning,” she said finally. “For the border lords’ meeting.”
He nodded once, his profile stark against the stars.
“How long?”
Three days. Perhaps four.His hands moved slowly, deliberately.Miles will remain. You will be safe.
Safe.Such a simple word for such a complicated feeling.
“I’ll miss you,” she said, and her voice cracked on the last word—cracked open, really, letting something raw and trembling spill through.
Gareth turned to face her. In the starlight, his eyes were silver, his expression unreadable except for the slight tension in his jaw.
Elodie. Just her name, signed with both hands. A question and a statement and something that sounded almost like goodbye.
“I’ve been thinking.” She forced the words out before she could lose her nerve. “About Samhain. About what might happen. Whether the magic—” She stopped. Swallowed. Started again. “The old stories say the veil between worlds thins at All Hallows. I keep wondering if I should try to go back. If there’s a way. If the necklace might reappear, or if another storm might?—”
Do you want to go back?
The question hung between them, sharp as a blade.
