“Kenna, my eldest, would like to have painting classes for the wee littles. I’ve told her all about you, Lady Gwyneth, and she is just dying to meet you.” His gaze moves to Gruffud as he adds with exuberant charm, “If you could bear to spare your talented wife every so often, young lord.”
To my absolute delight, Gruffud trips over his words, then draws in a harsh breath and gives a tight-lipped “Of course.”
I’m beaming now, but something in my husband’s eyes tells me that I’m going to get an earful once we’re home. I want so much to tell Lord Murtagh what an unpleasant person Gruffud is. That he’s a brash man with a horrid temper. A narcissist at best.
But instead, I loop my arm through Gruffud’s and say, “Well, Lord Murtagh. It was a pleasure running into you again. Best of luck in your family’s endeavors.”
“Until next time,” he responds.
By some miracle, I steer Gruffud away from the building without another word. We barely get two shops away from Murtagh’s new business when Gruffud grasps my arm with such a vise-like grip that I can’t help but cry out softly. He backs me against a wall, the rough brick snagging my cloak as his stony eyes glare daggers down at me. His face fills my field of vision,and my terraforging threatens to unleash. I hold back, my body trembling with the effort to contain my powers—a reaction that can easily be mistaken for distress.
“Do not ever embarrass me like that again,” he growls.
“I did no such thing,” I snap back recklessly. “If anything, you embarrassedyourself.”
His upper lip curls, his hand rising, when a smooth, baritone voice interrupts.
“Good afternoon.”
Gruffud whirls on the stranger, and I peer around him at the older gentleman. Concern etches the man’s peachy face, brown eyes regarding merather than my brute of a husband. The man is dressed in a plain grey tunic and linen trousers. Leather peeks out from his collar and I sense some kind of metal weapon somewhere on his person. Perhaps more than one.
“Can I help you?” Gruffud asks, his tone sharp.
The man tucks the short strands of his salt-and-pepper hair casually behind his ear as Gruffud looks him up and down. “I was rather wondering if this young lady was in need of help,” the man says with a smile that relaxes the hard cut of his jawline. Neris would swoon over this stranger, even though he must be in his late fifties.
“State your name, old man,” Gruffud snaps.
My eyes roll, and I’m certain that amusement twinkles in the stranger’s eye. He stands even taller, facing Gruffud without fear. “Niall Kilkenny. I am nobody to you, Lord …” His voice trails off, his brow lifting in question.
“Pendry.”
Niall repeats the name then looks at me. “Is all in order, Lady Pendry?”
I nod, though part of me wants to scream that all is certainly not in order.
“Well, if either of you are in need of any forging … metalwork is my favorite. I also enjoy getting my hands in the dirt, moving the earth around a bit. I find gardening and landscaping soothing.” He withdraws a small piece of parchment from within his summer coat, but Gruffud doesn’t reach to take it.
My heart hammers as I mull over his words.Forge. Moveearth. My gaze meets his, and the knowing look in his eyes chills me. But before I can figure out how to address the hints that are clearly being directed at me, Gruffud wraps his hand around my upper arm and tugs me away.
He grumbles about filthy Grounders infiltrating the city. We’ve always had traveling merchants and the like from across the bridge, but this man seems different. As I glance back at him, he winks and pats his pocket almost as if pantomiming. I cannot figure out the gesture, but I don’t get a chance to try as I’m hauled back into the carriage parked a few buildings away.
Once we arrive back home, Gruffud rushes off to complain to Lady Mari about the unfairness of his encounters, and I retreat to the bathing chamber, still wearing my cloak. I pull the notice from my pocket, and another smaller parchment falls to the floor. It looks just like the one Niall tried to offer to Gruffud. I unfold it and regard the messy handwriting in bold letters:
Do not fear the rebellion. We are not the enemy. We are the hope of Erleya.
Safehouses: Cluain Baile, Dubh Carrig, Darragh, Wastelands, Verge.
As I read, the words fade until the parchment is as blank as if it never held any writing at all. I shake my head, dismissing the thoughts. It’s just poppycock from a stranger who likely means well. Completely irrelevant. But clearly a Mage … Curiouser.
I sigh and smooth out the notice I’d taken from the lamppost.
Mages and Elemental Wielders needed.
Lay down your fears, give up your seclusion. Join the Zenith at the Fortress on the Mount with this notice.
You and your family will be given immunity and rewarded generously in exchange for your service to Erleya and the Outer Isles.
By the decree of His Excellency, Rheon Odhran, Sovereign of the Kingdom of Erleya and the Outer Isles.
