“Home,” he taunted. “Did that drive you in Graystein, your dulcet southern song? You wanted a home in Orin’s house? I should warn you that his wife Edith isn’t one to share a marriage tattoo.”
Embarrassment heated her cheeks, but she relaxed upon sensing him injecting humor to the room. “You set me up, then.”
“Don’t you dare blame me. That song was your own choosing. But fine. There’s also Midsummer. What was that, Trisha?” He leaned closer. “You tried to force me under your will.”
The image of the mangled iron chandelier hit her like a wave. “I failed, didn’t I?”
He tsk’ed. “Reckless, Trisha. You should’ve known better. If something had happened… Your status as the Warlord’s Bard protects you only so much. But not when you’ve proved it can be used to kill.”
“Why do youthinkI keep it secret? What do you think lords and ladies in their high towers would do if they realized?Chains or death, that’s what I’d be offered. If I wanted to live, they’d force me to play to their whim. To their desire. I don’t play at war. I don’t fight anyone’s wars.”
He drew a breath, a terrible calm descending on him.
“Perhaps you didn’t before,” Blainor said, voice weighty and urgent, “but you will fight mine.”
31
All she could do wasstare 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 hernerves. 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.Nothingsurvives them.”
