“It seems to land songbirds ininterestingtopics.”
The nameless gods take this man.
“Pardon me for misunderstanding, my lord. I didn’t take you as someone interested in marriage vows.”
Kaiden started, sitting firm.
“Depends,” Daworth said with a lazy smile. “Are you proposing?”
“Not interested.” Without giving him a chance for a comeuppance, she addressed the others. “Do only men get tattooed?”
“Both, of course,” Kaiden said. “It wouldn’t be fair otherwise.”
“But… but, it’s so permanent.” Trisha scrambled for understanding, confounded by the custom they spoke of so easily.
“Why else would people tie the knot?” Fjorten snorted. “Should I pledge myself on a whim? Or expect the same from Byne?”
“Yet, what if…” she began carefully, then trailed off, unsure how to continue.
“What?” Fjorten asked. “She’d grow tired of me, is that it? What if she no longer cares for my face and decides to favor another?”
“Well, yes,” she admitted. “You said it yourself; it’s a commitment.”
“I’d kill that poor bastard!” Fjorten laughed at her startled expression. “Nay. If Byne decided she no longer wanted to share my bed, it’d be her decision. She’d be free to choose to carry another’s mark.” He nodded toward Kaiden. “Or two.”
“And what if…” Trisha struggled to formulate her words. “One doesn’twantto share?”
“Are you the jealous type?” Fjorten joked.
Trisha’s skin prickled under the weight of gray eyes following the conversation. Picking another note, she modulated her voice to casual, her expression carefully neutral. “Nota topic I’d lose sleep over. The road doesn’t make an attractive matrimonial bed.”
The few closest to them chuckled.
“Nay,” Fjorten agreed with a grin. “Reckon it doesn’t.” He glanced at his lord. “You’ve traveled a lot, then?”
“Some,” Trisha replied with a shrug. “Enough not to get easily lost.”
“So, you’ve been to the north before?”
“Once,” she said, sighing. If she’d only known then the answers lay in Eichlandt… “Seven years ago. I didn’t linger long at the time. Had other places to see.”
“Can’t say I fault you for that,” Kaiden commented while he stretched his arms overhead. “Heard winters are milder in the south.”
“Maybe, but it still snows.” Trisha struck the last chords, letting them fade. Resting the lyre in her lap, she stroked its frame. The talk of winter and snow snatched her memory back to the merchant woman and her companions. Hadn’t they said Eichlandt stretched to the glaciers?
“Yesterday, at the inn, someone mentioned a place near your country. Everfrost.”
A sudden hush fell over the campsite. No one seemed willing to speak or even move. It was as if they’d all turned to statues of ice, so still each man had become. A scorched log collapsed, sending a burst of wispy sparks into the air.
Fjorten blinked, opening his mouth. “That’s?—”
“The plateaus,” Lord Daworth’s voice cut through, interrupting him mid-speech. “They lie north. A very inhospitable place for curious songbirds.”
He straightened from his languid position, words holding a tone that was difficult to parse. The men, however, seemed to understand its meaning. Fjorten flinched, and othersturned their faces away, as if compelled. The conversation resumed, but it was quieter now, more cautious.
Her brows furrowed, Trisha settled the lyre back into its case. Questions churned inside her. Whatever ghosts the merchants had swatted aside were more than stories meant to frighten children.
Slowly, she stood, wiping off grass and sand. A few curious glances followed her as she left the campfire. The shadows stretched across the ground, the quiet rustle heralding the awakening of nocturnal animals. The fragrance of resin and pine needles gave way to the musky smell of the horses.
