As she lay on the ground, the gentle wind kissed her hair, and an occasional horse’s neigh reached her ears. Trisha stared into the sky. She pondered the mysterious lord who had invited her to join him on his ride. The secrets he kept close to his chest, the way he watched her.
Who was he? Not a mere lord, of course, but a man who roused her magic, vanished into shadows, and saw too much. Just before sleep claimed Trisha, it occurred to her that she’d asked none of the right questions.
The lumpy ground was uncomfortable, her sleep fitful. Craggy pebbles poked into Trisha through thin wool. At each toss and turn, they hummed with the same song as the weathered stones beyond the clearing, their low pulse seeping through the forest’s floor. The music took her back to a memory, but not the one she expected: the field of reeds, a pale sky, and the whip of her mother’s dress against her face. Trisha found herself staring into a pair of glowing eyes, black-slitted against yellow. Moonbeams and the dancing lights caught on the white scales.
“Trisha… Found your home in the mortal world, have you? Hmm?”
Far in the distance, Rilka’s voice, like distant glass bells. Trisha wanted to call out for her, but fear devoured her entirely. The serpentine body slithered closer. How? She’d left him and the Undying Lands. Their king had decreed that no fae should step beyond the portal’s light. This had to be a dream,and yet the fragrant magic of jasmine and honeysuckle coated her tongue.
A wide smile exposed curved fangs, sharper than knives.“Tsk, tsk. And such hopes I had for you.Maybe I was wrong?”
Anger blazed. How dare he taunt her? And still Trisha’s mouth refused to work.
Wicked delight shone in the gleaming eyes, the hissing voice like wind tearing through leaves. “All right, then. If you insist. Snow and ice, child, I already told you. Just don’t forget this, for eternity is a long time…”
Stirring movement and hushed voices from the camp broke through Trisha’s slumber. A moment of disorientation followed before the details crept back into her mind—the meeting with Lord Daworth, the long road, the campsite. Silent stars winked overhead, smoke drifting in the wind.
Leaning on her elbows, she quickly sat up. Clouded figures conversed in low tones only a pace apart: Fjorten, Kaiden, and Daworth. So, their lord had returned from his scouting.
“—twenty, maybe more. Light-footed,” he was saying. “They’ll be here soon.”
Shaking off the remnants of her nightmare, Trisha clambered to her feet. Her muscles screamed in protest, and she grimaced, rubbing her thighs as she made her way to the men.
“You’re awake. Good,” Daworth said.
She asked, “Who’s coming?”
“Brigands. Or soldiers dressed as such, I should say.”
Terror swallowed her fatigue. “Why?”
Daworth glanced at his two men. Fjorten crossed his arms, and Kaiden’s silence felt just as expectant.
She ground her teeth. “My lord, I’d really like to understand what I’ve entangled myself in here.”
“Let’s just say that Normark’s lords don’t have much love for me. Perhaps they’re justified. Great Father onlyknows how much I’ve scorched their land. We’ve been followed since the afternoon.”
She rubbed her forehead. “And it didn’t occur to you to tell me sooner?”
“It was irrelevant when it was clear they weren’t about to engage. That’s not the case anymore.” A heartbeat of quiet. “Listen, if you survive this encounter, it might be better for you not to remain in the sight of the king or his vassals. Actually, avoid Normark completely. Killing a king’s soldier is a capital offense.”
She blew an irate puff. “I’ve not killed anyone.”
“You’ve been seen traveling with me. That’s reason enough.”
She simply blinked in utter silence. Executed—for riding next to him? Just how much blood had this man shed?
He sighed, nodding to the other men. Voiceless, they stepped back, leaving her to face him in private.
“Trisha an Tilia,” he said, turning to her, “I’ve offered you my protection on the road north. I’m now extending it further. Come with me to Eichlandt. Stay until the storm’s blown over. Play at my court. You’ll be honored and treated well.”
“That’s very generous of you, but I follow the road. I plan to stop at Isdet.”
“You should not. The Warden of Marches and I… are not on the best of terms. She won’t be welcoming you. Not after tonight.”
A suspicion she’d nurtured in silence turned into certainty. “There’s no lord waiting for you in Moorhafen, is there?”
That seemed to amuse him; she could hear it in his voice. “No,” he said. “There’s not.”
