“You should rest,” Blainor said. “We’ll continue as soon as dawn breaks. It’ll be a long ride if we’re to pass Isdet.”
Trisha scowled. “What do you expect from me? If I’m to accept your offer and come with you to Eichlandt and your home… Moorhafen?”
“I told you already. I want you to fill my halls with your music.”
“For how long? Will I befree to leave?”
He tilted his head as though to consider. “Are you concerned?”
“I don’t trust you, my lord. You said you planned to persuade me. It’s not that I don’t appreciate your offer of protection. I do. But I want assurances. Assurances that I won’t be confined.”
Blainor’s mouth firmed. “I see you weren’t lying when you said you prefer the road over commitment. It’s an invitation, Trisha. Not a shackle.” His voice softened. “Don’t tell me you’re not interested. You wouldn’t have come this far with me if you weren’t.”
She averted her gaze.
“I won’t hold you,” he said. The leather of his gloves murmured, betraying the slight movement of his hands. “A guest is not a prisoner.”
“Guest?”
“I’m not in the habit of repeating myself, Starling. I’m offering you shelter.” He drew a breath. “All I ask is that you let me know if you want to depart. No other commitment.”
The memory tugged at Trisha—a hand pulling her forward, the tall reeds rustling in the wind. She studied him up and down, trying to read his expression. “And that’s all? Just letting you know if I want to leave?”
His tone turned smug. “I have a feeling that once you’re in Moorhafen, you won’t want to.”
“You seem rather certain of that.”
“Then come with me, if only to prove me wrong. You appear to enjoy challenging me.”
Fatigue weighed her limbs and muddled her thoughts. She couldn’t deny that Blainor’s offer held appeal. It certainly triumphed over being detained by the King of Normark. A shiver went through her. She didn’t want to think about the dead soldier with her arrow in his cold flesh anylonger.
Again, she saw the vision of tall reeds in the wind, the stone circle in the distance. Ice and snow, the serpent from her childhood had said. Eichlandt? Or even farther?
Blainor waited, bloodstained but unharmed, eyes shining like silver-edged clouds. Nearby, his men cleared the campsite, dragging the dead out of sight.
Could she risk facing the king’s men? Being questioned about Eichlandt’s Warlord or her involvement in the fight?
The receding shadows revealed thick patches of blood across the dirt.
Trisha’s shoulders fell in exasperation. “Yes, I’ll come with you.”
He nodded as though he’d always known the answer, as if there had never been any doubt. She wanted to scream, but she’d handed him the leash herself, and now he was leading her down some dreary road whose end she couldn’t see or understand. She should never have said yes.
5
For Trisha,no single thing marked their crossing of the border into Eichlandt: thick forests of tall birch and spruce changed into pastureland, and jagged hills that time had eroded into waves nudged a forgotten corner of her mind.
But her companions noticed. Their postures relaxed, slight smiles breaking through. Not even their Warlord, who carried himself like an unsheathed sword, could resist the land’s call.
Blainor leaned into his saddle, one hand hanging at his side, barely reining in his stallion, Skarr. The horse seemed to find enjoyment in its freedom and used this opportunity to torment Dapple, posturing and baring its teeth at Trisha’s gelding.
Dapple’s ears lay flat every time the bay horse veered too close.
“Unbearable beast,” Trisha muttered under her breath, “just like your rider.”
From his crooked smile, she guessed Blainor had heard the words.
Blowing a strand of hair from her eyes, she looked around.Her heartbeat was a restless drumming in her chest, a place where hope and fear tangled into a tight knot. At last.
