“No, I think we do,” Blainor cut across, voice grave.
The others went silent, brows lifted. A servants’ steps scraped against the floor; the surrounding murmurs and laughs were too loud. Trisha’s fingers pressed against the smooth pewter cup until she yielded under the weight of his demand.
“Very well, my lord.”
“Good.” Standing, he offered her his hand. “Carry on without us.” Blainor’s gaze moved to Gend, his voice gaining a harder edge. “We’ll talk more tomorrow.”
A pang of thrilling curiosity, Gend’s lips widened before helifted his goblet to hide the expression. “Enjoy your…talk, Warlord.”
Trisha followed Blainor out of the Fir Hall, the stares of his people burning her back.
12
The servants bowed,lanterns thinning the encroaching dark. A breath of cold air raised her skin into gooseflesh.
Blainor fell in step with her, shoulders brushing, a trace of evergreen and cedar teasing her nose. No matter how she tried to ignore him, heat prickled at her spine. His silent nearness further frayed her nerves.
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere more private than a table full of ears.” A smile softened his voice. “I would expect you to appreciate discretion.”
“Your generosity knows no limits.”
Their footfalls echoed as they ascended, granite around them exuding coolness. The long hems of Trisha’s skirt tangled around her feet, and she stumbled, the bodice squeezing her ribs.
“Careful, Starling,” Blainor murmured, reaching out. Light touch on her elbow, the heat of his skin tingling through her sleeve. “Wouldn’t want you to fall at my feet without me even trying.”
She jerked her arm free. “Sorry to disappoint you, my lord, but it’ll take much more than an accidental tumble.”
He led them on. The hush of the evening amplified every sound: the wood’s groan, wind lamenting outside, their breathing. Through the arrow slits, the dwindling sphere of light still burned.
Blainor stopped in front of a decades-cracked door, thin film of rust coating the hinges. It wailed under his push.
A gust slapped against Trisha’s cheeks, rich with salt, sweet heather, and the earthy soil. Blainor’s cloak flapped behind him as he stepped through the doorway. Over the parapet’s crumbling crenellations, the landscape unfurled like a painting—the sun upon waves, the mountain ridge disappearing with the gloaming. It stole Trisha’s breath. For a moment, she even forgot his reason to bring her here, the keep’s battlement.
Stopping by the balustrade, Blainor placed his hand on its crown. Moorhafen’s walls, towers, and fields spread around them.
“Is this why you brought me here? To admire the views?”
He turned. “Would you want it to be so?” His eyes shimmered in the soft twilight, but beneath their steel flickered something almost… tender. The emotion was gone in a blink. Blainor stepped forward. “Is that what you’ve been hiding from me—your true home? The linden tree and dancing lights?”
Despite her attempt, Trisha couldn’t quite suppress her wince. Her unruly magic. She should have known better. Shouldn’t have forgotten that she could never let go of control.
Smothering her curse, she smiled. “If you are so sure, why even ask?”
Another step. “Showing your talons, Starling?” The sun caught in the golden threads of his collar, in the metal of hisbone-hilted knife. His body was tense, a coiled power waiting to break free.
Pulling herself straight, Trisha met his gaze. There was no avoiding the inquisition, but she wouldn’t give in without a fight.
“I’m not a bird, and I have a name,” she said. “You wanted me to follow you. If my music’s not what you wanted, then say it.”
“When have I complained about your songs?”
Damn her. When would she learn to keep her mouth shut? “What do you want?”
“Want?” he repeated slowly. The wind blew, beating his cape and billowing Trisha’s dress unceremoniously. “I want to understand what it is about you that reminds me of things I spent years to forget.” There was darkness in his words; it crawled down her spine.
“I have no idea what?—”
