“Can you fault me for my curiosity?” he asked. “I’ve encountered illusions, Starling. Until now, none of them were real enough to touch.”
She flung back his words at him, “You said ityourself—my home.”
His mouth arching, Blainor slid a hand over the weathered stone. “And that is all you offer? You have a long way to go if you believe that’s enough to satisfy me.”
“So, my music can summon images and evoke emotions. What else is there to know?”
His finger didn’t stop, tracing shapes of the slabs. “I’m not questioning the magic in your music, but why you’ve kept it hidden.”
A chill went through Trisha. “That doesn’t concern you.”
His hand stilled. “Forgetting my advice already? Careful to whom you show your talons.”
There was no way she’d tell him about where she had learned her magic. Demons, ghosts—she’d learned fast what people called the fae.
Once, she’d been naive enough to confess where her magic originated. She’d paid for that mistake and swore. Never again would she allow herself become anyone’s tool. She didn’t trust Blainor enough for the truth about her home.
Best to direct Blainor’s interest elsewhere, and since he’dadmitted knowing about the magic seeping into her songs, revealing it would little matter anymore. She could only hope it would be enough. That he’d never learn what she could do with it.
“My magic… I don’t understand why, but it reacts to my emotions.” Despite the words being a deflection, confessing even this much made her bleed a little. It felt like shedding a layer of armor—daring to expose delicate skin to a burning sun. Trisha prayed he wouldn’t see through its gaps. “I don’t always control it. It has its own mind.” Not a lie, not exactly, but she didn’t trust him. She couldn’t forget the way he’d looked at her in the Fir Hall, as though discovering an answer to a question he’d not known. “All it can do is to create visions like the one you saw, nothing else.”
The golden light dimmed, shadows cloaking the walkway.
“Mm.” Blainor breathed as though finally understanding some secret, tapping his lips. “Must be what I witnessed at that inn in Normark. Just random images of your magic.” He dropped his casual tone, leaning closer. “Not to mention, sung in a language not heard in hundreds of years. Is that also a random symptom of your magic, Trisha?”
Her mouth went dry. How had he recognized the language?
He observed her with that infuriating smirk before clicking his tongue. “Trisha, if you insist on lying, the least you can do is make it entertaining. Or believable.”
Humiliation burned away her fear. She’d show him no weaknesses. “Since you know the answers already, why ask? Whatever I say is either useless or cast aside as pure lies.”
“Why indeed.”
Trisha’s hands clenched. This man drove herinsane. Furthermore, he’d dodged her every attempt to unearth his motivations, and she was growing tired of this dance of cat andmouse. Abandoning all subtlety, she faced him head-on. “What threat lies in the north, my lord?”
Steel shone in his eyes, cutting down his smile. “Are you wishing for a tour of my land?”
An image of thistledrift reeds swaying in the wind emerged, those long stalks rustling as she walked among them. Trisha pushed the yearning aside. “Gend talked about Everfrost as though something to be deathly afraid of. As did Orin in Graystein. What’s there?”
“Snow on the southernmost peaks of Everfrost is a promise of a very hard winter.” Blainor’s pitch lowered, and he turned toward the lights rising in the northern sky. Before the brisk wind could steal his words, she stepped closer. “Such a hard winter I’d rather avoid it completely.” A hint of lingering pain laced his grim tone.
Trisha swallowed, unsure whether she wanted to understand its reason.
He looked down, dark lashes framing the window of his soul. “Even a child knows to dread Everfrost, but instead of obeying the laws laid out by our forefathers, Annath’s allowed pride and resentment to rule his head.”
“I sense a common thread emerging.”
He huffed but didn’t rise to her goading. “The north is a cold and brutal winter. It’s death, Starling.” Blainor’s words carried a quiet warning. “Everfrost isn’t a place where I’d see southern songbirds venture.”
“And you lost someone there?” Trisha asked softly. “I-I mean. I’m assuming. Is that why you don’t want to talk about it?”
Something in his expression shuddered, a breath leaving him. “Why you keep asking questions of such a bleak place, I can’t decide. Is it ignorance or something else?”
Her heartbeat quickened. The splintered gray of his eyes was mesmerizing, holding her in place as much as her own determination not to back away. Traces of fresh forest clung to him like a cloak, and beneath them, the alluring scent of… him. Her toes curled against the desire to lean closer and test his strength.
“I just want to understand.” The words left her, barely a whisper.
Blainor’s fingers twitched, his voice like a summer night, full of promise. “Some questions are best left unanswered.”
