Despite knowing better, Trisha shivered at the darkness twining his words, at the glow of his wise gaze, and perhaps the truth she was always afraid to hear.
“So satisfying, to know about this Warlord,” Shi’as continued. “But it’s only a matter of time until one of you falls. You will find your answers as long as you remain.”
“I’m not goingto fall!”
Shi’as only laughed, his body shifting, uncoiling itself. “Tell that to yourself if you must. But I know better. I hear my stars humming the truth.” Slowly, he retreated, slithering toward the dark forest. “I’ll be here to witness the aftermath of your world’s house of glass shattering.”
She watched after him, the echo of his words tearing her insides apart. Just before disappearing from her sight, he turned back. His eyes flashed—two golden orbs in the dark.
“Do come back, Trisha, when your Warlord has unraveled you. Even better, bring him with you, and I might tell you more.”
Her hands balled against the need to challenge him and deny the words he’d flung at her face so carelessly. She knew she couldn’t trust Shi’as, but what if he was right? If Blainor was her undoing… what could that mean? And what did it really look like?
14
What a fool she’d been,thinking a visit to the Undying Lands would soothe her woes. Instead, what she’d gained was a picked-at scab never even close to healing. And even more, Shi’as’ torturing premonition. The snake’s words kept slithering through her brain, his hissing warnings and taunts straining her nerves.
Until one of us falls, eh?Trisha clenched her hands and forced herself not to think of Shi’as. The serpent reveled in lasting pain, and she knew better than to trust his words. Fidgeting, she waited for Aine to finish tying her dress laces.
She wouldn’t unravel. Never. Not for Blainor. He meant nothing. Just a man with captivating eyes and a smile that made her pulse thump. Others had done so, too. If only she could remember the last one.
“Mistress?” Aine’s words jarred her from her thoughts. “Did something happen during the ride?” From Trisha’s window, she could see the long shadows strewn over the land.
Trisha froze. Had someone seen her vanish into thin air earlier? “No? Why are you asking?”
Aine stepped back. “You said something about falling, mistress.” A thoughtful furrow appeared on her forehead. “Is that why you were late?” Shaking her head, she sighed. “Next time, don’t leave your guard behind.”
Trisha bit down her annoyance. How should she know it had been so late—the sun seemed almost never to set here. There was no avoiding the firing line of questions. “No. I’m not hurt. Who did you say has already arrived?”
Aine puckered her mouth, motioning with her hand. “Turn around. I must get you ready before Master Usmer gets mad at me.”
Trisha couldn’t resist glancing at the cleavage of her tight bodice. A flutter came from somewhere deep within. Her teeth snapped together. Blainor could go to hell.
“You missed Chief Lichtal’s arrival during your… exploration. He also brought his bard.”
“Minstrel Jovell?” Trisha wasn’t sure how she felt about meeting the sour-faced musician.
“Your lack of presence was also commented on when the Warlord welcomed Chief Falkvind and his people.”
“I, um, lost sense of time,” Trisha grumbled, wincing as Aine tightened her vest.
The maid tsk’ed. “Let me get a look, mistress.”
Trisha turned.
Aine adjusted the seams, squinting, and hmphed. “I suppose it’ll do.” Placing her hands on her hips, she nodded. “You might not wear Vis’ pendant, but you look like the Warlord’s Bard.”
Trisha wanted to ask about the pendant, but the maid was already moving toward the door. “The Warlord expects to hear you play, Bard an Tilia. Don’t keep him waiting.”
She picked up her lyre. Soft linen and wool whispered against the dark oak boards as she exited at a brisk pace.Servants in their liveries sailed past her, each giving her a respectful nod, a few approaching as though to ask her something. Too distracted, she didn’t stop, just waved her hand.
“The Warlord expects me.”
Gend, too, had mentioned this pendant. What did it mean? She bit her lip, cursing her lack of understanding about Eichlandt’s customs.
Trisha’s steps slowed a touch as the Fir Hall drew nearer. Low laughs and muffled words grew louder. The tang of roasted food blended with fresh herbs, her shadow wavering on the stone as she passed lanterns affixed to the stone walls. At the doorway, she lingered, wiping her clammy hand on her skirt. She glanced up, and then, her stomach dropped.
Blainor stood across the floor, his tall shape visible among the sea of people. He waited by the fireplace where she’d play.
