Drawing in a breath, Trisha entered. People gave her space, a few of the Dewingar clan members inclining their heads. She kept her neck straight, unease growing at each step. The sable wheel of the Blainor’s family crest hung from the ceiling, golden light sparkling on the granite. Trisha’s quick steps had now slowed to a crawl.
Dark strands curled at the Warlord’s nape, rich embroidery sparking in the collar of his green tunic. His head tilted before he turned around. Trisha hugged her lyre to her chest.
Two other men were in his company: wild-haired Gend Blutmeer and the graying Chief Lichtal. They, too, noticed her. Silent, they watched, Gend with a curious air around his eyes, while tension had sharpened Orin’s face.
“Warlord, Chief Lichtal, and Chief Blutmeer.” She nodded.
“Did you enjoy your ride, Starling?” A hint of disapproval edged Blainor’s question.
She suppressed her wince, feigning nonchalance. “Had Iknown how much attention you paid to my little forays, I would’ve invited you with me.”
“Indeed?” he murmured, eyes narrowing. “Perhaps you should’ve, although disappearing for more than half a day might raise a few eyebrows.”
“I’m flattered you kept track.”
“I do my best not to disappoint, Starling. Especially when you leave yourself so exposed.” He waved off a servant, turning to the two men. “Chief Lichtal was just commenting on your performance at Graystein.”
Dipping into a bow, she remained aware of Blainor’s presence beside her. The magic pulsed, tingling against her skin. “I hope your travels went well, my lord.”
Orin regarded her warily before returning the bow. “Bard an Tilia, a pleasure to meet again.”
An unbidden image emerged—his glossy eyes, arm reaching toward her. She shoved it aside. “I’m delighted you recall me, Chief Lichtal. I played only one song.”
“Your songs have a tendency to linger, Starling,” Blainor said.
She forced herself to relax her jaw. “Indeed, my lord? I thought they leave you unaffected.”
“Hardly unaffected, my bard.”
Her fingers pressed into her lyre as she fought off the memory of his touch. He made her want dangerous things. “Your high praise warms my heart.”
“Anything else?”
Impossible man. She turned back toward Gend and Orin with a smile. “My lords, as I’m due to start my performance soon, do you have any requests? I’d be thrilled to play something for you.”
“Thrilled, now?” Blainor interjected.
She ground her teeth and kept her eyes fixed on thegray-bearded face of Orin and the bear-like Gend. “My apologies on behalf of the Warlord. I’d be delighted to dedicate a song to you.”
Orin shook his head, avoiding her gaze. “I know better now, but thank you for your offer, Bard an Tilia.”
“Are you not asking for my requests, Trisha? Aren’t you curious to hear what I want?” Blainor asked.
“Oh, I know what to play without asking, my lord,” she said blithely, not even looking at him. “I recall you told me your preference at that inn back at Normark.”
“Perhaps I’ve changed my mind since then? The forbidden has never worked for me, if you must know.”
She loathed her inability to fight off the allure of being seen. Trisha drew a deep breath. She couldn’t trust him. The echo of Gend’s words about the pendant rang in her mind, and how everyone had quieted when the Blutmeer chief mentioned Everfrost. She turned toward the wild-haired northern chief. “Chief Blutmeer, despite being new to the Warlord’s court, I look forward to learning more about Eichlandt and its people.”
Gend gave her a faint smile. “Bard an Tilia, the pleasure has been all mine. I look forward to welcoming you to my halls one day.”
“I hope your meeting with the Warlord has been fruitful? You sounded concerned when you brought up the glaciers north of Eichlandt. Everfrost, I believe?” She couldn’t prevent herself, glancing at the man by her side.
Concern dimmed Gend’s gaze. Frost-bitten scars freckled over the sun and salt-hardened skin. “I pray for Great Father that I’m wrong. The Warlord knows?—”
“Are you planning to compose a song today, Trisha an Tilia?” Blainor interrupted. “If so, I assure you Eichlandt holds other stories in addition to the glaciers of Everfrost.”
She stood taller. “Perhaps the Warlord should trust in hisbard’s competence. Everfrost sounds like a great motif for a fierce ballad.” Turning toward Gend, she asked, “Or what do you think, Chief Blutmeer?”
