Gend’s mouth opened and closed, his attention ricocheting between Trisha and Blainor. “I trust in the Warlord’s choice. Whatever you choose, you’ll hear no complaints.” He inclined his head to Blainor. “Perhaps I should follow the Warlord’s lead and pick a bard from the south the next time I go there.”
“I recommend asking. That usually goes over better elsewhere,” Trisha muttered.
“Starling, it was persuasion, not a kidnapping. Besides, I’m sure you don’t need a reminder. You’ll know when I’ve abducted you.”
Despite herself, Trisha’s breath hitched. Damn him.
“If you excuse me, Bard an Tilia. Warlord,” Orin said, slapping a hand on Gend’s shoulder. “Let’s find Naddod. It’s been months since we last saw him.”
Gend scoffed. “Listen to him brag, you mean?” But he soon followed the elder chief with a curt nod to Blainor and Trisha.
As the two men’s backs shrank, a sinking feeling settled in her stomach. It was just them now. Alone. Had Blainor orchestrated this? It seemed nearly impossible how quickly and naturally it happened. Never mind, she’d find another opportunity to engage with the Blutmeer chief. Or ask about Orin’s maps. Trisha opted to stare into the fire before she directed her tongue at the Warlord.
“Must make you feel powerful, having the ability to drive your chieftains away without even a word.”
“Were you hoping to avoid me, Starling? What secrets are you hiding this time?”
She glared at him. “Nothing that concerns you.”
“Oh, those are exactly the ones someone should hear.”
Her mouth opened, but no words came. The hum ofconversations filled the air, and the fireplace blazed too hot. She needed cold air, fresh wind—anything to separate her from Blainor’s questions and sharp eyes.
He turned to her. “Am I getting too close, Trisha?”
Her body betrayed her, heat pooling low, but she forced her spine to stiffen. Trisha hugged her lyre tighter. “Do all warlords have delusions of grandeur, or is it only you?”
“Such fire in your belly. Be careful not to let it scorch you to ash.” He budged a fraction, that masculine trace of wild forests and tobacco making her head spin. “Although you’d make a lovely pyre.”
“And that is what you want? To make me burn?” She wanted to bite off her tongue the moment this question left her.
“Have you not learned already how dangerous a question that is to a man?”
Every fiber screamed at her to pull back, but she forced her chin up. “Which one, my lord? That I should burn, or that it should be you to set the flames?”
A quick breath, his smile wavering. When it bloomed again, he leaned closer, voice dropping lower than low, deeper than deepest. “Are you inviting me to show you?”
The logs in the hearth snapped, and the stink of burning resin pervaded the air. A shiver ran through her. Trisha’s every nerve tingled. And still, she wouldn’t move, wouldn’t allow herself to sink into the temptation. She knew better than to do that, pulling back. “Burning at your hands sounds very painful. I think I’d better pass.”
“These old things?” He lifted his palms. “The fire they kindle usually isn’t one of pain.” His smile turned even more crooked. “Unless pain is something asked for. Have I mentioned I have deft hands?”
Heat crept up her neck, his smile deepening. It only stokedher fury. She didn’t want this heat, not those eyes, and definitely didn’t want his hands near her skin, touching, teasing, rugged and warm?—
No! Stop it!
Trisha cleared her throat clumsily. “Why are you doing this?” Are you torturing me on purpose?” Her eyes narrowed. “Do you enjoy seeing me squirm, or are you just wanting to hear your own voice?”
Blainor’s smile faded. He tilted his head. When he spoke, all teasing was gone from his voice. “And how exactly do I make you squirm?”
Suddenly, he stood too close. His musk surrounded her, and all she could focus on was his nearness. She swallowed. No thoughts, no answers, no glib remarks emerged.Damn. Damn. Damn.
His gaze fixed on her, sharp and knowing. The conversation around seemed like a meaningless blur. The only thing that mattered was him before her, seducing her with those storm-filled eyes. She had nowhere to go. No words to hide behind. She couldn’t even push back if she wanted to.
Her magic quivered, its warmth skimming beneath her skin, merging with this unbearable heat that burned through her. As Trisha’s fingers swaddled her lyre, a single accidental sound broke through.
Trisha blinked, gasped, and stepped backward. “I m-must play, my lord.”
The world rushed in: the laughter and conversations, the clink of cutlery against plates, and the snap of wood in the hearth. After a bit, Blainor inclined his head with a faint smile and retreated. “If you insist. But don’t forget, Trisha. I don’t like waiting.”
