She’d wanted to visit Havbrun. Trisha bit her lip.
“Unless you have something planned already?” he added, as though sensing her irritation.
“Just… thought I’d get more familiar with the town. I’ve had only a few chances to go there since my arrival.”
“I could join?” he offered. “Havbrun’s streets are well known to me. Would you like a guide?”
She sucked in a sharp breath, the refusal ready on her tongue, but then smoothed down the reaction. “That’s very… considerate. I wouldn’t want to take you from your lord’s side.”
“No need to fear. Chief Lichtal is occupied with the Warlord and the other chiefs for the whole day,” Bran said with a sly smile, tone carrying a hint of challenge. “As a matter of fact, I insist.”
She pressed her lips together, eyes narrowing. What was heafter? He’d clearly made up his mind. If that was the case, she needed to be clever and mislead him into believing she’d fallen for this… whatever his ploy was. “Thank you, Minstrel Jovell.”
First thing in the morning, she’d slip away without him. Bran Jovell, with his dubious motives, jealousy, and sharp eyes and ears, was the last person she wanted accompanying her as she unearthed the secrets of her past. Well, almost.
Trisha’s gaze strayed to the back of the room. Blainor held his drink in absolute stillness. As their gazes met, his lips reeled back.
She stilled. The tension in his posture spoke volumes, and Trisha wasn’t quite foolish enough to brave his storm waiting to break over her. Before Blainor could summon her to him, she bade goodbye to Bran.
Perhaps it was an escape, and she a coward. Trisha told herself it was only for this time.
15
Sun crestedover the gray walls, small gray birds chirping and flitting across the courtyard. A distant clang of metal echoed as Blainor’s shields went through their morning routines.
Trisha winced. Once again, she was sneaking out without her shield, Reike. She glared at the tall reed swaying next to the stable’s weathered stone before sighing.
It wasn’t its fault that Blainor had been right—thistledrift reed truly did grow everywhere.
Her next clue to finding her parents lay in the stone circles. Trisha’s only true memory: her mother leading her away from this world to another.
Trisha’s shoulders sank. The stretch on the shoreline, the white stones that opened the route to the Undying Lands had been untouched. Forgotten. Could she trust it and dare ask about the fae? Or would the people here also hurl a curse at her, spit at her boots, no matter that she was the Warlord’s Bard…
Her mouth went dry. If Blainor were to learn, it would be asgood as admitting the truth. He could never learn about her past and what her magic could truly do.
Next to her, Dapple pawed at the dirt, ears flat.
Chuckling, she patted his neck. “Skipping breakfast once won’t hurt, you know?”
The horse snorted, informing her what he thought about her suggestion.
As she set the stirrup in place, a man’s voice broke through the clang of iron: “Bard an Tilia, I’m pleased to see you’re an early bird, too!”
Trisha’s teeth set. Unbelievable. She turned. “Good morning, Minstrel Jovell.”
Bran strode across the gravel, fastening the belt over his half-unbuttoned tunic. He stopped before her, smiling as though not realizing she tried to sneak into town without him. “Did we not agree to take the road to Havbrun together?”
Curse the nameless gods.
“I didn’t want to wake you.”
“Nonsense,” he said firmly. After a sharp order over her shoulders to prepare his horse, he continued with an amiable voice, “We musicians must stick together, you know.”
“Yes, of course,” she muttered, sliding a hand over Dapple’s coat. Every minute wasted risked Reike finding out. The shield seemed perceptive, and Trisha had no doubts that the soldier was required to report everything back to Blainor. At least she knew how to fool this obnoxious bard.
Dapple blew warm air against her head, thoughts accusatory.Don’t forget, I left my oats for your hurry.
“You’re not the only one annoyed,” she said under her breath. “Hush now, Dapple.”
