In the far corner, near the wall lined with an age-darkened coat of arms and time-gnawed tapestries, a man was engaged in an argument with another one. Oblivious to the chaos, they ignored the disfigured arms of the candelabrum. Caughtbetween the two men stood a young woman, her hands spread wide, to keep them apart from each other. A few armored shields emblazoned with the Dewingar crest approached the trio.
Stupid. So stupid.
Trisha’s pulse raced as she watched the servants hurriedly clear the wreckage from the dented floor and quickly smother the small flames scorching the darkened boards. Thank the stars, no one was hurt, but the atmosphere in the Fir Hall was frenzied. Heavy smoke eddied in the gold of the afternoon, stirred by the moving bodies. Sweat and the residues of sweet honeysuckle itched at her throat.
She didn’t wait. She stood.
“I think I’m done for tonight.” No more music from her. Not today.
“Oh.” Asa spun round, worry twisting her narrow features. “Can’t say I blame you.” Caressing her fiddle, she watched the servants carry the heavy chandelier out of the room. Some of the chiefs were returning to their seats, people’s voices slowly resuming. Across the crowd, Senneth’s flaxen-haired head turned toward them with a quick gesture to resume their music.
“Minstrels,” Bran said in a tight voice.
With a roll of her eyes, Asa lifted the violin to her chin. “Always the same.” She exchanged glances with Trisha and bowed a loud warble out of her fiddle. Her cheer returning, she winked. “See you at the bonfire!”
Trisha stepped back, the lyre cradled in her arms.It could have been worse, she reminded herself.Much, much worse. Luckily none, save for Blainor, seemed to have realized she’d caused the destruction.
Another look around. The argument in the corner was finished, the debris cleared. Trisha’s shouldersdropped. Yet, the uneasy feeling squeezing her heart wouldn’t slacken. Across the room, a stillness weighed against the movement and life. Blainor sat immobile, face drawn. He leaned back, chin lowering, and tapped his dented cup.
Sucking in a breath, Trisha dodged his face. She escaped the Fir Hall and Blainor and prayed that her act hadn’t started an uncontainable fire this time.
17
The pebbles scuttledagainst the sand, Trisha’s strides long and fast. Still, they provided no escape from the memory of how pewter dented under Blainor’s strained hand or the echo of the chandlier’s impact with the ground. She’d left her lyre in her room, but despite freedom from its weight, she felt no relief.
It was one thing to weave images and gentle emotions into her songs, but to hijack it from her fellow musicians? To compel the whole room under her spell?
The risk. It was a wonder no one was hurt! And all just to break Blainor’s composure.
She groaned. Nameless gods, curse her. She’d crossed that line she’d set for herself, allowing her pride and vanity to make her rash. Just like in Graystein. All that distance she’d gained—gone. She deserved to be whipped for her stupidity.
And yet, who could blame her? Blainor kept hiding his secrets, refusing to show what he truly wanted. If he had lied about her title, what else could he be hiding?
Fragrant notes of the white roses Aine had woven into herbraid earlier itched her throat, their sweetness like her magic. She couldn’t breathe. The descending sun warmed her face, the world in bloom. A cloud of gnats and flies buzzed as swooping birds circled the surrounding fields.
A group of people walked ahead—men in their light summer linen, women in bright-colored dresses embroidered with patterns of leaves and flowers. Trisha squinted at a tall shape with a long dark braid. The man glanced over his shoulder, face brightening. He waved at her.
“Bard! Summer blessings!” Kaiden shouted.
“Blessings back to you,” she muttered, reaching him.
“Headed to the beach as well?”
“I heard the bonfire isn’t something one should miss.” A fraction of her tension loosened. Kaiden appeared the same, save for his wide grin, but he’d been more relaxed since their arrival in Moorhafen. With a furtive glance toward Kaiden’s young wife, Marleen, she guessed his reasons.
“Then walk with us,” he said, offering her a flask. “Your first Midsummer with us shouldn’t be spent alone.”
Strolling alongside them, she took the drink and sniffed. It had a spicy, herbal note, and it burned as it slid down her throat. Trisha coughed, tears in her eyes, quickly returning the flask to him.
Kaiden chuckled. “Not used to Livatz, are you?”
“Strong drinks are not something to help musical performances.”
“Speaking of musical performances,” Kaiden started. “Must be the first time all the chiefs took to the floor in years.” Grinning, he wrapped an arm around Marleen’s shoulders.
The woman laughed. “You forget Annath. Chief Wolfbach avoided the floor like it were the steppe of Everfrost.”
“Doesn’t surprise me. Pity the chandelier didn’t hit his head when it fell.”
