A flicker of panic, or grief, broke through the angry lines of Blainor’s face, shattering his bullying mask. A low curse escaped him, and before she realized it, he had moved again. A few strides closed the distance between them, as though it had suddenly become unbearable.
“Don’t youdare,” he snarled, feet planted wide, towering before her. The edge of his cloak rubbed against her legs, and the aroma of evergreen and smoky earth surrounded her.
Every nerve in Trisha’s body screamed at her to back away, but she couldn’t escape his pain.
“You don’t get to…” The words held in Blainor’s throat, his body wound so tight she thought he might break. A pained expression replaced it, almost haggard. “You don’t just get to show up at my doorstep after making me think you were hurt, or worse—just to demand that I allow you to leave.”
Holding her lyre like a shield, she fought against the churning emotions: anger, shame, and her guilt. “Do you have any idea what it cost me to return? What I had to overcome just to stand before you again?”
A taut quiet stretched between them. His face hovered inches from hers, but she didn’t back down. Her eyes burned with indignation and hurt pride; his held something darker. The sunlight glittered on gamboling dust motes, the portraits on the walls watching with their empty stares.
He let out a sound: half a scoff, half a breath. “Cost?” Nodding toward her hair, Blainor sneered, “Those iridescent flowers must’ve cost you a lot.”
“What a fool I was that I didn’t realize accepting your invitation meant chains.”
“Chains, Trisha?” he growled. “You left, and still you dare call yourself captive. You and I don’t live in the same reality.”
“Oh, go ahead, Blainor. Give me your all. I think I’m getting the gist of this. You hate me. Just tell me, Blainor.”
He gritted his teeth, as though he were fighting against the words, before they slipped out. “How can you be this blind, Trisha? I wasworried.”
For a moment, she didn’t understand. Not what he had said, but what it meant. Slowly, something loosened inside her—painful and fragile. So strong, it terrified her.
“Do you have any idea,” he continued in a hoarse voice, “how insulting it is to stand here and listen to you ask me togrant you something I’ve been living with every day since you left?”
She wanted to remain angry. Wanted to throw his words right back in his face. But the rawness of his voice, his pain, seeped through her defenses. She loathed her need to believe in them. In him. The anger snuffed out, leaving only her guilt behind; her shoulders fell.
“I’m… I’m sorry, Blainor.” The quiet apology felt inadequate for everything that had happened, for all the damage she couldn’t undo. “I didn’t realize.”
“Of course you didn’t,” Blainor snapped, but his fury had fizzled away, as though he no longer had the energy to hold onto it. He looked over Trisha’s shoulder. “Do you truly want to leave? There’s the door. Ancestors know I couldn’t stop you even if I tried.”
She shook her head. “Is that all you think I’m here for?”
His gaze sharpened, scanning her face as though it could pierce through her every defense. Part of her hated it. He made her feel like he could see straight to the truths even she couldn’t name. And yet, part of her welcomed how he made her feel seen. Closer still, he moved, their bodies nearly touching. “Tell me, Trisha.” His soft tone, the look in his eyes, sent her pulse racing. “Why did you come back?”
She grasped for an answer, her mouth too dry for the words that hovered on her tongue. “I believe,” Trisha said finally, “I made a promise of sorts, back in Isdet. To become the Warlord’s Bard.” Despite the fear curdling inside her, she attempted a smile. “Besides, I believe we agreed ‘at least’ until winter.”
The floorboards groaned as he moved. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I suppose we can’t have you breaking a promise, then.”
Just like that, their tension eased. She almost swayed asrelief surged through her, washing away the fear. He wasn’t going to drive her away. He hadn’t abandoned her. A clump in her throat dissolved, allowing her to breathe normally again.
Echo of his hurt shadowing his brows, Blainor leaned in, voice dropping. “But don’t do that again, Trisha. Don’t youeverdisappear like that again.”
She shook her head. “I won’t, Blainor,” she swore. “I promise.”
25
Her old room awaited.The bright quilt lay over Trisha’s bed, the wooden table set to face the eastern heights. Her road-beaten tunic hung on the chair, bags propped in the corner where she’d left them. She ran a finger along her lyre’s case. Someone had moved it away from the door. It made her ache a little. Carefully, she tucked her lyre inside it before sitting in her chair.
The swell of hills in the distance, the grass swaying in the wind. One by one, she removed the morrowflowers from her hair. They were still fresh, their colors shifting from red to green, from green to gold. Flexing her fingers, she crushed them, and their sweet, honeysuckle scent infused the air, cutting through the mildew in her room. Unlatching the window, she let the fresh wind inside. She paused, then made up her mind. Trisha scattered the crushed petals to the wind without another thought. The current caught them, carrying the torn flowers away. A tender and fragile emotion bloomed in her chest.
Blainor knew. Somehow, he had known where they camefrom. But if she asked him how, she’d open the door for him to pry. It hadn’t escaped her that he’d restrained himself, but she’d sensed the curiosity—the questions. And yet, he hadn’t broached them.
The door opened, and Trisha turned. Aine stood there in her brown gown, an apron tied at her waist. A wry smile flickered over the maid’s face. “Lost your vest, I see,” she said dryly.
Trisha suppressed a wince and muttered, “Met someone who had more need for it.”
Aine snorted, shaking her head. “I’ll get your bath prepared; I expect you’d want one.”
