“Always?”
“Aye.” The soldier nodded. “She still has no successor. But the Karring knows. She hears the ancestor’s words.”
Trisha’s fingers wrapped around the leather as Dapple bobbed her weight up and down. “So… she knows magic?”
“No. It’s no cursed magic of the demons the Karring knows. She summons blood and bone.” Reike looked up, sniffing. “We should turn. It’s getting hot. The fields need water. The clans have complained about the drought.”
Tightness around Trisha’s chest made breathingdifficult. The troubles these people faced. Her thoughts turned to their warlord, her insides squeezing. Despite the hardships—frosted pastures, wolves moving south, livelihoods of his people at stake—he’d thought about her during her absence. Blainor had worried for her. The gnaw of her sudden insight sent a melancholic chill over her. All she could do was stare into the distance, vacant, gently nodding to herself with pursed lips.
And despite their steady pace, Trisha’s mind continued to churn. So much remained that she wanted to ask Blainor. About the white-haired Karring, whom all people seemed to fear, and what kind of powers the witch wielded. About Everfrost. Her thoughts, her worries. Her back was wound up, neck tense. The magic shifted, like a dormant current about to wake up. But it settled, the steady cadence of hooves lulling it back to sleep, only to rouse in full force before she played.
It hummed, resonating satisfaction. The warm glow spread through her veins as she plucked at her lyre, lacing her songs with the softest touch of its power. The iron cressets burned, casting shadow and light, fleeting shapes dancing over the granite. Servants sailed in their liveries between long tables, their quiet steps echoing off the weathered wooden floor.
Afterward, she joined Blainor’s table, crossing her fingers in her lap.
An edgewise glance before he asked, “Did you enjoy your jaunt?”
Trisha playfully rolled her eyes. “You should worry about something of actual concern. I heard about the wolves,”
A slight tilt of his head, something unreadable in his gaze. Trisha’s fingertips tingled at its weight. “Yes,” he said, a nameless concern creasing his forehead. He turned to watch the banquet hall before them, tapping the wooden table. “I’ve sent for the clan chiefs.”
Trisha waited before daring to press a bit more. “It’s about Everfrost, isn’t it?”
A faint smile twisted his mouth, but the look in his eyes remained troubled. “You just can’t rein in your curiosity, can you, Starling? I expect a hard winter. Wolf sightings this far south are never good. The other clans should be preparing. You’d be better off not to ride far. Or not at all.”
Trisha’s thumbs moved in a circle over the cool pewter in her hands. “I don’t do well… so still. I get restless.”
“Is that so?”
“Seven years is a long habit to break,” she said. “Looking for something I’m not sure I can even find. So, I just… move.”
The conversations and laughter sounded louder, the soft glow of the candles varnishing Blainor’s features like brushstrokes. When he spoke, his voice was quiet. “What if you didn’t need to search anymore? What if you found it?”
Magic trembled in Trisha’s veins. “I’d like that.”
The press of his gaze, his silence, crowded the space between them. Around them, people talked—Fjorten, Kaiden, Byne. Across the raised table, Blainor’s seneschal, with narrowed eyes, ignored her. Like always.
“If you wanted,” Blainor started, words slow, “you could tell me more?”
Trisha thudded her cup against the table, a splash of mead spilling onto the wood. “Now?”
A servant hurried to refill her goblet.
“If you want to. Although I was thinking”—he didn’t drink, tracing the rim of his goblet—“somewhere more private.”
A jolt of energy sent her stomach fluttering. “I-I… When?” Trisha couldn’t meet his gaze, but she couldn’t ignore Blainor’s presence—his shoulders, the long fingers only a breath away from hers.
“Tomorrow? I’m planning to skip the public dinner.”
A private dinner with Blainor? An odd mix of nervousness and eagerness ran through her, conjuring the memory by the bonfire. Firmly, she pushed it away. Just a dinner. Nothing more.
Right?
“I’d like that,” Trisha replied. “I, too, have some questions.”
Blainor’s hands flexed on his stem. He exhaled. “Oh, I’m sure you do.”
26
