With a tight grip on my treasures, I tug Val with me to the sled, heart racing. Even if no one else can see through her disguise, we shouldn’t linger.
Just before we reach the butcher’s shop, a pair of cloaked figures step out of a side street. Their precise gait and the royal blue collars of their cloaks give them away immediately.
Huntsmen.
I scan the square, and—Oh no! A rugged figure stands at the edge, eerily still. Watching.
Beron is here.
Val squeaks. Then she’s gone, ducking into the wool shop and vanishing from the street.
Beron’s on me in moments. “Illusionist,” he snarls. “I thought your troupe had moved on.”
“Well…see…circumstances…”
“Who was that with you?”
“Who?”
A steely glare.
“Oh, you mean my fiancée. She popped in for wool.”
“You’re betrothed.”
“Yes. Absolutely. It’s new.”
“Is that so?” He sounds threatening.
“Yep.”
His lip curls. “I hope you keep her close,and your secrets closer.”
Definitely a threat.
“I will. You can count on it,” I say, my voice only slightly shaky.
Beron’s eyes narrow. “Now, listen to meverycarefully…”
Chapter 20
Talvie
There’s nothing like a brush with the man who tried to kill you to bring reality crashing down. Things had been feeling too warm, too comfortable. I should have known it was all too good to last.
The cottage is cozy, the kids are a barrel of laughs, and being with Lark every day is like nothing I’ve ever experienced.
I haven’t burned, dropped, spilled, or broken anything in several days. Daria seems almost pleased. Aside from help with Tahto, the mule, I’ve barely had to run to Lark for advice. Even Lumi hasn’t sounded disappointed lately, even seeming proud as she guided me back to the cottage after my tavern shift last night. Everything had begun to feel like a dream I could relax into. I want to go back to it.
After seeing Beron and his huntsmen at the market, I can’t wait to get out of the bitter wind and into the warm safety of the cottage. I haven’t stopped shivering since we loaded the delivery and hustled away from the market.
The warm air flowing out the door is a welcome relief on my icy fingers. I’m ready to savour the fireplace, food, maybe even one of Helkki’s riddles—
Screaming.
Not the usual sound of playful cottage chaos. This is full-volume, high-pitched, hair-raising fear.
Lark is gone at a dead sprint before I can even shove through the door. I slam it behind me and race after him, sliding to a stop at the sight in the living area.
