“Er, yes?”
“Ric—He—My”—she sucked in a breath—“Cedric is coming back to Kingshelm?”
Tristan laughed. “My lady, he is already here.”
The prickle at the back of Elyria’s neck became almost painful. She resisted the sudden urge to whip her head wildly around the room, to automatically start seeking.
What is wrong with you?she scolded herself internally.Calm down.
“He’s somewhere in the palace as we speak,” Tristan continued, and if he noticed the way that Elyria’s breath had stalled in her lungs, he didn’t let on. “Honestly, the right bastard should have been here long before me. I can only imagine what’s been holding him up.”
“I...I thought...” She shook her head, clearing the haze that was forming, forcing her restless knot of shadows to still. “We had received word that the Victor of Havensreach was on an assignment that took him from the city.”
“And so he was—so we were. We arrived back only hours ago, my lady?—”
She held up her hand. “I do believe we moved beyond ‘my lady,’ quite a while ago. Call me Elyria,please.”
Tristan smiled. “We returned for this very celebration,Elyria,” he said pointedly, “at the king’s request and the lord paramount’s rather fervent insistence.”
“I see.”
The band picked up their song again, a slow, romantic melody wafting through the room.
“As I said, he should arrive soon, and personally, I look forward to seeing his face when he realizes you’re here. But while we wait”—he dipped into a bow, extending his hand to Elyria once more—“would you allow me another dance? I promise to keep you upright this time.”
She took his proffered hand, smothering the feeling of—what was it? Joy? Fear? Anticipation?—that stirred beneath her shadows. “That was a one-time occurrence, I’ll have you know.”
“But of course.”
“I am a very good dancer,” she said.
Tristan grinned. “I never doubted it for a second. One might even say you’redangerouslygood.”
“Very funny,” she said, but she was indeed laughing as she said it. “I’ll have you know that?—”
Her breath caught.
Because that’s when she felt it.
The unfurling of that tight knot of shadow behind her ribs.
The prickle on the back of her neck intensified, shifting into something physical, visceral, running down her spine and into her chest. A pang. A pull.
Atug.
Elyria couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped her lips, her fingers tightening around Tristan’s hand reflexively—hard enough to make him flinch.
“Steady there,” he muttered, but Elyria barely heard him.
She was already turning, knowing beyond a doubt what she would find.
Who she would find.
8
A THING OF BEAUTY
CEDRIC
