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He nodded.
I’ll help.
He almost said no, but he didn’t, for the same reason he didn’t shield her from the truth.He’s a good man. He won’t trouble you. But you run to me if you’re worried.
I’ll be fine. But something really isn’t right, Tyreste.
Tyr nodded slowly, his eyes on Grigor’s corner. He’d been starving an hour ago, but his belly had soured.I know.
Use your illusions.
It became a chant. A mantra. She sang it in her head on the flight back to Fanghelm—and as she stoked the fire, thawing her cold room. As she changed into her sleeping gown and as she drifted off to sleep.
Use your illusions.
She’d first learned illusory magic to alter her appearance when she had been five. It had been an accidental discovery, one that had confounded her mother so much, she’d nearly had a breakdown. Back then, it happened accidentally, when her emotions were at a peak... when she felt cornered or scared. Only as she aged did she learn to harness it and use it with intention.
But she couldn’t simply snap her fingers and become someone else. Unlike shifting, which was second nature, illusions required continuous focus, a constant awareness of who she was and who she wanted to be, so she could hold on to one and dismiss the other.
Sometimes, when she wanted to go into town without feeling everyone’s eyes follow her, she’d illusion herself into the same dark-haired, blue-eyed young woman she’d become earlier that night. She’d even created a new identity for this persona.
Nessa Arsenyev, long-lost daughter of the great Grigor.
Could it be coincidence it was Grigor himself who had given her the idea?
Maybe it wasn’t what he’d meant. But still...
Keep your distance, he’d said, but also,use your illusions.
Anastazja Wynter couldn’t be seen anywhere near Tyreste or the tavern, or everything she’d done to keep him safe would have been for nothing.
But Nessa Arsenyev?
Sweet, guileless, innocent Nessa, who was everything Anastazja wasn’t? Everything Tyreste seemingly wished she’d been all along?
Ah. Well,shecould do whatever she wanted.
Ana didn’t sleep a wink that night.
Chapter6
Nessa
Dawn broke, signaling the end of Tyr’s shift. He blinked his bleary eyes, determined to fight the strong call for sleep. He was behind on his translations, and Grigor showing up and acting strange had only put him further in the hole. The stack of letters behind the bar taunted him, waiting for him to snap out of the trance he’d been in ever since the pause in service.
Grigor had departed a while ago. Adeline was asleep in the back, curled up on the overnight cot. She’d refused to go home until he did, and he hadn’t had the heart to argue.
Rikard and Agnes arrived to relieve him. Agnes had one hand over her eyes, a wide yawn spreading her mouth as she shuffled behind the bar. Rikard slapped the double doors with a feral howl and clapped Tyreste on the back on his way to the storeroom.
“Another hour. That’s all I wanted,” Agnes murmured with another yawn. “I miss beginning my days at noontide.”
Tyr chuckled politely, but his eyes were on the letters. Agnes hadn’t seen them yet, and as soon as he went for them, she’d be nosy about it. “Ah! You know what... I forgot a stack of washed mugs in the back. Would you mind...”
Agnes narrowed her tired eyes and burst past him with a moody glare.
He snatched the letters up and tucked them into his vest, but with a glance outside the window at the snow and ice, he decided to wait for the sun to rise.
Tyr poured an ale and went to the same table Grigor had haunted for hours. Agnes shouted from the back, asking where the imaginary mugs were, but he’d already started to doze. His head fell back. The last thing he heard before he drifted off was Agnes telling Rikard someone should carry him home.
