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“It’s too...” He winced. “Can I pour you an ale?”
She tapped her painted nails on the table, contemplating. “I could help you with your translations, you know. That is, some of them. Perhaps. A little.”
Tyr slipped them inside his vest. “Thank you, but I’m not authorized to show them to you.” It wasn’tentirelytrue. Asterin had said he could bring in help, but only if it was someone he trusted.
Nessa’s pouty mouth parted with delighted mischief. “Now Ireallywant to see them!”
“They’re not that exciting, I assure you. Just confidential.” He hated the way her face fell. It reminded him so much of the tender disappointment Ana always tried so hard to hide when she was upset. “Are you sure we’ve never met?”
“Quite,” she said swiftly.
“Ahh. Well, about that ale...”
“How about a walk instead?” she asked, brightening again. She giggled. “For all the times I’ve been here, I still know the village so little. And with all this fresh snow, it all looks the same to me. I’m afraid I’d get quite lost on my own.” Her smile eased. “Unless you’re busy, of course.”
“No,” he said quickly. Too quickly.What are you doing? Haven’t you learned your lesson about spoiled, beautiful women, you fool?“Not... not busy.”
The beaming smile she gave him dissolved every opposition. She stood and held out her arm, waiting for him to offer his.
He was so spellbound by the woman on his arm, he left his questions about how and why she’d come into the tavern unaddressed.
Tyreste led Nessa Arsenyev out of the tavern and into the icy morning with a grin so broad, it made his face ache and his worries evaporate.
The Strength of Her Ancestors
Chapter7
The Matter of the Mysterious Translation
Tyr stared at the two pages of vellum lying side by side on the small table. On the left was the original letter from Zofia Wynter—the one in Vjestikaan—and on the right was a translated version of the same.
Translated.
Not by him.
He’d risen and found both papers neatly arranged on his breakfast table, a tidy gift. But not only had the originalnotbeen sitting out when he’d gone to bed the night before, but Olov, Asterin, and Sesto were the only other people who even knew he was working on the letters. Addy knew he was working on something, but she didn’t know how to read or speak Vjestikaan any better than he did. Ana might have known about the project, had she not rushed out of his life hours before his friends showed up unexpectedly, but even if she had known, she hadn’t been able to expel him from her life fast enough. Even the idea of her sneaking into his cabin to help him was too absurd to entertain.
So he was back to where he’d started—exactlynowhere.
Nessa knew. She’d even read a piece of one of the letters, though she wasn’t fluent. But he’d only just met her. She’d never been to his cabin. It wasn’t a place anyone would stumble upon by accident either, as it was situated at the northern edge of his family’s private property, near the forest line.
Thinking about her put an unexpected smile on his face. The expression barely fit, awkward and poorly placed upon his sour countenance, but it felt... good. Their carefree walk a couple of weeks ago, arm in arm under a fresh, soft blanket of snow, had offered a glimmer of the happiness he’d felt with Ana, before she’d sabotaged everything.
Tyr glanced around, half expecting to find some shadowy figure watching him. But of course, he was alone.
He pulled both hands down his face, groaned, and slipped into the chair. The heady aroma of yesterday’s cider still brewing in the hearth wafted over, tempting him, but he was too consumed by the mystery of the translated document to rise and pour a mug.
Once more, he checked to ensure he was alone—he felt mad doing it, but not any madder than someone sneaking in during the night to translate a letter—and smoothed his hands along the edges of the vellum. He didn’t recognize the handwriting, which was almost comically jagged, like the writer had gone out of their way to obscure their identity.
“Dearest Par,” Tyr read aloud. He cleared the thickness from his throat and continued. “I, too, am alarmed. My father and grandmother are alarmed as well. They have not shared their concerns with me, but the high priestess of Midnight Crest has been to visit twice in the past month, both times arriving in the middle of the night. Before that, I’d only met her once.”
Tyr sat back in his chair with a sharp inhale. It could be coincidence, the part about the high priestess visiting in the middle of the night. The alliance between the Wynters and Ravenwoods went back centuries. But Ana had told him their agreement was a “hands off” kind, where they respected each other’s territories but didn’t encroach upon them.I’ve met her, once or twice, when my mother was still alive,she’d said, about the high priestess.But I would certainly not say Iknowher.
He glanced toward the window. Dusk was shifting to darkness. He’d be expected at the tavern soon, and it wasn’t a good idea to keep bringing the letters with him.Someoneknew he was translating, and that same someone had taken it upon themselves to help. Kindness was the last motivation he’d expect, so why had he or she done it, whoever it was?
An image of Ana’s flushed face watching him from on a pillow hit him so sudden and so hard, he had to close his eyes to re-center himself. Passing her in the village still felt like a violent ambush. The awkward aversion of glances... his fluttering heart betraying the cool pain he tried to hide. It had been weeks since she’d walked out of his life, but he couldn’t shed her as easily as she’d shed him.
And he’d desperately tried.
