Page 117 of Silverbow
Enya’s mouth hung open. She recovered slowly, finally pressing her lips together and clearing her throat. “I…suppose that’ll do.”
Oryn sheathed his sword and rolled up his sleeve to reveal the vow mark twining around his arm in an intricate lace of vines and moonflowers.
Oryn
The fresh mark stung, but not as sharply as her next refusal to share her plans or the way she seemed intent on ignoring him again now that she had what she wanted.Gods damn you, Hylee.
As they made to set out, Oryn pulled Ruven and the Ashstrom brothers aside. “If the seven of us ride into Misthol, we’re unlikely to ride out again. Go to Tuminzar. Or if you must risk your necks, Cedric Norvallen is only a day or two behind us. He rides for Covwood and is in need of aid.”
Ruven darted a look at Ascal and Oncith. They gave barely perceptible nods. “We’ll find him, Your Grace.”
Oryn blew out a breath. He didn’t ask if it was foolishness, curiosity, or a need to atone that drove their answer, but if the witches were strong enough to be binding dragons, he feared what else was festering in Covwood. He ought to go himself, rather than risk any one of his people, but he had to see his vow through first and try to salvage what he could.
“Send word of what you find to Leon. And try not to get yourselves killed.”
Oryn supposed he ought to also send his apologies to Cedric for the inn fire in Windcross Wells, but that would take more explaining than he had the patience for. With a quick clasp of forearms, Ruven and the Ashstrom twins said their farewells and trotted back toward the road. Enya watched them go, her brow furrowed, but she didn’t ask. She turned southeast.
“Stay on that track and you’ll miss the city by fifty miles,” Oryn called.
She drew up and sniffed. “At least my moral compass isn’t in need of recalibration.”
Oryn swallowed his retort and with something bordering on a pout, she let him lead. She maintained her silence as they rode, squinting slightly as if trying to see something more clearly. From time to time, she would shake her head or pinch the bridge of her nose. He could practically see the wheels turning in her mind and a knot settled between his shoulder blades.
As they made their camp for the evening, she asked Aiden to spar. He started getting to his feet, but Oryn held up a hand. “What is it you’re doing in Misthol?” He demanded.
“None of your concern.”
“Enya,” he growled.
“Fulfilling my end of the bargain.”
“Enya.”
“There’s someone I need to see.”
His brows flew up in surprise. “That’s it? Have Colm find them in the bloody dream and we can be on our way to Drozia.”
“No, I need to go myself,” she said stubbornly. “That’s the bargain.”
Oryn scrubbed a hand down his face. “Is it Pallas bloody Davolier you intend to see?”
She scowled. “No. Come on, Aiden.”
“Do not get up, and that is an order,” Oryn snapped. A slow grin spread across Aiden’s face as he sank back and crossed his ankles. “Merchant’s guards don’t teach their merchants to fight.”
“Aren’t you sworn to obey her?”
“I am. But you’re not.”
Aiden waggled his brows at Enya. She could order him to allow it, but she huffed and went to practice her balance forms alone. Oryn watched her as he threaded his signet ring on a new length of cord. When she settled beside Aiden at the fire, he held it out to her.
Her mouth turned down at the corners. “Merchants don’t take trinkets from merchant’s guards.”
A trinket.Oryn had to blow out a long breath. “Keep it until we’re done with this business.”
“No.”
Oryn’s gifts pulsed at his fingertips. “We’ll resume sparring tomorrow if you take the bloody ring.”
