Page 91 of Midwinter Wiles & Valerian Dreams
Beron’s silhouette fills the stoop. “Forgive the intrusion.” His voice is low and smooth as ever, but my hands tremble. “The queen has been gifted a bottle of fine plumot cordial and a basket of red apples, both of which need to be delivered to her private festival tent.”
“I see. And you want me—”
“The innkeeper suggested you could assist me with the delivery.”
“D-Daria did?”
“Are you not in her employ?”
“No, I—yes, I am. Of course. I’ll be right there.”
He doesn’t move.
“Oh, right now?”
“That would be best, yes.”
I cast a glance toward the cupboard where the door is ajar. There’s no way I’m letting Aili anywhere near Beron or any other huntsman. I spot a bright eye in the gap, so I give a tiny but firm head shake before grabbing my cloak off its hook. “Lead the way.”
The door closes behind us, and Beron gestures me ahead of him. Unease crawls up my spine on spider legs.
At the front stoop of Sparkwillow cottage, he gathers a basket of shiny, red apples and passes it to me before tucking a bottle wrapped in frosted silk into his own cloak pocket. He really could carry both.
“This way,” he says, gesturing not toward the front of the inn and the direction of the festival, but toward the path that goes to the clearing and the forest beyond.
“Her tent is this way?” I try to keep my voice light.
“She prefers quiet.”
That didn’t use to be true, but since my father’s death, Taynia was always on my case about making too much noise. “You chew too loudly, Talvie. Walk quieter, Talvie. Must you speak at full volume, Talvie?” I take the narrow path ahead of Beron with my hands fisted tight around the basket handle to stop my shaking.
We don’t speak as the path wends its way through unfamiliar trees. This path differs from the ones I’ve taken with Lark and the kids. It’s taking us to the side of town where I first came upon Ylvara all those days ago. Fear prickles under my skin. Have Icome full circle? From fleeing Beron’s axe, to walking with him to see the very woman who ordered my death.
My boots crunch over frosty needles, while Beron’s steps are eerily quiet behind me. My heartbeat flutters as I risk a peek over my shoulder. He’s still there, moving with a hunter’s grace.
I’m distracted by a flash of movement several paces back, but when I look, there’s nothing but a rustling bush. An animal, no doubt. Beron watches me closely, one hand resting on his weapons belt. A glint draws my eye to the emerald ring on his finger again. It’s strange to see Beron wearing something decorative, when his outfits are always minimalist and practical. What was it he always said when we were training and I forgot to remove my jewelry? Oh yes,glitter gets you killed on a hunt.
His throat clears, and I realize I’ve been staring.
“That’s, uh…a beautiful ring.”
He smiles. Which is odd for him. “Isn’t it? It’s also a veryhelpfulbit of witch magic I got from a trader. Lets the wearer see through illusions.”
Ice clogs my veins, freezing my throat.
He can’t mean—
But he does. It’s obvious in the way he looks at me. This is no delivery. I’m walking into a trap.
I swallow.
“Beron…”
“Princess.”
Drowning Deep.
Chapter 32
