Page 40 of Fate Promised

“Aye.”

She glanced at the bed. Did her thoughts mirror his own? He wiped the beaded rain from her brow, then traced the towel down her neck.

“You know I’m an oyster fisher,” she said. “Not much caressing in that job.”

“Every night when you come home, someone should be waiting for you. Ready to lick the salt spray off your skin and rub warmth back into your hands.” His lips twitched. “Also, eat the oysters you brought home and enjoy their special … effects.” Every time he ate an oyster, his thoughts turned to bedtime pursuits, and he’d heard it was a common effect.

She reached up and cupped his cheek. “Someone? Or the one who gave me a ring when I was ten?”

He shuddered but remained silent. She took the towel and ran it over his arms, then his chest and stomach, brushing against his waistband. If her hands had dipped a little lower, she’d have felt how he’d been thinking about the bed and that his thoughts were … not innocent. “If I stay here much longer, we’ll never leave.”

She nodded. “And we need to find out what’s going on.” Triska stepped back, and cool air replaced the heat from her body against his. “What are the necromancers trying to do here?”

Triska was being a better tracker than he. He wanted to remove Hoyt, remove the threat to Triska and Ryba, but his hunting instincts had also flared for something else. His blood thrummed, and all his patience, his slow, steady pursuit, was focused on the one wearing his ring around her neck.

A hunt for her heart.

He inhaled deeply. A hunt he needed to give up. Except he’d never stopped a hunt once he started it. “You’re right. We need to get Koschei talking, then explore this island. Other than the magic during the harpy battle, I’ve scented nothing to hint the necromancers are here, but everything about this place is strange.”

“You’re in a tale. Soon, you’ll be telling everyone about your trek to Eynhallow, where you met a baby dragon and a strange man who lived in the woods.”

“With a beautiful woman at my side. One who holds light in the palm of her hands and can sail a boat single-handedly, as if dancing on its deck.”

Her face went scarlet, and she nudged his arm. “All right, get out of here so I can change.”

“I’ll wait for you in the hall.” He slipped out the door.

As he waited for Triska, he paced and dragged his thoughts from Triska to Hoyt. What was the connection to this island?

She emerged from the bedroom and shrugged. “They’re big, but they’re dry.” A large blue shirt skimmed her thighs and she’d rolled the bottoms of the black trousers into cuffs at her ankles. The fabric was light and breezy, good for the warm air.

He reached for Triska’s hand and tucked it in his. He rubbed with his thumb, stroking her fingers gently. “Let’s go see if I can convince Koschei to feed us.”

15

Triska’s stomach rumbled. Somehow Juri cajoled Koschei to prepare them lunch, and after a brief disappearance into the kitchen, he’d returned with a few platters, and they’d all sat at the table. Triska sat next to Juri, who’d pulled her chair flush against his, whereas Koschei and Fergal sat spread out across from them.

Over Koschei’s shoulder, a large tapestry hung near the fireplace, the only item on any of the walls. A reddish gold bird twisted as if pirouetting in the air, its long, graceful neck arched and an eye staring out from the weaving as if daring the viewer to join its dance.

She was hungrier than she’d expected, and she was glad Juri’s stomach had prompted him to remember lunch. Koschei had brought a large salad and smoked fish, all tossed in an oil she didn’t recognize.

Koschei waved a hand at the abundant greens in the bowl in the center of the table. “I’ve created a garden in a clear patch of land, and the sprites here have become quite attached to it. I’m sure if you start your own, they’ll want to tend it as well.”

Triska frowned. This was now the second time he’d spoken to them as if it were a given they were never leaving the island.

She pointed behind him at the tapestry. “Is that a chatak? The bird you mentioned earlier?”

Koschei’s gaze turned to flint, and it seemed like the temperature in the room dropped by ten degrees. “No. That’s a firebird.”

Juri shifted. “A phoenix?”

“No. A firebird. Specific to my kind. We’re shapeshifters, and only the most powerful can take firebird form. You know, hollow bones and all. Not everyone can figure out how to do it.”

Triska inhaled. So, the rumors Juri mentioned earlier today about the sorcerers of Eynhallow appeared to be true—they were great shapeshifters, and Koschei was one of them. Most likely the last of his kind. When he’d said back at the meadow, ‘your kind used to live with my kind’ she’d sensed he’d … known what she was. It was possible her kind had visited here a long, long time ago.

Triska stared at him. “Really? Eaglewalkers don’t seem to have trouble shifting.”

A rumble vibrated from Juri’s chest, barely loud enough for her to hear. Why was he growling?

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