I turn to face a man with kind hazel eyes and a rugged jawline. His blond hair falls around his angular face, and he wears a plain surcoat that fits him perfectly. The only jewelry he wears is a simple pendant with a wolf.
“It’s all right,” I say.
He flashes me a smile, revealing white teeth. “Are you searching for someone?” He quickly adds, “I saw you looking around.”
I hesitate for a moment before deciding to confide in him. He might have heard of Mazaline. “Yes, a healer with raven colored hair and a mark beneath her mouth. It looks like a tattoo.”
“I'm afraid it has been a while since I last saw her.”
My heart leaps. “You know her? When did you see her? Where—”
He holds up both hands to stop my bombardment of questions and shakes his head. “I do not know her. But I have seen her a few times on my travels to various cities. Mainly border towns, if I remember correctly. But, as I said, it has been a while.”
I let out a sigh of defeat as the weight of the past few days bears down on me. If I don’t find Mazaline, I won’t be able to find my way back to my family. Nor will I be able to escape Jasce’s terrifying mother.
“Do you know what tribe Mazaline is from?” I ask, curious for any details that might help me locate her.
The man shrugs.
“Thank you for your help,” I say, unable to disguise the defeat in my voice.
“You look tired and hungry,” he says. “Why don't you join me for a meal?”
The idea of a warm meal and good company is too tempting to pass up. “All right.”
He heads toward a table in a corner of the tavern and motions for me to follow him.
Alban puts his arm out in front of me, blocking my path. “Lord Jasce would not like this, My Lady.”
“Lord Jasce is not here, Alban, and I am tired and hungry. Surely, he would not be upset if I have a bite to eat,” I say and join the man at his table.
We order food and drink, and for the first time since I woke up as Lyra in Jasce’s bedchamber, I relax.
Alban stands to the side, scowling at me as the man introduces himself as Tristan. He tells me stories of his travels and the various people he has met on his journey. The more he speaks, the more he reminds me of my brother. Behton’s eyes always lit up when he spoke, just like Tristan’s.
My stare drifts to the table near mine, where a young man wearing armor sits next to a slender woman with fiery red hair. But it’s not her hair that keeps my attention, it’s the gold threads weaved around her right wrist and around his left.
As I sip my ale, my gaze keeps drifting to those threads.
Shadows from the torches skip across Tristan’s face as he leans closer to me. “They’re bound.”
Bound?
What does that mean?
He smirks. “It’s actually quite genius, binding them.”
“I don’t understand,” I say softly, not wishing for the couple to hear me.
Tristan shrugs. “He has crimson magic. She has silver. By binding her to him, he can control her and her magic.”
My insides quake as I take in those gold threads again. Especially, the way they wrap around her wrist and somehow keep her tied to him. Then, my attention shifts to him. He has shoulder length dark brown hair and vibrant blue eyes. A lengthy scar etches a path across his right cheek and ends at his jaw.
“Are they married?”
Tristan shakes his head. “No. She would probably murder him in his sleep if not for the spell placed on every silver.”
“What spell?”
