His eyes darkened as he took in her rumpled dress, wild hair, and mismatched cheeks. There was probably drool on her face. She quickly swiped at her mouth.
“Where are your attendants?” He scanned the room and then, to her astonishment, let himself in. “I told them to wake you before dawn. You should be dressed.”
Emeline moved quickly out of his way, trying to will herself to full wakefulness. She shook her head and pointed to the door. “Get out of my room, you lying jerk.”
Ignoring her, he approached the dark wood armoire in the corner. Its doors were each fastened with copper plates, the surface stamped in an elegant design of yarrow flowers. Emeline stared as he wrenched open the armoire doors and began pawing through it, his movements calm and efficient.
“You want to save your grandfather, yes?”
Emeline crossed her arms over the bodice of her rumpled gown.
“I can help with that.” He caught sight of an article of clothing that apparently pleased him, because he pulled it out. “Most of the king’s minstrels don’t last more than a few weeks here. Some only last a few days.”
A few days??
“In order to survive, you’ll need an edge.”
“What kind of an edge?” Emeline asked.
“The king had a favorite minstrel, once. A human with a magical voice. He was known as the Song Mage, and he died a long time ago. The king’s been searching for his replacement ever since.”
“I don’t understand what this has to do with me.”
Hawthorne thrust a pair of thick wool leggings with long leather patches on both inner legs towards her. “Put these on.”
When Emeline didn’t uncross her arms, he shot her a withering look and lowered the leggings to his side. “The sooner you dress, the sooner we leave. If we want to be back before nightfall, we need to leave now.”
“We?” she choked out. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”A jackass, and the reason Pa’s imprisoned here to begin with.
“Don’t be daft. The king grows crueler by the day. If you have any hope of surviving this place, we need to fetch the Song Mage’s sheet musictoday.You must learn it before your first demonstration.”
Emeline shook her head. “I can’t read music. I can only play songs by ear.”
He seemed completely unfazed by this. “Someone will teach it to you.”
She frowned. “And if you’re wrong about all of this?”
He paused but didn’t glance her way. The sunlight spilling in through the windows glowed warmly against his skin as he stared into the armoire. “I have watched dozens of minstrels die for offenses as petty as singing a single note off-key. Or forgetting half a verse of music. Or wearing a color the king didn’t particularly fancy that day.”
Um, what?This was vital information Rooke had definitely forgotten to mention.
“The king is mad and longing for his long-lost Song Mage—a man who’s been dead for years. That’s why he only ever takes human men. Until you. Thanks to Rooke.” Hawthorne ran his palm across his forehead. “If you want to survive here, this is your best chance.”
Seeing the wisdom in this, Emeline nodded. “All right. Tell me where this sheet music is and I’ll get it myself.”
Hawthorne pulled out two more pieces of clothing—a saffron yellow camisole and a dark brown sweater. “Getting there is a half day’s trek on an ember mare, three days on a regular horse. You won’t make it alone, and no one else is willing to escort you, trust me. Not to the aerie. Put these on.”
Emeline crossed her arms harder. “I’m not going anywhere with someone who lied to my face.”
He pulled out one last item from the armoire—a pair of gray woolen socks—and added them to the growing pile. “If you had listened to my lies, you wouldn’t be in this predicament.”
Emeline glared at him, her body buzzing with anger. “I’m in this predicamentbecause of you.You’re the tithe collector. Whatever Pa tithed to the Wood King, you could have decided it was sufficient. Or you could have taken something else. You didn’t have to takehim.”
The tithe collector had been doing it all her life: Punishing her neighbors for insufficient tithes. Stealing their horses, or their herds, or their grandfathers. Inflicting pain because he could.
But Pa had been dutifully paying his tithes for as long as Emeline could remember. And now that he was old and forgetful, this asshole was going to punish him for it?
“Just know that I hold you responsible,” she growled. “For all of it.”
