“Sparrow.”
The way he said it sent chills down her arms. He was a full head taller than she. In fact, she barely measured up to his shoulders. His hair was shorter than she remembered, freshly cut. The scent of the sea greeted her. He always smelled like seawater and mead. She shook her head, still not believing her eyes. In one corner of her heart, she longed to rush and hug him. In another corner, she wanted to reach for her knife.
“What in Hate’s name are you doing here?” she whispered.
He gave her a crooked smile and drank deeply from a goblet. “I could ask you the same question. Landmoor is an odd place for a reunion. But there is something else I want to know even more.” He eyed her seriously. “Why didn’t you wait for me in Sol?”
She bit her lip and folded her arms, aware of how disheveled she looked. Her shirt was torn, her hair tangled. She was exhausted physically and emotionally. And this – meeting him in Landmoor was a kick in the ribs. Anger came easily.
“When sailors start keeping their promises, I’ll have grown old,” she said, walking in closer. She was intimidated by his size, but that only made her more resolved to stand up to him. Her fear glazed over with the sparks of anger. He had lied to her. He had said he was a wealthy seafarer, not a banned Bandit general!
“Do you still have the pendant I gave you?”
She stared at him.
“You still have it…don’t you.”
She nodded. Why was he doing this? The pendant was a promise based on deception. She wanted to cry, but she knew that she alone had the opportunity to rescue her friends.
Tsyrke set down the goblet and walked over to the table. He looked at her torn clothes and winced. “Did any of my men hurt you?”
Again, she bit her lip, cutting off the urge to curse at him. He seemed to be expecting it. No, she needed to poke at his guilt instead. She replied softly, “Not as much as you did.”
He slammed his fist on the table. The look he gave her was full of anger and anguish. “Bloody Hate, I came for you, Sparrow! I landed in Sol after you had already gone!” He breathed out deeply and relaxed his hand, controlling his temper. She could see his eyes twitching towards the goblet of mead. He wanted it badly. “I came for you only to learn you had run off with a Shaden and a Sleepwalker.”
She took another step closer, seizing the opportunity. “Quickfellow’s here?”
He smirked. “A princely name isn’t it.”
“Ban it, stop using me!” she said. “You used me for companionship in Sol, and now you’re using me here. Quickfellow is my friend and I’m worried about him.” She already knew that Sturnin was locked down below. Where were the others?
“He took you away from me,” Tsyrke pointed out bitterly. “He’s your friend? That’s a rich slice. When did the Shae start keeping their word?”
She shook her head. “No, Tsyrke. No, don’t blame him for your grandfather’s death. Kiran Phollen brought trouble to himself. You told me that you had a brother in the Rebellion. You told me about Secrist – that he would never hurt me.” She laughed and covered her cheek. “He hit me in the mouth. He knew who I was and he hit me. His men destroyed the Foxtale. If you truly did come, then you saw the ruin he caused. The Shaden…” She stopped, calming herself. “Quickfellow took me with him to Castun to protect me from them. But I still trusted you. I still believed what you had told me.” She shook her head in amazement. “You lied to me. You said you were a ship captain. You had money and contacts. You said you cared for me. I warned you never to lie to me, Tsyrke. If I can’t trust you, I can’t be with you. I said that. I meant it.”