And deep within the hole lay the wooden locket.
I had been prepared for it to have rotted away, but it was whole and well; the years of burial had not affected it, as if it had charmed itself to survive. Carefully, reverently, I reached down and took the chain, bringing the locket into my palm. My fingers were shaking as I worked the latch open.
The stone was just as I remembered, even though the memory had not been mine. It was smooth, luminescent, like a moonstone. Until it sensed my presence, and a blue light cascaded through it, like sun shining through rain. The awe poured over me like honey, thick and sweet. I wanted to sit and watch the magic dance through the stone. And I might have done so, fallen shamelessly captive to the quiet beauty of it. But the colors melted away, leaving the stone pearly white again, dim and mournful.
I was no Kavanagh. There was no trace of magic in my blood, and the stone had gone dormant after sensing me. It wanted Yseult, I thought, and thinking of her brought me back to the urgency, the danger I was flirting with.
As I latched the locket, I heard voices, the crunching of horses trotting through the woods. I was trembling as I shoved the wooden locket down the front of my dress, into the cage of my corset. Then I sent the spade tumbling down the hole and furiously refilled it, patting the earth firmly, scattering leaves and acorns and twigs over it. Just as Tristan had done one hundred and thirty-six years ago.
I heard the breaking of a stick, the swishing of feet in grass, just behind me.
Frantic, I tried to form a response for why I was kneeling here, beneath a tree, my fingers lined with dirt. I waited for a hand to fall on my shoulder and spin me about, to demand to know what I was doing. But it was a wet nose instead, nudging beneath my elbow. I sat down, the relief hot and prickly beneath my skin, as the wolfhound Nessie nudged me again, as if she wanted to play.
“Amadine!”
Now it was Sean, nearly upon me.
With what little time I had left, I ripped the hem of my dress, wiped the dirt from my hands onto the skirts, and tucked a twig into my hair. Nessie watched me with solemn eyes, as if she sensed my distress. Then I stumbled to retrieve the gelding, who was munching on the thin grass that flourished here. The locket pressed against my stomach, uncomfortable, but it would hold steady.
“Sean!” I called out to him, leading the horse back into the woods, Nessie on my heels.
“Amadine?”
We continued to call to each other until we met in the woods. His face went pale at the sight of me; he dismounted in a rush.
“What happened? Are you all right?”
“My horse spooked, right after Merei’s,” I said, making my voice waver. “He went for the woods.”
“Gods above, did you break anything?” He was looking at my lip, which I had forgotten about. A little trickle of blood had dribbled down my chin.
“No, it just rattled me a bit,” I said. “How is Merei?”
“She’s well.”
I glanced over his shoulder to see her and the mare approach us. Her gaze took me in, my dirt and my torn dress and my blood. Her fear finally roused, crossing the space between us as a shadow.
Bri, Bri, what are you doing?
“I swear that I chose the steadiest of horses for this tour,” Sean said with a shake of his head. “I cannot believe they both spooked. I apologize.”
“It’s not your fault,” I said, laying my hand on his arm. “All the same, do you mind taking me back to the castle?”
“Of course,” Sean said, offering his knee to help me mount.
We rode back to the courtyard, where Merei’s consort was about to go on a walk. They eagerly invited me to join them, but I declined. All I could think of was two things: I needed to change my dress and scrub the dirt from my nails before Allenach returned. And I needed the privacy to cry in relief that I had the Stone of Eventide.
I did both, and then made myself scarce until dinner, giving my heart and mind plenty of time to settle and realign to what now was to come. Not until after dinner, when I was back in my chamber pacing, trying to give Cartier enough time to leave the hall before I met him in his room, did a knock sound on my door.
Cautiously, I went to answer it, finding my chambermaid standing at the threshold with an envelope.
“One of the mistresses of music has invited you to join her in the library this evening,” the girl said, dutifully handing me the letter.
I took it, fully aware that the guard beside me was watching. “Thank you.”
The chambermaid was off before I could shut my door. I knew Merei wanted to discuss what had happened this morning, that this was her attempt to let me explain myself.
I eased the envelope open; a square of parchment slipped out.
My heart swelled when I recognized her handwriting:
Meet with me?
I hesitated, wanting nothing more than to go to her. But before I could make up my mind, I watched as Merei’s elegant penmanship began to slide around on the paper. My breath caught as it slithered about like a black snake, eventually resting on the paper in slanted Dairine.
Meet with me.
Tristan’s memory unexpectedly captured me. I was too late to save myself from succumbing this time, and I sighed, watching as his hand crumpled the message, as he strode to the fire blazing in his hearth and tossed the parchment to the flames.
He had been waiting two days for her to finally send him this message.
Tristan had invited Princess Norah Kavanagh to Damhan under the pretense of loyal hospitality. She had agreed to stay at his castle, and both of them knew it was only to make plans about stealing the Stone of Eventide from her mother, the queen, before war was unleashed on western Maevana.
Tristan slipped from the chamber. The corridor was quiet, dark. Only a few sconces continued to burn, casting monstrous light on the walls as he began to walk.
He had wondered how the queen’s magic would corrupt in battle. He had read only one story about it, a story Liadan had ensured was passed down as it described what battle magic had done. Uncontrollable storms, unearthly creatures that rose up from the shadows, swords that stole sight when they pierced flesh, arrows that multiplied and returned to their archers . . .
He shuddered, hoping that Norah was ready to do what he suggested, that she would obtain the Stone of Eventide before the war came.
Tristan ascended the stairs to the third floor, silently padded down a narrow hallway to the door that led out to the northern parapet.
He stepped outside on the parapet walk, easing into the cold night.
His lands were drowning in moonlight. Everything looked so small, a quilt of dark greens and umbers and steel blues knit together with celestial light. The moon was swollen with gold, full and generous, the stars scattered about her as sugar spilled over black velvet.
From the corner of his eye, he saw a shadow shift, and he knew it was her.
“Shouldn’t we find a better place to meet?” he asked.