flames.”
“The druid is correct,” Talon said with a nod.
I stared down the stone steps and then turned to the wizard. “And how did Fremish wizards come to guard a Fremish tunnel in the north of Vorseland?”
He met my gaze, the mischievous glint back in his eyes. “That is a long, dark story, best told on a long, dark night.”
* * *
We lingered in Talon’s hut for the rest of the day, finally falling asleep in our cloaks before the fire. Though the cottage was of Fremish build, with strong wooden timbers and a thatched roof instead of sod, it reminded me of Viggo’s hut in the hills. Enough that I dreamed of the shepherd and woke at midnight, my heart aching and my eyes damp.
I pressed my palms to my wet cheeks and frowned. My Elsh blood was coming through, encouraged no doubt by Madoc. I slid out from under the Bard’s arm. I rose, stretched, and crossed the room to the back door of the hut.
The wizard’s garden smelled of Frem—lavender, thyme, rosemary. I breathed in deeply. I smelled freshly turned earth and mountains …
And pipe smoke.
“Torvi.”
I turned. Talon sat on a fat root of the wick tree, one knee tucked into his elbow, a long-stemmed Fremish pipe in his hand.
“You can’t sleep,” he said.
I shook my head.
“And you want to ask me something.”
“Yes.” I seated myself on the tree root, close enough that the ends of Talon’s billowy tunic tickled my fingers when the wind blew.
“You want to ask me if I can change my appearance to look like a certain shepherd from your past. The answer is yes, I can.”
“Then do it,” I said.
A cloud floated in front of the moon, and everything dimmed. I blinked, and the moonlight returned.
Viggo.
Broad shoulders, wide forehead, gray eyes, pink scars.
It was him, from the shape of his elbows to his plump earlobes to his lower lip that was ever so slightly fuller than his upper.
I reached out and ran my hand down his chest, throat to torso. I pressed my face into his neck, pressed my wet eyes into his skin. “Viggo,” I whispered, and then again, “Viggo.”
I felt hands on my shoulders, gently moving me away.
“Don’t,” I said, my eyes still closed. “Don’t push me away.”
“Is this really what you want, Torvi?”
I paused. “No. No, it’s not.”
“Good.”
I opened my eyes. The wizard had returned.
Talon sat holding his pipe cupped in his palm, his eyes calm, brown curls damp with dew. “I used your memories of the shepherd to take on his appearance,” he said softly. “You would be going to bed with a Fremish sorcerer and your own recollections, nothing more.”
I tilted my head and glanced up at the snow-capped peaks above me. “I want something real, Talon, not an illusion.”
He nodded. “May I suggest an alternative?”
He stood and walked to the garden. I followed. He reached forward, unclasped my cloak, and then spread it on a patch of grass near a row of lemon-scented thyme.
“What about the Bard?” he asked as I drew near. “Something is growing between you.”
“Yes, and it is stronger than one night spent with a Fremish wizard.”
Talon arched an eyebrow at this but did not seem insulted. I began to loosen the leather belt that held his flowing tunic tight to his waist. “I am not yet ready for what is to come between Madoc and myself. My heart is still healing. Yet … yet I still ache for closeness.”
Talon pulled the bright blue Fremish tunic over his head, tossed it onto the ground, and then glanced away, almost shyly.
He was beautiful. Sleek and slender and delicate. I moved forward, and he backed away.
“You have to be with me, Torvi, and not him.”
“That is fair.”
I moved forward again and slid into his arms.
When the sagas told of wizard love, they used words of earth and sky, words of fresh soil and resinous tree sap, of milky stars and citrus lightning and honey-scented rain.
When the songs told of wizard love, they used words of witchcraft, of melting beeswax candles, of whispered midnight chants and ink-stained skin, of ripe fruits bubbling in black cauldrons, of supple flesh that smelled of moonbeams and shadows.
It was all these things and more.
Afterward, I lay curled into him, both of us naked under the dark sky, the night breeze stroking our skin.
“How will you use my companions’ memories?” I asked him softly, my fingers spreading across the warm skin of his torso. “It seemed a cruel price.”
He turned his head