and gazed at me warmly. “Some people come to me who are heart-hurt, who cling to dark, sad memories that eat away at them like a disease. I will use your friends’ cherished recollections to replace these people’s bitter memories with something joyful, something healing. This will allow them to recover.”
I thought about this for a few moments. “I approve.”
He laughed softly and pressed his palms into my lower back. “Once upon a time, a young wizard traveled north with a band of Fremish stonecutters.” Talon’s voice was soft, his lips near my temple, his skin dissolving into mine.
“Are you going to tell me a story?” I asked.
“We wizards always follow lovemaking with a story. It is our custom.”
I dug my fingers into his hair and kissed him. “Please continue, then.”
“The stonecutters had been hired by a jarl to cut a path for trade through the Skal Mountains, connecting the Green Wild Forest with the Brocee Leon. The wizard, a woman named Sov, was to brew tricky and dangerous fissure potions that could slice through rock and stone—”
Talon told me the story of the Avalon tunnel as I held him close, the air filled with the scent of Fremish herbs, my body satiated, my heart content.
* * *
We dressed sometime in the night, shivering in the predawn chill, and were sleeping fully clothed on the grass when Gyda found us at sunrise.
“Well, Torvi,” she said softly. “You have been a farmer, a traveler, a hanged girl, and now you are a lover of wizards. Who will you be next?”
I laughed and gently untangled myself from Talon. “Is Madoc upset?”
The druid shook her head. “He understands.”
“That Bard is truly exceptional, I think.”
“Yes. Just like his Butcher Bard brother.” Pain flashed in Gyda’s eyes at the thought of Stefan. I took her in my arms and kissed her on the temple.
“He will return to us, Gyda.”
“Will he?”
“The hanged girl is right, druid. Stefan will return to Vorseland. I read it in the stars.” Talon smiled, and the druid eyed him warily. He rose to his feet and then wandered off through his garden, leaning over occasionally to touch leaves and caress half-ripe fruits.
“Come, Torvi,” Gyda said. “I’m eager to get into this tunnel.”
Talon prepared us a delicious breakfast of fresh greens with flaxseed oil and soft-boiled, lilac-colored eggs collected from wild forest hens. He sprinkled flakes of Fremish salt over the food, and it added a floral taste, subtle and savory.
While we ate and sipped a few more rounds of sun tonic, Talon made each of us a torch from oiled linen wrapped around sturdy wick tree branches. I enjoyed watching his long fingers deftly craft the lights—he moved with the skill and grace of someone long used to mixing intricate potions.
“These are spell-lit—they will last six days, perhaps seven.” Talon handed me a torch and then one each to Gyda, Ink, and Madoc. “Move quickly. Do not linger in the tunnel. It … wears on people who aren’t used to moving underground and living in endless dark.”
I nodded. “We will.”
Madoc put his hand on his knife. “Yes. We will be careful, wizard.”
Talon paused for a moment, eyes on Gyda. He opened his mouth and closed it again. I had the feeling he was about to persuade us not to go. But in the end, he merely narrowed his eyes and shrugged. “You may hear noises, but do not follow them. Do not veer off the main tunnel.”
Gyda chuckled. “This sounds like something from the sagas—a wise mystic warns the brave heroes not to turn off the path through the enchanted forest, and they agree, most sincerely … only to find themselves doing just that when they spot a group of beautiful Winter Elvers dancing under thick moonlight, their voices raised in song.”
Ink and I smiled, but Talon and Madoc looked grim.
The wizard went to the trapdoor. He lifted the iron ring and opened it. “The stone tree grows within Esca’s ruined Great Hall, but where the Hall lies in relation to the tunnel’s exit, the cave, I do not know. Good luck, Bards.”
My companions lit their torches with one of Ink’s fire staves and began to descend the stairs. Talon touched my arm, and I held back.
“Be careful, Torvi.” His Fremish accent was soft and silky, as it had been the night before. My cheeks grew warm.
“I will, Talon.”
His fingers touched the back of my neck, and he kissed me, his lips moving softly, gently, against mine. “Thank you,” he said.
“Will