Thread of Darkness

Ch. 38: is it really you?

He had to make it.

Tristan bent low to the horse, shivering in his sodden overcoat. Black trees blurred past him like smudges of charcoal. His wrists were raw where the manacles had rubbed away the skin, and he was so hungry that he felt sick. He'd tried eating a handful of berries two days ago. Had vomited them into a small stream.

He closed his eyes.

How long until the wedding? A week? Three hours?

Time had passed strangely in the Tower. Tristan adjusted his numb fingers on the reins, trying to shake warmth into them. Somewhere, Anna was still in that Tower. Gods only knew what Eris was doing to her.

If she was even still alive.

A lump rose in his throat. Annalise Cidarius had saved his life. It was a tough pill to swallow, Tristan thought; he'd hated her for so long. Hated her for being a Nightweaver, for her impertinence, for the way Ryne's eyes tracked her through every room.

But something had changed.

Something imperceptible had shifted between them in that Tower. He would go back for her, Tristan vowed; he would bring an army and slice Eris Delafort to pieces. He'd carry her — dead or alive — to her childhood home. She'd spoken about it once: a fairytale cottage of lilacs and little streams and the smell of Henry baking sweet bread in the kitchen.

Anna deserved that much.

Tristan slowed his horse. A valley stretched out below him, and he could see the flicker of lights below, like a sea of yellow fireflies. A wooden inn overlooked the cliff. He squinted through the darkness, trying to make out the ramshackle sign. "The Blind Pig." Accompanied, Tristan noted in amusement, by a sketch of a blindfolded swine.

Horse hooves sounded behind him.

Tristan scampered back into the woods, his heartbeat picking up. Shit. Had Eris's men found him already? They'd been chasing him for days, but he thought he'd given them the slip a few miles back.

"Stars above," Tristan muttered.

He gave Lightning a pat on the neck. If the horse made a single sound...

Bile rose in his throat.

He wouldn't go back to that Tower in chains. He couldn't. He'd sooner pitch himself off the cliff.

Two horses paused outside the inn. Tristan leaned as far forward as he dared, holding his breath. A tall figure dismounted — a young man, Tristan guessed, coloured silver by the moonlight — and reached back to help the other figure off the horse. She was shorter and wearing a white fur hood.

The young man pushed back the hood. Kissed her.

"Remember," the stranger said, voice pitched low, "if there's any sign of danger, then you run. Don't wait for me."

A shiver spider-walked down his spine.

Tristan leaned forward, his heart pounding so hard that it was almost painful. He could have recognized that voice in his sleep. The low, rough sound. The rolling Libertas accent, as if the words had the swell of the sea.

Thomas Grayson.

But that wasn't possible, Tristan thought furiously, watching as the young couple started for the inn. Grayson and Penny were still in Libertas. No. This had to be a trick of some sort. He was delirious from hunger. Or perhaps Eris had sent the Scythe, and she could transform into two people at once.

Or maybe, Tristan thought, he was still in that godsdamn Tower. Maybe Eris had given him dream somnium to make him think he escaped. Maybe he was still trapped in manacles, listening to Anna's screams.