8
Tristan
Sunlight hit the woman’s hair, turning it to white flame. The light flickered around her face, the pale eyes, sharp nose and wide mouth taunting me. Recognition danced out of reach. At first, I pushed it, but when she opened her mouth and spoke—I heard the voice that haunted me at night, echoing from my dreams.
Tristan. Every night, she called to me. Without her, I’d have forgotten my name long ago.
Sometimes, I wondered if it’d be easier to forget. It was dangerous to hope. It was dangerous to feel.
“Commander,” Ivar was at my elbow, speaking softly. I met my half-brother’s serious eyes. Under his beard, his mouth turned down with worry. “Have care. This one is more than she seems.”
“I know. I will uncover all her secrets.”
“Have care,” Ivar repeated. “Some things are bes
