I take another sip of ale, letting the warm buzz settle into my limbs. The tavern hums with conversation and laughter, a comforting blanket of noise after the intensity of performing. I close my eyes for a moment, savoring this pocket of normalcy.

  That's when it bursts.

  Beneath the clink of mugs and boisterous tales, a thread of melody weaves through the air, so faint I might have missed it if I hadn't been listening for nothing in particular. My fingers tighten around my mug as recognition jolts through me.

  The song from the forest. The same haunting tune that pulled me to the edge of the Dravenmoor last night.

  I open my eyes, scanning the room. No one else seems to notice; they continue their conversations, oblivious to the ethereal notes that now fill my head. The melody flows differently tonight. Not free and wild like before, but searching, probing. It moves through the tavern like a hunter tracking prey.

  Like it's looking for something.

  Looking for me.

  The realization settles cold in my stomach. I set my mug down with trembling fingers, aware of how exposed I feel despite the crowded room. The tune grows more insistent, winding between tables and chairs, circling closer.

  "You alright there, Miss Dain?" The taverner pauses beside me, a concerned frown creasing his brow. "Gone pale as a ghost, you have."

  I force a smile. "Just tired. The heat in here..."

  He nods, unconvinced, uncaring, and moves on. The melody follows him for a moment before returning to me, pressing against my consciousness like fingers against glass. Testing. Seeking.

  I press my palms against my temples, trying to block it out, but it's no use. The song isn't coming from outside, it's already found its way in. My heart pounds against my ribs as the melody shifts again, becoming almost plaintive. Beneath its beauty lurks something desperate, something that makes my skin prickle with warning.

  Whatever—whoever—is calling me isn't simply curious anymore.

  They're impatient.

  I glance around the tavern, aware of the shifting mood. Where moments ago laughter and merriment danced, now faces grow slack with boredom. A man in the corner yawns, not bothering to cover his mouth. Another checks the level in his mug and decides against ordering more. Two young women who'd been listening intently now whisper to each other, eyes darting toward the door.

  The melody pulses through my head, its impatience seeping into the very air of the room. It's not just in my mind anymore, it's changing the atmosphere, draining the energy from the crowd.

  "Mistress Dain?" Taverner Breen's voice cuts through my panic. "Perhaps another song? The night's still young." His smile doesn't reach his eyes. He's counting coins in his mind, watching it walk out the door with each departing patron.

  The insistent melody swells, drowning out everything else. It's almost angry now, demanding my attention, pulling me toward the door, toward the forest. My fingers twitch with the urge to follow its pattern, to let it guide my music.

  No. I won't be controlled. Not by this.

  I grab my lute, fingers trembling as I position them on the strings. I need something loud, something to drown out this haunting call. Something with enough life to recapture the room.

  "You want a song?" I call out, forcing a wide grin. "Let me give you 'The Blacksmith's Daughter's Mule'!"

  I strike the strings hard, the opening chords ringing out like hammer blows. It's a tavern favorite—bawdy, fast-paced, with a chorus that invites shouting along. I stomp my foot against the wooden floor, creating a thunderous rhythm that reverberates through the room.

  "" I bellow, louder than necessary, throwing my whole body into the performance. "!"

  The melody in my head protests, trying to weave between the notes of my song, but I refuse to give it space. I play faster, louder, my voice rising above the din. A few heads turn, interest rekindling. Someone pounds a table in time with my stomping foot.

  "," I continue, emphasizing each word with a dramatic strum, "!"

  The competing song in my head shrieks in frustration, but I keep going, drowning it out with each verse. Sweat beads on my forehead as I fight this invisible battle, determined to reclaim the room—and my mind—from whatever force seeks to claim me.

  I lose myself in the song, fingers flying across the strings with near-violent intensity. The melody from the forest still scratches at the edges of my mind, but I drown it with my own music, pouring all my frustration into each note. My voice grows ragged as I belt out the chorus for the third time, almost shouting the bawdy lyrics about the blacksmith's daughter and her stubborn mule.

  The crowd responds to my fervor, stomping and clapping along. I don't care if they think I've gone mad—I just need to be louder than the song in my head, need to prove I can resist its pull.

  "" I roar, striking the strings so hard my fingertips sting, "!"

  The tavern erupts in laughter and cheers, drowning out the forest melody. I'm winning this battle, forcing it back with each defiant chord, each thread of my magic. My anger and fear feed the performance, transforming a simple tavern song into something fierce and wild.

  I'm so caught up in my musical exorcism that I barely register the door swinging open. The cool night air cuts through the smoky warmth, but I pay it no mind, focusing instead on the final verses of my song. The crowd's attention has fully returned now, faces flushed with ale and excitement as they anticipate the ribald ending.

  It's only as I launch into the final chorus that I catch new movement at the edge of my vision—three men in dark uniforms trimmed with gold, black and gold cloaks with their hoods down. They weave between tables toward my corner by the hearth. Something about their purposeful stride makes my fingers falter before I recover, forcing myself to continue.

  The middle one turns, and firelight catches his profile. My stomach drops. Beneath a thin bandage wound around his dark-haired head is a face I recognize immediately—the guard from last night, the one whose horse I spooked into throwing him. The one who hit his head on a rock because of me.

  Captain Hargraves.

  Our eyes lock across the room as I sing the final lines. His lips curl into a slow, knowing grin that freezes the blood in my veins.

  I falter on the bridge of the song, my fingers slipping on the strings as the forest melody changes. Not just insistent, now it's hostile, a hissing, spitting thing with phantom claws that rake across my mind. Its teeth snap at my concentration.

  "—" My voice cracks. I force a smile, pretending it's part of the performance. ""

  The guard's eyes never leave mine as he and his companions shoulder their way through the crowd. They reach a table where three fieldhands sit nursing their ales, mud still fresh on their boots.

  "Official business," the tall, pockmarked guard says, his voice carrying even over my playing. "Find somewhere else."

  The farmers exchange glances, one opening his mouth to protest, but something in the guards' stance makes him think better of it. They gather their drinks and shuffle away, casting resentful looks over their shoulders.

  I push through the final verse, each word a battle against the twin distractions of the forest song's assault and Hargraves' unwavering stare. The melody in my head screeches like metal against stone, as though furious at being ignored.

  "," I rasp, sweat trickling down my temples, stinging in my wound, "

  The captain settles into his chair, stretching his long legs before him. He whispers something to his companions that makes them laugh, their eyes flicking toward me. His smile widens, revealing teeth too perfect for a common guardsman.

  My fingers are slipping on the strings now, slick with sweat. The wound on my side throbs in time with my racing heart. Still, I drive toward the finish, desperate to complete this act of defiance against the forest song.

  "" I belt out the final line, "!"

  I strike the final chord with more force than necessary, letting it ring through the tavern. The crowd erupts in cheers and laughter, oblivious to my struggle. I bow my head, using the moment to catch my breath, my chest heaving with exertion.

  When I look up, Hargraves raises a fresh mug in mock salute, his false smile never wavering. The forest melody recedes a bit, as though curious with this new development, leaving my head buzzing.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  I stagger back from my makeshift stage, legs weak and head pounding. The melody from the forest falls to a whisper, but the guard's eyes follow me with predatory intent. My heart flutters like a trapped bird.

  I need air. Need to breathe something that doesn't stink of ale and sweat and danger.

  The tavern closes in like a cage—the low ceiling bearing down, the press of bodies too close, too hot. I fumble for my lute case, sliding the instrument inside with trembling hands. Coin clatters at my feet from an appreciative patron, but I barely acknowledge it.

  Hargraves whispers something to his companions. They laugh, their eyes sliding to me like oil on water. The tall, stocky man with a pockmarked face, nods and sits up in his seat.

  I recognize that look. I've seen it in a dozen taverns across a dozen towns.

  My gaze darts to the back door near the kitchen. It's farther away, but it will keep me from passing their table. I sling my lute case over my shoulder, wincing as it presses against yesterday's bruises.

  "Excuse me," I mutter to the crowd, forcing a smile. "Just need some air."

  I weave between tables, nodding at compliments without really hearing them. The forest song rises again in my mind, growing stronger with each step toward the door. It's waiting for me outside. I know this—know following it is madness.

  But whatever waits in the Dravenmoor can't be worse than Malrik's men. They don't just punish; they make examples. And a woman who caused injury to one of their officers? I'd be lucky if they only took my hands.

  I'm three steps from the door when a vice-like grip closes around my bare forearm, yanking me to a halt. The stocky guardsman grins down at me, his fingers encircling my arm.

  "Leaving so soon, songbird?" His breath reeks of onions and ale. "The captain would like a private performance."

  The guard's fingers might as well be chains as he drags me toward their table. My mind races, a trapped animal seeking escape. The tavern grows impossibly vast, every face turned away from my predicament. I can't reach anything. No one meets my eyes. No one wants trouble with Malrik's men.

  I'm alone.

  "Please," I stammer, feet stumbling beneath me. "There's been a misunderstanding—"

  "Save your breath for singing," the stocky guard growls, shoving me toward an empty chair opposite the dark-haired captain.

  His hand presses down on my shoulder, forcing me to sit. The wood creaks beneath me, a prison I can't escape. The tavern continues around us—laughter, conversation, the clink of mugs—but it might as well be happening in another world. They ignore us, not wanting to invite trouble.

  "The famous Eira Dain," the captain drawls, leaning forward. The bandage on his head is stark white against his hair, brown eyes so dark they're nearly black. "I've been looking forward to meeting you. I'm Captain Hadley Hargraves."

  My mouth is as dry and rough as sand. A dozen responses flit through my mind, yet all that slips out is a weak, "Hello."

  The tall man snorts and chuckles. "Definitely a monster. I can see how she spooked your horse." The smaller of the three with short blonde hair giggles.

  "Shut it, Caden," Hadley snarls, narrowing his eyes with dangerous intent at the larger man. Caden's pockmarked grin goes neutral, eyes lowered. Turning back to me, Hadley reaches over. I sit frozen to my chair as his rough fingers brush sweat-soaked locks from the side of my face. I wince as hairs stuck to the wound are peeled back. "You bleed like a human. What were you doing at the boundary, songbird?"

  "I—I got lost yesterday. By the woods," I stammer. "When I saw your horse, I panicked and..." The lie sits bitter on my tongue. "I never meant for anyone to get hurt. I'm sorry."

  Hadley's smile doesn't reach his eyes that bear down on me, trying to pry answers. "Interesting. Because I distinctly remember someone running away after I ordered them to stop. Then, said person deliberately turned and spooked my mount as if shouting in song."

  The third, blonde guard, silent until now, slides a mug toward me. "Drink," he says softly. "You look parched."

  I don't touch it.

  "About yesterday," I try again, "I was searching for herbs, for my throat. I-I got disoriented. When I saw you, I startled and—"

  "Enough." Hadley's voice cuts like a blade. "We both know what happened."

  Inside my head, the forest melody returns, still distant but surging with sudden ferocity. It twists and coils, responding to my fear like a cornered animal. The hair on my arms rise, turning them into gooseflesh. A strange sensation crawls up my spine, spreading across my scalp until every strand on my head tingles.

  The melody isn't just in my mind anymore. It's humming through my body, vibrating beneath my skin. Defensive. Protective.

  Angry.

  The drink before me beckons—a mug of ale, amber and inviting. For a moment, I wonder if I should down it in one desperate gulp. Would they poison me? If there's poison in it, at least it would be a quicker end than whatever Hadley plans. The thought looms like a sword over my head: would it be better to die drunk or sober? At least drunk, I might not experience the full horror of whatever comes next.

  I lick my lips, trembling. "It was an accident," I try again, my voice a hair above a whisper. "I never meant for you to be hurt. Please, I'm so sorry."

  The melody in my head intensifies, a song turned wild and furious. It claws at the inside of my skull, scraping and digging as if trying to drag me away from this table, away from these men. Each note sinks a hook into my thoughts, yanking me toward the door, toward the forest. The Dravenmoor calls with increasing desperation, as though time is running short.

  Hadley leans across the table, close enough that I can smell the leather of his uniform and something metallic beneath—blood or blade oil, I can't tell. His eyes travel slowly down my face to my throat, lingering there before continuing lower. The casual violation of his gaze makes my skin crawl. "Tell me, songbird," he says, voice soft enough that only our table can hear, his breath warm on my skin. "How much do you understand about music? Real music?"

  I blink, thrown by the unexpected question. "I don't understand—"

  "The songs in nature," he continues, fingers drumming a strange pattern on the wooden table. "The whispers between trees. The melodies that come when no man plays or sings." His eyes narrow. "Do you hear them? Understand them?"

  My breath catches. How could he know about the song in my head? About any of it?

  "I don't know what you're talking about," I lie, but my voice wavers. The melody rakes harder against my mind, as if enraged by my denial. I try to remain calm, but I can feel the muscles of my cheek twitch in response.

  "I think you do." Hadley's smile grows colder. "I think you perceive things others don't. Special things."

  I straighten my spine, defenses rising. "I'm just a traveling bard. Nothing more."

  Hadley leans closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "What exactly were you doing outside the Dravenmoor last night? No one goes near those woods after dark. No one with sense, anyway. No one... normal."

  The melody in my head fractures, splintering into discordant notes that scrape against my skull. I can't think straight—can't formulate a convincing lie with this cacophony drowning my thoughts.

  "I was... collecting herbs," I stammer. "For tea."

  "In the dark? Near the most dangerous forest in the province?" Hadley's eyebrow rises. "I didn't believe it the first time. Try again, songbird."

  The music transforms into the bass of snarls and growls, primal and vicious. It's not calling me. It's warning me, urging me to run. If only I could! My fingers grip the edge of the table until my knuckles turn white.

  "I got lost," I try again, the words sounding hollow even to my own ears. "It was late, and I was tired. The roads all look the same at night."

  Hadley studies my face, his gaze calculating. Whatever he sees there seems to confirm something for him. He rises to his feet in a fluid motion, towering over me. Before I can react, his hand clamps around my upper arm, fingers digging into flesh with bruising force.

  "You look flushed," he announces, loud enough to reach nearby tables. "Too much ale and excitement. Let's get you some air."

  I try to pull away, but his grip only tightens. "I don't need—"

  "I insist." His smile fades, his voice cold. "We have much to discuss about your... musical talents."

  The other two guards stand, positioning themselves two steps behind us as Hadley steers me toward the door. My eyes dart frantically around the tavern, searching for anyone who might intervene. A few patrons glance our way, but their gazes slide off, suddenly fascinated by their drinks or companions as Hadley turns his eyes on them.

  "Please," I whisper to a woman whose table we pass. Her face goes white, attention on the dirt under her nails.

  I cast a desperate glance at a pair of burly farmers, but they avert their eyes, critical of the dregs in their ale. No help there. No help anywhere.

  The melody in my head swells into a storm, battering against my skull with frantic intensity. It no longer sounds like music but a living thing screaming in desperation.

  "Let go," I hiss, trying to twist free as Hadley drags me toward the door. My lute case jabs against my hip. "You have no right—"

  "I have every right," he murmurs, lips too close to my ear. With a jerk, he knocks the case from my white-knuckled grip. I gasp as it thuds to the wooden floor. "Suspicious activity near the Dravenmoor is a serious offense, Miss Dain. Some might even call it treasonous."

  The cool night air hits my face as he shoves me through the tavern door. I stumble, catching myself against the rough wooden wall. The village street lies empty before us, buildings dark except for scattered lantern light. The forest looms beyond in the east, a deeper darkness against the vast night sky.

  "What do you want?" I demand, straightening my spine despite the fear coursing through me.

  Hadley steps closer, blocking my escape route back into the tavern. His companions flank him, creating a wall of uniformed bodies.

  "I need you to tell me what you heard in those woods," he says, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "What called to you. And why did it choose you."

  My blood turns to ice. How could he possibly know about the melody? About any of it?

  "I-I-I don't know what you're talking about," I insist, though my trembling voice betrays me.

  Hadley's hand shoots out, pinching my chin and forcing my face up to his. "Don't lie to me, songbird. Tomas saw your face when you stood at the forest's edge." He gestures with a nod to the quiet blonde guard. "Heard you beg the thing to stop, how you listened to it."

  The forest song explodes in my mind, changing from beckoning to commanding. . The force of it makes me gasp, my knees threatening to buckle.

  Something shifts in Hadley's expression—triumph mingled with something darker, hungrier. "There it is," he whispers. "You can hear it right now, can't you?"

  My eyes burn with unshed tears, vision blurring as Hadley's face swims before me. The night air hits my skin like a slap, too cold too quickly, shivers running along my arms. From fear or cold, I can't tell anymore. "Please," I whisper, hating the weakness in my voice. "I'm just a traveling musician."

  Hadley tilts his head, studying me with predatory focus. His fingers still grip my chin as if waiting for me to cave. In the silver glow of moonlight, his eyes reflect like polished basalt, searching mine for something I don't understand.

  The melody in my head becomes a desperate, screeching thing, clawing at me with such ferocity I fear my skull might crack open. My knees wobble beneath me.

  "Fascinating," Hadley murmurs, his gaze traveling across my features. "You're fighting it, aren't you? Fighting what it wants you to do."

  A tear escapes, trailing hot down my cheek before the night air chills it.

  "What is it begging of you?"

  I try to turn away, but his grip holds me fast.

  "Well then," he announces, his voice shifting to something almost jovial. "I think we should all go for a little walk to clear our heads." His smile is like the snarl of a dog before it attacks. "The night air does wonders for confusion."

  The other guards exchange glances, something unspoken passing between them.

  "Captain," Tomas begins, "the magistrate said—"

  "I read the magistrate's orders," Hadley snaps. "I am changing those orders."

  "But the magistrate--"

  I felt the movement through his fingers on my chin. I didn't catch anything until a sword appeared in Hadley's right hand, the tip inches from Tomas' throat. "Not. Another. Word."

  Before I can protest, his hand falls, clamping around my upper arm. The pads of rough fingers dig into my flesh. He pulls me alongside him, his long stride forcing me into an awkward half-run to keep from falling.

  "Where are you taking me?" I gasp, stumbling over uneven cobblestones and clumps of stubborn weeds.

  Hadley doesn't look down at me, his gaze fixed ahead where the village path leads east toward the outskirts of town. Toward the border guard outpost. Toward the Dravenmoor.

  "To find out what's calling you," he says simply. "And why."