36
“How did you sleep?” Brorda asked as they walked along the shore, the waves crashing against the sand. “You look weary.”
Thomas shrugged, the night’s dreams ghosting around the edges of his mind. “I dreamt about him,” he said, reluctant to say the Jack’s name in the sunlight, an irrational fear seizing him that to do so would be to call the Unseelie to them.
Maybe not irrational. He was learning to trust his instincts.
Brorda grimaced. “I as well,” he said. “Unsettling dreams, to be sure.”
Sandpipers scuttled back and forth on the beach, expertly avoiding the waves on the shore, their small cries piercing through the sound of the surf. Thomas took a deep breath of the bracing air, trying to dispel the foreboding that had haunted him since he had awakened.
He and Brorda had slipped
