Lost in You (22 page)

“And Simon?”

“A headstrong young man. I’m afraid, hatred of his cousin overruled his good sense.”

His image quivered, faded to almost nothing before returning stronger, more substantial. Was this her magic at work again? She tried not to show her alarm. If talking to him meant there was a chance—no matter how slim—that Conor’s showdown with him could be averted, she’d risk it.

“What do you want then? Get on with it,” she said. His body bent to a sitting position. Though no chair was visible, his talon-like fingers curled around invisible armrests. Wherever he was, he was settling in. “The reliquary. I want the reliquary.”

She’d no idea where the reliquary was. She hadn’t seen it since their arrival at Daggerfell. She wasn’t about to tell Asher that. Instead she asked, “Why?”

“I’ll assume Bligh’s told you the story of the Jevan Triad. My brothers and myself.”

“Enough to know I don’t want you anywhere near that box.”

He frowned. “Bligh doesn’t know it all. No one does anymore. It was too long ago. And those that did pass on the tales were tainted by the
fey
’s telling of things.”

“They must have had good reasons for locking you three away.”

He nodded in agreement. “Of course, but they never understood. They were small minds who couldn’t see past their own fears and insecurities. They still like their walls. Like to hide in the shadows and let the superstitious mortals chase them into the corners of the world.”

None of this had anything to do with Conor that she could see. And if the
fey
wanted to keep to their world, let them. She grew impatient. “You told me this was about Conor.”

He spread his hands in supplication. “It has everything to do with Bligh. With all the race of
Other
. You saw the way those villagers attacked him once they marked him as different. You see the way all the Blighs hide their abilities behind the drab little life of farmers. Sailors. Never allowing their powers to be known. The talents that mark them as special. Superior.”

“And why do you care?”

He looked shocked she’d asked. “I care as I care how all
fey
are treated. I care because if I don’t, nothing will change, and the
fey
will remain pushed to the fringes forever.”

“So how can you change that?”

“By bringing the worlds together. Uniting the races so that we might all share the light. The Triad as a force could bring down the walls. The
fey
would no longer hide. The mortals would no longer persecute.”

His eyes blazed. His voice took on the ring of a sermon. The injustice. The discrimination. Twisted sense from a warped mind.

She’d not listen anymore. What if someone caught her in conversation with the demon
fey
? They might think she was in league with him. “Conor’s not dense. If he fights to keep you away from the reliquary, it’s for a good reason.”

“He’s infected with the same prejudices that hold all the
fey
in shackles of their own making. He would rather rot in secret than take a chance on what could be his if he just stretched out his hand and took it.”

She got to her feet. “You’re insane.”

He rose as well, putting a hand out as if he could hold her. “Wait.”

A sudden thought occurred to her. “And what about Ysbel? That was no accident.”

His expression grew guarded. Cool where before the passion for his cause had ignited a fire in his eyes. “Bligh’s cousin’s jealousies run deep, as I told you.”

She started to walk around him. Through him would be just too odd. “Go back to whatever hell you’re haunting. I’m through.”

Her hand was on the door when the snaky voice shuddered through her. “You care for Bligh, don’t you?”

Her pulse thundered. Her hand shook. That was the real question, wasn’t it?

“What would you do to ensure he doesn’t come back to you in pieces? Or worse?” His slithery words congealed her blood. Curled around her heart until it shriveled into a tight little ball.

“Conor Bligh has the mark of greatness on him. It needs only a world that can appreciate his kind of magnificence. I could give him that world. I could raise him up to greater heights than he could ever realize as one of Scathach’s soldier boys.” His voice dropped to a hissed whisper. “Or I could tear him down so that nothing remains of the
amhas-draoi
but a putrid carcass.”

“If you admire him so much, why kill him?”

“He is with me or he is against me. To realize my dream of a united world,
fey
and Mortal, I would sacrifice even such a treasure as Bligh, though it would break my heart to do it.” His tone softened. “If you care for him at all, you can save him.”

“What do you want?”

“The reliquary. Bring it to me before Beltane and all is forgotten. You and Bligh can live out your lives in peace. And perhaps even find a place within my new order for yourselves. A place of power. Of distinction.”

She focused on Conor’s wolf-head ring. Locked her eyes on it as she fought to breathe. “And if I can’t get it?”

“If he meets me at Ilcum Bledh, I will kill him slow and feed his body to my
Keun Marow
. Your choice.” He paused.

“Sleep on it.”

She knew without turning around that he’d gone. The unearthly green light vanished, throwing the room back into darkness. Inhaling a shuddery breath, she released the knob. Looked around. There was nothing to show her she hadn’t been dreaming. But she knew.

Just as she knew with a certainty that Conor had been right. He wasn’t coming back.

She sank to her knees, clutching her stomach. Asher’s power was too great. She’d be a bride for a day. A widow forever.

Hot tears tracked her face, and finally she wept.

Conor strained to peer through the morning fog that drifted over the sea like smoke, picking out the sails of a distant ship hull down on the horizon. Waves creamed onto the beach, the outgoing tide exposing tiny brown shore crabs and shoals of fry in rocky pools. He inhaled deeply, letting the freshening breeze off the Channel clear his mind of the muddle left after hours of reading. Refusing to remain closeted with the dry words of the long-dead another moment, he’d left the library at dawn. He didn’t want his last days spent bent over a book. Instead, he walked the boundaries, inspecting each ward stone in its setting. Reinforced them. Reassured himself.

To the west, he’d stalked the lonely hills and fields. To the north, he’d tramped the glades beneath Daggerfell’s towering ashes and oaks. Made his way east to the shore and stood watch as ships headed up the Channel toward Falmouth. Southampton. London.

He’d imagined going to Ellery, arousing her with a sensuous caress, sheathing himself in her moist heat as he kissed her awake. Bringing her to climax even as her dreams faded into day. He rubbed a tired hand down his face. That was the last thing he should do. He’d almost killed himself staying away from her last night. He couldn’t falter now. Not when he was so close.

He’d found the passages he’d sought, though they only confirmed what he suspected. There was another way. One that didn’t call for fulfillment of the curse. But it was only slightly less final than death.

Could he do it? Could he give himself up to the emptiness, the soul-draining change that would enable him to put an end to Asher once and for all? There would be no turning back once he drew on the ancient
Fomorii
power. Let the Ancient Ones dominate him. Transform him.

He sighed. It didn’t matter. He would do what he must. But he would make certain Ellery never saw him that way. Would remember him as the man he was and not the being he would become.

He’d tried making it right. If Beltane spelled the end, she wouldn’t suffer for his recklessness. He’d leave her his family. His home. And if the gods granted them a child from their one night together, then his son or daughter would bear the protection of his name. Of his honor. It was the best he could salvage from that disaster.

He straightened, stretched. Now that his mind was made up, the ache across his shoulders faded. A calm settled over him.

He picked at the lichen on the rock where he sat, watching the gulls croak and shriek as they swooped to the tide pools to feed. He tossed a pebble, scattering them up the beach. All but one who watched him with a cocked head and a clever gleam in his eye. “Go on,” he said, flicking another stone toward the gull.

A subtle, spicy aroma reached his nose at the same time a slide of scree sounded from the dunes above. He turned just as Ellery reached the beach. “He thinks you’ll feed him.”

“To what?” he answered more sharply than he intended, but the sight of her so soon after his lusty imaginings had caught him off guard. The breeze sent another wave of her lush fragrance toward him, and his groin tightened.

“I didn’t find you in the library.” She joined him, her hands bunched in her apron pockets, her expression serious. “I thought you might be here.”

“I’m done. I’ll learn no more of use.”

She glanced up at him with eyes dull and glassy, then down at her feet. Then scanned the sea as if salvation lay just out of reach.

He touched her mind, hoping to catch a hint of her thoughts, but nothing stood out sharp enough from the whirl of emotions for him to catch hold of. That she was upset, nervous and afraid was clear. Why—beyond the obvious—remained a mystery. But at least she was talking to him again.

“Walk with me.” He pushed off the rock. Straightened.

“I’ve one more stone to check at the southern edge of the property.”

She fell in beside him, years on the march giving her a long stride that easily matched his own. That thought reassured him. She was a product of the Army. Used to loss. The uncertainty of battle. Death. That’s what he tried telling himself, even if he didn’t wholly believe it.

As they walked, she kept her eyes focused on the track. Jaw set. Chin up. Whatever gnawed at her, she was fighting back. Holding her own.

He decided to break the silence. She hadn’t hunted him down without a purpose. Maybe she just needed some nudging to open up. “You needed to speak with me? What is it? Not getting cold feet, are you?” He offered her a game smile.

She returned it with a tepid curve of her lips, but her gaze now was razor-edged and battle-ready. Whatever inner war she’d been waging, she’d won. Hands down. “Put off this battle with Asher. At least until you’ve spent more time researching the archives. There has to be a less costly way to end this.”

This was an order. Plain and simple. And despite what Ellery thought, he’d never been good at taking orders. He bristled. “No.” Stepping up his pace, he left her behind.

“But why not?” She jogged to catch up. “You can’t just dismiss me with a no and think I’ll let it go.”

“We’ve gone over this a thousand times, Ellery. I’ve explained it to you. Asher cannot be allowed to continue unchecked.” He plucked a broken branch from the ground, swung it at the trees as he walked. “He must be dealt with. Otherwise, he’s always a threat. And the Triad’s return will hang over both mortal and
fey
like Damocles’ sword.”

“I’m not saying ignore his threat. But you have the reliquary. You’ve said you wait for the turn of the seasons. But the seasons turn every three months. Midsummer. Autumn. The winter solstice.” Her breath grew heavy as she held to his speed. “You can delay, and perhaps you and your mother will have found the answers by then.”

“It must end now. I can’t—” They broke from the trees out into a wide rocky field. The sun had pierced the haze of morning, and he paused, squinting against the blaze of light that met him.

Ellery took that moment to grab him by the arm. Spin him around to face her. She shot a glance at his pocket, knowing what lay there. “Can’t or won’t?”

“Ysbel has naught to do with why I face Asher.”

“She has everything to do with it.” She stopped. Took a deep breath and reined herself in. When she spoke again, her voice was calm. Deliberate. “We have the reliquary. We can use it. A tool to force Asher to our terms.”

An image of the jeweled casket entered his mind. The evil power that lay within it. The insidious mage energy that pulsed around it, through it. Tempting him. Luring him into believing that it was all true. The Jevan Triad would bring peace and light to the two worlds. Not the tragic suffering he’d been taught. That swirl of darkness was the reason he’d placed it with the
fey
for its protection. They could withstand the reliquary’s influence. They knew the promises were false. They remembered what had happened last time.

“No, Ellery. We do this my way. There are things you can’t understand. To let Asher near the reliquary would be disaster.”

“But hear me out.” She struggled to argue.

“Enough,” he said, his own mounting fury combined with the influence of the
leveryas
startling her to a standstill. “I know what I’m doing.” He gave her a pointed look. “Don’t make me regret my choice.”

She dropped his arm, stepping back as if he’d slapped her. Her face went pale, her mouth pinched and white. “You arrogant, hard-headed, shatter-brained…” She stamped her foot, her hands curling into fists he wasn’t sure whether she was preparing to use.

He took his own step back.

He’d gone too far, but she’d pushed him—goaded him beyond sense. He’d meet the devil and be done. Break him as he’d broken others. Send him to hell even if he had to follow him down to the deepest fires to do it. He put out a conciliatory hand. “I didn’t mean it. Not the way it sounded.”

She threw it off, her eyes freezing him with blue ice. “Mayhap not, but if you keep to this path, you’ll be dead by Monday and your regrets won’t matter, will they?”

Ellery stood outside Conor’s bedchamber, scanning the hall up and down. No one. She almost wished someone would stop her. Call out. Question her right to be there. Though no doubt at this point, her entrance into Conor’s room merited little comment. That thought alone made her grimace. Marriage prettied up their relationship, but it didn’t change it. Conor had only asked her out of duty. A sense of misguided responsibility. And she had accepted out of…well, she wouldn’t look too closely at her reasons.

She rubbed her damp hands down her skirt, took a deep breath, and entered.

Conor’s ambiguity aside, she knew where her heart lay. In pieces around her with Asher’s threats dealing the hammer blows. She’d lain awake all night, running the conversation with the dark
fey
over and over in her mind. But nothing changed. In the end, Conor died.

Despite his infuriating high-handedness, she would not let that happen.

She started in the obvious places. Under the bed. In a trunk that sat beneath the window. At the back of the clothespress. Nothing.

My family thinks you’ll save me from myself
. Conor had told her that just days ago. Well, she would. She’d save him from the grand and senseless gesture of meeting Asher in battle. Sacrificing himself in a futile bid to stop the demon. She’d formed a plan.

Not a perfect plan by any stretch, but it would have to do. She didn’t have time for perfect. And that was the point, wasn’t it? They needed time. Time to search the archives. Time to convince the true
fey
to help. Time for Conor to come up with some way to end Asher’s threat without killing himself.

The reliquary could give them that time if they used it to their advantage. They had what Asher wanted. Would do anything to get hold of. So, exploit it. There was nothing that said Conor had to make his stand on the first of May. It was only his determination for final revenge that held him to the spring festival. So she’d force the issue. She’d take the reliquary for herself. Tell Conor what she’d done after. She couldn’t risk the chance he’d hide the reliquary even more completely. And she’d found it was always better to ask forgiveness than permission.

She wasn’t foolish enough to believe Asher had meant any of the promises he’d made. But he was clever. He’d bargain if she could get him to believe she might actually give it up to him.

She straightened, hands on hips, gazing around the room, trying to imagine she was Conor. Where would he hide such a treasure? Where would he feel was secure enough to protect it from Asher, Simon, or anyone else bent on discovering it? Inspired, she began along the walls by the hearth, feeling for invisible seams, hidden catches. The going was slow. Desperation chewed at her, making her breath come quicker, her hands fumble. Lunch would be over soon. Should Conor discover her like this, the sparks that had flown this morning would be nothing compared to the all-out conflagration that would come. The chiming of the mantel clock sent her heart skipping into her throat.

She sat up. Shook off her fright. He was
Other
. Perhaps he’d transformed the reliquary into something else, hidden it in plain view as—she scanned the room—the clock. A table…

Ruan.

She swallowed, her eyes locked on the man standing arms crossed, feet apart, watching her with open curiosity.

“Mice?” The twinkle in his eye didn’t completely negate the suspicious narrowed gaze focused on her.

She cleared her throat. “I lost something. I thought it might be here.”

This time there was no mistaking his amusement. He covered his bark of laughter behind a spate of coughing. “Down there, was it?”

She cringed, realizing the smarmier meaning behind her words. Leave it to Ruan to leap to that conclusion. “Men.” She shot him a look of disgust.

“You said it. Not me. If you’re looking for Conor, he’s having lunch with Aunt Niamh and Gram.” His expression grew considering. “Or maybe you knew that. Which is why you’re here,” he arched a curious brow, “looking for something.”

She rose, shaking out her rumpled skirts. Did she dare ask Ruan? Of all the Blighs, he seemed the least affected by the magical trappings. Completely—she thought back to his earlier comments with distaste—predictably normal among a family of super-normal. Would he understand her better than Conor because of it, and should she risk finding out?

She chose to be reckless. Her head came up, her shoulders back. “I need the reliquary.” She spoke with what she hoped was firm resolve. “Do you know where it is?”

She could swear the room dropped to freezing as soon as she opened her mouth.

Ruan speared her with a gaze cold as steel, his body pulled taut as a cocked bow. “Why?”

So much for a sympathetic ear. “To save Conor.”

His expression remained as opaque and inscrutable as ever. “Go on.”

“Asher wants it. If he thinks we might give it up, we can buy space to seek another way. A way that doesn’t risk Conor’s death.”

He rubbed a thoughtful hand over his chin. “Conor would never agree.”

“I know.” She prowled the room, exasperation and worry making her restless and impatient. “He’s already told me so.”

Ruan just watched. Silent. Studying.

Finally, she stopped at the mantel, took up a bone figurine of a leopard or a tiger, the carving crude and unschooled, yet still carrying a rough beauty. She fingered the warm, smooth face of the snarling animal. “He wants this battle with Asher. I doubt he’d choose a different path, even if one were found. Vengeance overpowers all else, even…” Her shoulders slumped.

“It’s difficult to stray from a course you’ve charted. Especially when you’ve followed it for as long as Conor has.”

She glanced over. To the door. Back again. Surely Conor was finished eating by now. He’d be here any moment. She had to get Ruan to agree or get out. She fiddled with the figurine, impatient. Nervous. “So you see why I have to do this my way.” Her eyes strayed back to the door. “Please, Ruan. Help me.”

“I understand your dilemma. But I don’t countenance deceit. You should be honest with him.”