Page 165 of Highland Spy

Several more blasts sounded in the distance. Ariana fought her instinct to duck and remained confidently upright, as if she’d truly been the one to set the world aflame.

“We need to find the king,” Connor said in her ear. “We need him to fear you so greatly, he’ll never seek you out again after this.”

She nodded, but wasn’t certain if he saw or sensed the action. She continued to press forward, through the ubiquitous cloud.

Several men sputtered and called out to one another in the milky blindness. Yet no one stopped them or even approached them as Connor led her into the castle.

The air cleared immediately, and her eyes widened in relief to finally see the distinct outline of everything familiar once more.

Connor’s hand was warm on her arm, his grip firm.

There, on the other side of the great hall, was exactly the man she knew she was supposed to trick. King James.

He stood about forty feet away with an arrogant tilt to his head, his shoulders artfully squared. Delilah stood at his side with a hand in the crook of his arm.

The king stopped when his gaze landed on Ariana. His face colored. “It’s you.”

Ariana strode forward with all the confidence she would need to pull off the ruse. “Don’t you know witches are not easily killed?”

His face went pale, and she let herself smile to see it.

“I know a lot about you, James.” His Christian name sounded odd on her tongue, as it had before, and speaking to him with such disrespect felt wrong in the giddiest of ways.

“More than just how you have your top nobles killed one at a time.” She sauntered forward again, and a chair shoved back from its place when she passed.

The king stared at the chair then turned to Delilah, who slipped her hand from his arm and turned to go.

“Don’t leave me.” All his pretenses had fled and he sounded like a child having a tantrum. “You know how to fight. Protect me.”

Delilah looked over her shoulder at him. “Perhaps I don’t remember you well enough to help.” Her voice was cool and held an unnatural edge to it, suggesting there was more to her discussion with the king than there appeared.

Delilah left the room without once turning around.

King James let his gaze move back to Ariana. “Please, I’m a monarch. I have all of England and Scot—”

“Enough!” Ariana shouted the word and threw her arms out in front of her.

Every piece of furniture in the room—the chairs and small card tables, even the clock—all jerked back against the far walls in a unified shriek of wood on stone.

King James’s eyes went large in his white face.

“I know it’s because of you that Connor is an assassin.” She tilted her head. “Care to find out what else I know? It’s something I’m sure Connor would love to hear.”

The king shook his head with such vigor that the black felt hat he wore shifted from its position and lay slightly cocked atop his brow.

No false magic was needed for the impact of a truthful declaration, for no amount of explosions or moving furniture could have had the force of what she was about to say.

Ariana strode forward again. “The reason Connor’s father is dead, the reason so many of his people died, the reason you have possession of Urquhart and Connor at all, is because it was your order which let Urquhart fall. It was you who gave permission for Laird Gordon to attack.”

• • •

All this time, the hell of Connor’s world had been caused by the king.

Everything seemed to shrink around him until the only thing left in his vision was King James and the fearful look he cast down the hall.

“Is this true?” Connor asked.

But he didn’t need to. Ariana would never say it if it weren’t, and certainly the king would not be looking at him with such pathetic fear.