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“Answers? Who looks for answers here?”
This new voice shattered the tension like a fist through glass. An old bent woman appeared in the doorway, her parchment fine face seamed with a million tiny lines, her hands bony and gnarled as they held the door handle. “Kilronan’s heir has returned.” She lifted her head as if spying something beyond the horizon, invisible to the rest of them. “The last battle has truly begun.”
Brendan waited for Elisabeth to be escorted to a bedchamber by Roseingrave’s grandmother before rounding on his hostess. Tired of being jerked like a puppet on a string. Tired of being at her mercy. Tired period. The Amhas-draoi’s enigmatic comments and sidelong, searching looks grated on already shredded nerves. “What do you want from me?”
Roseingrave answered with a thin smile. “It’s been a most trying few days. Time enough for explanations once you’ve had a good night’s rest.”
“If you’re waiting on that, we may never get to the crux. And I don’t know about you, but I grow short of witty banter.”
“So abrupt. So curt. Where’s your gentleman’s polish? That boyish appeal that so captivates an audience?”
“You’ve mistaken me for my brother. Aidan’s the charmer. I’m the manipulative, sarcastic recluse. Ask Lissa. She’ll tell you.”
“Lord Kilronan charming? You have been away a long time, haven’t you?”
What was that cryptic comment about? Had something happened to Aidan? He’d always been the happy-go-lucky rogue with the lively wit and the clever tongue. Brendan had envied his brother’s carefree attitude. Friends flocked to him. Women swooned over him. Had Father’s death wrought such devastating change?
All the years away, he’d ached for his lost family. It had been hardest to cut away those connections. His brother’s confidence, his sister’s faith. In his memory they remained unchanged. But reality was far different. Father’s death and the destruction of their family had caught them all in its wake. None of them had been left unscathed.
“You didn’t pull me clear of Máelodor’s killers, dig a bullet out of me, and invite me into your home out of the goodness of your heart. What’s in it for you?”
Rogan and Roseingrave exchanged meaningful glances, the mage-chasing harper giving a slight shrug. “You’ll never know if you don’t ask, Helena.”
Her frown deepened as she made a slow turn about the room, hands clasped behind her back. She faced Brendan once more, decision cut into the delicate lines of her face. “The Sh’vad Tual—where have you hidden it?”
“Someplace secure.”
Her gaze hardened. “Do you realize what will happen if Máelodor opens Arthur’s tomb? If he summons the last king as a Domnuathi? Do you truly understand the scope of such an act of villainy?”
/> “Easy, Helena,” Rogan said, a hand upon her shoulder. “We’re all tired and short-tempered. Perhaps we put this off until tomorrow.”
She jerked away. “You think a nice rest and suddenly Douglas will have a change of heart? He didn’t give a damn then. Nothing’s changed. He’s as self-serving and calculating as ever.”
“You’re not very skilled at this whole persuading thing, are you?” Brendan commented.
She swung back to him with a snarl. “You think this fight will be a simple case of Other versus Duinedon? Hardly. It will be Other versus Other. Just like the dark times when the Nine set brother on brother. I refuse to let that happen again.”
Brendan leaned forward, anger stirring deep in his gut. “Mayhap instead of hounding me all those years, the Amhas-draoi should have spent their time hunting the real menace.”
“We were told Máelodor had been executed. That you were the only one of the Nine left alive.”
“Gervase St. John had you all fooled, didn’t he?” One of the many reasons sleep eluded Brendan. The traitorous Amhas-draoi warrior had known ways of destruction that left no visible mark, killing slowly from the inside out. A mangled hand had been the least of it.
Roseingrave flinched, a line appearing between her brows, her scarlet lips thinning. “St. John paid for his betrayal with his life.”
“If one of you can be turned, so can others. Scathach is the only one I trust. She’s the only one who can give me my life back.”
Helena faced him with a scoffing laugh and a toss of her head. “That’s your plan? Stone or no stone, she’ll kill you.”
Brendan’s jaw tightened. “A chance I’ll take.”
“The last chance you’ll take. St. John was a well-placed member of the Amhas-draoi. It hasn’t been easy to overturn his influence or persuade the brotherhood of Máelodor’s survival. Not without proof. Most are still convinced you’re the mastermind behind this recent threat. You’ve been marked for death as the last living member of the Nine.”
“So what makes you believe when your brethren don’t?”
She slanted him a whip-thin smile. “I’ve seen him. A brief glimpse, but I know he’s out there. Unfortunately, he’s managed to hide himself away like a spider in his lair. No leads. No way to track him.”
“Magic.”
