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“I’m all right,” Conor repeated.
“Humor an old man. See your cousin. You’ll need all your strength. The fey expose every weakness.”
“If it’ll make you sleep easier.”
“You need to protect that woman of yours. She’s depending on you.”
Conor froze. “I told you. She’s not my woman.” Did his father know what Ellery’s true purpose was in all this? Had he sensed Conor’s growing doubts? “She doesn’t even like me.”
Mikhal chuckled. “Perhaps. But she could be the saving of you, Conor.”
Those smoky blue eyes. The luscious weight of her soft against him. The sweet honey of her kiss. His father was right. She could be.
But if he went through with his plans and sacrificed Ellery in her father’s place at Beltane, she could be the destruction of Asher.
It was one or the other. And either way, Conor lost.
He stood at the door, a hand on the knob. Ysbel’s chambers lay just beyond. Had they packed her things away? Did the rooms lay bare? Or would it look as if she’d simply stepped away for a moment. Hair ribbons tangled on her dressing table, a book open on her bed next to her embroidery basket. A gown hanging over a chair back.
What would he trade to hear her teasing laughter again? Or to see her gentle smile as they sat and talked? How far would he go to exact revenge? He glanced down the corridor. Gram had put Ellery only steps away.
As if scalded, he snatched his hand away. Stalked back the way he’d come. He’d find Jamys.
If only his cousin could heal a conscience.
Ellery came awake to an inky black room, damning whatever woke her. She’d been having a glorious dream. The kind you wish you could summon on demand. Her body still thrummed with the pleasure of Conor’s hands on her bare skin, his mouth greedy and demanding against her own.
Steps sounded in the hall outside, and a mumbling that droned on and on, the words too quiet to catch through the closed door. Then both stopped. Her latch rattled.
Asher. Every muscle knotted in panic. Her mind screamed. Conor. Where was Conor? Then she remembered. She was on her own.
She forced herself to breathe, fumbling in the dark for anything to use as a weapon. She’d been lulled by reassurances into giving up Conor’s dagger. Now, her hands brushed against and curled around the candlestick by her bed. She wouldn’t be completely defenseless.
The latch rattled again. A shaft of gray light appeared as the door cracked open. Ellery grabbed up the candlestick.
In the hall, someone called out. A second voice that shattered the agonizing tension. The door closed with a slam. Footsteps hurried away.
Outside her room, two people stood in conversation. She recognized Morgan’s voice. The other was unfamiliar. “Do you think she woke Miss Reskeen?”
“I doubt it. But from now on, you have to give her the draught at bedtime. Her night walking has increased. She’s liable to fall down the stairs or walk out a window if we’re not careful.”
As overwhelming as the wild panic had come, it receded, leaving Ellery empty and more tired than ever. She lay back down, trying to regain the sweet torture of her dream. But the fantasy was lost amid more frightening images.
She did not sleep again.
Chapter Fifteen
Conor stood at the edge of the barrows, a row of humped mounds rising out of the dawn mist like islands. Gray, shrouded branches scraped and shushed in the morning breeze, and behind him water rushed over rocks heading toward the Channel. He took a step back from the reliquary. The dark mage energy it gave off turned his stomach even as it pulled on him, tempting him with the power trapped inside. The remaining brothers fought to get out. Sensed his magic and used it to entice him. He needed to keep it out of harm’s way. Out of his way. This was the safest place he could think of. Now if only They would agree.
The lone fey stood within the mist, the stern beauty of his face as cold as marble. Only his eyes glowed purple as amethysts. “We shall do this for you. But it cannot stay among us for long. Asher will discover it. And Asher will use it to destroy us. And you.”
“Do you think I don’t know this?” Conor didn’t need a reminder. He needed help. “It’s only until Beltane. The power available at the turning of the season and within the quoit’s sphere will be enough to send Asher back.”
“And the girl. Her blood will assure you of victory over the Triad?”
Maybe it wasn’t the reliquary making him sick. “That’s the idea.”
“Did you sleep well?” Morgan passed Ellery the sausage. The platter was the third to pass by her. And it didn’t constitute half the groaning sideboard. For someone used to buttered toast and weak tea for breakfast, it was a bit overwhelming.
