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As he fingered the blood welling from his blackened shoulder, the temptation to shift had never been greater. His body tensed, his mind poised to work the magic that brought about the change. He ignored the wound, scrambling to his haunches, prepared to spring.
“Not so fast, Conor.” Simon pulled him back from the brink. “One move and Mother joins husband and son in the great beyond.” He stood behind Glynnis, pressing her back against him with a firm hand around her waist and the other holding the dagger at her throat.
“You wouldn’t.”
“Oh?” Simon pushed the blade close. Glynnis whimpered, trying to move away.
“Conor, let them go.” Ellery stood in the doorway, her arms crossed protectively over her chest. Be
hind her, Father and Gram hovered in the corridor.
“He’s bluffing.”
“Do you think so?” Simon started to slide the blade across Glynnis’s throat, a trail of blood springing up behind it.
She screamed. “Conor.” His father’s voice held a note of warning. “He’ll kill her.”
Conor crushed the grip of his sword in his hand. “I’ll finish this tonight.”
“Let him go, my grandson.” This time Gram spoke. “He is not worth the reckoning you will owe for killing your own blood.”
Conor lowered his weapon. Blood snaked down his chest, across his abdomen, dripped to the floor. His side ached from the glancing dagger blow. But already his body began renewing itself. He’d live. “Run. Get out.”
“No one is to follow us.” Simon backed through the doorway, past the others who stepped aside, letting him go.
He pulled his mother with him down the stairs, Glynnis’s crying growing fainter before it faded out.
Heavy running footsteps replaced it coming back up the stairs. Morgan rounded the corner, half-dressed in a nightgown, light silken robe, and boots. “He’s crossing the lawn, headed toward the gallop. If we hurry, we can cut him off in the wood.”
“How is Ruan?” Gram asked as if she hadn’t heard. As if she had all the time in the world. She had, once. But now time and the future were unraveling. And Simon was getting away.
Morgan pushed her hair off her face with an impatient gesture. “He’s with Jamys cursing a blue streak. He’ll recover. But Simon…” She pointed to the stairs.
“Follow him,” Mikhal answered. “Stay far enough back he doesn’t feel cornered, but keep an eye on Glynnis. She doesn’t deserve this, no matter what she did in her confusion.”
“I’ll go,” Conor said as Morgan disappeared back down the stairs.
Mikhal cast a glance at Conor’s shoulder. His side. “See Jamys about that.”
Conor flexed his arm. It hurt, but it mended. The wound to his ribs was already healed.
“I’ll see to it after we’ve caught Simon.”
Mikhal held him still. “Morgan’s abilities outstrip even yours when it comes to tracking. We’ll let Simon feel secure enough to release Glynnis first. Give him time to get deeper into the wood. We’ll follow once word comes that he’s there.”
Only respect for his father kept him from charging after them. “Do you think the true fey will stop him?” he scoffed. “They let him onto the grounds without a warning. To them, he belongs here. He’s a Bligh.”
His father’s face settled into stern lines, his eyes hard as ice. “Mayhap you’re right. After everything is done, Simon is still a member of this family.”
Conor couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Was Father saying that Simon didn’t matter? That his crimes didn’t matter? Conor wrenched himself free. “I don’t care whether he’s a Bligh or not. I’m going to rip his goddamned head off when I catch him.”
Gram stepped between father and son, her voice like steel. “His day will come, but not at your hand. You’re going to wait here.” Her eyes looked past him to where Ellery watched everything through eyes wide and dilated, a trembling lip caught between her teeth as she fought back tears.
Catching the scent of her blood, seeing the jagged line of it staining her throat, Conor’s hands shook, and a fist closed around his heart. Too close. He’d cut it too close, and Ellery had almost died.
“She needs you,” Gram said.
Conor couldn’t look at Ellery again. Not at that long slender column of her neck. Not at the stiffened face that refused to crumple into tears, the chin that remained lifted, defiant. Would her defiance hold when he had to approach her with a dagger and murder in his eyes?
