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“So I can’t turn Asher into a toad or zap him with a bolt of lightning?” A smile hovered at the corner of her mouth.
Conor relaxed the breath he’d been holding. “No. You’re more subtle than that. You’re like a lightning rod, reshaping the magic of others. Channeling it in ways unlooked for. Strengthening. Weakening. There’s no controlling it. It’s why Asher wants you. He’s never encountered its like either.”
She kept silent. Waiting. “It’s why the mage sickness affected me like it did,” he continued. “It had passed through your body. Intensified by your magic to unheard-of levels.”
Her smile vanished. “You’re saying I almost killed you.”
“You also saved me. It’s probably why your dagger was able to disrupt Asher’s wards.”
Realization, then horror widened her eyes. “So I allowed Simon to get in. I’m putting everyone in danger just by being here. I should go.”
He jumped up, ignoring his nudity as he pulled her close. “No. You’re far safer here than on the road. It’s just going to take more vigilance.” He drew her away to arm’s length so he could look her in the face. “It’s only for another week.”
“But if Asher should try again?” She licked her lips, looked over at the open window as if Asher might leap through it. “If he wants me so badly, won’t he try again?”
“I’ll be ready. I won’t let him take you.”
Her eyes snapped back to his face. “And the reliquary? If he comes for that?”
A breeze fluttered the curtains. Moonlight and shadows skipped across the floor. “It’s safe enough—for now.”
A smile touched her face, lit her jewel-blue eyes. “I guess if I can survive the French, the Austrians, the Spanish, and one randy landlord, I can survive Asher.”
He offered her a stony smile. Perhaps she could survive. But could he?
Ellery woke in the half-light before dawn. Conor was gone, not even a whispered goodbye.
Dozy with sleep and sex, she stretched and snuggled deeper into the quilts. Thought back on his confessions last night. Tried to wrap her mind around the thought that she might have a power. Something special that set her apart from everyone. Ellery Reskeen wasn’t just another Army bastard. She was an Army bastard that could shake magic off-balance. Not that it did her or anyone much good. In fact, it seemed downright dangerous. But just knowing about its existence warmed her. Made her feel different. As if she belonged here.
The first birds twittered in the bushes outside, rain dripped through the gutters. But the house was quiet. Everyone still abed. Good. Did they know what had happened in this room last night? Had Niamh foreseen it when she left?
Ellery cringed with humiliation. The whore’s daughter fallen into the same disgrace. But this was different. She was no soldier’s trull, using her body as the only barter she had.
She’d taken from Conor just as much as he’d taken from her. And though he’d made it clear there was no future for them after Beltane, she could accept that.
If she knew the boundaries, she remained in control. Took what was offered. Enjoyed it for what it was. And when the time came, left him behind without looking back.
She pulled a pillow to her chest, inhaled Conor’s scent. A heavy weight settled around her heart.
Who was she fooling?
Chapter Twenty-One
Conor descended the stairs working his shoulder, feeling the satisfying pop and snap of bone and muscle. A wicked smile curled his lips. It was a good stiffness. For once.
Anxious voices rose from the floor below. A woman wept.
Apprehension chilled him. Asher couldn’t have found a way through the protections he’d devised. Not so soon. He wanted to run back up the stairs. Check to be sure Ellery was safe.
Jamys entered the hall from the salon. He shouted back into the room, “And keep that girl quiet. Her wailing isn’t helping anything.” Just then, he spotted Conor. He offered him a grim nod as greeting.
Conor raced down the last few steps. “What is it? Asher?” Jamys shook his head. “Not this time. It’s Aunt Glynnis. One of the men found her early this morning at the wood’s edge. Close to the barrows. She’s dead.”
He stepped back, his gut tightening. “Damn. How?” Jamys rubbed his bloodshot eyes. “How the hell should I know? There’s not a mark on her.”
Conor wanted to feel something. Some sense of loss or grief. But all that came to him was a shameful release. Then guilt. “An accident then? She’s sleep-walked for years. She almost walked out that upstairs window three years ago. Could this be the same?”
“It’s a possibility. Another is suicide. She had enough powders and potions to do herself in ten times over, poor woman.”
