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My family thinks you’ll save me from myself. Conor had told her that just days ago. Well, she would. She’d save him from the grand and senseless gesture of meeting Asher in battle. Sacrificing himself in a futile bid to stop the demon. She’d formed a plan.
Not a perfect plan by any stretch, but it would have to do. She didn’t have time for perfect. And that was the point, wasn’t it? They needed time. Time to search the archives. Time to convince the true fey to help. Time for Conor to come up with some way to end Asher’s threat without killing himself.
The reliquary could give them that time if they used it to their advantage. They had what Asher wanted. Would do anything to get hold of. So, exploit it. There was nothing that said Conor had to make his stand on the first of May. It was only his determination for final revenge that held him to the spring festival. So she’d force the issue. She’d take the reliquary for herself. Tell Conor what she’d done after. She couldn’t risk the chance he’d hide the reliquary even more completely. And she’d found it was always better to ask forgiveness than permission.
She wasn’t foolish enough to believe Asher had meant any of the promises he’d made. But he was clever. He’d bargain if she could get him to believe she might actually give it up to him.
She straightened, hands on hips, gazing around the room, trying to imagine she was Conor. Where would he hide such a treasure? Where would he feel was secure enough to protect it from Asher, Simon, or anyone else bent on discovering it? Inspired, she began along the walls by the hearth, feeling for invisible seams, hidden catches. The going was slow. Desperation chewed at her, making her breath come quicker, her hands fumble. Lunch would be over soon. Should Conor discover her like this, the sparks that had flown this morning would be nothing compared to the all-out conflagration that would come. The chiming of the mantel clock sent her heart skipping into her throat.
She sat up. Shook off her fright. He was Other. Perhaps he’d transformed the reliquary into something else, hidden it in plain view as—she scanned the room—the clock. A table…
Ruan.
She swallowed, her eyes locked on the man standing arms crossed, feet apart, watching her with open curiosity.
“Mice?” The twinkle in his eye didn’t completely negate the suspicious narrowed gaze focused on her.
She cleared her throat. “I lost something. I thought it might be here.”
This time there was no mistaking his amusement. He covered his bark of laughter behind a spate of coughing. “Down there, was it?”
She cringed, realizing the smarmier meaning behind her words. Leave it to Ruan to leap to that conclusion. “Men.” She shot him a look of disgust.
“You said it. Not me. If you’re looking for Conor, he’s having lunch with Aunt Niamh and Gram.” His expression grew considering. “Or maybe you knew that. Which is why you’re here,” he arched a curious brow, “looking for something.”
She rose, shaking out her rumpled skirts. Did she dare ask Ruan? Of all the Blighs, he seemed the least affected by the magical trappings. Completely—she thought back to his earlier comments with distaste—predictably normal among a family of super-normal. Would he understand her better than Conor because of it,
and should she risk finding out?
She chose to be reckless. Her head came up, her shoulders back. “I need the reliquary.” She spoke with what she hoped was firm resolve. “Do you know where it is?”
She could swear the room dropped to freezing as soon as she opened her mouth.
Ruan speared her with a gaze cold as steel, his body pulled taut as a cocked bow. “Why?”
So much for a sympathetic ear. “To save Conor.”
His expression remained as opaque and inscrutable as ever. “Go on.”
“Asher wants it. If he thinks we might give it up, we can buy space to seek another way. A way that doesn’t risk Conor’s death.”
He rubbed a thoughtful hand over his chin. “Conor would never agree.”
“I know.” She prowled the room, exasperation and worry making her restless and impatient. “He’s already told me so.”
Ruan just watched. Silent. Studying.
Finally, she stopped at the mantel, took up a bone figurine of a leopard or a tiger, the carving crude and unschooled, yet still carrying a rough beauty. She fingered the warm, smooth face of the snarling animal. “He wants this battle with Asher. I doubt he’d choose a different path, even if one were found. Vengeance overpowers all else, even…” Her shoulders slumped.
“It’s difficult to stray from a course you’ve charted. Especially when you’ve followed it for as long as Conor has.”
She glanced over. To the door. Back again. Surely Conor was finished eating by now. He’d be here any moment. She had to get Ruan to agree or get out. She fiddled with the figurine, impatient. Nervous. “So you see why I have to do this my way.” Her eyes strayed back to the door. “Please, Ruan. Help me.”
“I understand your dilemma. But I don’t countenance deceit. You should be honest with him.”
“Are you going to tell him?”
“No, but only because there’s no reason to. The reliquary isn’t here. Conor’s taken it to the barrows. He’s given it to the fey for safekeeping.”
