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They snuck away from the others, still finishing up the wedding breakfast, soothing the ruffled feathers of the vicar with extra helpings of sausage and egg and a fresh pot of tea. Meeting Ruan’s wicked smile and knowing nod, Ellery’s cheeks went hot, and she hurried to catch up to Conor.
As they neared her bedchamber, her heart pounded, and a tingly ache began deep in her center. But no, they passed her room without a pause, coming to a stop in front of the mysterious and off-limits door to Ysbel’s apartments.
She pulled away. “We can’t go in there.”
He grabbed back her hand. “No. It’s all right. I’ve been in already. She won’t mind.”
Was this the same man who’d refused to even mention his sister? Who’d locked his heart away after her death? She offered him a raised eyebrow, but curiosity kept her mouth shut. She’d wondered every time she passed this way what lay inside. What Ysbel had really been like. Now was her chance to find out.
He opened the door, ushering her ahead of him.
The room was a soft wash of greens; walls, curtains, bedcovers. A thick white carpet lay on the floor. Framed watercolor landscapes created an elegant yet welcoming impression. Ellery recognized the long stretch of dunes by the sea. The bare-limbed orchards in winter covered with snow. The folly almost engulfed in purple wisteria. All bearing the signature YB. This was Ysbel’s artistry.
Conor stood by the bed, studying a miniature, his face bent in concentration. He nodded down at the portrait. “She wasn’t a beauty. Too tall. Too thin. But she glowed like a torch. Turned every head when she passed.”
She resembled Jamys more than Conor. Blonde hair loose across her shoulders. A long, angular face with a hint of stubbornness in the chin. A wide, straight mouth. But her eyes were the same tawny gold as Conor’s. The same animal intensity. They held her. Caught her in their clever gaze.
“Was she…?” But she didn’t finish her sentence. He replaced the miniature on the desk, but kept his gaze on it. “She had power, but
no formal training. Nothing beyond the household magic we all learned and the small bits I passed on to her in my times at home. More because I liked showing off for her than because she wanted to know.”
Blinking, his focus snapped to her. He gathered her hands in his. “It’ll be over soon. I give my word.”
“I don’t want your word. And I don’t want to talk about it.” Now that she’d made up her mind, she just wanted to forget—at least for today.
A stabbing cold plunged through her. Sharp as a knife blade.
Pulling away, she dropped to the bed. Clouds gathered over the sun, sending long, grasping shadows crawling over the floor. She curled her legs beneath her, wrapped her arms around her body as if that would banish the sudden chill.
Small hope of that. This frozen feeling went straight through her.
Conor broke the silence. “Asher thought I had the reliquary.” He sat down beside her, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. “He bargained for it then, too. If I turned it over to him, he’d let my sister go unharmed.”
Ellery felt the chained emotion behind his words. If he’d made a semblance of peace with his role in Ysbel’s death, it was still fresh. A healing just begun.
The angles of his face hardened as he stared unseeing into the past. “I like to think that Simon betrayed Ysbel to Asher thinking I’d hand the reliquary over with no difficulty. He’d be rewarded for his part. Asher would get what he wanted, and Ysbel would be free.”
“But you didn’t have it.”
“No. Asher didn’t believe me at first. Then he sought to punish me anyway. He sent me her ring as proof. As warning.”
She fingered her own wedding ring. A simple gold band. There’d been no time for the artistry of the wolf’s head. It didn’t matter. And yet—it did. “But you have the reliquary now.”
He faced her, danger in his gaze. “Know this, Ellery. I wouldn’t have given it to him even to save Ysbel. She would have been safe, but for how long? It’s a treasure too deadly to toy with.”
“He’ll kill you,” she whispered. Unless I can stop it, was her unspoken thought.
He offered her a gallow’s smile. Hitched his shoulder in a shrug. “Perhaps.”
Reaching over, he twined his fingers with hers. With his other hand, he cupped her cheek. The hard, shriveled knot in her stomach relaxed under the familiar calluses of sword hilt and pistol grip roughening his palm. She let out a shaky breath.
“I’ve had a reason to fight since the battle at San Salas,” he murmured, his voice smoky and smooth. “But more important to me now, I’ve found a reason to live.”
“…riding St. George!”
The hour was late before Conor closed the bedchamber door, shutting out Ruan’s last ribald comment. His cousin had done his best to keep the atmosphere light, only crossing the line into bad taste when absolutely necessary. Needless to say, as the hours wore on the reception had become increasingly bawdy.
“Did he say what I think he said?” Ellery asked.
