Chapter Twenty-Four #2
“There are many trees like the Dwirra, all over the globe. If this place is a tapestry woven by the Fates or the Norns or Matrones, or any of the countless other names the triple goddess has been given, then the Dwirra and its kin grow on the wrong side of the cloth, rising out of a chaotic tangle of threads, and in their shade our kind have found refuge. But instead of withdrawing completely, Morgaine wanted to leave a few pathways open, through the stone circles. That is how the moorwitches came to Elfhame long ago and learned our magic, such as moving from place to place in an instant by navigating the very fabric of the world—powerful magic, and I knew it would bring us trouble if they ever turned against us. But Morgaine wouldn’t listen to reason. ”
“It was you,” I whisper, horror tangling in my rib cage like a viper. I think of the broken looms and spinning wheels moldering at the foot of the Dwirra Tree like rotting bones. “You killed them, not her.”
The earth and sky seem to change places, the world reordering itself in my mind as I see Lachlan truly for the first time.
He is a monster.
He is a villain.
I should have listened to my instincts from the start, that inner voice which whispered he could not be trusted; he must be feared.
But then he threw Lorellan in my face, and that damnable tear rolling down his cheek—he played me like a fiddle.
He strummed the strings of empathy and humanity in my heart until they sounded his tune.
And I, fool that I am, let him. I wanted to believe there was something noble in him, some redeemable heart as desperate as my own. But it was all a manipulation.
And Conrad—oh, Conrad. I have been wrong about him too. He knew what Lachlan is. He must know the truth about the moorwitches and Morgaine too.
“I defended my people against those whose very existence had destroyed us.” Lachlan’s voice is terrible and cold, his eyes shadows beneath ice.
“I had those dangerous women killed, yes, and for it, my fool sister turned on me and cast me out. But it was too late, and the humans she’d once doted upon turned against her in retaliation for their women.
They attacked Elfhame itself, led by your Conrad’s ancestors.
Morgaine was forced to close all the gates between the Worlds Above and Below, all but the one, with the great ward around it to keep me out.
I think, even after all the grief they’ve caused our people, she cannot entirely let go of humanity. ”
It is all I can do to still my feet, to not burst into a run. I wouldn’t get far from him, I know, but the urge is primal, that of a rabbit who feels the shadow of a wolf. He is worse than I had feared, worse than I could have ever imagined.
I think of Morgaine’s sweetly venomous glances, her fingers in my hair, how she seemed to balance between a kiss and a kill. A faerie queen who once loved humans, and who betrayed her own brother to protect them, only to see herself take the blame for his heinous crime.
“Rose.”
I suck in a breath, realizing he asked me a question. “What?”
“I asked, How did you escape?”
I stare at him, wide-eyed and unblinking, my hands clenched at my sides. I wonder how many moorwitches he killed, and how he killed them. Was it by his own hand, or did he send his lackeys like Tarkin to do it?
I cannot let him see my horror at this glimpse behind his mask. I must play along as if nothing has changed, at least for a little while.
“Conrad,” I say at last. “He told the queen we were . . . betrothed.”
Lachlan’s brows flick up. “Did he, now? Clever man. It was, perhaps, the only thing that could have saved you. He knows Morgaine needs him to wed, to produce more North Gatekeepers for her. If Morgaine had figured out you were working for me, you’d be worse than dead—she’d be torturing you for information.
And worse, I’d be set back by years. I hadn’t planned on her finding out about you so soon, but it’s done now, and we must adapt. ”
Of course his inconvenience would be more concerning to him than my torture.
“What did you plan, then?” I demand. “Was my near obliteration part of your plan? I am a capable enough Weaver. If you’d told me the truth from the beginning, I might have tied a truth knot over Conrad the first day and had the spell in hand to open the way to Elfhame myself.”
“Don’t be obtuse, Rose,” he says with a sigh of annoyance.
“If it were that simple, would I not have accomplished it years ago? Do you think Morgaine would leave herself so easily exposed? Fiona had the same idea as you, and that’s how we learned it would never work.
After picking away at the circle to no avail, year after year, she finally managed to trap Liam North.
But he could not tell her how to open the portal, no matter what spells she worked, not even when she held a knife to his child’s throat. ”
“Conrad,” I whisper. I picture him small and wide-eyed, held in the clutches of a half-mad old Weaver.
“It is part of the Gatekeepers’ contract with Morgaine that they cannot open the way for anyone, no matter how threatened. Vowknots, as you’ve come to realize, I’m sure, are binding indeed.”
“You never expected me to enter Elfhame at all, then, did you?” I whisper.
He inclines his head, affirming my suspicion. “I’ll admit, you making it through surprised me. But you were lucky, and you’ll not get another chance like that again.”
“Then why send me at all, if . . .” I look away, at the storm rolling in, feeling the air begin to stir with anticipation of the coming thunder. The horizon is curtained by a dark sweep of rain.
Understanding strikes me like a bullet. My head whips around, my eyes locking on his.
“You mean for him to do it,” I breathe. “You want Conrad to fetch the Dwirra branch, to betray the queen. And you think he would do it for my sake?”
He says nothing, but I see my answer in his chilled gaze. I feel bile in my throat; all of this, from the beginning, has been his orchestration. We were all puppets in his play, dangling on his strings.
“No.” I shake my head, backing away. “No, I wouldn’t ask that of him. Never! If he were caught—”
“If he succeeded, dear Rose, he would be free.”
My breath stops.
“Him and his sister, and all the other North descendants they might produce. For when Morgaine falls, their duty to her will end. You see, the boy’s contract might forbid him from telling you how to enter Elfhame or taking you there himself, but he is free to come and go as he likes.”
“No. He wouldn’t listen to me. You didn’t see how he reacted when he even suspected I might be playing him false.” I think of warm fingers tangling in my hair, and shudder.
“Oh, have a little faith in yourself. Why do you think I chose you? Why do you think, of all the talented Weavers I could have compelled to undertake this task, I chose you? Pitiful, lovely, kind Rose, with your soft lips and your passions flashing in your eyes.”
Before I can pull away, his hand goes to my face, his long fingers twining roughly through my hair, wrapping it around his hand as if it were a rope.
My body reacts to his touch involuntarily—with a shudder of horror, my throat constricting.
Even when he suspected me of plotting against his family, Conrad only ever touched me with respect and gentleness.
Lachlan touches me as if I were a thing to be controlled, a wayward dog jerked at the end of a tight leash.
“Let go,” I snarl.
He pulls on my hair, forcing my head to tilt back, and presses a finger to my lips.
I freeze, my heart racing, revulsion thrashing like a caged eel in my belly.
Lachlan looks at me with a predatory smile, but his eyes are soft, melting snow that trace the shape of my nose and jaw, as if he were inspecting a painting he’d just finished, searching for flaws.
“You were irresistible to him,” he murmurs. “To put you in the path of that lonesome young man was my grandest stroke of genius. The day I first saw him, years ago—a wretched, lonely boy on the cusp of manhood—I knew exactly what his weakness would be. And I was right.”
“No,” I whisper against his finger. “Your plan failed. He means to send me away.”
“Does he? Good. Then he cares for you even more than I’d hoped.
But you’ll go back, and you’ll twist him up in your threads until he’d die for you.
Then, together, you and he will bring me the Dwirra branch, and the balance of power will shift.
I will be strong enough, then, to face Morgaine and end her tyranny. Then I can finally save my people.”
He releases me at last.
I back away from him until I can go no further, the tumbling river behind me, its freezing spray stinging my skin.
I cannot reply; words stick in my throat, my mouth too dry to speak.
He used me as bait. All this time I’d thought I was special, that my cleverness or my Weaves were what made me valuable to him.
But all along it was empty, petty things.
It was never me he needed; it was my youth, my face, my sex.
He played on my pride, identifying my desire to be seen and rewarding it just enough to entice me along, feasting on the crumbs of his attention like a pathetic lost puppy.
“Now go back to that house,” he says, his tone hardening, “and whatever you do, don’t sabotage your position there. Bide your time, spin your threads around that man’s heart, and don’t report back unless it’s urgent. The Telarian tapestries only have two uses left, and I don’t have another set.”
“You’re forgetting one thing,” I manage to choke out. “I could walk away this moment. I don’t have to be part of any of this.”
He scoffs. “Go on, then. Say it. Say that you wish to break your contract with me. Tell me you would sacrifice your magic here and now.”
Nausea churns in my stomach. The scar on my neck pains me as it has not since I was a little girl.
“Say it,” hisses Lachlan. “After all, magic isn’t for the faint of heart.
Perhaps you don’t deserve it. Perhaps you’ve always been too weak.
Too afraid. A mouse scurrying from her aunt and her pipe, hiding herself away in holes and cracks.
Perhaps that’s what you really crave—to go back to that dismal, pathetic existence before I came along and set you free. ”
The words are there in my throat, yet I cannot speak them. My tongue ties itself, balking. Chills of guilt and shame prickle over my body.
“See?” Lachlan murmurs. “You’ll hurt whomever you must in order to protect yourself. For you and I both know: Without magic, you are nothing.”
My hands will not cease their trembling, no matter how hard I clench them.
“Go back, Rose Pryor. Be genial, be charming. Be coy. Slide into his bed, if that’s what it takes. Twist him round your pretty finger like one of your threads, and when the moment is right, all you have to do is ask.”
I don’t want to go back.
I don’t want to be Lachlan’s bait, his spy, his puppet. I don’t want to be a string twisted between his fingers, a conduit for his dark will.
But if I refuse, that’s it—the end of my quest. The breaking of my contract with him. My magic will be forfeit, and without it to anchor me, the world will wash me away.
I will become nothing, and he will win anyway.
But if I am canny, I can pretend to be his tool a little while longer.
I must only put aside my pride and my dignity.
But Fates help me, I will not make Conrad his puppet too.
I tell myself it is because that’s the right thing to do—not because I simply cannot bear the thought of confessing my duplicity to the laird.
If I help Lachlan, and he breaks Morgaine’s hold on Elfhame, then Conrad and Sylvie will be free too.
We can all escape this madness and let the fae fight their own battles.
I agreed to bring Lachlan a branch from the Dwirra tree, and that is what I will do. He may not believe me capable of accomplishing the task on my own, but I’ve already proved him wrong once.
I’ll bring him his thrice-damned branch, and by the Fates, I’ll do it myself.