Chapter Twenty-Six #3
“The moorwitches?” I ask. “You’re descended from them?”
He nods. “Aye. And in exchange for sparing my ancestor’s life, she charged him and his entire line with guarding the gate to Elfhame. We’ve spent generation upon generation of North blood paying for that one man’s rash attempt at vengeance.”
Well, that answers one of my questions. His obligation to Morgaine does go back generations. And from the sound of it, he had little choice in the matter.
“What happened to your father?” I whisper, dreading the answer.
“Years later, when I was twelve, my father went on patrol and never returned. I found his body on the other side of Blackswire. He’d been burned to death with magic.” Conrad’s voice grows thick.
I imagine him at twelve, stumbling across his father’s corpse. Realizing he was now completely alone, with a little sister to protect, and that great house.
“Morgaine came to me in the wood shortly after that,” he goes on. “Sometimes she walks in the mortal world, says she likes to remember.”
That catches my attention, and I think of the two times I thought I spied the ghost of a woman in the fields—Sylvie’s ghost.
Could that have been the queen of the fae?
So many threads are finally falling into place, revealing the pattern I’ve been straining to understand.
“That very night,” Conrad continues, “she had me kneel at her feet and Weave a vowknot of fealty to her. So you see, my servitude is bound by magic as well as by my word.”
“I see.” I shiver, seeing him in mirror image to myself, only a little older than I was when I made my vow to his father’s murderer. Upon my heart I swear, a favor for a favor . . .
We both bargained our lives away when we were too young to understand the weight of those vows.
Mere children, manipulated and used by beings far older and crueler, made to dance upon their strings.
And now, though Conrad does not know it, here we are set against one another, proxy soldiers in a centuries-old conflict I barely understand.
My heart aches to tell him my own truths, to show him how alike we are.
But I know the truth would break the fragile trust we’ve built, and my mission would end at that moment.
He would never let me near Elfhame again, if he did not drag me to Morgaine himself.
Or kill me outright, as his father killed Fiona.
Though I cannot bring myself to fully believe him capable of such measures, I remind myself of what measures I’ve gone to lately.
I’ve done things I never dreamed possible, all out of forced fealty to a faerie lord.
Perhaps neither of us yet have reached the limits of how far we will go to fulfill the bargains we’ve struck.
“Do you know anything else about this Briar King, or why he might be trying to return?” Does Conrad have any idea that the exiled fae are dying out, that they need to return home before they are all lost?
For all that I know him to be a villain, Lachlan’s intentions seem true.
He wants to save his people. Morgaine would abandon them all to die.
Conrad shakes his head. “I know only that he is devious, and Morgaine will do anything to stop him from taking back the throne of Elfhame. And it is my duty to see he does not slip through our defenses.” He pauses, then says, “I met him once.”
My eyes snap to him. “You . . . did?”
“’Twas some years ago. He was standing mere inches outside the ward, just .
. . waiting. He was like winter bound by skin and velvet.
His eyes were empty, as if no soul were left in him.
When I demanded to know his business, he only said he’d come to have a look at me, and then he said I looked just like my father.
I realized then that he had killed my da, and likely my mum too, when she tried to run away. ”
Lachlan killed his father.
Fates, I should have guessed it. But all the same, the horror of it punches me in the lungs. I shut my eyes for a long moment, overcome with a wave of dizziness that threatens to knock me from the saddle.
Conrad leans forward to run his hand over Bell’s neck, his eyes dark as the pools which dot the moors.
“I’d never been so angry in my life. I rode through the ward just to get my hands around his neck, to make him pay for what he did.
” He shudders. “He killed my horse, Julius. My father had given me that horse, trained me to ride on him. I fell and shattered my leg and had to crawl back through the ward before he could finish me off. I paid for my stupidity, and nearly paid for it far more dearly than this.”
He thumps his bad leg.
Nausea rolls in my stomach; I picture it all as if I’d been there myself. The hands which nearly killed Conrad—those hands have held mine a dozen times. They’ve stroked my hair, twisted it, tilted my chin so he could look into my eyes.
“He is a monster,” I whisper.
“Aye.”
“I don’t understand,” I say. “If this is the creature you face, if you live in such danger, why do you forbid Sylvie from practicing her magic? Why deny her the ability to protect herself?”
He stiffens; as he always does when the subject arises, he closes himself to me, sitting straighter and hardening his jaw. “It would be better if she lost her magic and was of no concern to him or anyone else, than for her to become a threat. Or a tool.”
I start to argue with him, then remember how useless it was the last time I tried. At least I know Sylvie hasn’t lost her magic at all. Her spirit is strong and her mind sharp. Whatever it takes, she’ll fight for her magic, now that she knows how to wield it.
Unless . . . she didn’t need to fight for it.
As Lachlan told me, if Morgaine were to fall, the Norths’ duty to her would end. Would Conrad see the opportunity in that? Would he ever consider betraying the queen?
When the time comes, said Lachlan, all you’ll need to do is ask . . .
My stomach clenches with revulsion. I’d sworn to myself I couldn’t—wouldn’t—use Conrad that way. But before I know it, I find myself asking, “Wouldn’t it be . . . to your advantage, to see another take over rule of Elfhame? Even someone as reprehensible as the Briar King?”
He stares at me.
“All I’m saying is, Wouldn’t you be free then?”
“If Manannán took the throne, I’d not live long enough to find out. He’d kill Sylvie and me both.”
“What if . . . you came to an arrangement with him?”
Conrad gives me a sharp look. “With my parents’ murderer? You think I should strike a pact with their killer, as if he didn’t have my family’s blood all over his hands?”
“No,” I breathe. “No, of course not. You’re right.”
Shame eats at me like acid, tearing down all the defenses and excuses I’ve built up around myself to make my own treachery more palatable.
I may not have known the details of all his monstrous deeds, but I knew what Lachlan was the moment I met him.
I saw what he did to my aunt, and regardless of whether she deserved it, the faerie never flinched in his punishment of her.
Even knowing his depravity, I let him draw me in.
I let myself believe his lies, searching for humanity where none lay.
I will not let him make a monster of me. I swore to myself I would finish this mission my own way, and that is precisely what I will do. I will not use Conrad’s heart against him, even if he were foolish enough to give it to me.
“We will never be free of her,” he says.
“Some of my ancestors fled as far as America, only to find themselves kidnapped in the night by fae and dragged through the underworld back to Morgaine’s feet.
And their punishments, Rose, were not light.
You’ve seen my family portraits. The Weaver outside your bedroom door?
She lost her eyes to Morgaine after she tried to run away to France.
” He shakes his head, his brow dark with anger.
“Our best chance, my da said, is to let our line die out. And so I never intend to marry or have children.”
“So that’s it, then? That’s your life’s grand ambition? To die alone and miserable with your lonely, miserable house crumbling around you?”
He scowls and heels Bell, trotting ahead to evade the question.
“Oh, Conrad. If there were a way—”
Conrad reels his horse around, Bell tossing his head in annoyance. “Just stop, will you? You cannot seem to stop meddling!”
“I am not—”
“You’re always prying. Into me, into my affairs, into Sylvie.”
I sputter. “Prying!”
Conrad shifts in his saddle, fingers raking his hair in agitation. “You burst into our lives like an autumn wind, changing things. You rearranged my entire house to your liking!”
“I opened a few curtains.”
“You let the light in. You stirred up the dust. You unveiled things that should have . . . stayed hidden.” The way he says it, it sounds almost like an accusation. He looks wretched, bitterness in his eyes, like there’s another voice trapped inside him, unable to speak freely. Unable to dream.
“Have you really given up?” I ask softly.
“I’m a pragmatist, Rose. I am what I had to become, for Sylvie’s sake. My life was bargained away from me long before I was born.”
Our horses have taken us to the peak of Toren’s Rise. We gaze out over the ancient forest toward the bluff in the distance. Somewhere below, the stone circle waits, and I think of how many Norths have died as sacrifices to guard it.
“Will you send me away, then?” I ask.
He frowns at the forest below for several long moments, as his hand idly scratches Bell’s mane. “It isn’t safe for you here.”
“I am sure my employer will recover soon, and then I will be out of your way for good. But until then . . . give me a fortnight,” I plead.
“Let me continue to teach Sylvie. She has made such progress in mere days; it would be a shame to waste that. I can write out lessons for her, a guide for the next year or more of what she should study. It would help you to prepare her in case . . .”
Our eyes meet, and I see he understands me. In case Sylvie can be freed from Morgaine’s service. So he hasn’t given up entirely, at least not where she is concerned.
Sensing his hesitation, I press him harder. “She will need a firm foundation if she is to have a future. I can help with that.”
“The risk to you—”
“Let me decide what risk I am willing to accept.”
He studies me, his eyes so intent I feel them like the touch of fingertips to my skin.
“Why?” he asks at last. “For what reason would you risk your freedom, even your life, to help one child you barely know?”
“Because I was just like Sylvie, once. I was a lonely child filled with longing, desperate to learn.” I do not add the part about an overbearing guardian who tried to withhold my magic from me.
Besides, I no longer see Conrad in the same light as my aunt.
His intentions are wholly different, despite their similarities in method.
And while I cannot agree with that method, I can understand his reasoning now.
That doesn’t change the fact that Sylvie has a right to her own magic, and I promised her I would help her as long as I can.
And I need access to the stone circle if I am to have any hope of completing my mission for Lachlan. Leaving Blackswire now just to ease Conrad’s mind is not an option.
“A fortnight,” he says at last. “That is all I can give you. It will be difficult enough to maintain this sham of our engagement for that long. Morgaine is no fool, and she has seen too much to believe any lie for long. She is older than you can imagine.”
I think of Lachlan and resist the urge to inform Conrad that my imagination is far more capable than he knows.
“Thank you,” I reply. After all, it’s only a fortnight until my birthday. Just two weeks left to finish this.
“I have one condition,” he adds.
I incline my head, waiting.
“Teach me as well.”
I draw in a breath, frowning at him. “You want me to teach you?”
“Is that such a repulsive prospect?” His lips quirk amusedly.
“As I told you, my arsenal of spells is limited. My father did not have time to teach me much, and the fae . . . are unreliable tutors. Their magic is very different than ours, and my clumsy hands cannot Weave half the spells of which they’re capable.
The more I know, the better I can protect Sylvie. ”
I hesitate, fearing where this may lead.
I should be spending less time with Conrad, not more.
He’s already confiding in me, by the Fates.
If Lachlan were here, he’d be ordering me to say yes, to use this as an opportunity to gain more of Conrad’s trust. That alone is enough reason to turn him down flat.
Then again, perhaps I am overestimating the laird’s regard of me. He mistrusted me enough to Weave a truth knot over my head. He knows we will never agree on Sylvie’s magic. And he was very clear about that damnable kiss being nothing more than for show.
Never mind that to me, it had felt like more.
I do owe him something for the way I’m using him and his house in order to access Elfhame.
Teaching Conrad wouldn’t be nearly enough penance to assuage my conscience, but it could be a start.
It doesn’t have to have anything to do with winning his trust. This is merely a business transaction and a chance to atone, in some small measure, for the ways I’ve already betrayed that trust without him even knowing it.
And if all goes as I plan, I’ll be well away from here before he ever does know it.
Conrad clears his throat, and I jump, realizing I’ve been going back and forth in my own head for several minutes now.
“If it is that offensive a notion, Miss Pryor—”
“No,” I say quickly. “That is, yes. I think it’s a fair trade. A fortnight of lodging for my instruction, in general studies for Sylvie, and in Weaving, for you.”
“But no longer than that,” he states firmly. “After a fortnight, you must go, Rose. I won’t have you caught up in this.”
I force a smile. If only he knew it’s far too late for that.
“Yes, I’ll be gone soon, then, and you need never see me again,” I reply, knowing whether I succeed or not, it is the truth. “Will that please you?”
Now his eyes shift away, the gray sky turning them a stormy shade of topaz. For a long moment, he makes no answer, but stares at the horizon as the wind rises higher and faster, and the forest below stirs with a great rushing sigh.
“Of course,” he says at last, in a strange, low voice, as if he is speaking more to himself than me. “Of course you must go.”