Page 103 of The Moorwitch
Did he know I would come to him today? Did he know what I intended to say? He couldn’t have, and yet why else would he have lured Sylvie to the edge of the ward, where he could lay hands on her? I cannot believe his finding her was a mere accident.
“Do you intend to use her as leverage against her brother?” I ask.
His eyes narrow. “That depends, I think, on whatyoucame here to say.”
My skin heats. “I—”
Lachlan twists his invisible threads again, and the cords of magic seize my hair and drag me to his feet. Gasping with pain, I push myself up, only to feel his cold fingers under my chin. He raises me to my knees and bends close, the tip of his nose grazing my cheek as he puts his icy lips to my ear.
“I tried to do things the civil way. But now I see I must resort to more brutal methods.”
My voice flutters weakly. “Let. Me.Go.”
His teeth seem to sharpen into points as he hisses, “Do you really think you can still walk away? After all I’ve invested in you—the gowns, the shoes, the thread, not to mention thetime? Do you think it will be so easy for me to find another blushing maid with which to ensnare Conrad North? No, it must beyou. You have the Gatekeeper’s confidence—even, dare I say it, his heart.” He puts his face against mine and inhales deeply. “I cansmellhim on you. And yet you think towalkaway?” His laugh pelts the air like sleet. “You would not make it ten steps before one of my fae snapped you in half, witch.”
The breath leaves my lungs in a rush. He brought me here for one purpose, and he will tolerate no insubordination. And he will use any means he must. His people are dying. Of course he will not let his plans be stymied by the conscientious objections of a common schoolteacher.
Did I truly dream I could escape him? In my twelve years of being haunted by him, did I never learn my lesson? This is the creature who killed Conrad’s father, who had a knife put to Conrad’s throat when he was a child. I’ve seen him lie and manipulate and use, use,useeveryone around him, feeding them to the fires of his rage until he’s built himself into an all-devouring inferno.
Such devils always come for their due.
All my plans crumble to ash, like cheap string burned through before it can complete its spell. In the back of my mind, I hear my aunt’s hollow, mocking laughter.
My eyes close. I draw a shuddering breath, and then release it.
“All right,” I whisper. “You win.”
He cocks his head, waiting.
“On one condition,” I continue, and the words burn through my tongue like hot coals. I spit them out anyway. “If I bring you the branch and you dethrone Morgaine, you will give the Norths to me. Swear they shall not be harmed or touched in any way. Swear you will not let the queen harm them either. You will do all within your power to see that they are safe.”
His expression doesn’t change, but his eyes seem to gleam with cold disdain. He drops me at last and flings his arms over the sides of his chair, his long pale fingers dangling like icicles. “Are you reneging on our previous agreement?”
I sit back on my heels, hands clenched on my knees. “I am asking ... I ambeggingfor new terms.”
“Renegotiation was never an option. So I ask you again: Are you breaking our original contract?”
I look down at Sylvie. She looks so young asleep, her face unlined by trouble. Will she remember any of this tomorrow?
“I’d lose my magic,” I whisper. “For good.”
“And you’d secure my promise not to harm your precious mortal Norths instead.”
His eyes are as expressionless and ancient as two frozen mountain lakes. The Lachlan who greeted me in London weeks ago is slowly disappearing. He is less and less recognizable every time I see him, as what I know now to be his true self—Manannán the Briar King—is emerging. And that creature is utterly a stranger, unpredictable and terrible.
I cannot believe I ever pitied him.
I look down at my hands, at my fingers, nimble and quick from the thousands of spells they have woven.
But then I close my eyes and think of Sylvie, tearstained but triumphant in the road outside Blackswire as her tormentors fled. I think of Conrad, barefoot in his kitchen, telling me he’d do anything for his little sister.
I never had anyone like that, who would have died for me. My uncle had liked me well, but I wasn’t with him long enough to form much of a bond. I barely recall my parents, who I am sure loved me, but who were stolen from me so early their faces are watery blurs in my memory.
But Conrad and Sylvie . . .
I could set them both free, if I were willing to pay the price for their freedom. They would never have to fear Morgaine or Lachlan or any other faerie. They could leave this place, that crumbling old house, and find a new and better life. With Morgaine dethroned, Conrad’s duties to her would end. And Lachlan would be bound by his vow to never touch them.
I came here to break my vow, in order to be free of Lachlan and his schemes. But he has cut off my last escape route, and now I see only one choice before me: