Page 80 of The Moorwitch
“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 byyears. 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 mytorture.
“Whatdidyou 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 forhimto do it,” I breathe. “You want Conrad to fetch the Dwirra branch, to betray the queen. And you think he would do it formysake?”
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 hesucceeded, 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, butheis 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 choseyou? 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.