Page 91 of The Moorwitch

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—”

“Letmedecide 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 whollydifferent, 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 Ineedaccess 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 alreadyconfidingin 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. Heknows 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 hadfeltlike more.

I do owe himsomethingfor 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 everdoesknow 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 isthatoffensive 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, youmustgo, 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.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven