Lost In You

by Alix Rickloff

  “I never lied to you, Ellery. Not once.” He just hadn’t told her everything. That was entirely different. That was necessary.

  “No. You just neglected to tell me you’d murdered my father and his men in cold blood.”

  He hated this. Hated the loathing in her eyes, the disgust in her voice. But he wouldn’t deny her accusations. Let her think the worst of him. It made what he had to do easier.

  “It was a battle,” he said. “Casualties happen. Coruna, Talavera, Badajoz. Those men might have died a thousand different places.”

  “But they didn’t, did they? They died at the chapel in San Salas. How can I be sure I’m not next?”

  She struck the rawest nerve. He slammed the side of his fist into the wall, the plaster crumbling beneath his temper. “I kill for a purpose.”

  “Your purpose, Conor. Not mine.” She wheeled away from him. Crossed the room.

  “I’ll try my luck on my own. I’ve survived this long.”

  He’d succeeded too well. He’d meant to put distance between them. He never intended for her to leave. The woman was a bundle of courage, foolishness, and stubborn independence. It’s what he admired about her. And what would get her killed. “Asher will find you. The Keun Marow will track you.”

  She threw his greatcoat over her, buttoned it. “Why? Why bother with me? I no longer own the reliquary.”

  He swung his legs off the bed. Fought to stand. “He doesn’t know that.”

  “I’ll disappear. I can do that easily enough. London. Newcastle. Edinburgh. There are a million places a woman alone can vanish.”

  Events were spinning out of control. It was time to rein her in. “You haven’t any money,” he pointed out with smug relish.

  She laughed and with a choreographed flick of her wrist revealed the pearl. “Haven’t I?” She opened the door. Glancing back, her blue eyes blazed with fury. “Nos dha, Mr. Bligh. And may it be a sleep of the damned.”

  Chapter Twelve

  What a fool she’d been. What a complete fool. She’d known. That made it even worse. She’d known since their conversations in the cottage that Conor had played a part in her father’s death. The things he’d said. The things he hadn’t. But she’d pushed aside the questions, ignored the doubts. She’d wanted to believe in him. And why? Because she was tired of being lonely. Because he’d kissed her. Because every time he looked at her, she felt a strength and a power that had nothing to do with magic.

  What a pathetic mess she was.

  An icy wind rushed down the street, sending last year’s leaves flying. Shutters slammed on their hinges and the branches above her creaked and scraped. She jogged up the street, hugging the shadows. Footsteps echoed behind her. Wishing she still carried Conor’s dagger, she backed herself against the closest building as two very human men rounded the corner and disappeared up the street. Letting out the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding, she started walking, more quickly now. This track led south, toward the toll road. From there, she could choose any direction, any destination.

  As she neared the edge of the village, the houses lay farther apart, separated by copses of scrubby trees and long fields of rocky pasture. She kept to the verge as the road sank between high earth walls topped by bramble hedges. But with each step, the air thickened like smoke. Her lungs burned as she fought to breathe, and she sank to the ground. It’s the only thing that saved her.

  “Your kinsman’s led us a dance.” The voice didn’t sound human, more like the crackle of crunching leaves, the sough of the wind. “But he’s mine. Tonight.”

  She crushed herself back into the underbrush, but the words floated above. The conversation took place in the copse on the other side of the hedge.

  “It’s a risk bringing them here,” came the reply. “Too many people. Too much at stake should they be seen.”

  “’Tis not your place to guide my steps. Only to ease my way. Remember that.” Ellery flinched at the venom concentrated in that dry, raspy voice.

  “I’ve gotten you this far, haven’t I?”

  “The bargain’s not complete until Bligh is dealt with and the reliquary is mine.”

  Ice formed around her heart as she gripped the roots of the hedge.

  “Conor’s no easy mark,” the second voice spoke again.

  “That’s why I have you. You’re going to get me Bligh, just as you did his sister.”

  There was a long silence. The second voice spoke again, the words clipped with emotion. “You didn’t have to kill—”

  “Enough.”

  Glancing up through the branches, she choked off a gasp. The creature speaking seemed human. He wore a frock coat, knee breeches and a starched neckcloth. But his pale skin was pulled mask-like over bones sharp as knives, and his fingers resembled claws as they clutched his cane.

  Asher. It had to be.

  Could she leave Conor to that?

  “What of the girl?” Asher’s companion was a tall, rangy man. But she could make out little else. He stood deep in the gloom of the copse, hidden from the moon’s faint shine.

  Asher on the other hand stood full in the light, giving Ellery plenty of opportunity to watch the dark emotions flit across his evil features. “The soldier’s daughter? Her gifts interest me. But her end is certain. She cannot be allowed to live.”

  Panic choked her, but she struggled to control it. Conor had been telling the truth. She felt the ripple of death that washed off Asher in fetid waves. It soured the air, salted the earth, poisoned all it touched.

  She’d run from Conor. And now Conor was her only hope. Inching on her belly, ignoring the grasping tangle of briars, she climbed down from the hedge. Step by silent step, she crept up the road back toward the village. Every moment, she waited for a shout from behind. A blast of magic. The keening wail of the Keun Marow. But Asher and his companion were too deep in conversation to note her passing, and the night kept her secret.

  Ellery knew something was wrong. A crowd swelled the doorway of the tavern, spilling into the street. Shouts and angry words carried back to her on an ill breeze. Clouds condensed overhead, smothering the moon, and Ellery shivered, sensing Asher’s power in these doings, though she couldn’t explain why. Perhaps it was only her imagination run wild. Though by now, the real world was far outstripping anything her imagination could conjure.

  Asher’s net was closing. He wanted her. Then he wanted her dead. This was all Conor’s fault. And Conor was going to fix it. He’d saved her once. He could do it again. She only needed to reach him.

  A man’s thick voice shouted, “He tried to kill ’em. Run mad, he is.”

  Another echoed the accusation.

  Standing on her toes, she fought to see over the heads of the men. Struggled to catch a glimpse of Conor or hear a snarled threat as he settled them with one arrogant word. Even the reassuring presence of Evan would have calmed her runaway pulse. So far, the men were holding back. But she knew it would take but one wrong word or gesture to turn the rabble into a mob.

  Evan had given them two days to be gone from here. Their time was up in more ways than one.

  She pushed her way through.

  Conor stood on the bottom step, a hand on the banister. Only Ellery seemed to notice it was the one thing keeping him upright. He’d dressed in haste, his shirt untucked and buttoned askew, the mage marks twining across his collarbones vivid in the lamplight. “I’ve no quarrel with you, Mr. Kay.” He raked the gathering with a warning look. “Nor with your friends.”

  Emboldened by the crowd, Mr. Kay stepped forward. “We’re a God-fearing folk. We don’t want your devilry in our village.”

  “Which is why I’m leaving. Let me pass, and I’ll cause no trouble.”

  “It’s too late,” Ellery called out. Conor’s attention shifted to her with what she thought was relief. “The trouble’s already here. He’s found us.”

  “Where?”

  The men jostled her as she spoke. “South of the village. He’s not alone
. He travels with a man.”

  Conor’s face remained grave, but his eyes glittered with a new malice. “Not a man, Ellery. A traitor and a coward. My cousin, Simon.”

  A shiver of drawn steel drew her eye. “No more talking,” Mr. Kay said. “I’ve had all I can take of your kind.”

  His bravado inspired the men to renew their calls for Conor’s blood, pushing forward into the taproom, knocking Ellery aside.

  “Look out!” she shouted.

  But Conor hadn’t needed her warning. His sword appeared before she’d finished speaking, his stance that of a warrior poised for battle. “You’ll not win this fight.” Conor’s voice held the inhuman echo of the fey. “It’s foolish to try.”

  As he shifted from foot to foot, light bounced blue and silver from his blade. His gaze became a darkling stare, his eyes gone hard and black as obsidian. Ellery held her breath, knowing that weak as he was, Conor could still end this standoff anytime he chose. One slash of his sword or one spell’s summoning would scatter this group in terror. Yet he held back. Waited for Mr. Kay to decide the outcome.

  “Conor,” she urged. “We have to leave. Now.”

  “Mr. Kay?” Conor asked, “what say you? Do we finish this?” He strung out each word, enunciating every syllable. Low-voiced. Smooth. His eyes never wavering from the innkeeper. “Call them off,” he said. “It’s over.”

  Her breath came in short painful gasps as if a giant hand gripped her throat. Her chest constricted, her lungs unable to expand. “Conor,” she whispered, incapable of speaking over the blood roaring in her ears.

  Dazed, Mr. Kay lowered his weapon and backed up. The men behind him faltered, confused. Conor remained where he was. Unmoving. Immovable. Sweat damped his shirt, sheened his face. His hands trembled. For all his show of power, the mage sickness still weakened him.

  A high keening broke the tense silence, rose and fell as the Keun Marow tracked them. Uneasy, the men murmured. Glanced about.

  Conor put out a hand. “Come, Ellery.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Now’s not the time to argue over past mistakes.”

  “No. I mean I can’t move. Can’t breathe.” Conor gripped her. Embraced her. Held her so that their hearts met and matched. This time she knew what he was doing. This time she made herself ignore the rush of excitement that accompanied his touch. There was nothing of the lover about him. He took her weakness. That was all.

  The suffocating tightness eased, and she immediately pushed him away.

  A shadow of icy amusement passed across his face. “Better?” he asked.

  Determined to keep her distance, she gave a curt nod. “Well enough.”

  She stumbled toward the door through the men who moved aside as if they walked in a trance. “What did you do to them?”

  As he passed, he flashed a sharp glance at Mr. Kay and the others. “The power of the leveryas. A touch of it can distract. In its strongest form, it can compel. Control.”

  Outside, the cries came again. Louder. Closer as the Keun Marow encircled the village. Seeking their trail. Ellery’s throat began to close again. “We’ll never outrun them.”

  “Not on foot.” Conor shoved open the stable door. Led two horses from their stalls.

  “We’ll ride.”

  “Now we’re horse thieves?”

  He threw a saddle over the first horse, cinching the girth.

  “It’s steal or die. In my book, that leaves one choice.” He paused in the middle of buckling the bridle. “If you insist, I’ll send them payment—with interest.” He shot her a devil grin.

  She knew she was being ridiculous. She’d come to him for rescue, and he was doing his best. And it wasn’t as if she hadn’t done the same and worse in her day. But her earlier resentment flared, so interwoven with panic and horror, she wasn’t sure which emotion held sway. She tried focusing on saddling her frightened horse. The animal sidled and backed, jostling her as she worked.

  Every breath burned her lungs. Worked its way up her throat. Asher must be near. She’d never experienced such an overpowering sense of helplessness.

  “Mount up.” Conor tossed her into the saddle. Strapped his dagger to her waist. His touch was reassuring, his face grim.

  “Head southwest. Towards Penzance. Make for the village of Polvossa. The house is called Daggerfell. You’ll find safety there. Whatever you do, don’t stop. Don’t look behind you.”

  His voice sounded muffled as if he spoke to her through a fog.

  A man stepped from the shadows. Asher. Tall and thin with a look of madness in his face. In his hand, he held a barbed sword, the jagged-edged sides stained red and black. “Going so soon? And we’ve only just arrived.”

  Conor slid in front of her, his own sword drawn. A buzzing erupted in Ellery’s head like the sounding of a thousand bees. Everything around her wavered as if she saw it through water or fire.

  Asher’s red lips curled back to show jagged teeth. “I see your manners have yet to improve, amhas-draoi. You haven’t introduced me to your companion.” His eyes flicked to her. “Pretty thing, and with so much the look of her father, don’t you think?”

  Her hand sought out Conor’s dagger, her fingers wrapping themselves familiarly around the hilt. For some reason, this seemed to steady her. The buzzing subsided. The figures before her grew solid and real again.

  “You’ll not have her.” Conor’s voice held a threatening weight.

  Asher reached out. Ran the tip of one claw-like finger down Conor’s blade. He never moved. Never flinched. “Won’t I? Once I choose to do something, I generally have my way. Ask your sister.” His eyes lit with an evil glow. “Oh, that’s right. You can’t. Well then, ask your cousin instead.” He motioned for another to step forward. “I love family reunions.”

  It was the villain from the woods. Seeing them together, the Bligh resemblance was obvious. He was as tall as Conor and with the same arrogant pose, but this man’s face held only traces of Conor’s hard beauty.

  Conor’s whole body seemed to vibrate with rage. This time, the sword wavered. His face became white as chalk. “I should bury this blade in your chest and be done.”

  “You could try,” the man answered, nervously fingering the same wolf-head ring she’d seen on Conor.

  “What was your price for handing her over, Simon? What lies did he promise you?”

  Though he worked to look unmoved, Simon winced; a shadow passed over him. Then he shrugged. “What does anyone want? Power, of course.” He shook his head. “You wouldn’t understand. You were always the gifted one. The golden child. Now it’s my turn.”

  “But Ysbel—” Conor’s voice broke; his hands shook. Ellery’s grip tightened on the dagger. If Asher caught even a hint of Conor’s true condition, it was over. The taunts would end in bloodshed.

  “Enough,” Asher commanded. “I shall take the girl.” Conor’s lips curled in a cruel smile. “You’ll not have her.” Asher laughed. “You don’t think you’ll stop me? You couldn’t save your sister. This one will be much the same.” He thrust, aiming his barbed sword at Conor’s stomach, meeting his blade instead in a shower of sparks.

  Her horse shied, Ellery’s knees tightened on the saddle as she steadied herself. Adjusted her grip on the knife. Found the best angle. Aimed. Released.

  Conor was retreating beneath Asher’s attack when her blade found the demon’s back. Buried itself hilt-deep into the flesh below his left lung.

  A wind whipped around her, a maelstrom that burned and chilled her both. She threw a hand up to shield her eyes. Then it was silent. And Asher was gone. Simon was a memory.

  She and Conor were alone once again in the stable. She slid off the horse. Her knees shook as she landed. Her whole body shook by the time she’d crossed the room to Conor. “What happened?”

  Conor held his side, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He nodded toward the dagger that lay on the stable floor. “Iron. It disrupted Asher’s magic.”

  “Well, that’s
it then. It wasn’t nearly as difficult as you made it seem.”

  “He’s not dead, Ellery. Only interrupted.” He struggled up, bit off a curse. “Somehow his wards were breached. Enough to allow you to penetrate with that dagger. He’ll need time to recover before he returns.” He dabbed a hand at a long bloody weal down his side, hissing in pain. “It’s a reprieve, not a victory.”

  She reached for him. “You need help.”

  “No,” he barked, causing Ellery to flinch. “You still don’t understand. He knows about you now. You’ve got to get out of here.”

  He caught up her horse’s reins, leading him out of the stable. “Remember. South toward Penzance.”

  She mounted, gathering the horse beneath her. “Aren’t you coming with me?”

  Conor’s head came up, his eyes trained on the darkness beyond the yard. “I’ll catch up. We’ve stopped Asher for now, but his hounds still follow. I need to lead them away. Muddy the trail.”

  He put out a hand, cupped her cheek. Regret saddened his eyes, and Ellery felt he wanted to tell her something.

  Despite her earlier anger, she reached down, caressing the strong line of his jaw. His stubble roughed her fingers, and she thought he moved into her touch. Then the low hungry howl of the Keun Marow sounded from the moor-lands to the north.

  Conor stepped back. Struck her horse hard on the rump. Shouted at her to go.

  The horse plunged forward out of the stable yard. She turned its head south, rowling its flank with her heel, leaning into its neck. Against orders, she glanced back. One moment, Conor stood in the road. The next, he vanished.

  “You better stay safe, you great lumpen bullock,” she whispered.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Clouds hid the moon, bringing with them a cold, spitting rain. Mud sucked at the tired horse’s legs, but Conor held it to the swollen stream bed. He’d not heard or felt the Keun Marow’s presence since midnight, but he’d take no chances. Now that Asher knew about Ellery’s existence, all he’d worked for up to this moment was thrown into jeopardy. He needed to keep her safe. And out of the way until Beltane. But being weak as a damned kitten wasn’t helping.