“We’ll start at his feet,” Harchings said and stooped low.
All Greyston saw was his mop of blond hair and the orange glare of flames. He didn’t feel a thing. He was the last to know that his feet had apparently thawed. Then his calves, his thighs, his waist, and then he dropped. His legs gave way and he toppled forward.
Georgina caught him in her arms, staggering beneath his weight.
No!
“No,” Harchings verbalised. “We don’t know what that ice will do.”
“Don’t,” she said, her voice hard. Had Harchings tried to pull her away?
Georgina lowered him to the ground, then knelt beside him. “Finish it,” she said to Harchings. “But take care, please.”
The Duke knelt at his other side and brought the flaming torch to Greyston’s throat. The fire blinded Greyston. He tried to blink, to block out the flames, and then he was. He was blinking…
“Grey, can you hear me?” Georgina bent over him. “Devon, he’s alive. I saw him blink.”
Greyston lifted a heavy arm, his numb fingers reaching for her. She grabbed his hand and didn’t let go, not when Neco came to scoop him off the ground, not when he was set down onto a sofa that had been drawn as close to the roaring hearth as possible without catching alight.
“Lily,” Greyston croaked, pressing a palm to the cushions to help lift him right back up into a sitting position. He’d thawed, completely, but his muscles were still rigid, his blood struggling to pump life into his heart.
“We’ll find her,” Georgina said. “But you need to rest first. You need to get your strength back.”
“He won’t rest,” Evelyn declared darkly, making a sudden appearance without any of her usual elegance. “He won’t find strength until he’s brought Lily back, until he has at least tried.”
She dropped to her knees before him and held out a glass. “A hot toddy. Drink every last drop, Grey, or I swear I will. And then I’ll go after Lily myself.”
Greyston gave her a weak grin, a stale version of the real thing, as he took the glass and tipped his head back. The warm brandy hit his throat with unfamiliar smoothness.
“What’s wrong with me?” he muttered to himself. His head felt thick. His limbs leaden. Every breath was an effort.
“You’re exhausted and in shock,” Georgina pointed out. “Your body’s half shut down.”
Not good enough. He had to get himself moving. “Where’s Harchings?”
“Devon is organising the melting,” Evelyn said, rising from her knees as he handed her the empty glass. “He doesn’t want anyone coming into contact with that ice.”
“Good.” Greyston squared his feet on the floor and stood. A wave of dizziness swayed him. A tremble ran through the old injury at his thigh. He cursed beneath his breath. He was as weak as a day-old filly.
“I need a horse.” He looked around the cavernous reception room. “Where’s my cane?”
“Your walking stick?” Evelyn frowned, then turned from him. “I think one of the footmen mentioned it. I’ll find it.”
Georgina gave him a dubious look. “How do you intend to search for Lily if you can’t even walk without help?”
“I’m not an invalid.”
“Five minutes ago,” she reminded him, “you were at death’s door.”
Greyston ignored the worry creased into her brow. He ignored her altogether. For a moment back there, he’d thought he’d forgiven her. He hadn’t.
They were done. They were even. She’d used him, betrayed him. And he’d nearly gotten her killed, by association.
“You shouldn’t have saved me,” Georgina said softly. “You shouldn’t have risked everything for me. You shouldn’t have risked Lily for me. If you knew what—”
“I do know,” he cut in wearily. “I know what you did.”
He looked at the woman who’d captured his heart with her radiant smile and exotic beauty and wicked charm, and then he couldn’t look a moment longer.
His gaze went past her. “I’m sorry about your uncle.”
“He was trying…” Her voice broke. “He was trying to protect me.”
Greyston’s eyes flashed back to her. “That doesn’t make a damn bit of difference, do you hear me? He could have been hiding in the closet, running for his life. Agares had no need for him. The second she set foot on your farm, he was dead. At least this way, he went knowing he’d tried.”
Georgina pressed the heel of her palm to her forehead, looking suddenly small, lost. “Why? Who is this Agares? Why would she…?”
“She was after me and Lily,” he said flatly. “She used you to get to us and she succeeded. She has Lily and I need to find them.”
“I’m going with you,” Harchings said from the door.
Greyston’s jaw tightened as he looked at the Duke. His thigh trembled. Damn it all. This wasn’t about him, it was about Lily.
He nodded.
SIXTEEN
Greyston knew he wasn’t thinking straight. Hours of searching had produced nothing. He’d sent Ana and Neco in different directions, but he doubted they’d fared any better. The light was gone, the lanterns useless, but still he pushed on. His body felt like a pile of bones with no spine to keep it all together. Whatever was in that demonic ice, it had sapped his strength and sucked his brains dry. He was doing no one any good, and yet he couldn’t do it, couldn’t recline on a damn sofa to recover while Lily was in Agares’ hands.
To his credit, Harchings pressed on with him, saying little.
They’d found a barn on Georgina’s farm, two horses tied outside. If that meant Agares was now on foot, their chances should have been better. But they’d scoured the farms and surrounding fields and the only thing they’d found was the charred remains of Georgina’s uncle inside the farmhouse.
Greyston had choked at that, staring at the blackened husk of what had once been a man. Not just a random victim in the demon’s path. Somehow, Agares had known about his relationship with Georgina. She’d known his weak point, and she’d known when they’d be weakest. She’d known Kelan wouldn’t be around to dictate McAllister logic and strategy on how to deal with demons. Did she have spies within Cragloden’s walls?
Yes, he remembered. Saloese.
They’d passed through the village, knocking on doors, but no one had heard or seen anything suspicious.
When he almost peeled off the saddle twice in as many minutes, Greyston conceded defeat. Georgina had been right. His body was shutting down. And not just from that ice coffin, he realised. This would be the third night since he’d learnt of Georgina’s betrayal and, except for those few hours in the Harchings London townhouse, he hadn’t slept.
He was clumsy, wasting time, risking Lily’s life all over again.
“I need to get back to the Red Hawk,” he said to Harchings, reining his horse back around. “Kelan McAllister needs to be told.”
“Is the Earl at Cragloden?” asked Harchings as he caught up.
“He will be soon enough.”
The castle’s massive front door stood wide open, Georgina and Evelyn silhouetted in the hallway’s light.
“My wife can’t take much more of this,” Harchings ground out. “She’ll lose the babe and I’ll lose them both.”
Greyston looked at his grim profile. “Evelyn has seen worse and survived. She’s stronger than you give her credit for.”
“You think I don’t know how strong my wife is?” Harchings flung down from the saddle, striding up to the pair of waiting women with purpose.
Greyston rubbed his throbbing thigh, forced to follow at the only pace his body would allow. He leaned heavily on his cane, his leg dragging slightly, too exhausted to fight the stiff ache.
Evelyn greeted him with a sober face. “You’re not sailing the Red Hawk back to Scotland tonight. If you pass out and drop from the sky, how does that help Lily?”
Greyston sent her traitorous husband a foul glare, but there wasn’t much bite in it. In truth, he wasn’t sure he
’d make it down the end of the passage. And there was Neco and Ana. He hadn’t given them another thought, but they were still out there, would probably search throughout the night…unless they actually found Lily.
“I’ve arranged a late supper,” Evelyn said as she fell in beside him, slipping an arm through his. “They’ll bring trays through to the reception room.”
Georgina walked on ahead. Harchings fell in behind, probably to keep an eye on his wife and catch her if she fell.
Which wasn’t the worst sentiment in the world, Greyston admitted. Evelyn looked pale and drawn, a ghost of the woman he knew. “Are you okay?”
“Of course I’m not!” One hand fluttered to her stomach, subconsciously protecting her unborn child. “But if I thought I couldn’t handle this, if I were placing any stress on my babe, I would do exactly as my darling husband prescribes!”
There it is, the Evelyn I know. Greyston tried to grin, didn’t quite manage it. “And what would that be?”
“Take a warm bath and tuck myself into bed!”
“You do realise I can hear you,” Harchings muttered from behind.
“Then my words are falling on the very ears they’re intended for.”
Harchings remained in the doorway while the rest of them shuffled into the room. He folded his arms, his steel-blue gaze on Greyston. “What is this Agares woman? A witch?”
“Not a woman.” Greyston sank into the nearest armchair, surprised it had taken the Duke this long to hammer him. The man obviously adhered to his military training to the letter. Conquer the enemy, then ask questions.
“A demon,” Evelyn supplied, curling her legs up on the sofa with a heavy sigh.
Harchings slammed the door closed and came inside. Georgina merely stared at Evelyn with a resigned look on her face, just another terror in this day of nightmares. Neither seemed hell-bent on objecting to the notion of demons.
“A demon,” Harchings repeated, moving closer to his wife. “As in a spirit from hell?”
“Close enough.” Greyston shrugged. “But don’t be mistaken. Agares is not a woman possessed by demonic spirits. She is solid, one hundred percent demon.”
Evelyn tilted her head up at her husband. “Do you recall when you came to fetch me in Scotland?”
“How could I forget?” His face slated to stone. “I thought you were dead.”
“Yes, well, that woman in the hospital—”
“Jean was murdered by a demon,” Greyston said, cutting through the long-winded bullcrap. “Flavith.”
“That demon is gone,” Evelyn said. “Kelan banished it.”
“How many of these bloody monsters are there?” The wrath of God stormed in the gaze Harchings set on Greyston. “How dare you. All this time, you’ve allowed— Evelyn has— How dare you keep this from me?”
“We tried to tell you.” He’d had to rewind that conversation before Harchings burnt them all at the stake of his supercilious outrage.
“Not hard enough.”
He tried another tack. “Would you have believed us?”
“We’ll never know now, will we?” Harchings said coldly.
“Well, here’s your second chance.” Greyston stretched his leg out to ease the stabs of pain at his thigh. “Your old business partner, George Winterberry, was an associate of Agares.”
“Highly doubtful.”
“Absolutely proven,” Greyston countered, although he stopped short at trying to explain that Agares was also the late Eliza Winterberry, dearest beloved of George. The waters were already muddy enough to drown in. “More importantly, if anyone wants the Gossamer to take to the skies more than you do, it’s Agares.”
“The Gossamer?” The black scowl on Harchings’ face blanked.
“Agares was the driving force behind George Winterberry. She manipulated him and you both. She influenced the design, changed things around to suit her purpose. I wager it was Winterberry’s suggestion to keep the build hidden, correct?”
Harchings neither admitted nor denied.
“I know you have the Red Hawk blue prints, Harchings. This is no longer a contest between you and me. You’ve seen what Agares is capable of. Do you really want to see what she does when the Gossamer is in her hands?”
“If what you say is true—”
“Why in blazes would I lie now? Look around you. I’d give you the bloody blue prints if that would bring Lily back.”
“Devon?” Evelyn was on her feet. “What on earth is Grey talking about?”
Georgina spoke up. “It was me. I stole the blue prints for the circulatory steam propulsion system.”
Mainly to avoid eye contract with her, Greyston kept his eyes on the Duke. “You can’t use it. If the Gossamer is ever completed—”
“We had our first test flight last week.” Harchings cleared his throat. “It was successful.”
“How? You’ve only had the blue prints for days.”
“Months,” Georgina corrected. “Two months to be exact.”
Months? Two months? Greyston turned on her, his heart ripped out all over again. “That first time I took you to Es Vedra?”
“Grey, I’m so, so—”
“Keep it,” he snapped. “Keep your damn apologies.”
“Dear Lord,” Evelyn gasped, her gaze swinging over all of them, pausing on Georgina, stopping dead on Harchings. “What have you done?”
“What I’ve always done,” Harchings growled. “Whatever my country needs.”
“Your Dirigible Fleet Bill was never passed,” Greyston pointed out, losing all patience with the pompous Duke. Whatever my country needs. Harchings could give any McAllister a run for their money when it came to damned arrogance. “You had no authority to build that warship.”
“There’d come a time when we would have no country if I hadn’t taken that bill into my own hands. The world is changing, wars will not always be won at sea.” His eyes narrowed on Greyston. “And I had no idea, naturally, that our ranks might be compromised from within by a demon.”
Georgina stood, her hands smoothing down the dirt-streaked skirts of her dress. She’d washed her face earlier, but hadn’t bothered to borrow a change of clothes.
“We have to secure the ship,” she said, her voice lit with the life that had been missing all day.
“This has gone too far.” Harchings shook his head, his gaze drifting to his wife. “I have gone too far. We need to destroy the Gossamer.”
“Where is she?” Since everyone was on their feet, Greyston gave it a try. His bad leg buckled, slamming him back into his chair with a curse. It was mainly exhaustion, he knew. Any other day, he had the reserves to walk through the pain when his leg played up.
Evelyn went still with worry but Harchings barely noticed. “An underground bunker, about seven miles north of Glasgow.”
“We can take the Red Hawk.”
Harchings lifted a brow at him. “When you can next stand without toppling over, then I’ll trust you with my life. Perhaps. Besides, the bunker has an Aether Signaller. If I ride for London now, I can get a message to my men inside of two hours.”
Evelyn gripped his arm. “Three hours will do just fine. I won’t have you thrown to your death because you pushed your horse too far in the dark.”
“I’ll take care.” He pulled her into his arms as his eyes found Greyston. “I’ll send a message to McAllister. Cragloden?”
“And Hampstead Heath,” Greyston said, before remembering Lily had the frequency codes. “We sent a message out from your London house yesterday. Would the channel still be set?”
Harchings gave a nod. “Unless the dial has been disturbed. I’ll see what I can do.”
With the Duke taking his leave, Greyston put his head back.
“Grey?”
“Not now, Georgina.”
“You haven’t eaten yet,” she persisted. “The supper trays should arrive shortly.”
He closed his eyes and everything slid away as his mind finally gave out. The day, the pai
n, the exhaustion, the guilt, the betrayal that was apparently two months old, whatever else Georgina had been after that she’d come back to him, the whole infernal mess.
Moments later, he startled upright. That’s what it felt like, except daylight bled in around the drapes and the fire in the hearth had burnt out to cold ashes. He shifted in the armchair, scrubbing his jaw as his mind cleared.
A door banged somewhere along the passage, raising Greyston’s awareness to the commotion that had apparently awoken him. A high-pitched voice. The tread of heavy, booted footfalls.
Greyston jumped up, on his feet before he’d considered his bad leg, but it held steady with only the faint echo of a throb. He crossed the room, had almost reached the open doorway when he stopped short at the unexpected sight of Kelan McAllister striding through.
Kelan’s dark gaze hooked him. “Christ Almighty, how could you?”
Greyston saw the fist coming, didn’t even think to dodge. His head snapped back as the blow undercut his jaw.
“You gave her away.” Kelan grabbed him at the collar, staring down on him, yanking the stiffened cotton until Greyston’s air supply was threatened. “Just handed her over to Agares.”
Greyston swallowed and tasted blood. He recognised the look in Kelan’s eyes, wild and glazed and just a little scared, and he didn’t want to, but then he had to gasp for the next breath. He twisted sideways, cutting his oxygen off further, but only for a second. He brought his arm up and thrust down hard, stabbing his elbow into the soft point beneath Kelan’s ribcage.
Kelan fell back with an, “Oomph,” as the air knocked out of his gut.
“And you’ve been bartering with demons,” Greyston growled, his muscles tensing as he brought both fists up to block. One free punch was all he was prepared to give the man. “You let Saloese inside the walls, into our private lives, not giving a damn who’d end up paying that price.”
Kelan lunged, murder in his eyes.
Greyston spun to avoid the punch aimed at his gut. He kept on moving, backing up against a wall. He didn’t want to fight Kelan, but he wouldn’t be a ramming board either.
The Dark Matters Quartet Page 81