“Still silent as a stone. But he’s alive, if ye want another go at him before the feast.”
“Later. After I’ve seen Claricia.” The admission came without thought, and Aksel’s knowing look made Erik scowl. “Shut it.”
“Didnae say a word.”
“Ye didnae have tae.”
They walked toward the keep in companionable silence, boots crunching through frost-stiffened grass. The sun was higher, burning off the morning mist that clung to Skye’s cliffs like lovers reluctant to part. It was a clear day—perfect fer that night’s gathering.
Movement in the bushes near the eastern wall snagged Erik’s attention like a fishhook in flesh. His hand shot to his sword hilt on pure instinct. Beside him, Aksel had already shifted into that deceptive stillness that came before violence.
“What is it?” Aksel murmured.
Erik scanned the undergrowth, every sense sharp and singing. Then a figure emerged from the scrub—tall, gray-haired, moving with the careful deliberation of a man who very much didn’t want to be noticed.
“That’s Finnian,” Erik said slowly.
They watched as Claricia’s father moved along the wall, fingers trailing over ancient stone, eyes scanning mortar joints with the focused attention of a man studying a problem. He paused every few feet to examine the masonry, occasionally pressing his palm flat against the rock as if testing for weaknesses.
“What in Thor’s name—” Aksel began.
“The hidden exit.” Erik’s jaw clenched hard enough to ache. He’d shown Claricia that passage days ago, made her memorize the way out in case of danger. Had she told her father? Was Finnian memorizing the castle’s weaknesses, mapping escape routes?
“Could be innocent,” Aksel offered, though his tone suggested he believed that about as much as he believed in fairy folk and happy endings. “Perhaps he’s just curious about the architecture.”
“Aye.” Erik forced himself to remain still, to watch rather than confront. Every instinct screamed at him to march over there and demand answers, but something deeper—some animal cunning that had kept him alive through fifteen years of raids and betrayals—whispered that knowledge was worth more than satisfaction.
They continued toward the keep, though Erik cast one more glance over his shoulder. Finnian had moved further along the wall, still searching, still examining, completely absorbed in whatever scheme was takin’ root in his worried father’s mind.
What are ye lookin’ fer, old man?
“Where is she?” he asked without preamble.
Liv glanced up, and a smile bloomed across her face—the kind that made Erik immediately suspicious. “Who might ye be referrin’ tae, Cousin?”
“Dinnae play coy. It daesnae suit ye.”
“Och, I dinnae ken.” Liv’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “I rather think coy suits me perfectly. Ye just dinnae like it because ye’re terrible at subtle yerself.”
“Liv.”
“She’s in the small library with her faither.” The teasing softened into something gentler. “They’ve been playin’ cards fer the past hour. Though from what I heard when I passed by, there’s been more arguin’ than playin’.”
Of course, there has.
Erik could imagine it perfectly—Finnian still trying to convince his daughter she wasn’t safe here, Claricia defending her choice with that fierce stubborn pride he’d come to admire and want and love in equal measure.
“Cousin.” Liv’s voice stopped him as he turned to go. When he looked back, her expression had gone serious, blue eyes soft with the kind of affection that still caught him off-guard sometimes. “Ye love her, dinnae ye?”
Erik opened his mouth to deny it, to deflect with some crude jest or dismiss the observation entirely. But this was Liv—the girl he’d raised, the one person in this world who’d earned the right to see past his defenses.
“Aye,” he said simply. “I dae.”
Liv’s face lit up like Skye’s cliffs at sunrise, joy radiating from her so brightly it hurt to look at. “Och, Erik—that’s wonderful! Daes she ken?”
“Nae yet.”
“Why in the name of all that’s holy nae?”
