Ah. . . I spear my fingers through his before he can fully disintegrate.Lore, you’re my mate. Only you.
“They found the runestone?”
I whirl toward the source of that raucous pitch. My father stands there, in the gaping entrance ofMurgadh’Thábhain, hands balled into fists that drum his thighs.
“Yes, Cathal. In guarded room of art gallery.”
The look of wonder on my father’s face swells my heart. One step closer to Shabbe. One step closer to getting his mate back.
“Can’t Cian slip inside?” I ask.
“His heart hardens every time he touch wall.” Aoife purses her lips. “He says room must be lined with obsidian.”
“Focá,” my father mutters.
Aoife sinks her teeth into her bottom lip. “Bronwen says Fallon can pass through walls.”
“Fallon isn’t going to Glace,” Lore snaps.
Aoife peeks at Cathal through her lashes. “Cian arrange dinner to discussalliance. He said to Vlad you and Fallon attend.”
“No.” Lore’s shadows fall away from my fingers to bind around my waist.
“Didn’t you give him the vial we retrieved?” My father strides forward, pulse striking his corded neck.
I cock an eyebrow. “What vial, Dádhi?”
“The night you were taken. We retrieved a vial of Meriam’s blood from the cavern.”
“It wasn’t Meriam’s. It was serpent blood. Apparently, none of the blood distributed to the Lucins comes from Meriam. Which isn’t to say some vials aren’t floating around, since Costa supposedly bled his beloved for years, and Shabbin blood never coagulates.” Lore’s eyes glaze over as though he were back in a time and place where the man who stabbed him in the back existed.
“Notsupposedly; he did,” I insist, though there’s little point in arguing at the moment. “Let’s go to Glace.”
My father startles at my enthusiasm, and his eyes mist over as though he were so relieved he could weep.
“No.” Lore’s tone brooks no argument.
Yet my father argues. “We’ve time. It will take Dante another two days to reach the wildling camp.”
I start. “The wildling camp?”
“This is where the tunnel now ends,” my father explains. “Theonlytunnel. Rossi proved a great cartographer.”
To think you all wanted to kill him.
Lore’s pupils shrink.I still do.
I frown.
He took you from me, Behach Éan.
I sigh, deciding to drop the subject of redemption. “And the wildlings? Are they on our side?”
“Why, yes. They were most enchanted by the trunk of gold we offered them to drill a hole into their campsite, and even more so, by the promise of a second trunk once they report that the rodents reach their destination.” Lore runs the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip as though savoring delivering the news.
My pulse beats so fast that the inside of my mouth tastes like the coins the wild Fae so covet. “Are we certain they cannot be swayed to fight alongside the Faeries? After all, with all the iron they ingest, bargains don’t adhere to their skin, correct?”
“Correct,” Lore says slowly. “And nothing is ever certain, which is why we have some people keeping watch.”
