I have never heard of a báshound, and dearly wish I could’ve maintained my ignorance. They press in closer, having caught the scent of Lachlan’s exhaustion and the end of their hunt.
What have I done? I’ve killed us both. Lachlan could have gotten away if he wasn’t forced to save me from my own recklessness.
I murmur an apology onto his skin, and he rubs his cheek along the crown of my head.
“Charlotte, there’s something I need to tell?—”
A whistle pierces the air.
The báshounds back away, and Lachlan slumps to one knee, still holding me, trying to catch his breath. He’s muttering something in another language. I cannot interpret the specific words, but the phonetics of relief are universal.
He stands, then settles me on my good leg, looping an arm around my shoulder to keep me upright.
Slow footsteps clack down the stairs, and I hear a familiar voice. “Mortis, to me. Anguis, follow.”
The scarred báshound, Mortis, leads the way to their master: a tall, handsome faerie man with bright violet eyes. “I’m terribly sorry about my pets. They only follow commands from me, I’mafraid. I rushed back to Tír na Lune as soon as I heard someone had set them loose in the castle.”
Lachlan’s teeth are bared—in anger or pain, I cannot tell; probably both—and his armour is gouged in several places. I’m fairly certain he’s hiding a gash beneath the palm pressed below his ribs. But he’s still standing. Those death moans I heard in the hall, long since silenced, belonged to someone else.
Duke Áine, on the other hand, looks completely unruffled. His elegant aubergine suit is spotless, and not a single strand of pin-straight silver hair is out of place. How long could it have possibly taken for him to return from Farlock’s Edge?
A wave of hot, frustrated anger sweeps through me. I cannot imagine Lachlan doesn’t feel the same. But he’s either too dutiful or too chained by these silly hierarchies to say anything. He holds the duke’s gaze, wearing a deep frown—the most insubordination he’ll chance.
I, however, have no such qualms.
“You might have come sooner, Your Grace. At least one of your own men perished, and Sir Cathal has been gravely injured. Tír na Strelle will expect a formal apology.”
A tiny burst of shocked pride caresses my mind.
“SirCathal?” Duke Áine cants his head. “Is that what they’re calling him these days?” He turns his attention to me. “You look a bit different than I remember from the presentation ceremony, Miss Fitzroy. Different, but not entirely unpleasant. Come, I’ll send for my personal healer to meet us in your quarters. On the way, you can tell me more about my failings. I do so enjoy being scolded by a beautiful woman.”
I cannot help a nervous smile. Still, I am reluctant to leave Lachlan. “But?—”
Go,Lachlan says through thediamrhán. Which he’s finally decided to use again. I could throttle him.You’ve piqued his interest. Take advantage of it. Don’t worry about me.
“The other healers have set up in the first-floor parlors,” the duke says to Lachlan, cruelly bored. “Might be a bit of a wait. There’s quite a few nasty injuries to deal with.” He strokes a hand down his báshound’s mane.
Another wave of righteous anger licks through me at his complete lack of remorse or accountability. It’s mirrored through thediamrhán, but Lachlan’s face is as blank as ever when I take the duke’s outstretched arm and let him guide me up the stairs.
I limp, wincing, since the duke doesn’t slow his pace in the slightest to accommodate my injury. Mortis and Anguis fall into step behind us.
I catch Lachlan’s gaze over my shoulder as I crest the staircase.
The ring signaled. Before Mortis ambushed me.
Where?
Over in the collection of landscapes. On a small painting of a valley below a bell-shaped hill. Do you know where that is?
He offers a barely perceptible nod.We’ll talk tomorrow. Focus on healing tonight.
Duke Áine opens the door, but before he pulls me through, I have one more message for Lachlan.Thank you. For saving me. Again.
It was the least I could do. You came to save me first, after all.He grins, and it’s a little incredulous.
Does no one ever think to savehim?
I scurry after Duke Áine, two additional questions surfacing.
