Then, she found her—in the corner of the room, laying there motionless.
“Layla!” River cried and rushed to her, only to find blood pooling under her head. She shook her, but she was entirely unresponsive. Panic and grief welled up inside River, but at least she had the presence of mind to check if she was still breathing, and found that she was.
She could have cried with relief.
With a huff, River stood and grabbed Layla’s legs, dragging her out of the room as fast as she could. By then, the entire sitting room was up in flames, everything around her burning. Even the air itself burned, hot and thick with flame, and River coughed as she pulled Layla to safety.
By the time she made it to the door, the children were thankfully gone, and River could hear the commotion in the farther reaches of the keep. They were coming to help, she knew. They were coming to help, and they would be able to help Layla.
Just as she was about to drag her out into the corridor, a familiar face approached them—Finlay. Another wave of relief hit River then, and she couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her—utterly humorless yet full of hope.
“Ye’re here,” she said. As long as Finlay was there, they were safe. He would know what to do. “Och, Finlay…I’m so glad to see ye. Come, help me get Layla out of here.”
But Finlay didn’t try to help her. He only stood there and smiled at her—a cold, pitying smile that she had never seen on his face before.
“Ye wee harlot,” he said, and River’s stomach dropped. It was like looking at a complete stranger. It was like someone else was using Finlay’s voice, someone who had nothing to do with the real him. “Did ye think ye would get away with this so easily?”
“I…I daenae ken what ye mean,” said River, startled by the sudden change in him, by the cruelty of his words.
“Is that so?” Finlay asked with a mocking scoff. “Innocent wee River doesnae ken…well, I’ll tell ye then. I’ll tell ye exactly what ye did.”
28
“Ye’re a traitor.”
River stared at Finlay in disbelief. A part of her feared that something had happened to him, that he had perhaps hit his head much like Archer had and was now acting strangely, simply because something was wrong with his mind. But no, it couldn’t be. Finlay showed no signs of being confused. If anything, he seemed more lucid than ever.
“What are ye sayin’, Finlay?” River asked. She wanted to rise to her full height, to face the man more evenly, even though he would still tower over her, but she didn’t want to leave Layla on the floor like that, and so she remained next to her, almost kneeling. “What has gotten into ye? Why are ye…why are ye bein’ so cruel?”
“Cruel?” Finlay spat, a humorless laugh escaping him. “Ye think me cruel? What do ye think of yerself, then?”
River wasn’t sure how to answer that question. She did consider herself cruel sometimes, especially when it came to how she had treated Aidan, but she doubted this was what Finlay was talking about. The shock of it all, from the fire to this argument with him, was simply too great for her, and her confusion grew with every passing second. She didn’t know what to think, what to say, how to feel. On the one hand, she felt the very real urgency of getting out of that room with Layla and taking her to Jenson, finding the children, notifying the entire castle that her chambers were on fire and that Archer’s attacker was there. On the other hand, she wanted to find out what it was Finlay was saying, why he was acting so out of character for him.
And she wanted to rage. She wanted to rage against him for daring to say such things, for daring to attack her when she was in the middle of this dire and dangerous situation.
Realization came slowly and then all at once. River stared at Finlay, or rather at the man standing before her, who had nothing to do with the Finlay she had once known, and she saw him for what he was.
He did this. He did all of this.
“Finlay…it’s ye, isnae it? It’s always been ye.”
“Aye, of course it’s been me,” Finlay said, as if it was obvious. “I would have spared ye, River…nay, nay…I would have cared for ye as I’ve cared for ye yer whole life. I would have kept ye safe.”
“What are ye sayin’?” River demanded. “Why are ye sayin’ all this? Why are ye doin’ all this?”
“Because we’re a traitor!” Finlay roared, and River could see a vein in his head popping, jumping to the rhythm of his heartbeat. “Because ye betrayed yer maither! Ye betrayed her memory!”
River stared at him, blinking in confusion. “What do ye mean?”
Her voice was weak, barely above a whisper, barely heard over the crackling of the fire that had consumed the entire room by then. Still, River was only vaguely aware of the immediate danger in which they were, her mind flooded instead by thoughts of her mother.
“Ye’re a wee fool, are ye nae?” said Finlay with a soft laugh. “Ye’ve always been, but it was alright. It was me own fault, ye ken. I protected ye from all of it. I was the one who didnae want ye to ken anythin’ but that…maybe that made ye weak.”
Enough was enough, River decided then, and despite the fact that she didn’t want to let go of Layla, she stood to her full height and stared right into Finlay’s eyes.
“Aye, perhaps I’m sheltered,” she said through gritted teeth. “Perhaps I daenae ken what is happenin’ around me sometimes because nae one tells me. Because ye sheltered me. Because everyone wishes to shelter me. But I’ll tell ye this, Finlay, and ye better remember it. I’m nae fool. And even if I was, it doesnae take a clever person to ken ye are a vile, vile man.”
For a moment, Finlay stared at her in silence, as if he were shocked by her words. Then, he barked out a laugh, one that sounded genuinely amused.
