Page 46 of Crown of Tides and Fury

“Aye. He lives. Though if Ambition is loosed, he may be in hiding.”

“And if Ambition gets to him before I can?”

“Ye must hope he doesnae.”

“But if he does? If Ambition kills the king—”

“Then it is ye, Muir, who must rally the Fae. Just…be verra careful what ye sign.”

Wickham shuddered at the memory of negotiating with theSeanair,years ago. He would never make such an agreement again, no matter what the cost. If it meant Orion would become a god of this world, so be it.

He moved on down the list. “Will ye tell me more about Moire? Had she other prophecies I should hear?”

“I’ll say naught more about Moire.”

“All right. If I cannae kill Orion, and may not be able to contain him again, I best find the rest of the Seven before he can.”

“Ye have some, then?”

Wickham shook his head. “We ken the lass who wields Mercail’s power, that of Hope. She was snatched away by someone who doesnae understand what she is. But we intend to get her back. I have no ken how to find the others.”

The old man snorted. “Ye will as soon as ye accept yer responsibility to our people. Bond with them, and ye’ll know all ye need.”

“Nay. There must be another way. Once Orion kens I have that ability, he will kill me, or worse. If that happens, my…friends…need to be able to find the Naming Powers without my help.” Wickham gestured to Kitch, still keeping watch from a distance. “There are witches among them. They will do what must be done. But they cannot find the powers without help.”

The old man studied him for a long time, revealing nothing of what he was thinking. Perhaps he recognized Wickham’s determination as immovable, believed what he said, that he would accept no further responsibility than he already had. Or perhaps he was tempted to force him, by giving him no other alternatives to finding those powers.

“Understood,” he said finally. “I will give them what help I can. I will leave this,” he lifted the edge of his disorderly book, “where they can find it…if ye’re removed from the fight.”

“Oh? And how will they ken where to look?”

The man’s brows lifted. A smile tugged up one edge of his lips. “There is a library, in Oxford—”

Wickham shook his head. “We’ve searched the libraries for all things Fae, or related to our quest. Oxford is where we read The Covenant. Now it has all been stolen. Not just the contract, but all of it. Yer book would not be safe.” He didn’t suggest that the book be handed over to him then and there, but he hoped the Grandfather would see there was no other way.

As if Wickham had given voice to his hope, the old man tucked the book back inside his clothes. “It would be no help to ye now. The powers will change hands repeatedly before yer time. But I shall keep the names up to date…for as long as I am able.”

“That would mean ye would keep it close to ye?”

“Aye.”

“And when Muirsglen burns?”

“I will make allowances for that.” He shrugged. “Of course, if ye and Dominic would care to linger for a few days, I might be able to think of something more helpful.”

While teasing answers from his enemy, Wickham had ignored the pull to quit the place. Forcing the White One to exist twice in the same place truly was a strain, and he dared not risk testing the laws of physics much further.

“We must leave, and soon,” he said. “We shall have to trust each other now. There is nothing else for it.”

The old head nodded, the eyes lit. Wickham suspected the man was just as eager to have them gone. Perhaps he felt the same strain from the white mist inside him, or perhaps he was simply anxious to have his guests gone so he could remove the owl from his yard.

He gave Wickham his first genuine smile. “No other questions plaguing ye? Once ye’re gone, it is a fact I will have many queries. I cannae think of them now. Ye’ve knocked me out of my nest.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “How many wives will I have, I wonder…”

Wickham shrugged. “Two women in yer household. Sisters, like these. I dinnae ken if they are wives.” Then he remembered there was one more thing on his mental list of mysteries he wanted solved. “One last matter,Seanair.What can ye tell me about acloch realta?At least, we believe that to be the terminology. And we wonder what purpose it serves.”

The old man froze in place so completely, Wickham wondered if he’d stepped out of Time without thinking. Eventually, the man’s wry grin proved it wasn’t the case.

“Long after ye’re gone,” the Grandfather said, “I will wonder if ye intended to drive me mad with curiosity.” He stood, arched his back to stretch, and extended his hand. “Remember what I’ve said. If ye find a DeNoy, kill it. Dinnae bother with queries. Kill first, ask questions after.” He squeezed Wickham’s hand a wee bit harder. “If ye should fall, or fail to bond with our people, tell yer friends to look for my book. And tell Ambition, if ye’re alive…at the end, tell him the placement of his window was my idea.”

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