Page 87 of Tales of a Deadly Devotion
‘Did you ever see him?’ I asked childishly, holding out the smallest hope for any truth in all of this.
He shook his head, a worry at his brow as if he wished to tell me something else. ‘I was never that far north. There were stories. The lords made bargains with many elders – Kysillians included – to protect the seals.’
‘I know he’s dead.’ I swallowed. I knew it deep in the marrow of my bones. ‘Maybe one day I’ll accept it.’ Accept that his death would be a mystery that would elude me. Torment me so differently than my mother’s had, where I was forced to witness every last one of her moments. Helpless.
He seemed to sense the depth of that grief in me as he brought me closer, pressing a kiss against the hair at the side of my head.
‘If I told you the number of times I anticipated Emmaline walking through that door, you’d think me mad.’ His fingers played with the loose ends of my tangled hair as if lost in the thought. ‘Wondering what she’d make of all this. Of what she’d make of me.’
‘I’d think she’d find you quite remarkable,’ I answered against his chest, letting my fingertips trace the muscled contours of his back. Dragging in the faint beasam bark scent, chasing away everything else. Calming me for the barest moment.
‘Did she kill Emmaline?’ I asked, knowing I’d hate the answer but needing it all the same. I’d known the tales. The Countess was vicious, and her amusement was fickle.
He was still for the longest moment before he answered. ‘We’ll never know for certain but Emmaline started to amass support. The rebels trusted her. Would follow her anywhere. The Countess saw that and I suppose we’ll never know the truth of what came next.’
Because they were all bound, just as Thean had warned me in Fairfax Wood. All the things they could never say. Yet I couldn’t shake the way Callen had looked at me. Almost as if waiting.
The Kysillian troubled me more than I wanted to admit. Seeing him beneath the Countess’s rule unnerved me. Made me wonder how my father had been in that predicament and how he had got free of it.
‘Can many stray from the Countess’s control?’ I frowned.
‘If they’re clever, but it’s never for long.’ His gaze was distant and I knew he was thinking of Emmaline. ‘She trades in money, blood and land.’
‘There is no saving them, is there?’ The question was too sad and too small from my lips.
‘Considering the bitch won’t die. No. And destroying a relic is harder than it seems,’ Emrys finished darkly, his thumb running over my knuckles before something else crossed his expression, dark magic flashing beneath his skin as those eyes became full black. ‘I felt your fire, Croinn.’
I flushed, dropping my gaze. ‘I didn’t like her touching you.’
It felt hard to admit those words, to give into the territorial urge of them I knew was in my blood.
Emrys captured my chin, forcing me to see him once more. To find the handsome, wicked creature smiling. ‘You’re shamed by that.’
‘I didn’t feel … in control of myself.’ Not when I wanted to render her to ash. To pour flame down her throat for nothing but spite.
‘Good, I need company in my madness.’ His lips pressed a teasing kiss against my jaw, my fingers digging into his shoulder as I tipped my head, offering him more, as his kiss found my pulse.
‘M-madness?’ I stuttered, wondering if I was supposed to be affronted.
‘There is nothing controlled about the way I feel about you, Croinn. And nothing is more seductive than your fury.’ And he sealed those words with a kiss.
A kiss I was hungry to return. Perhaps restless to claim my territory. Emrys pulled me closer. Equally as desperate, as if every breath of space between us was wasted.
Then the door crashed open, William half-hanging off the doorknob with one hand braced on the frame.
‘Sorry, but—’ the boy panted before his eyes went wider. ‘Where are your bloody clothes?’
‘William,’ Emrys half groaned, his forehead falling into the curve of my neck.
‘Thean’s back … and they have a witch’s finger,’ the boy blurted out.
Emrys went deathly still. The floorboards beneath us gave a wary groan. Then he raised his head, his expression murderous.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Kat
Thean did in fact have a witch’s finger. A half mummified, rune-covered witch’s finger that had clearly been dug up recently or kept under some preservation enchantment. How Thean would know a witch that old or where they were buried was a mystery I didn’t have the mental capacity to solve right now.
