His narrowed gaze lifted, slamming into mine. “That’s what she did to Charlie, isn’t it?”
“Charlie was my fault, not hers.” My poor attempt at blackmail had put the series of events leading to his death into motion.
His wrist flicked, eliminating the tost. “Stop staring at me, pathetic human.” As quickly as the barrier had vanished, it returned. “You blackmailed Eithne. According to Airren Law, you could be subject to up to fifteen years in prison depending on how much money was involved. She could have turned you in. Instead, she blamed an innocent man, resulting in the man’s death.”
He said it so cooly, without a hint of emotion. That woman, as awful as she was, had been his lover. Did he feel no remorse over her death?
I glanced over my shoulder to find the merrow watching us.
Ruairi had mentioned Rían and the merrow were “friends.” He was probably trying to avoid making her jealous. Had they been “friends” when he was sleeping with Eithne? When he’d been with me?
“If you cared for Eithne, you could have turned a blind eye.” What if he had considered Charlie’s death my fault? Would he have sent Ned after me?
“I cared for that horrible woman about as much as I care for dirt on my feckin’ waistcoat.” He rolled his eyes. “Eithne’s husband—who happens to be Graystones’ magistrate—has strong ties to the Vellanian King. His terrible wife had a knack for learning secrets. And I had a knack for convincing her to share them with me.”
A small part of me was relieved he hadn’t actually cared for someone like Eithne. But mostly, I was horrified that he would use someone like that for information. “Rían, that’s . . . That’s appalling.”
His eyes dropped to the book still in his hands. “Not nearly as appalling as fucking Eithne.”
25
My heart was a traitor.
It had been four days since I’d seen Rían.
Four days of digging in the dirt, chatting with a pooka about everything and nothing.
Four days of searching the faces as they came and went—never in the castle, only in the courtyard—hoping to catch a glimpse of a blue-eyed prince.
My head knew what he was. What he’d done.
And yet my heart justified it all.
Keelynn had thrown herselfat him.
Rían had married Keelynnto save her from ruin.
I’d woken up in Tearmannbecause my sister brought me back.
Rían was keeping me hostagebecause I was stubborn enough to disregard everything he’d said and end up getting myself killed.
I stretched my hands toward the ceiling, rolling my shoulders and neck to try and ease out the kinks. The white coverlet slipped down to my waist as I pushed myself upright against the headboard.
I liked Rían.
There. I admitted it. I wanted to hear about his shite trips to Airren. To have him tease me. To have him do more. But I couldn’t do any of that if he didn’t come back to the bloody castle.
Like every day before, a silver tray waited for me on top of the desk beneath the window. I caught a glimpse of myself in the window’s reflection. A bit of color had returned to my skin, but my freckles had yet to appear. A few more days in the sun and heat, and they should be back. I desperately missed them.
Sinking onto the rigid chair, I removed the lid on the silver platter to find a plate of eggs, bacon, toast, and a small pastry box.
A cherry tart waited inside.
The subtle reminder of my last night alive left my stomach fluttering.
Was Rían back from wherever he’d gone? I’d asked Ruairi yesterday, but the pooka had said that he’d been charged with keeping tabs on a hostage, not a bastard prince.
The tart’s crust flaked off on my fingers.