Rían was so still, I thought he’d fallen asleep. Then he shifted, rolling onto his side to face me, propping himself up with his elbow, and resting his chin on his hand. “Yes. But coming back will be worse.”
“How much worse?”
His gaze dropped to the quilt. “It’s not as bad as being hanged but considerably more painful than getting decapitated. Think being burned at the stake but without the godawful smell of singed hair and melting flesh.”
The scones I’d had for tea threatened to make a second appearance. “Are you serious?”
A grin. “Any other questions?”
Only about a thousand. “How do you know? Have you died before?”
“I’ve been hanged, stabbed, pushed off a castle roof, drowned in a river, drowned in the sea, impaled by a lance . . .” He rattled them off as if making a list of items to purchase at the market. “My mother struck me with an iron bar once, and my brother’s favorite way to kill me is to slit my throat.” He untied his cravat, revealing a silver scar across his neck. My fingers ached to trace the mark at its thickest point in the middle. The ends went off in different directions. There must’ve been at least twenty.
With magic in their veins, most creatures could live forever, but if they were killed, they wouldn’t come back from the dead. Only true immortals, those with the strongest magic, could die and return.
I should’ve known Rían would be one of the latter.
His father had been Midir, after all, a powerful fae known for slaughtering humans on the battlefield. His brother was the bloody Gananagh. What about his mother? Was she as infamous and powerful?
“Who is your mother?”
Rían’s entire body went rigid. “It doesn’t matter.”
For him to refuse the information, she must be terrible. Who could be worse than the Gancanagh?“Why won’t you tell me?”
“Because it’s none of your damned business.” He shoved to his feet, anger rippling the air.
The ring on my finger felt like a dead weight as I sat up to face him. “You’re asking me to trust you with my life. I think the least you could do is show me a little trust in return.”
“You expect me to trust you?” he growled. “A feckin’ human? Not a hope.” He pointed to the ring I wore. “That’s mine. As soon as you’re dead, I’m taking it back.”
Where was this coming from? All I’d done was ask a simple question.
I tried to breathe through my anger. To swallow it down, even though it burned like bile. “You can have it back now if you wish. Here. Take it and go away.” As if I wanted to wear his hideous ring. I pulled the thing free and tossed it at him. The ring bounced off his chest and landed by his boot.
“Fine. I will.” He snatched it up and shoved it into his pocket.
“Fine.”
“Fine.” He flicked his wrist the way he did before he evanesced, except . . . nothing happened. His eyes widened. He tried it again. And again. And again. To no avail.
“Why isn’t it working?”
“I don’t feckin’ know.”
“Fix it.”
“If I don’t know what’s wrong, I don’t know how to fix it, now do I?” he ground out, trying and failing to leave the room.
Someone knocked on my door.
Rían’s panicked expression mirrored my own. “You have to disappear,” I hissed. “If anyone catches you in my bedroom, my life is over.”
“At least then we wouldn’t need my brother.”
“Rían!” I kicked the bastard in the shin.
“Ow! All right, all right.” He turned in a circle, presumably scanning the room for a place to hide.