Eava had given out because his body had crushed the pumpkins.
“It was a woman,” I added, taking the seat across from him, pressing the back of my head into the plush velvet upholstery. One of the logs on the fire popped, sending orange sparks flying onto the stone hearth. “And she wants to kill me.”
The book snapped closed and disappeared. Rían swung his legs to the ground, straightened, and looked at me. “I wasn’t interested at first because your stories are usually shite and they always end the same way, but—” Frowning, he gestured at my waistcoat. “Aaandnow I’m distracted. What the hell are you wearing?”
Rían and his damned clothes. Unlike him—in his black and silver waistcoat, crisp shirt spelled to never wrinkle, and impeccably pressed black breeches—I preferred to fade into the background as much as possible, especially when spending the evening with murderers.
“You know what? We’ll circle back to this.” Rían waved his hand at the missing buttons and stained sleeves shoved to my elbows. “Why does she want to kill you?”
“Not sure yet. She has my ring though.”
Rían’s blue eyes lit with excitement. He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Tell. Me.Everything.”
My stomach rumbled, reminding me there were more pressing matters to attend to first.Plus, a chance to annoy my brother should never be wasted. “Later.” I got up and started for the hall.
He appeared in front of me before I reached the door. “I want to know now.”
I managed to evanesce to the kitchen.
Rían’s echoing curse made me smile. He would check my room first. Then probably the study. He’d find me here eventually.
Pots and pans loomed overhead, mingling with the darkness. Lighting the candles on the high counter should’ve been child’s play. I couldn’t even summon a feckin’ spark. Thankfully, Eava kept matches between her vials of wolfsbane and dandelion seeds. I struck one on the edge of the butcherblock counter. The smell of sulfur filled the air, twisting with the smoke as I held the lit flame to the candle’s wick.
In the dim orange light, I began my search for pie.
There were boiled potatoes in a dish next to some slices of ham. Freshly baked loaves of bread beneath tea towels. A whole bushel of apples in the sink.
Dammit.
No feckin’ pie.
I shuffled through the shelves and presses and checked inside the oven and—
“Looking for this?”My brother appeared, hip resting against the high counter, holding a crockery dish of half-eaten blackberry pie.
I tried to shift it to me, but his magic was too strong. “Give it to me.”
Lifting the dish over his head, he clicked his tongue. “Now, Tadhg. That’s not how this works. You give me what I want, then you get what you want.”
“And you wonder why women fancy me over you,” I shot back.
His eyes flashed. The sound of his teeth grinding together left me chuckling. “Tell me about the feckin’ woman with the ring,” he snarled, throwing the dish onto the high butcherblock table in the center of the room.
I set my glass beside the pie, grabbed a fork from the press, and sank onto one of the stools.
The pie was better than life itself. Eava had added extra sugar, making the top gritty and sweet. She was a feckin’ saint.
Between bites, I told him about what had happened in The Green Serpent. He listened quietly until I finished, sipping every so often from a glass of shifted wine.
“And then she told me she needed to kill the Gancanagh.” She didn’t say shewantedto kill me but that sheneededto. Her choice of words felt significant.
I took another bite of pie. Crunchy seeds stuck to my teeth; the crust on the bottom was soft and a bit undercooked. Just the way I liked it. “I said I’d help her.”
His dark eyebrows lifted. “To get the ring.”
“Of course to get the feckin’ ring.” What other reason would I have to “help” someone who wanted to kill me?
“And if she doesn’t give it to you?”