“I’ll convince her.”
Rían snorted, saluting me with his drink. “Good luck with that.”
“You don’t think I can do it?”
He considered for a moment, head tilting as he sipped from his glass. “To have any hope of getting that ring, you’ll both have to resist your curse.” His lips lifted. “Which means you’re shit out of luck.”
His arrogance only made me more determined to succeed. Fate had put this woman and my ring within my reach for a reason.
“If you need help, I could always get the ring for you,” Rían sneered.
There was no way in hell I was asking my little brother for help. No feckin’ way.
“Mark my words. This time tomorrow night, I’ll have that ring on my finger.”
Rían’s teeth flashed, and he flicked his wrist. “And if you don’t,” he said, setting two gold triskelion cufflinks on the table, “I get these back.”
“You can haveoneback.” I clinked my glass against his. The drink washed away the glorious taste of blackberries. I couldn’t wait to pass out and put this day behind me. One more day with these curses.
One more day.
Speaking of curses . . . “I need you to collect a body.”
Groaning, Rían’s head dropped into his hands. “Who did you kill now?”
3
There wasnothing particularly great about the castle’s “great hall.” Except perhaps the high ceilings. Although I’d been in plenty of buildings with high ceilings far more impressive than these. There weren’t any adornments or ornate plaster coving or murals. Only whitewashed wood and dark, high beams.
The gathered crowd buzzed like a bunch of flies, shifting and groaning in the heat. Even with all the windows open, the place was like a feckin’ furnace. I’d suggested Rían remove the wards on Fridays so we could get some air into this musty room. As usual, he refused. If the bulk of my magic hadn’t been bound, I’d have done it myself.
No sense dwelling on it. There was nothing I could do until I retrieved my ring.
The line inched along, each complaint more tedious than the last. At this rate, I’d be lucky to make it back to Dreadshire by four. Rían sat next to me, fiddling with the silver buttons on his waistcoat, looking fresh as a feckin’ daisy.
How was he not sweating?
The back of my shirt felt as if it’d been dropped in a puddle.
I looked back at Molls, a rare female clurichan whose dark dress bore the telltale stains of drink around the collar. Her wild red hair reminded me of a lion’s mane. “As I was sayin’, Prince Tadhg, those blasted children are stealin’ my feckin’ eggs.”
Eggs sounded really good right about now. Perhaps I’d convince Eava to make me some before meeting my assassin. I was bound to be late anyway. What was another couple of minutes?
“Have you seen them stealing the eggs?” I asked. Molls was here every other week, blaming someone for something, and yet she’d never had a witness to confirm the accusations.
She propped her meaty fists onto her equally meaty hips. “No. But I know it’s them.”
“I’m afraid I cannot do anything unless you have proof. Have you thought about strengthening the wards around your coop?” Creating a ward was one of the first lessons we’d been taught as children, although not all Danú had the ability to do so. The magic of weaker factions, like clurichans and grogochs, tended to be tied to the earth. Meaning they could grow a fabulous garden but couldn’t ward for shite.
Her thick jaw clenched. “I’ve made them as strong as I can.”
I glanced over at Rían, too busy with his buttons to notice. “Rían?”
Blue eyes lifted to mine.
“Molls needs her wards strengthened so her eggs don’t get stolen.”
Although Rían made an indignant noise through his nose, he knew better than to defy me in front of an audience. “Fine. I’ll strengthen your wards.”