“I’ve been getting to know a woman.”
He blinked at me, mouth gaping. “You’ve been getting to know a woman,” he repeated, shaking his head, eyes wide. “You’ve beengetting to know a woman? Does thiswomanhappen to be the one who wants you dead?”
“She’s been misinformed. And I am attempting to set her straight.”
“You said you were after the ring. You said that was all you wanted.”
It had been all I wanted. Now? I wasn’t so sure. And why did I need to choose between the ring and the woman who wore it? Why couldn’t I have both?
Shrugging, I pulled out a shirt that used to be white and a faded black waistcoat.
Rían gave the clothes the same squinty-eyed, wrinkled-nose look he always did. “Those belong in the fire.”
They did belong in the fire—not that I’d admit it aloud. I shoved them both back into the armoire and pulled out the next two shirts.
“Those are worse.” His hands drummed against his thighs, watching me drag out another two that looked no better than the rest. “Where’s the assassin now?”
“As if I’d tell you.”
Rían smirked.
Dammit. I’d protested too quickly.
My brother had a particular talent for impersonating people. He could shift his features to make himself look like anyone he wished. Once, he’d turned himself into Ruairi, and I’d been so drunk that I hadn’t noticed. I foolishly ended up confessing to fancying a girl down the coast. What’d my brother do? He’d slept with her.
“If I let you pick out my clothes, you must swear not to leave this castle tonight.”
“Done.” He shoved me aside, tearing waistcoats and shirts and breeches out one by one, leaving them in a pile on the floor. “Shocking. That’s what this is. Utterly shock—” He dragged a navy waistcoat from the back. “Is thismine?” he growled, poking his finger through one of the burn marks at the front.
“Is it?”
“You know damn well it is. What the hell happened?”
“Looks burnt.”
“I can feckin’ see it’s burned. How did you burn it?”
I shrugged. I couldn’t remember taking the thing, let alone what had happened to it.
Cursing, Rían flicked his wrist. A pile of new clothes appeared on the edge of my bed. “You can wear these.”
The shirt felt stiff as a board. The blue waistcoat, with its shiny buttons and silver thread, looked like something you’d wear to a ball, not a dingy pub. And the cravat? Not a hope. But the black breeches should do. I picked those up and shifted a bath.
Rían glowered at the remaining pile. “What about the rest of them?”
“I’ll not wear blue.” Rían wore blue.
“Didn’t seem to bother you when you stole this.” He held up the ruined waistcoat.
“I’m allowed to change my mind.”
“At least take the shirt.”
“No, thank you. I’d like to be able to move.”
Grumbling, Rían collected his things and evanesced. I ended up in his breeches and the shirt with the fewest stains. The seams on the right sleeve were a bit loose, but in a dark pub, it’d be barely noticeable.
Just before eight, I evanesced back to the alley at the far side of the inn. For some reason, my stomach felt a bit queasy. Not sure why. Could’ve been the mash and veg Eava had made for dinner. Or the chocolate cake I’d demolished afterwards.