And of those, the most likely one—the Barrow Witch.
“Assuming that’s what it does,” said Gaelyph. The warden had not left his stance near the hearth. “It could just as easily be a device used for communication, or one to dominate lesser creatures like trows.”
“How do we find out?” asked Conall.
At the same time, Graham asked, “How does it work?”
Effie turned to Rose, who shrugged. “I dunno,” she said again. “Maybe it’s linked to its owner. Maybe it’s not for our Seily kind to use.”
“Gabus,” said Effie. Her friend had helped her with the other thunderstones she’d uncovered in Duncairn. But she had no idea where the German Rocksoother had gone after they’d last spoke in Edinburgh years before.
Rose shook her head. “There is another Rocksoother closer. He may be able to tell us more.”
“I know of whom you speak,” said Gaelyph. “He is not of our court.”
Caledon crossed to the hearth and stood before the warden. The fire painted him in warm shadows. His words came softly. “If we can learn how to find the Aerfenium stores, we can protect them and demonstrate to London that not all is lost.”
The warden stood his ground, and the pair began a terse exchange. Rose joined them. Graham remained silent, except for the occasional grunt to let the warden know he’d said something foolish.
Effie tried to catch each word, but found her thoughts wandering. Exhaustion rolled over her in a steady wave. Besides, she had every faith that Caledon and Rose would win the argument. The steward held power over the warden. If it came to it, he would send Gaelpyh away.
She found Conall smiling at her. The attention made it difficult to concentrate on anything else, and she soon lost track of what the others said. The bench creaked as he sat next to her. He reached out a hand, only to let it drop short of her own. She found it difficult to meet his gaze now that she could feel his warmth and smell the horse and tea and musk on him.
“We did not part on good terms when last we spoke,” he said. He spoke low enough for her to hear but not draw attention from the others.
“You stood by your beliefs,” said Effie. “I had no right to assume you would do otherwise. I had no place.” He’d made it plain he wanted a quiet life free from the entanglements of the fey cause and the ambitions that had become so desperately paramount to her being. She remembered the betrayal she’d felt at his declaration, the hurt, as if a part of her will had been stripped away. That pain felt selfish now.
“No, you did not,” he agreed. “But I have come to realize one thing in these past months.” He tucked his hands into his coat pockets and leaned toward her. “You will not leave my thoughts, and I cannot find peace without knowing you are safe.”
Effie’s heart froze. A flutter came to her stomach that had nothing to do with Fey Craft. She mustered what courage she had and shook her head.
“It is not enough,” she said. “You are not my protector, to sacrifice yourself for my cause.” She glanced at Jack Canonbie’s old cane, where she’d rested it near the door. She’d had enough of blind sacrifices.
“Effie…” A twinge of pain coated his voice.
“No, it is the same argument as before. I cannot force you to share my dreams. You have a life apart, a life of obligations and a history.”
Conall lowered his head. “I’ve broken with my father and left Her Majesty’s service,” he said. “I am a Fey Finder no longer.” A crooked grin came to his lips. “I may not even be a Murray.”
Effie sucked in a breath. “Oh, you foolish man!” She would’ve slapped him if she thought she could hold herself back from embracing him.
“So you see, I find myself adrift once more, with only a single mooring on which I wish to tether my life.” His grin broadened.
She couldn’t help but smile. “You amuse yourself quite well with that awful wit,” she said. She took his arm. “Have you really broken with your father?”
“Aye, and he’s as cross as he ever was. He’ll be the ruin of me this time, I am certain.” The last time he had gone against his father’s wishes, Conall had found his business destroyed and the woman he loved embarked for America with his father’s coin.
“So are you to follow me around like some obedient pup?” she asked. She leaned closer, breathing him in.
“Anything you desire,” he said. He stroked the side of her face with his hand. Her body trembled, boiling with anticipation.
She didn’t care that the other voices in the cottage had fallen silent.
9
Conall found Effie in the stables the next morning. He approached her dressed for riding. He wore thicker gloves to stand against the winter chill and a woolen scarf wrapped around his neck. Effie stroked the dark mane of his bay horse and fed it a last bit of apple. It nuzzled her as it chomped.
“Spoiling all you can, as ever,” he said with a laugh.
She turned her head away from him and raised her chin. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” she said. She tried to keep the grin from breaking across her face but couldn’t.
“Effie…” he began, much like the night before. He took her hands into his. His eyes studied her, and the pressure of it confused her.
Outside, the wind gusted. The stable door shivered and groaned on its hinges. He glanced at it and swallowed down whatever he’d meant to say. Instead, he gestured toward Jack Canonbie’s old cane. She’d brought it with her out of habit, half in case she needed its protection, and half because the weight of it helped remind her of the cost of even small victories.
“I am sorry for his death,” said Conall. “He seemed a…capable fellow.”
“He both betrayed and sacrificed himself for me,” she replied. “Of what more he was capable, I hardly know. It feels sometimes like I barely knew him at all, and it is all I can do to convince myself that I had. That I had glimpsed beneath his boorish armor a time or two before the end.”
Conall remained quiet for a moment. When he spoke at last, his tone had grown heavy and flat. “I know of what you speak,” he said, and she knew he thought of Miss Catherine Thorton, the woman he’d meant to marry—the woman his father had paid to abandon him.
“But let us not slide toward melancholy,” he continued. He sucked in a breath. His air lightened, and his smile returned. “Caledon has asked you to take the thunderstone to the Isle of Skye. I beg that you would let me join you.” He stepped forward until his chest pressed lightly against hers. “I will be useful.”
“You will,” she agreed. She wrapped her arms around his waist and felt his eagerness. “But how?”
“I will fight,” he said. “I will throw myself before you, come rake of nail, snarling bite, or fiery explosion.” His body trembled as he chuckled. “You can feed me apples, too, if it makes you happy.”
His horse whinnied its approval and stomped a hoof, scraping at the hay covering the ground of the stall.
Conall cupped her face in his gloved hands. The leather was supple and cold, but she barely felt it. Her mind clicked on something he’d said.