Reluctant Adept: Book Three of A Clairvoyant's Complicated Life (12 page)

I gripped the sun-warmed iron railing that capped the wall and stared out at the view, thinking.

I didn't want to admit it, but Tíereachán had a point: If Kieran wanted to accompany us to the amhaín's territory, it was within his power to escape. Two weeks ago, I'd given him a cell phone programmed with all of our numbers. Help was just a text or call away. I had no doubt Wade and Fisk had associates who would pick up Kieran if he called to ask.

If I sidestepped and flew back to him, I'd be putting the both of us in danger. What's more, if I fell prey to King Faonaín's hunters, I wouldn't be free to rescue Julie and Steven and the rest of our friends.

I gripped the railing as though it could expunge the burn of helplessness and frustration in my chest.

Loose pebbles crackled under Tíereachán's boots as he sidled up next to me.

We stood in the precious silence, broken only by distant bird song and the mellow swish of the afternoon's warm breeze, taking in the magnificent view.

"Was this another of your father's favorite places?" he finally asked.

My father had passed away a little over three years ago, but the ache of his absence still managed to sneak up on me. "Yes," I replied, subdued. "Yosemite National Park. You know it?"

He nodded, looking thoughtful, and then returned his attention to the natural spectacle below us. "Before my mother and I coordinated our escape, I accompanied the king and his retinue to this valley often. We call it
Búancodail
. It's been many, many years since I've seen it." His head tilted slightly as he mused, "The king favored to visit in winter. Me … I preferred autumn."

"King Faonaín brought you here?" I stared at him, eyes going wide. "I thought you were his hostage."

He glanced at me. His dark-blond eyebrows tilted downward at my obvious surprise. "Did you imagine me confined to a dungeon? For near a thousand years?"

I had, actually.

Sidhe royal succession wasn't a simple matter of inheritance by the oldest child. Skill with magic factored into the Tribunal's decision too. Since the amhaín possessed such a rare and powerful gift—the ability to create and maintain the Otherworld's portals to Earth—King Faonaín's younger sister might have inherited the crown. To counter this threat, the king abducted Tíereachán prior to the Tribunal's vote. The move forced the amhaín to accept the subservient role as portal adept instead of petitioning the Tribunal for succession.

Knowing this fact, along with all the talk about the king's desire to hunt me down and his own daughter's malevolent behavior, I'd eagerly painted King Faonaín as a cruel master and Tíereachán as his wretched prisoner.

He smiled in amusement. "My uncle held me for political reasons. He raised me as his son."

"A carefully watched son," I guessed.

He cocked his head to the side in subtle assent.

"Did he love you as one?" Curiosity prompted me to ask the question before I considered its personal nature.

His expression hardened and he turned away. "In his own way …" He shrugged. "Perhaps."

"Is that why Maeve fed you to Azazel? Because she thought you were a threat to her own succession?"

He barked out a laugh. "Fed me, is it?" He shook his head, his flaxen hair gleaming in the afternoon sun, and tutted. "Love, you do have a way with words." He sighed. "Yes. Unlike Kieran, I wasn't easily plied into doing her dirty work, but I fell nevertheless."

My blood boiled at the reminder. Maeve was a scheming, cold hearted bitch, as bad as her father, if not worse. Through manipulation, she'd utterly ruined Kieran and tricked Tíereachán into enslaving himself to Azazel. And last month, she abducted and seduced Vince, my almost-boyfriend, into becoming her soulmate in the hope that it would more closely align her to their oracle's prophecy. Last I heard, Vince had been confined to the Otherworld under King Faonaín's watchful eye, since Maeve refused to break their soulbond. As far as I was concerned, the wench deserved every lonely, depressing, agonizing second in prison. I hope she rotted there for all eternity. I just wished Vince didn't need to suffer along with her because of their shared connection.

If I had to bust her out of jail for that asshat Lorcán, I was going to be so effing pissed.

I considered Tíereachán's profile—impeccably straight nose, strong jaw, proudly set brow—his was a visage truly befitting a prince, but his aristocratic mien was an illusion. It belied the unfortunate truth that, even though I'd rescued him from Azazel's immediate grasp, he remained tied to the archdemon by blood compact. Because of this, he would likely be distrusted by his own people despite his royal lineage.

"Fell?" I shook my head. "I see it more as a stumble." I pushed away from the railing to face him. "Even Azazel's geas couldn't hide what you are from me—a good man struggling to recover from a poor choice. It's why I grew to trust you, why I helped you." I tilted my head to the side and studied him. "How can you suggest I do anything less for Kieran?"

Scowling, he turned away.

"He's made mistakes," I conceded. "And there's no question, this latest one … it changes things."

When he considered me, his eyes held a piercing combination of surprise and scrutiny. Uncomfortable, I gazed at the view and shrugged. "I'm not sure how I feel about it yet, but the one thing I won't do is abandon him without a word."

"Erring once, I'll grant you, is a mistake. But he's had nearly two thousand years to learn from it. Now, he no longer makes
mistakes
," he said, lips curled in reproof. "They are deliberate acts. He is the Deceiver. He does not deserve your devotion."

"I disagree. There is good in him. I've seen it. He risked his life for me. Before this latest— "
Deception
. I waved my hand, helplessly, unable to say it. "He had every opportunity to pressure me into bonding with him, but he's done nothing of the sort. He wants me to go to your mother, not the king."

"Because he knows you need proper training," he retorted, eyes flashing. "Summoning the spirits of long dead adepts was tried and failed with Nuala. Only a living adept can train you. Kieran is simply ensuring that you reach your true potential while he presses his advantage."

"Advantage? Advantage to do what?" I asked. "To bond with me? If he does, it puts him at odds with the king. That's not an advantage. According to you and Fisk, it's a death sentence. So what are you implying he wants?"

"Redemption. Absolution from his past mistakes. But such a thing can never come from selfish acts. The more he pursues it, the more it will evade his grasp. True redemption must come from within. Until he realizes this, he will continue to deceive both you and himself under the guise of protection. His choices will drag you down until you don't know who to trust."

Tíereachán's emphatic tone goaded me. Whether sidhe or human, why were people so eager to perceive the very worst in someone and then look no further? We weren't black and white. Dismissing Kieran as worthless, based solely on his past mistakes, was no different than the bigoted people who took one look at my gloves and hated me.

It struck me as ironic that Tíereachán held such a one-sided opinion, since most people, sidhe especially, were sure to balk at his tie to Azazel. I had no doubt he'd be written off as evil for dealing with a demon in the first place, even though the reason for his enslavement had been a noble one.

"Can't you see? He's spent the last two thousand years being told he's the Deceiver. A person can live with something like that for only so long until coming to believe it. And he
does
. It's sunk so deeply that he's allowed it to define him. Its shadow permeates his soul." I took a steadying breath to shore up my unsteady voice. "Someone needs to believe in him. If I don't, then who will?"

"You cannot save him. It's a mistake thinking you can."

One could say the same thing about you,
I thought.

"Maybe. But it's my mistake to make." I tipped my head upward to stare into his fierce blue eyes and poked his chest. "He's more than a fallen sidhe," I said fiercely. Then, easing away, I turned back to the view and added, "Same. As. Y
ou
."

After a few moments enduring my silent treatment, he sighed. "We cannot risk going back. Not with Kim in possession of the draíoclochs."

Kim …

I drew in a sharp breath, remembering Michael's offhand comment. Eyes wide, I snapped my gaze to Tíereachán's face. "But she's not."

He frowned, puzzled.

"Kim doesn't have them," I clarified. "Michael does. He's got them in Invisius' basement vault. He told me."

I barely restrained myself from tugging on his arm like a little kid outside the doors to Toys "R" Us. "Wake yourself up. Tell Fisk to head back to Seattle, to Invisius HQ. I know the combination. We can sneak inside and steal the darn things out of the safe! Without a gateway, the king can't send the Hunt. We'll be safe." Contrite, I amended, "Well … saf-
er
."

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "And it will prevent Kieran from leaving," he said, voice low and disapproving.

The draíoclochs were also my ticket into King Faonaín's territory, in case I couldn't learn how to world walk before Lorcán's imposed three-day deadline. I wasn't sure where Tíereachán and Fisk might stand in regards to my vow to save my friends at all costs, so I kept that part to myself. I didn't want the two of them on guard in case they intended to stop me.

I ignored his scowl. "A side benefit. It will at least give me a chance to talk to him," I said, reluctantly adding, "but if he wants to leave, I won't stop him. Once we're at your mother's gateway, we'll find a way to give back the draíoclochs, so we don't cause a diplomatic incident."
All of them, except one.
And I knew precisely how to go about stealing it.

I met his gaze. "Okay?"

He considered me, expression hard, but plainly thinking it over. "I'll be right back," he said and disappeared.

I blinked at his abrupt departure, wishing it was as easy for me to wake up.
Freaking Fisk.
It was just my luck that the angry, foul-mouthed, half-blood jerk possessed mind magic in addition to being a skilled swordsman. From now on, I wasn't letting him get anywhere near me, particularly if we disagreed on something.
Bastard.

I tapped out an anxious rhythm on the iron railing, the metal warm against my fingertips from the late afternoon sun. Below me, most of the valley had sunk into shadow, leaving Half Dome and its neighboring lofty granite rock faces swathed in apricot-tinged light. The view was spectacular but lost on me as I pondered the likelihood of waking up in the car, en route to raid Invisius' safe, or in the Otherworld with no way to help Kieran or get my hands on the draíoclochs.

Would they go for it? It seemed like a strategical advantage to curtail or eliminate King Faonaín's access to Earth, but maybe the amhaín didn't care, since the king's access would be limited to half a dozen trips—one temporary gateway per draíocloch. Would stealing them be enough to breach the Compact, regardless of whether we returned them? I was pretty sure I could swipe one without anyone noticing. All I had to do was substitute it for the depleted draíocloch I happened to have at home and I'd be good to go.

Before my fidgeting devolved into pacing at the railing, Tíereachán popped back into my dream looking like a divine messenger, golden hair flying, shoulders firm, hell bent on dispatching his grim tidings, even if it meant cracking skulls.

"We're heading back," he clipped out.

Hoo-kay.
Somebody was miffed.

I wished I'd been awake to know what he and Fisk had discussed, or, rather, argued about, because, clearly, there'd been an argument. I wondered whether Red had spoken up and what he thought about all of this. I fully intended to grill him as soon as we had some privacy.

"Then why are we still here? Wake me up," I said.

He sighed, looking almost rueful. "So eager, are you, to spend more time in the dark, closed space of John's backseat?"

"Yes," I replied stiffly. "Mark my words, if you ever tell Fisk to put me to sleep again, I'll maroon you in The Between for a goddamn week."

He snorted, the right corner of his mouth curving upward in amusement. "If you started listening to my counsel, I wouldn't feel so compelled."

I sucked in a breath, ready to explode, but he dropped the smile and stepped close enough to touch my arm. "You have my word."

His sober expression mollified me. I exhaled loudly and examined him with narrowed eyes. "How is it you can pop in and out and I'm stuck here? What's the trick?"

"No trick. I'm not in a forced sleep. I'm not asleep at all, in fact."

I don't know why I assumed he had to be asleep in order to enter my dreams. Probably because it made our connection seem less intimate and, therefore, less terrifying that way. Self-deception at its best. I wanted to kick myself. Or run away screaming. I wasn't sure which.

You really are a goddamned moron.

"Stop," Tíereachán scolded. "Don't let me hear you speak harshly about yourself again."

I blinked at the non sequitur until I realized … it wasn't a non sequitur at all. "What the—?" I sputtered. "Son of a bitch! You are. You can read my mind." I waved my hands and then pushed at him, shooing him. "Get out of my head. Get out, right now!"

He had the nerve to chuckle, the creep. "
Cúairtine
, calm yourself. Your mundane thoughts are a mystery. I can
hear
the most focused, that is all."

I recalled his earlier comment. "You can sense my emotions too!" I accused.

He frowned, looking nonplussed. "The strong ones, yes. More when I'm touching you. Why else did you think I wanted to share my blood if not to equalize our bond?" He sounded genuinely puzzled. "If you'd done so, you would have the same ability to know mine. At the very least, it would make you less distrustful," he pronounced, mouth pursed as though he'd discovered I short-sheeted his bed.

"Well, excuse me," I drawled. "You started pestering me about strengthening our bond when I still thought you were a demon." I huffed. "How was I supposed to know you weren't trying to enslave me?"