Page 16 of The Secret of the Three Fates
“Well, we do have another interesting visitor at the castle to make things more muddy.” The dear familiar divot formed again between Ruan’s brows and my thumb itched to smooth it. But instead I clenched my hands tighter. “The White Witch is here.”
“What?” Ruan growled, springing to his feet.
“She’s one of the Three Fates, or at least that’s what they’re calling themselves. The three mediums who performed the séance last night. I still don’t entirely understand why she’s here, but I get a sense that she did not care much for Lucy and the other medium. She’s helping me. At least Ithinkshe is.”
“The White what? Ruby, heavens, what nonsense have you gotten into now?” Mr. Owen started before shaking his head. “Never mind it. I don’t care. Would you mind entertaining Mr. Kivell in your room? I’m afraid I have a headache. It’s come fast and I need to rest.”
His quick turn of mood was startling, but it had been like this ever since we arrived in Scotland. One moment he’d be himself and the next he’d turn bearish and snarling. “Do you have your medicine?” I ignored Mr. Owen’s grumbling and laid a hand on his brow. Cool. Damp. I didn’t like that—not one bit.
“I have some powders. And Ruan brought me one of his tinctures. I’ll be fit in the morning. Just… I think it’s the strain of the last day. That’s all.”
Ithadbeen a trying twelve hours, I’d give him that. Ruan and Ihastily fled to the safety of my room and I pushed the door closed before walking over to my dresser and pulling out the stopper from a decanter of Scotch. “Want some?”
“No, thank you.” He settled himself in a floral armchair. I’d forgotten he didn’t drink. I poured myself two fingers, taking a sip, letting the peaty liquid burn its way down my throat. I wasn’t a fan of Scotch but when in Rome…
“You said the White Witch is here?” Ruan asked, glancing to the closed door behind me.
“Mmm. She is, and I don’t know what she wants, but she’s seemingly trying to help me.”
“Helpyou?”
I shrugged. “That or she’s afraid of me. I’m not sure which is better, but beggars cannot be choosers. If she isn’t trying to frighten me away, I may as well make use of her.”
Ruan didn’t laugh. “It’s never good when the old ones are afraid.”
“Is she truly what she claims to be? A witch?”
I wasn’t quite sure I wanted the answer, and Ruan did not give it. “Shall I go find her for you? See what she wants this time?”
Most certainly not, she’d be incandescent when she learned he was here. “She still thinks I’m going to kill you, by the way. Probably for the best if you keep your head down or else she might stop being cooperative.”
Ruan took a step closer, reaching up and touching my cheek softly with his thumb. His strange greenish eyes fixed upon me as if he were seeing me for the first time. My breath caught in my chest as he sighed and shook his head. “It’s the strangest thing…”
“My face? I assure you it hasn’t changedthatmuch since we saw each other last.”
He let out a startled laugh. “No. My…” He lifted his hand helplessly before it fell back to his side. “I can scarcely hear you here. It’s odd.”
Now that was a shock. My lips parted slightly. “Do you think your… abilities are tied to Cornwall somehow?”
“Not at all. It’s actually the opposite. Ever since arriving on this estate, everything is too loud. I heareverything. My head aches with all the voices clamoring for my attention. I cannot focus upon you. Upon anything.” He rubbed at his temple with his left hand.
Despite the way he described it, it wasn’t sound he spoke of, but his ability to hear people’s thoughts. He had once said that it was akin to being at a crowded train station, catching bits of conversation and a general sense ofsomethingcoming, with the odd word here or there. If it was worse now, I could only imagine what a burden it was.
After leaving Lothlel Green I scoured every book I could get my hands on, absorbing every word I could find about Pellars—which were not terribly many—they were born, not made. All the books seemed to agree on that part—with only the seventh born of a seventh born possessing these specific gifts. Yet in all my books and all my studies I learned no more than what Ruan had told me himself. How far we’d come, he and I, from when we first met on the shores of Tintagel and he told me the story of the poor troubled mermaid who gave her power to the very first Pellar—some distant ancestor of Ruan’s. Granting that nameless soul the ability to break curses, to heal the sick, and find stolen goods. It seemed such a charming tale then, but as with all fairy stories the truth behind it is always a bit grimmer—especially after the White Witch’s revelations. And as I got to know Ruan Kivell, I saw what a toll thosegiftshad taken upon the man himself. I yearned to help him, to find something to unlock the secret to what he was. And more, why he and I should be so closely linked. An American girl born an ocean away, on the very same day as he.
A part of me was glad he couldn’t hear me as well here, especially as wayward as my thoughts had grown when it came to him.
“Ruby,” he said softly, bringing me back to the task at hand. Right. Lucy Campbell.
“There is one thing I didn’t tell Mr. Owen or his nephew.” I reached into my trouser pocket and placed the identification disc between us on the table. The green one only, the red having been taken when the soldier died. “I found this on her body. Lennox is the name of Mr. Owen’s nephew. Do you have any idea who this belonged to?”
Ruan touched it gently and closed his eyes. “Ben.”
I sucked in a sharp breath. “Ben? As in Mr. Owen’s son, Ben?”
“The same.”
Mr. Owen must have given the tags to her sometime before she was killed. It was a good thing I’d taken them from her body. The ceiling creaked with the footsteps of someone the next floor above. “How is he a Lennox and not an Owen?”
