“You and your father share a talent for sketching,” she said mildly.
The comment took him aback. Clark had expected her to launch into an inquisition.
“He would draw with me, when I was younger.” He hadn’t thought about that in a long time. It had been ages since he could remember doing anything with his father that didn’t involve a lecture. “It was difficult to bring lots of toys to an expedition, but a pen and something to scribble on were always easy to procure.”
It had felt like the sun on his face, every time his dad had taken a few minutes out of his busy schedule to sit with him, to sketch a volunteer or the fabric of their tents blowing in the wind.
Riley moved to hand him back the map, but he didn’t take it.
“I thought you might want to go with me to explore the area, see if we can turn up anything related to your curse.”
That was the plan—take her on a wild-goose chase. Tell her a perfectly ordinary piece of land was sacred and see if she ran with it. If she did, he’d know she was making it up, inventing pieces to fit her story. At that point, Clark would reveal his deception, and Riley would have no choice but to admit she didn’t know what she was doing.
“I’ve taken the liberty of packing some bags with gear.”
Scaling those cliffs would be no easy feat. He might be a bad person, but he didn’t want her to get hurt.
“Who knows if the weather will hold out”—he winced at the gray sky above—“but I consulted the tide schedule, and we should be all right if we head out soon.”
Riley stared at him so hard and so long, he thought she might actually be trying to see through him to the castle at his back. “Why would you voluntarily help me?”
Ah, yes. He’d anticipated this question. She’d snared his previous assistance in a neat little act of manipulation, yet this offer came unbidden. “I know we don’t necessarily see eye to eye on everything—”
She made a sound of derision.
“—or much,” Clark amended. “But I think given our respective occupations it’s safe to say that neither of us can resist unraveling a mystery. I know I’ve been cross with you, but last night, I found it surprisingly pleasant to share that pursuit with someone again.” He might have taken a leaf out of Patrick’s betrayal handbook—the only one Clark knew intimately enough to emulate—because that part wasn’t even a lie.
Riley was quiet, shifting to stare out toward the crash of the ocean.
Clark figured his plan had fallen flat.
“It is,” she said finally, quietly.
“Pardon?”
“Surprisingly pleasant,” she repeated, and then after a beat, “Okay. Let’s go.”
“Right. I’ll just grab the gear, then, shall I?” Pressing at a sharp pain in his side as he hurried back toward the camper for the packs, Clark thought he might be developing an ulcer.
It would have been cleaner if the map were a complete misdirect, rooted in no true evidence at all, but of course Clark couldn’t bring himself to do that. He hadn’t slept last night, instead spending hours going back through his research, following Riley’s advice, looking for pieces that didn’t fit. As such, the land they trudged down, mud squelching beneath their boots, really was favored as “fae territory” in various fables. Though obviously those stories were all nonsense.
About an hour into the trek, Riley held the map while Clark used his compass to navigate along the false route.
“Are you sure we’re going in the right direction?” Riley raised her voice to be heard over the pounding of the ocean against the rocks. “According to your map, we should have come across some standing stones by now.”
Right. Time to execute part B.
“Oh no.” Clark glared down at his compass in his best approximation of horror. “I’ve just realized the metal in these cliffs could be interfering with the needle.” Also true—a problem famous in this part of the Highlands—he just hadn’t forgotten.
“Oh. Really?” Riley pushed hair damp from sea spray off her forehead. “Does that mean we’re totally turned around?”
“I’m afraid so.” Clark rotated the compass, making the needle bounce. “The polarization is shot.” Hopefully the poor weather obstructed his face, making his terrible acting easier to swallow. “I’m sorry. I’ve completely mucked this up.”
“It’s okay.” She adjusted the straps of her pack on her shoulders. “I’m pretty sure I did the same thing to a compass one time, only mine went bananas because of the metal in my underwire.”
Through considerable effort, Clark managed not to picture her in the hot-pink bra that had attacked him in her room at the inn.
“Say.” He pitched his voice to reflect what he hoped would come across as casual curiosity. “You know how you found that dagger so quickly in the castle?”
“Yeah?” The slight indent between her eyebrows said he’d missed at complete innocence.
“Well, perhaps you could follow that process again out here.” He gestured to the cliffside. “After all, if there is a link to the curse among these trails, you should be able to find it, right?”
“I mean.” Riley looked unsure, her eyes tracing the rough terrain ahead before looking back over her shoulder at the looming castle at the top. “Technically, yes, but—”
“Fantastic.” Clark quickly jumped in. “How can I assist you?”
“Well, ideally I’d have brought the dagger with me.”
“I have it.” He set down his pack and began carefully moving things aside, looking for the waxed cloth he’d wrapped it in. “I thought you might want to compare the metalwork to any coins or arrowheads we might uncover out here.”
“You really thought this whole thing out,” Riley said, her gaze noticeably narrowed as she took the artifact from him.
Clark kept as still and silent as he could while she uncovered it. He had no idea what she’d do next, if she’d fall into the trap he’d laid.
And what if she didn’t? What if she called his bluff?
He popped a ginger candy into his mouth against another wave of nausea.
How had Patrick lied to him for six months? More, actually—for however long it had taken him to plot as well? Clark had never had illusions of nobility, but this was awful.
His heart raced. His skin grew clammy.
“Okay,” Riley said, more to herself than to him as she held the dagger in front of her, turning it this way and that. “Okay,” she said again as she closed her eyes and inhaled, slow and deep.
Was this some kind of calming ritual? Was she trying to meditate?
“This way.” She grabbed his sleeve roughly, her eyes popping open as she marched them to the right, her chin lifted and her nose in the air.
They walked farther down the rock face, the map forgotten, and even as stones slipped under their feet, Riley picked up her pace, working to pull more air into her lungs in a way that was starting to trouble him.
“I don’t mean to be rude”—Clark lengthened his strides to match hers—“but are you having some sort of asthma attack?”