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?”
“I’m trying to catch a particular scent,” Riley informed him, not stopping, not even sparing him a glance.
Clark took a deep breath too, letting his chest expand under his waterproof coat.
“All I can smell is wet stone and sea salt.” He turned to sniff the air in the opposite direction, but Riley caught his hand this time and yanked.
“It’s stronger this way.”
Her hand was small and warm in his, and because he was weak, Clark made no immediate move to take his back.
“What does it smell like?” he asked, genuinely interested despite suspecting this might be part of her plan to save face.
“You won’t be able to smell it.”
Ah! So, he’d caught her.
“My nose works perfectly.” Clark put every ounce of British condescension he could muster into his voice.
“I promise,” Riley said, ignoring the dark clouds that rolled ominously across the sky ahead as they continued to wind toward the base of the cliff, “that if I tell you, you’ll freak out.”
“I can assure you that I’m an extremely calm, mild-mannered person.” Or at least he had been, before he met her. “Every report I ever got from school called me a pleasure to have in class.”
Riley snorted. “I bet.” She pulled away to press the back of her hands against her eyes. “Fine. Sometimes I can smell magic.”
“You can smell magic?” Clark said slowly, and then pressed his lips together, fighting not to let his complete bewilderment bleed into his voice. He’d just told her he wouldn’t fly off the handle.