Dawn of Magic: Sea of Flames Page 20

  He wrung his hands for a moment, then finally stepped out of the cell. Still, he watched her warily.

  “What is it?” she sighed impatiently, worried about her mages.

  He shook his head, still watching her. “It’s odd, I have always feared magic, but I find the effect is beginning to wear.”

  “What changed?”

  He shrugged, still clutching his hands together. “Perhaps it was spending so many seasons watching so many mages receive more kindness than I have ever known.” He shrugged again. “Or perhaps it’s just that nothing is scarier than my wife.”

  She sucked her teeth, warring with the sympathy his words elicited in her. “When all you give is hate, that is what you will receive in turn.”

  He looked down at his feet. “I suppose I deserve that.”

  “Let’s go,” she sighed, gesturing for him to walk ahead of her. She had no time to sympathize with old broken men. Her mages were in danger, and a single viper of a woman held the key to their survival. Síoda might have broken her own husband, but her tactics were nothing compared to the wrath Ealasaid was about to rain down upon her.

  Finn

  Twelve days had passed since Loinnir had found Finn in the woods and returned her to Garenoch. She’d given Ealasaid the good news that Ashclaw would not be attacking, but found a burgh frantic with activity, and reiver women and children inside the estate. Apparently, Belenus had been plotting against the mages, which was no surprise. She only wished she had been able to do him in when she had the chance.

  Concerned with these new developments, she, Eywen, and Anna had made haste bringing horses to Kai’s family farm. Reaching Iseult, Kai, and Branwen took five days, and another six to bring them back to the burgh, though they did not come back alone.

  Doubling up on horses, Kai’s family returned with them. The debate whether to bring them had been long, but in the end, Finn and Kai both agreed they could not leave them vulnerable to Belenus’ vengeance. If he learned of their existence, they could be used against Finn.

  She now walked down the stone corridor toward her room, having seen to it personally that Kai’s mother and three daughters were comfortable for the night. More than comfortable, she would say. Even Lanis, the eldest, had struggled to hide her awe at the estate, at the mages running to and fro, and at the black-clad assassins watching silently as the newcomers walked past.

  Finn was almost disappointed the journey was over. Perhaps she could have asked Ashclaw to transport them all, and it could have been done with long ago, but after their last conversation, she wanted to be nowhere near the great beast.

  She stopped outside her chamber door, unprepared to face the reason she’d not wanted her travels to come to an end. She and Iseult had not had much time to speak alone since the events at Sormyr. She could reluctantly admit that the lack of time was her own doing, for when they finally spoke at length, she feared what he might say.

  “Are you planning to enter?” Iseult’s voice, soft behind her. She’d thought he was inside, but he’d likely been out patrolling the walls.

  She turned, placing her back against the door. “I’m not quite sure yet, to be honest. What do you think?”

  “Go inside, Finnur.”

  Moving her back from the door, but keeping her eyes on Iseult, she turned the knob. Rarely could she read his expression, but now? He seemed as foreign as a distant land, as still and dark as the deepest recesses of the sea, only imaginable by the blackness viewed from a safe depth.

  She swung the door open, then stepped inside, finally turning her back to him. What might he think of her, after all she’d done. Monster? Beast?

  Dragon?

  His touch on her shoulder startled her. She felt unable to face him, a fawn caught in the predator’s gaze.

  “Finn,” he said again, his voice soft. “Will you not even face me?”

  She turned abruptly, surprised by his tone. “I am only reluctant to face you, for fear of what I might see in your eyes.”

  But there was no fear in his eyes. No repulsion. “You are not upset?”

  Her lips parted. “Because of Arawn you mean?” She had been angry at first, but that had long since waned.

  He nodded. “I know I foiled your plan, but I could see no other way. I know I am selfish, but I cannot lose you.”

  She laughed, though it was bitter, like broken glass scraping across stone. “I’ve been avoiding you this whole time because I feared you would no longer want me after what I’ve become. I am no longer the creature you fell in love with. I am not noble, not kind.” She flourished her words with her hand.

  He caught her wrist. “My love is not conditional.” He seemed almost offended, and it shocked her more than anything up until this point.

  She shook her head, at a loss for words. “Iseult, so many innocent people died because of me. I had already drawn Belenus out, but I still let the faie attack. I wanted to deal him an even greater blow. He threatened me with an army, and I destroyed it with one of my own. Now that the magic has faded, I can see that it was wrong, but in the moment, it didn’t feel wrong. It felt like I had power, and that was all that mattered.”

  He watched her for a painfully long moment, the chamber so silent she could clearly hear the distant voices from the courtyard.

  Finally, he seemed to settle on an answer. “This will not be the last time you stand on the brink of darkness, staring down into an endless abyss. You will see it many more times, I am sure. It is what you are now.”

  She blinked at him. Was this it? Was the rejection she’d been waiting for finally here?

  “You may stand at the cliff’s edge,” he continued, taking her hands in his. “But you will feel a weight at your wrist.” He moved one hand along her skin to slowly encircle her wrist. He squeezed lightly. “That weight will be my hand, keeping you here with me.”

  She hadn’t realized the nerves she’d been stuffing down until that moment, as her body began to tremble. She wanted to fall into his arms, but she couldn’t. Not yet. “Your weight may not be enough. You may be pulled into the abyss with me.”

  “Then so be it. Any world without you would be far worse.”

  Her breath hitched. Could she do this? Could she truly risk dragging him down with her? She thought of Loinnir, now safe within the estate, then fell into his arms, shaking with relief. Although underneath it was fear. She knew what he offered was something she could not ask, but she was not strong enough to turn it away.

  Bedelia

  “Still itching for battle?” Syrel’s voice startled Bedelia from her thoughts. She’d spent most of the last several days atop the new walls of the burgh, trying to make herself useful, though her bow now rested against the parapet, useless, and they’d seen no sign of dragons nor soldiers.

  Bedelia crossed her arms, clad in a heavy winter tunic, then turned toward Syrel, who’d acquired more fitting clothes somewhere, black breeches and a billowing sapphire blouse that matched her eyes. “On the contrary,” Bedelia corrected her, “I’d be content to never see battle again.”

  Syrel’s eyes glittered, starkly contrasting with her pallid skin and loosely flowing black hair. “Liar. You like to be useful, and fighting is what you know how to do.”

  Bedelia searched for any hidden meanings in Syrel’s words, Eywen’s warning still lingering at the back of her mind. She could admit now that she’d avoided Syrel recently, if only to process how she felt. “Why are you here?”

  Syrel’s smile faltered. “I just came to see you. I apologize if my presence is unwelcome.” She stepped back.

  Bedelia held up a hand, flustered. “No! Please, that’s not what I meant.”

  Syrel’s shoulders seemed to relax as she regained the step she’d taken away. She turned her gaze outward, toward the eastern forest and the cliffs beyond. “I fear what my people are planning, and the Ceàrdaman,” she said, her voice low. “I haven’t spoken to my brother about it, he thinks me a mischief-maker, and little more.”


  Bedelia watched Syrel’s lips quiver, and almost expected tears to fall, though none did. “What do you think they are planning?”

  Syrel shook her head. “I cannot say, but if they are with the Ceàrdaman, nothing good. They are so conditioned to blindly follow power, many of them have lost any sense of honor.”

  Bedelia wasn’t sure why Syrel was telling her any of this, but part of her was overwhelmed with gratitude that she trusted her enough to share. “I hope it is not what you think. I hope they can all find peace.”

  Syrel turned wide eyes toward her. “Many of them have named you enemy in the past. Why would you care?”

  Her words came out before she could reconsider, “Because you care.”

  Syrel smiled. That genuine smile wiped the last remnants of Eywen’s warning from Bedelia’s mind. She startled at the touch of fingertips on her hand, then relaxed as Syrel laced her warm fingers with hers.

  Together they looked out beyond the walls, for what, Bedelia could not be sure. But they were looking together, and she found that was quite enough reason to continue.

  Kai

  Days had passed since the events at Sormyr, and things seemed quiet. Unusually so. Kai felt uneasy walking through the burgh. After the merrymaking—brought on by Ashclaw’s disappearance—had died down, a certain tension had manifested. Burghsfolk spoke in hushed tones, their eyes darting about nervously, especially when mages were near.

  Having gone to visit Anna and Eywen at the newly-constructed walls, he now hurried back to the estate, his hand always hovering near his dagger.

  The burghsfolk had always looked at him askance—he looked a bit too faie these days—but it had never been like this. Just what was brewing, and how much did Ealasaid know? He knew the prior lord of the burgh had been taken on as an advisor, divulging some scheme by Belenus, but Kai hadn’t had a chance to speak with Ealasaid or Maarav about the matter. They seemed eternally busy, and Finn was already dealing with far too many issues of her own.

  As he neared the estate walls, a flash of black skirts caught his attention. Had someone just darted behind the nearest building at the sight of him?

  Having had enough of whispers and sidelong glances, he veered sharply to the right, going around the front side of the small home, quiet at this darkening hour. With his feet light as feathers, he crept around, finding someone kneeling behind the slats of a small chicken roost.

  He watched her for a moment, almost regretting that it was her. He hadn’t spoken to Branwen since they’d returned to Garenoch. In fact, he’d hardly seen her at all.

  “Is it really necessary to hide from me?”

  She startled, then hopped to her feet, facing him. “Who says I was hiding?”

  He crossed his arms and sighed. “So you just really like kneeling in chicken droppings?” He extended one arm toward the tall wooden box behind her, which occasionally emanated with sleepy clucks.

  She scowled. “Really, I’m shocked you even noticed me. Most do not.”

  He’d noticed it too, how eyes seemed to naturally avert from her, but he’d had no trouble spotting her here and there the past few days. “What are you doing out here anyway?”

  She glanced over her shoulder, seeming to plan her escape route before turning back to him. “Leaving.”

  “To go where?”

  She shrugged. “Does it really matter? I’ve done what I’ve set out to do. It’s finished.”

  He knew he shouldn’t trust her, but the pain in her eyes was too obvious. Too raw. “Well if you’ve finished what you needed to do, you may as well stick around and see what happens next?”

  “Why?”

  Fool woman. Couldn’t she see he was doing his best to be nice? “You could make a life for yourself here.”

  She scoffed. “Just as you have made a life for yourself? Running around, risking peril, and for what? I see you wandering about alone just as much as I.”

  He lifted his hands in surrender. “I shouldn’t have even tried with you. Flit away if that is your choice.”

  Though he’d given her permission to leave, she didn’t move. Instead, she watched him like a hungry rabbit, hoping he’d feed her and not eat her. “I think—” she hesitated, “I think now that Niklas is gone, I am dying. It was his magic keeping me alive, and now it is slowly leaving me. It is better for me to go now. I can’t bear for others—others who care nothing for my life—to watch.”

  His mouth fell open, but she clearly wasn’t jesting. He shook his head and stepped forward. “There must be something we can do. Finn—”

  She shook her head, holding up her palms to keep him back. “No. I’ve been living on borrowed time, but at least it gave me my vengeance. It is alright.”

  “But—”

  She shook her head to cut him off, then stepped toward him. She reached up on her toes and planted a light kiss on his cheek. “Thank you for caring,” she whispered.

  And just like that, she was gone.

  Àed

  Though Àed’s eyes were closed, he felt as if he could see the stars glittering beyond his window. It was a peculiar sensation, one he’d never experienced, even in his younger years when his magic was the strongest. At times, he felt like he was leaving his body, and it was as easy as drifting off to sleep. He’d begin to drift away, then something would jolt him back, perhaps his deeply ingrained survival instinct, cultivated during his many years of life.

  He sensed a feminine form leaning over him, cloaked in darkness. Perhaps a phantom, come to lure him to the grave. His eyes cracked open, just enough to see delicate, long-fingered hands cradling a glowing red gem as big as the figure’s two palms put together.

  The gem lowered toward his chest, bringing the scent of herbs and smoke with the figure’s closeness.

  A familiar voice whispered, “I’m sorry father, I cannot stay. I fear you will not forgive me for what I have done.”

  He was too weak to respond. The gem touched his chest, and the magic of a thousand ages rushed through him. He shot upright, blinking back tears as his eyes darted around the night-darkened room, but he was too late. He was alone.

  Iseult

  Iseult sat at a table in the inn, far from the fire, cast half in shadow. He did not naturally flock to crowds, but knew this was likely the last place anyone would search for him. He needed time to think, and to plan.

  He reached for his untouched dram of whiskey, then slowly recoiled, having no real desire for the drink, though the other patrons did not seem to share that sentiment. Word had spread that the black dragon was gone. They were all safe . . . for now.

  He sat back in his chair and watched the loud, bladdered burghsfolk. Mead and whiskey seemed to be the only thing the burgh wasn’t short on these days, though if they succeeded in growing new crops, food stores might recover by the end of the next growing season.

  Iseult pushed thoughts of the burgh’s well-being from his mind. This was not his home, and not what truly mattered to him. He had succeeded in his plan, to a degree. His risk in approaching Ashclaw had resulted in Arawn’s death, but it had not stopped Finn from eating Belenus’ magic.

  Perhaps it was for the best—the magic did make her stronger—but she had survived this long by following her heart. Now he feared she was guided by other instincts. He would love her regardless, but he also wanted to save her. He just had to figure out how.

  His eyes caught a glimmer of silver hair. He clenched his full dram of whisky so hard with his fingertips, the pewter was in danger if warping.

  Óengus approached him, no fear in his eyes, no caution in his gait. He stopped before Iseult’s table.

  Iseult did not reach for a blade. He knew he was faster than Óengus. If violence was called for, he would cut Óengus down before he could blink.

  Instead, he looked up at him. “What are you doing here?”

  Óengus looked thinner than he used to be. Older. His winter cloak and suede breeches threadbare. “Waiting for a friend,” he explained. “I�
��m surprised to see you here. Alone.”

  “Which friend.” More a demand than a question.

  Óengus pulled out a chair and sat across the table from him. “That’s of little import. I assure you, we mean no harm. For now.”

  Iseult’s fingers itched to fetch his sword. “You were there in that snowy realm with Keiren. You hit Finn over the head. I should kill you now.”

  Óengus rolled his eyes. “It was just a small bump, and if you ask me, it was for the girl’s own good. She’s gotten herself in way over her head. You should just be grateful Keiren brought along Kai and the wraith to make sure Finn safely awoke in time.”

  Iseult stared. Kai had told him what happened, that he and Branwen had been suddenly snatched up and transported, but that they had all been consumed by darkness when Keiren faced the god. So perhaps the sorceress had really been interested in Finn’s wellbeing. The trio were all still alive, after all. There was still just one thing he did not understand. “And you? Where do you come in? The last we saw of you, you were with Oighear, and she is our enemy.”

  Óengus laughed. The sound would have been startling if the common room wasn’t already awash with shouts and laughter. “You and I are fools, my friend, to ever think we could belong with these immortal women. They know so much more than we ever will.”

  “I am nothing like you.”

  Óengus leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the table. He lowered his voice, “Then what are you doing here alone, while your tree girl is resting within the estate?”

  Iseult gripped the tabletop. He’d never been one to give in much to blind rage, but it seemed always just beneath the surface these days. “I will ask one more time, what are you doing here? What does Keiren plan?”

  Óengus shrugged and leaned back. “The sorceress loves her father. As I’ve said, you have nothing to worry about. As for what she plans next, I suppose I’ll find out eventually.”