by Justine Dee
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Gwyn curled up in her seat in first class, she had refused Logan’s offer of the private jet to fly home in but he would not hear of her flying coach, so she had plenty of room to stretch out here and relax for the flight back.
She was not tired; she just did not want to be awake as she sat there.
The hostess had stopped fussing over her and was finally leaving her in peace. Gwyn uncurled her fist and looked down at the necklace that Myrddin had given her just before she boarded. It was beautiful and he had said he hoped it would help as a trigger for her. Age had not tarnished the silver that formed the base of the pendant, an intricately designed flower formed by Celtic knot work and in the centre of it rested a beautiful clear amethyst. It was a stunning piece that looked more like it should be in a museum than on her neck but she had promised Myrddin she would wear it. She would once she was finished holding it. She was pretty sure it would not matter which part of her skin it was touching, palm or chest, it was still in her possession. The way the light caught the sides of the stone were mesmerising and Gwyn let herself be lulled by the dancing of the light as she moved the pendant around in her hand. It stilled her mind; thought fell away as if she was trying to go in to a state of meditation. She was calm and at peace. Serene. It was a nice feeling.
Myrddin had not said but she knew that this necklace had been made for her, well her soul, in a life long ago. She just could not remember what life it had been, who she had been, nor who it had been that had crafted such a beautiful gift for her. Gwyn guessed the pendant was not one of her earliest lives, it was too well crafted but still, that left a lot of time to work with a lot of potential lives. She wondered if it might trigger something on the flight back and she kept pushing her mind to try and remember something, visualise anything that might awaken something inside her but the more she pushed, the further that peaceful and serene feeling fled away from her. She kept at it, though, not wanting to let her mind have the chance to dwell on other thoughts that threatened her. She would not have to worry about having time to think once she returned to work.
Logan was away and that left more work on Gwyn’s shoulders, which she was okay with. Logan had just lost his father and inherited a legacy; it would stand to reason that he would need some time to himself to get his head on. Gwyn was surprised that Izzy did not but she seemed resilient, there was much she had been through and she had come out the other side. She had different coping mechanisms than Logan. And having a partner to stand with her might help, not that Roen and Izzy had a normal sort of relationship but Gwyn could see they would not find anyone more perfect for each other. She was looking forward to their wedding; it promised to be an event.
Slowly her eyes drifted shut as she sat there and before she knew it she was dreaming.
Blowdyn looked up into the eyes of the stranger as his blade slid so easily into her belly. She did not know who this man was, lurking in the shadows of the temple, but from his face she could tell that he had not come here with the purpose of ending her life. He seemed as surprised as she was and he seemed so regretful. His eyes filled with horror at the act and the desire to undo his actions. She wished to give him words of comfort, even though she was in fact the one who was dying. But she could not draw a breath to find her voice.
She was cold, as if all the heat in her was seeping out with the blood. She wondered if she would see Bedwyr again in the afterlife. If he would join her in Tir na nog? If she would notice the wait for him, or if she would be reborn again?
All these thoughts went through her head in the moments between the sword entering her body and the sound of footsteps approaching them. The footsteps hurrying towards them seemed so far away and even the face of this man seemed to be moving away, moving into a pin prick as everything around her changed. So this was death. It was not as she had imagined and not nearly as dramatic. It seemed she would simply drift away on a wave of breathless pain. She hoped she would be blessed by the gods and in death find the love she had lost. If this was her destiny, then so be it. She had touched the lips of her love once, she had told him her heart and she would die knowing that he knew that she loved him.
Gwyn looked out the window as they flew over the ocean, tears still resting on her cheeks. The image was fresh in her mind but rather than making her think about the past, it made her think of the future. Things were in motion and though it would be years yet before the Hunt rode, it seemed those years would be eventful just as it seemed the past had been.
It was an afterthought that she realised; her ankle had not hurt at all today.
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