Secrets of the Starcrossed

by Clara O'Connor

  I scowled, pushing aside my sinking suspicion and deliberately ignoring Devyn’s friend, instead addressing him directly.

  “Devyn, I need to talk to you.” I sniffed. “Privately.”

  Devyn looked back impassively.

  “Now is not a good time.”

  “Then when is? I haven’t heard from you in nearly two weeks. You don’t like me to contact you over the ether and Linus’s home has other people living in it.” I’d gone there looking for him, but the elderly woman who answered the door had been clear that no friend of mine could possibly ever have lived there before slamming the door in my face.

  “I’ll come to you.” He paused. “Give me a couple of days. I just need to arrange something.”

  I wasn’t sure Marcus had a couple of days. He looked really ill and judging by the number of people at the hospital, he was likely to make himself worse, very quickly.

  “No.” I planted my feet firmly on the ground. “Now.”

  Bronwyn shifted behind him.

  “I don’t think so. You can both catch up whenever you like. Devyn and I only have until somebody passes by, so if you don’t mind, princess.”

  Devyn’s mocking little nickname annoyed me at the best of times, but out of the mouth of this person it was like a red rag to a bull.

  “Who do you think you’re talki –”

  Devyn caught my arm as I started to round on the taller girl.

  “Dammit, Cassandra, I really do need to talk to Bronwyn. I promise I’ll find you after.”

  My mouth set mutinously. Okay, maybe I was coming across like some crazy stalker, but Devyn was too prone to disappearing for me to let him out of my sight now.

  “No.”

  Devyn exhaled.

  “Fine.” He looked at the other girl. “Bronwyn, have you set everything up?”

  The girl cast a sidelong glance at me, arching a brow. “I haven’t spoken to her yet. Are you sure about this?”

  “Yes,” he answered without pause.

  Bronwyn sighed. “Things are pretty tense this visit. You risk our lives for what is likely to be nothing.”

  Devyn looked at me as he answered.

  “It’s not nothing.”

  “So you say.” Her head tilted to one side. “We’ve just had one miraculous resurrection, why not two?”

  “What resurrection?” I asked quickly.

  Bronwyn sent an unamused look at Devyn before responding.

  “Well, up until those two little lost citizens arrived across our borders, we hadn’t had word of Devyn here in years. We had to join this year’s delegation to see for ourselves. We were pretty sure he’d got himself killed on his foolish quest.”

  “Quest?” I repeated. “What quest?”

  I looked from one to the other. Devyn, at this point, looked murderous.

  “Shut up, Bronwyn,” he groaned again, which clearly tickled the other girl.

  “I know why he’s here… or rather, who he’s here for,” I threw back smugly.

  “Ooh, really?” She arched a defined brow at Devyn. “You’ve told her why you’ve been chasing a ghost? All of it?”

  “Enough.”

  Devyn clearly meant business this time and Bronwyn decided she wasn’t going to share any further, much to my frustration.

  Turning her attention to Devyn once more, she continued, “I’ve spoken to Llewelyn about it and he’s sceptical. He believes you see what you want to see and that you’ve been citified for too long. Whatever the truth is, we cannot let even a hint of this reach the family. If there’s even a chance she is who you think she is, they’ll want her back at any cost. And the cost would be many, many lives. We need proof… more proof than your feverish suspicions.”

  Devyn swore.

  “That’s exactly why I need this favour. But Bron”—his eyes gleamed—“you’ve seen it now, with your own eyes.”

  Were they talking about me? Had Devyn changed his mind? Did he now think I might be the girl he sought?

  Bronwyn shrugged. “Saw what exactly? The candles went out. Maybe the storm outside came in quickly. Maybe. Yes, she saw the past. She might have some power, but you’ve admitted you don’t have any connection.”

  Devyn frowned at this, shaking his head. “I can’t feel it, but sometimes there is something there. Something that’s more than I would expect if I were nothing to her.”

  “But not a real connection?” Bronwyn pressed.

  “No,” he admitted.

  This cryptic conversation was irritating me no end, but their hushed and hurried exchange suggested that explanations would not be forthcoming. I would have the truth out of Devyn as soon as I got him alone.

  “Llewelyn says it’s nothing more than a coincidence and that you should come home. Every so often a latent turns out to have some ability – that’s all,” Bronwyn continued.

  “No.” Devyn shook his head. “I know I’m right. I can’t prove it, but the glimpses I’ve seen, the feeling I can’t shake… I’ve suspected for years, and in the last couple of weeks I’ve grown surer of it.”

  “Devyn, please, you have responsibilities. You swore an oath. Enough of this. Wishing something is true isn’t the same as it being true. You sent word yourself that you had given up on the search in Londinium,” she reminded him. “The girl is matched to Marcus Courtenay, and that is of more use to us in current circumstances. That should be your focus.”

  Devyn shook his head again.

  “Please don’t be foolish. Do as they ask then come home.” Her stern tone softened as she added, “The old Griffin is very ill. Don’t you want to speak to him, just once, before he goes?”

  Devyn’s eyes went dead. I’d seen him shut down before but not like this. He wasn’t just masking his emotions, it was almost as if he didn’t have any. The light in his eyes was utterly extinguished.

  “Bronwyn, if you won’t help we have nothing more to say.” He started to turn away, his demeanour cold.

  “You’re a fool, Devyn,” she hissed.

  My frustration finally bubbled over and I screeched.

  “I am so entirely over all of this. If I have to listen to any more of this… this… cryptic, mysterious half-talk I’m going to explode.” I turned stabbing a finger in Devyn’s chest. “You won’t tell me anything, you told me to stop taking the pills, and I did. Now I keep having these episodes which I need someone to explain to me. Everything I thought was the truth is a lie. Everyone I’ve loved would turn away from me if they knew. My parents, the people I should be able to trust above all, are the ones who have betrayed me the most. I finally believe that this is all true and the only person who can explain any of it to me disappears.”

  “Cassandra, you didn’t want me to tell you anything more than the bare minimum,” he reminded me placatingly. “You wanted nothing more to do with me.”

  I was so angry I could scream. How dare he throw that back at me. That was before, before… everything.

  “Great,” I responded scathingly. “Thanks so much for taking anything I’ve said into account as opposed to doing or telling me only what suits you at any given time. Thank you. Sincerely.”

  A snort from behind me had me twirling around.

  “As for you, whoever you are”—I glared at the black-haired girl with her Celtic dress and her twisted torc—“I do know why he’s here. I’ve heard all about the girl he’s looking for as well as all about your interest in Marcus. But I’m not spying on him or anyone for you. I don’t care about any of your nonsense. I had to find you because Marcus is sick.”

  “He has the illness?” Devyn asked, suddenly alert.

  “No, it’s not that,” I said, putting my hand to my pendant. Despite Devyn’s assurances that there was no chance anyone was eavesdropping inside the Governor’s Palace, it couldn’t hurt to be careful. “Marcus has been using magic. I’ve seen it.”

  Devyn’s attention sharpened. “What? When?”

  “You were right. He’s the reason Barts hospi
tal has been having some success treating the illness. I think he’s been using it since before graduation.” At this, Devyn exchanged glances with Bronwyn. “He’s curing people, but he’s using magic to do it. And it’s killing him.”

  “You’re sure?”

  I nodded. “I’ve seen him do it. I know it was magic and you should see him… He’s wasting away.”

  Devyn threw Bronwyn a triumphant look which was met with an acknowledging wry twist of her mouth.

  “There is someone who could help,” Devyn answered me, still grinning at Bronwyn.

  Bronwyn groaned. “Fine, you win. I’ll talk to her. Looks like we’ll be getting two for one now.”

  I looked from one to the other of the Britons as they continued to speak to each other in cryptic, annoying half-sentences.

  “Thank you,” I gritted out before a thought struck me. “Why hadn’t you noticed already? I thought your orders were to spy on Marcus.”

  “Ha.” Bronwyn’s eyes rolled. Hard. “Yeah, and Devyn is so obedient when it comes to his orders.”

  Devyn shot her a quelling look.

  Bronwyn paid precisely the same heed to that as she had to his earlier verbal demands to shut up.

  “Devyn isn’t interested in Marcus Courtenay. He broke his oath and ran off to Londinium for one reason only, and that is the only reason he does anything,” she said.

  Finally, a cryptic statement I could actually follow.

  “The girl, the one you came looking for…” I felt protective of him in the face of the other girl’s mockery. For Devyn to have risked so much to come here, she must mean a great deal to him. Was I crazy to suspect he thought I might be her again? My brain went into overdrive, gears grinding as pieces fell into place. What else had happened besides the episodes, the visions? Maybe what I had seen was connected?

  “The girl, the one you’re looking for, was she the baby in my dream or whatever it was? Or does she have something to do with the red-haired man and child I saw in the ruins at Richmond?”

  The mention of my visions made the Celt’s eyes go round, her eyes flicking to Devyn for confirmation that she heard correctly.

  “You didn’t say she had seen Elizabeth Tewdwr as well,” she said sharply.

  “I didn’t know. This is the first I’ve heard of it.” Devyn smiled. “But I would say that was interesting, wouldn’t you?”

  Two sets of dark eyes turned on me.

  “What? Don’t you like it when I know something you don’t? Too bad.” My jaw set. Why did he always have to be the one with all the information?

  “Cass,” he demanded.

  I let out an annoyed huff. “I would have told you if you hadn’t disappeared on me. The night at the ruins, with Marcus, was actually the first time I saw something in the past. I saw the castle burn, and I saw her escape. I don’t know why or how, or what it means. I don’t know what any of it means. I don’t know who that woman was on the riverbank in the other vision either, but I think the boy was you. I think the person you’re looking for is the baby. But the baby and her mother died. You saw them die. You felt it.”

  “You saw her die?” Bronwyn interrupted, directing her question at Devyn. “You’ve always refused to confirm that… So then why are you doing this? You threw away what little life you had left and have risked your head for nothing.”

  “Because I have to know for sure. Unlike everyone else, despite all the evidence, I never felt sure,” Devyn replied before returning to the subject of my visions. “Cassandra saw my lady die. Why her?”

  “Why Elizabeth?” Bronwyn returned just as quickly. “She sees things from the past. She’s not connected to the first so why do you have to believe she is connected to the second?”

  “Gods,” I appealed to the ceiling.

  Devyn turned back to me. “I’ll explain everything, I promise. But I have to find out the truth first. Please, Bronwyn,” he implored the willowy Celt.

  Bronwyn looked from him to me and back again. She nodded.

  “Let’s see if we can find out the truth.”

  I gritted my teeth. “What bloody truth?”

  They both looked at me, their dark eyes glittering in the candlelight, measuring me, before Devyn answered.

  “Who you are.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  I entered the tent cautiously. I wasn’t sure I wanted to be here, but Devyn felt confident that the woman could provide some of the assurance he so desperately needed. He’d told me that one of the regular delegates was a wisewoman who Bronwyn had arranged to talk with us, to help Marcus, and to identify what type of blood flowed in my veins. I was less sure how enthusiastic I felt about the meeting beyond getting help for Marcus.

  It was impossible to deny Devyn’s belief that I had some element of magic in my blood in light of the episodes I had experienced over the summer in Richmond, especially that night on the hill.

  I wasn’t stupid. His conversation with Bronwyn, half-baked as it had been, was about me possibly being the girl he was seeking. I wasn’t sure what that might mean for me. The glimpse of that incident by the river had tugged at me since the night on Richmond Hill. The strength of the emotions that had overwhelmed me on seeing it still occasionally swept through me, the echo enough to catch me unawares and steal my breath away. I wasn’t entirely sure I was ready to learn more.

  Passing through the carnival that had overtaken the main plazas of the forum, I had caught the occasional glimpse of some of the delegates with their long hair and outlandish clothes, patterned with swirls and images of leaves and rivers and animals. My fingers itched to reach out and trace them as I followed Devyn through the bustling crowd, citizens and Britons alike mixing in the week-long festivities held to celebrate the Treaty Renewal. It was a two-centuries-old tradition which kept relations with the indigenous peoples of the island on an even keel by inviting them into the city and throwing a party to show off our hospitality.

  This year, though, there was a tension to the festivities, the city more aware than usual that these people were our enemies, an enemy that did not appear to be impacted by the illness sweeping through Londinium and the Shadowlands. It didn’t help that this year the son of the Lady of the Lake, the single most feared Briton, was in attendance. A bonus for me was that, with the Britons being the main topic of gossip and conversation in the city, I didn’t even need to look for information as it flooded my daily feeds.

  Speculation about the Prince of Mercia was rife. Having the Lady of the Lake’s son, a living reminder of the threat in the north, in our midst was making everyone nervous, the feeds full of the legends surrounding the generations of women who had stood with the Briton armies and the fearsome power they wielded. No Lady of the Lake had ever attended the Treaty Renewal; they only ever met the Empire on the battlefield. There were also bursts on the fashions of each tribe, from the martial Anglians to the whimsical Celtic styles of the western territories of Kernow and Cymru, and reports on the greater-than-usual impact of the Britons’ presence on our tech, evidenced by the blackouts and power shortages. The discussion of what magical abilities they might have were half urban legend, half conjecture – nothing terribly helpful.

  Weaving through the crowd in Devyn’s wake was a frustrating experience as he avoided coming into close contact with the few Britons enjoying the street festivities.

  Until we entered the tent.

  There, sitting on a chair, was a small, older woman dressed in the Kernowan fashion, who looked up from the cards spread on the table in front of her as we entered. Devyn had brought me to a fortune-teller.

  One of the few contacts any of my friends had ever had with the Britons had been to visit one of the fortune-tellers that were approved to ply their trade in the main square during the festival. The city council allowed the delegation to bring various such people with them for the amusement of the citizenry. Ginevra had booked a reading and dragged me along in support the last time they had been in town. I had waited outside during the sess
ion as my father had expressly forbidden me to speak to any Briton, but it had been fun to tag along in an attempt to peek at them. We had giggled over the experience together at school the next day, regaling our friends with the predictions of future love and wealth, despite not getting the thing I had most wanted: to see a Briton up close.

  The woman waved us wearily to the seat at the little table opposite her, her steely gaze sweeping both of us. A small smile played around her mouth as she picked up the deck of cards marked with a Celtic symbol I didn’t recognise and shuffled them deftly. The table and tent were covered in various Celtic designs and symbols, predominant amongst them the triquetra symbol from my pendant and from Linus’s house. I breathed a little more easily in the knowledge that any words exchanged in its presence would not be recorded.

  “Citizens, welcome. I am the wisewoman Fidelma,” she greeted us, her words welcoming but her tone wary. “What brings you here today?”

  Devyn hesitated at her lack of acknowledgement of his true heritage.

  “The lady Bronwyn sent us. We suspect my friend here may have magic in her blood but we aren’t sure. Can you help?”

  The silver-haired woman’s eyes assessed him coolly.

  “I know what you seek, foolish boy,” she grumbled turning to me. “Give me your hands, child.”

  I looked at Devyn.

  “Please,” he coaxed me. “Fidelma may be able tell us more about your blood. Then we’ll discuss your friend.”

  I laid my hands out, resting them palm up in her wizened careworn ones, a small ripple of unease going through me. I blinked. The wisewoman Fidelma smiled kindly at me before directing her gaze back to Devyn.

  “The lady Bronwyn left a package for you. It’s over there on the chair. She asks that you check the fit.”

  Devyn rose and crossed over to the bundle, unwrapping it to reveal some clothes in the Briton style. “What do I need these for?”

  “My lady hopes you might use them soon.”

  Devyn’s lips thinned. “I’ll only need these if I have something to bring with me.”

  The older woman locked gazes with him until he shrugged, picking the clothes up to do as directed. I shifted as the woman’s focus returned to me, her gaze locking with mine in a way that made me feel trapped, as if I couldn’t breathe properly. Fidelma’s brow came together in a frown, her head starting to shake.