Mists of Velvet

by Sophie Renwick

  “You’ve taken me away from my investigations. I demand to know what is so important that you’ve interrupted my search for the Dark Mage.”

  “That Soul Stealer is what has me summoning you.”

  Sitting in the chair opposite Cailleach, the king watched her warily. “Have you information for me?”

  “One of my handmaidens has the sight.” It was Bronwnn she was speaking of. Now her ear was pressed tightly against the gossamer fabric of the screen. She hoped her shadow was not evident. She should not be eavesdropping, but she couldn’t leave now, knowing the Supreme Goddess was speaking to the king about her.

  “Do you recall the book I had you find? It belongs to her, and to her mother before her.”

  “And what care have I for this handmaiden?”

  Cailleach sent him an annoyed glance. “Because you understand the significance of this book, that is why.”

  “Do I?”

  Cailleach’s expression turned murderous. “Play your games with your courtiers, Raven, if games amuse you. However, they only provoke and irritate me. Surely you can see that this farce of cat and mouse we play together has made our alliance and our rule ineffective.”

  The king cleared his throat and shifted his large body in the chair. Curtly, he nodded. “Continue.”

  Cailleach took a sip from the gold chalice, then carefully set it aside. “You will care about this handmaiden, because she can successfully prophesize the future. She records her visions in the book, then reports them to me.”

  Not all of her visions, Bronwnn thought. She had kept many things from the goddess—things she could not understand or explain; things that might prove dangerous if they fell into Cailleach’s hands.

  “And what has she told you, Cailleach?”

  “How do you think I came by the knowledge that there would be nine warriors to find my amulet and the missing flame?”

  Intrigued, the king sat forward in his chair. “So that is what this summons is about. Now who is playing games, Cailleach? Why not come out and admit it. You want the names of my warriors.”

  “It’s been weeks since you wed. I’ve allowed you enough time to woo your queen. Now it is time to see to your duties.”

  He smiled, then sat back in his chair. “I can see you’ve never been wed, or wooed,” he said with a chuckle, “for you would know that weeks are not nearly long enough when spent with a lover.”

  The queen stiffened and glanced away. “My handmaiden has told me it is time for the nine to arise and begin the hunt. Dark magick is sweeping across Annwyn. We cannot delay.”

  “Let me speak with her,” the king demanded.

  “Impossible,” Cailleach scoffed. “She has taken a vow of silence. She has not spoken a word since she was a child.”

  That vow had been for her own protection. Visions constantly flooded her, and Bronwnn could never be certain her secrets would not come spilling out along with her visions. There were things about her that the goddess didn’t know. Things that could get her banished from the order. She shuddered to think of what could happen—something much worse than being segregated from the others; that was for certain.

  “Well, isn’t that convenient?” Suddenly the king’s gaze darted to the screen, and she froze. He saw her. He had pinned her with his mismatched eyes, and she was caught.

  Preparing herself for Cailleach’s wrath, Bronwnn held her breath. The tirade never came. Cailleach was still sitting on her throne, and the king’s attention was still focused on where Bronwnn was hiding. There was a warning in his gaze and a message in his eyes. She knew then she must stay, and he would speak with her after his meeting with Cailleach had ended.

  Suddenly, his gaze left her, only to be pinned on Cailleach. “I sense that this handmaiden is not entirely what she appears to be.”

  “Bronwnn would never dare cross me. She knows the price of betrayal.”

  “Fear does not instill loyalty, Cailleach. Trust is earned and freely given.”

  Cailleach’s expression turned mutinous. “You dare presume you know of our ways? You are a Sidhe. Sidhe know only how to fight and mate.”

  The king glared at Cailleach. “Speak carefully, Cailleach, for it is very early in our truce. I am not above severing it.”

  Cailleach’s pale green eyes turned a frosty shade. “Our truce is for the benefit of Annwyn, not each other. I will speak as I find fit. Now, then, the symbol you showed me, the one painted on the wall in the mortal realm—when I showed it to Bronwnn, she was able to see that only one magician is performing these rituals. He invokes Gwyn, our god of death and ruler of the Shadowlands, as well as the Dark Angel of the mortals’ religion. Two separate deities, but one man.”

  “So Suriel was correct. He told me the mark referred to an angel named Uriel.”

  The Supreme Goddess actually shivered at the name, but she recovered almost immediately. “Now we know we hunt one man—for now. He is either an angel or a mortal with extensive knowledge of both angelic and Druidic lore. An occultist, a practitioner of the most dangerous of the Dark Arts.”

  “And did she tell you what this man looked like?”

  “She writes the word ‘chameleon,’ over and over again. Do you know what it means?”

  “It is an animal that exists in the mortal realm. It resembles a small dragon, except this animal is able to change its appearance to blend in with its surroundings. It’s a protective ability.”

  “So it seems our enemy is able to change his appearance. That will make it very difficult to discover his identity.”

  Bronwnn had not known what it meant. She had only heard the word, time and again. It had been said with such pride and gloating. And now she knew that the evil she saw in her visions was always changing; it was always one step ahead of them.

  “It is time, Raven. Name your nine, if you please.”

  The king’s gaze volleyed back to Bronwnn’s hiding spot, assuring her he was not done with the topic. “Very well. I’ve given the matter great thought. I know the nine.”

  “And?” Cailleach asked impatiently.

  “Mairi.”

  “She’s a mortal!” the queen spat.

  “You will recall she has an incredible power—the one to heal me and those I care about,” he growled. “I will not undertake anything if Mairi is not at my side. Even you in your blind hatred of mortals can see how beneficial Mairi’s power is to our cause.”

  Grudgingly, Cailleach acknowledged the fact. Waving her hand impatiently, she muttered, “Go on.”

  “Carden, of course.”

  “An excellent choice, if you could find him.”

  “I will find him.” The king narrowed his gaze. “Can your seer not aid us?”

  “I haven’t yet asked her to envision your half brother.” Cailleach shrugged elegantly. “Perhaps if I were assured of your full cooperation . . .”

  “I gave you my bloody word,” he snarled. “Don’t fuck with me, Cailleach.”

  Her gaze turned murderous. “Do not speak in that common way to me, Raven. This is a holy temple, not that filthy mortal club, Velvet Haven. If in no other place, you will respect my position here.”

  “I do not give my word lightly. Do not question it again.”

  They stared at each other for long moments—adversaries more than corulers. The feelings of mistrust and anger simmered, making Bronwnn’s breath catch.

  “As to Carden, I will set my handmaiden to the task. Her visions are reliable, so if she sees something, you can be assured it is the right path to follow.”

  “Thank you.”

  Nodding, Cailleach rose elegantly from her throne and walked around the long table to stand before the hearth. It was cold in the chamber, and the goddess rubbed her hands together, her rings glimmering in the flickering firelight as she used her magick to make the fire grow warmer.

  She was stunningly beautiful, standing in the warm glow. A vision of such majestic, ethereal beauty. But beneath the stunning veneer lay a cold and p
owerful woman bent on revenge.

  “Perhaps you might consider an alternate, in case Carden is not found?”

  “He’ll be found.”

  With a sigh, Cailleach turned and met the king’s gaze. “With you, that is only three. What of the other six?”

  “Suriel, of course.”

  The queen’s expression blackened. “I forbid it. A fallen angel? No, absolutely not. I will not have him or his kind in Annwyn.”

  “I need him as a bridge between Annwyn and the mortal realm. His knowledge of the mortals is invaluable.”

  “It is very dangerous to involve him in our matters. His allegiance is to himself.”

  “I concur, but there is nothing else that can be done. I need Suriel, whether we trust the bastard or not.”

  “I don’t.”

  The king nodded once. “Nor do I, but the truth is, this is a matter that threatens not only our world. The mortal realm is also at stake.”

  “Can he be relied upon? I doubt it. Do you even know where he is?” Cailleach demanded. “Hiding, no doubt, like the snake he is.”

  “Mairi knows.”

  “Tread carefully, Raven, for I sense deception on Suriel’s part. His motivation is not clear. His role in your mate’s life is most perplexing, and I am not afraid to say it worries me.”

  Cocking his brow, the king drawled, “Why do you suppose I want him nearby? I believe in the adage, ‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.’”

  “The last time an angel was in Annwyn,” Cailleach said with a shudder, “it was catastrophic.”

  “You have my word that I will keep Suriel in check.”

  “And the others, will you be able to keep them in check?”

  “I’m certain. I’ve picked those I feel I can trust, and who can add the most to our search.”

  “And who would they be?”

  “Sayer, for his ability to use Enchantment magick. Keir, who is well versed in divination. As a Shadow Wraith, he also has invaluable reconnaissance abilities. I’ve also enlisted Drostan, the griffin with the power of summoning, and Melor, the phoenix. He has great fighting skills, and he is also familiar with necromancy.”

  Cailleach whirled on him. “Allow me to get this straight. Your sacred nine consist of a mortal female, a stone gargoyle, an unscrupulous Selkie who practices his magick to seduce the opposite sex, a fallen angel with dubious loyalties, a firebird with a link to the very evil we are trying to defeat, and a griffin who is nothing but a mercenary for hire?”

  “Exactly. Drostan’s summoning magick is so valuable that, if pressed, I will pay him in whatever currency he desires. We need him.”

  “I forbid this—this motley assortment of so-called warriors. There is not one elf or sprite or nymph among them. You’ve overlooked very powerful allies.”

  “Nay, I haven’t. I’ve banded together warriors whose magick controls all the elements, air, fire, water, and earth, as well as all facets of magick. And as for Melor and his ties to necromancy, we need him to help us fully understand the Dark Arts. To know your enemy, Cailleach, is sometimes to become like him.”

  “This is madness.”

  “This is strategy.” Crossing his leg over his knee, the king contemplated the goddess. “What do you fear, Cailleach?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I think you do. I think you object to my warriors because you have no dominion over them. They don’t fear you and your wrath as the elves and the nymphs do. However, I did note that you left one warrior out of your condemnation—the Shadow Wraith.”

  “He is the only sensible ally,” Cailleach retorted. “As mysterious a race as they are, their powers are immense. It is almost impossible to defeat an opponent who can become invisible. And,” she said more slowly, “it is a gesture that will not be ignored.”

  The king’s gaze grew alert. “You desire an alliance with them. You know that from the Wastelands, the wraiths have no fealty to you, or to the Sidhe.”

  “Yes,” Cailleach whispered. “Theirs is the only race that does not flow with the power and blood of my order. Think of it, Raven—the power of the wraiths bred with the power of the goddess.”

  “What are you suggesting, Cailleach?”

  “That we draw the wraiths into the war to save Annwyn by wedding one of their kind to one of my goddesses. Uniting the two races would secure our control.”

  “You mean your control,” the king corrected.

  Cailleach ignored him. “I have the right woman. She is coming into her maturity. And as she is the goddess of sexuality and fertility, she is ready to procreate and cement the bond between the Shadow Wraiths and the goddesses, between the Wastelands and Annwyn. With her powers, she can propagate a small army—for my purposes.”

  Gasping, Bronwnn pressed her hand against the stone wall for support. She was the goddess Cailleach spoke of. She was the one to be sacrificed to a Shadow Wraith. Cailleach was making her a pawn. Yet, to be mated with a wraith would enable her to leave the castle, and to be free of Cailleach . . .

  “You leave my warriors be, Cailleach, and I will not interfere with your plans for the Shadow Wraiths.”

  “Agreed. Now, Keir, the wraith, is he here in Annwyn, or does he still lurk within that vile mortal club?”

  “He has been in Annwyn more of late.”

  “Yes,” Cailleach said softly. “The mortal woman, I presume. How does she fare?”

  “Not well. Her death is near, I think.”

  “I am sorry Annwyn was not able to slow her fate.”

  The king’s expression fell as he lowered his gaze. “Mairi is beside herself with worry. Her only hope is that she will be able to heal Rowan when the time comes—just as she heals me.”

  “And so the wraith visits the mortal, then?” Cailleach asked.

  “Along with Sayer,” the king answered. “The three of them are trying to assist me in finding Carden. I believe Rowan is an oracle of sorts; when Sayer enchants her, she is able to shed her conscious thoughts and help us to decipher the riddle to Carden’s whereabouts.”

  “I have no wish to interfere in your search for Carden. If he is to be one of your nine, he needs to be found. However, as soon as he is able, the wraith must come to me. He will be shrouded with the goddess Bronwnn, uniting our two races, and our power.”

  The king stood, caught Bronwnn’s gaze, then very slightly tilted his head, indicating the hall where he would meet her.

  “Raven,” Cailleach called. “The mortal, Rowan. She may be buried here in Annwyn if she and your wife wish it.”

  The king stopped and stared at the goddess before bowing to her. “Thank you, Cailleach. You are most generous. Mairi will be pleased to have it this way.”

  She waved away his praise. “She reminds me of someone,” Cailleach murmured. “Someone I should have taken better care of. Perhaps I may atone for the sins of my past with this gesture.”

  The door to the solarium opened, and Cailleach’s voice rose once again. “Do not think you fooled me, Raven. You named only eight warriors. Who is to be the ninth?”

  The king pinned Bronwnn with his gaze. “I am not yet certain, but I believe I know someone who will be able to provide me with an answer.”

  “Think on the elves, Raven. They are cunning, and at times, quite merciless.”

  The chamber door closed. Bronwnn watched as Cailleach sank into her chair and closed her eyes. The owl flew from his swing to land on the velvet sleeve of Cailleach’s robe. Shaking his head, he hooted softly until Cailleach raised her hand and brushed his snow-white wing. The goddess looked tired. Her light was fading. Reposed like this, she looked like a vulnerable woman, not the powerful Supreme Goddess she was.

  “You haunt me,” Cailleach whispered as she gazed up at the jeweled ceiling. “Day and night, you haunt me.”

  Not knowing of whom Cailleach spoke, Bronwnn decided to take advantage of the Supreme Goddess’ distraction to slip away from the screen. Bronwnn did not dally, climbing the stairs to t
he hall where the king was waiting for her. He would ask her questions and probe her thoughts. She must keep her secrets. And she must, she thought, find the man who was to be her mate, for he was not safe from Cailleach. She did not need a vision to know that. She felt it deep within her. Cailleach was hiding something, and Bronwnn felt the overriding animal instinct to protect her mate.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Sometimes being mortal was a real bitch. Like tonight, when he was trying to open the wooden door to Annwyn—a door that mortals should know nothing about. Except he wasn’t just an average anthropomorphic.

  Frustrated, Rhys slammed his shoulder into the thick oak, hoping the antique door would give under his strength. The damned thing didn’t so much as budge. He gave it another shot, this time pushing with his body.

  Damn his great-uncle Bran for placing the protection spell on the portal. The Sidhe king had enchanted the door so that mortals like him would stay the hell away from the realm where the immortals dwelt. The inhabitants of the Otherworld guarded their home and their secrets well, and their greatest fear was that humans would discover their world and destroy it.

  “Cocksucker,” he swore as he pounded his fist into the door. “God damn it.” He took the brass handle in his palms and jarred it up and down. Christ, he must look like a five-year-old. But the fact was, he didn’t want to admit defeat. He didn’t want to come close to admitting what he truly was—your average, garden-variety human.

  “Hey, buddy, back away from the door.”

  Rhys sent a lethal glare over his shoulder. The bouncer, who was really an immortal, a troll in a human’s guise to be precise, paled when he saw his face. “Apologies, Mr. MacDonald. I didn’t realize it was you.”

  “It’s me, and I suppose that apology doesn’t extend to opening the door for me?”

  Farley rubbed his big palm over his shining bald head. “Sorry, man, but I have strict orders from my king.”

  “What about the orders of your boss?”

  “In my world, no one outranks the Sidhe king, except perhaps the Supreme Goddess.”