Rhys ran to him. “Are you the Dark Mage?” he demanded as he started to search the angel’s ragged clothes.
“Camael,” he whispered, his mouth beginning to froth.
“What are you doing here?”
“My child.”
Rhys followed Cailleach’s gaze to Rowan. “Rowan is your child?”
“Yes.”
“Where is the mage?”
“Hiding. Waiting for her death. He covets what is inside her.”
“What is inside her?” Keir demanded.
“A symbol of great power,” spoke a disembodied voice. It was followed by the sweep of a black shadow, a flash of light, and then Suriel was revealed. “Covetina’s amulet. It is one of the keys he needs.”
Suriel walked around the prone body of Camael and gazed down. “What has he done to you?”
Camael ignored Suriel, and, instead, opened his palm to Cailleach. He motioned to her. With great effort he spoke. “Uriel . . . is the mage. He searches . . . for his flame. The witch Morgan stole it from him and hid it within the one she cursed.” He took a pained breath. “I was there when she did it. I heard the spell, but I do not know who it was. He is vulnerable . . . He grows more fearful as time passes without it.”
“Carden,” Bran said. “He was cursed by her.”
Cailleach bent to him and reached for his hand. “You will be taken back to Annwyn, where my healers will rid you of the poison. And then you will join us,” Cailleach said, her gaze pointed on Bran; then it focused on Drostan. “Griffin, summon Camael to the temple.”
The griffin stepped forward and held out his palms. The golden light of summon magick swirled in his palms, and then Camael was gone.
“Suriel!” Keir demanded. “Rowan is dying. Do something!”
Suriel bent to Rowan and brushed his hand along her hair. “This is the moment, wraith, when you will request something of me, and I must refuse you.”
“Damn it, don’t you play games with me, you son of a bitch.”
“I cannot save her. Her path lies elsewhere, not with us. But I can facilitate her death. It will be painless.”
“What can I do? What can I offer in return for her life?”
“Nothing. She might have been fathered by an angel, but now she is a mortal with a mortal’s soul. She belongs to Him, and He wants her back.”
Keir cursed at the sky, calling Him every foul name he knew.
“Please,” Keir begged, and Rhys felt the agony that filled him. “I will do anything.”
“There is nothing to be done.”
“There has to be a way.”
“Keir,” Rhys murmured, taking a step toward him, but he heard Keir’s voice, hard, biting, warning him back, wanting him away. But Rhys ignored it and placed his hand on Keir’s shoulder. He looked down at Rowan, whose eyes were open, her face contorted in pain. Rhys could not bear to look at her. Whatever the mage had done to her, she was dying in pain and terror. “She suffers under his spell. Let her go.”
“No!” Keir snarled, hugging Rowan to him. “No, she doesn’t.”
“The mortals believe in the afterworld, and you believe in transmigration,” Suriel reminded him. “Is it not one and the same? The life essence or soul of a living thing passes immediately from the old body into a new life after physical death.”
Keir shook his head, not wanting to hear anything other than that Rowan would live. But she would not live—not for much longer. Pressing his face to her, Keir kissed her, his large body protectively covering her as he held her in his arms.
“If you love her,” Rhys murmured, “then let her last moments be peaceful.”
Rhys felt Keir’s inner struggle. His love was strong, but his grief was stronger.
“This is not the end for her, Shadow Wraith,” Suriel said. “You will meet again.”
“In how many mortal lifetimes? How many centuries will I have to wait for our paths to cross again?”
“I do not know your destinies.”
Keir clutched Rowan to his chest. He wanted to be alone with her. Rhys heard his thoughts and honored them.
Motioning to the chapel door, Rhys nodded in the direction of the moonlight. Everyone filed out, including Suriel, to give Keir some privacy with Rowan.
With a sigh, Rhys clutched Bronwnn to his chest, holding her tight. He couldn’t lose her—ever. He wasn’t strong enough to endure what Keir was going through.
“Rhys, descendant of Daegan.”
Rhys lifted his gaze to find the goddess leaning against Bran and Sayer. She was weak and frail, her powers swiftly draining.
“You saved me. Even though I would have killed you had Bronwnn not offered an adbertos, you saved my life.”
He shrugged. “We mortals are like that. We forgive.”
“Then I have much to learn,” she whispered, “for I have never forgiven. I would offer you something in return—I would offer you Bronwnn.”
Bronwnn turned around and gazed up at the goddess. “You would give me my mate?”
“I would. For he is worthy of you,” Cailleach murmured. “And the wraith deserves to mourn his woman. The mortal is yours with my blessing. I must leave now. My soul is tied to Annwyn, and I cannot exist outside my realm. But it is my hope that you will both be able to find peace in Annwyn.”
Rhys grabbed Bronwnn and kissed her hard, pouring all his love into that one kiss. While his heart was soaring that Bronwnn was to be his, he felt the pain of Keir watching his love slip away.
“Rowan,” Keir murmured as he pressed his lips to her cheek, “don’t leave me. Not yet.”
She was growing cold in his arms, and he hugged her closer, rocking her. For the first time in his existence, he felt his eyes well up, and then a tear fell, only to land on her pale cheek.
“I would do anything, give anything, if only I could have you back.”
She did not answer. She only looked at him with those blank eyes. And he knew it was too late to save her in this lifetime. But there was a way. He had seen it in his vision.
“One night is not enough,” he said, his voice catching, then breaking. “It has only made me love you more.”
He continued to rock her, to kiss her cheeks. His tears tumbled onto her, and he clutched her closer. “If love could save you, you would live forever,” he whispered. But there was no reply, and he closed his eyes against the reality of what was happening.
“You have made me the thief of your heart,” he murmured. “I am forced to take it, to steal it, and hide it away until you come back.”
He knew what he must do, and he reached for the athame lying on the floor next to him. Then he pulled one of the satin ties from his pocket. It was one of the ones she had used to tie him up, and it still bore her scent. He closed his eyes, inhaling it, bringing her into his lungs, and filling his soul with memories of her. Then he placed the satin over her chest and picked up the athame.
“Your blood is precious. I will keep it with me, and, though you are unable to speak, I know you would have it so.” Keir glanced at the quartz still around her throat. It was truth enough. He could find her anywhere as long as she wore it. And then he took the tip of the athame and pricked her finger, allowing three perfect circles of crimson blood to drop onto the white satin.
“I will find you anywhere you are,” he whispered as he kissed her cold lips. “I have the power. Come to me when you are reborn.”
Keir watched as Rowan took her last breath.
He had talked to her, whispered to her, told her they would find each other again, and he believed she had heard him. He had told her to come find him when her soul settled into its new vessel, and he believed she would. She had to, because he could not exist without her.
Butterflies circled, gathering around her. One landed on his shoulder, and he watched its white wings, edged in blue, flutter elegantly. On the windowsill, his wren sang a melancholy song that matched what was in his soul.
“We will meet again,” he whispered to the
woman he loved.
In his arms, her body turned hot, then slowly crumbled to ash, just as he had seen in a divination. Wind from somewhere came and spread her ashes, leaving nothing but dust in his hands—even the quartz pendant was gone—and on the floor, by his knee, a metal ring. Picking it up, he saw the triscale—the gems. With a start, he realized what it was. It was the first key to the prophecy, the amulet.
As he pocketed it, Cliodna sang out a warning, which he quelled with a dark look. It was a part of Rowan, and he would surrender nothing.
“Raven,” Suriel murmured, “come with me.”
Bran motioned for them to follow Suriel up a long, darkened path that wound uphill. At the top, Suriel stopped and gazed down at the little chapel. “A house of mourning. A garden of pain.” Suriel’s hand encompassed the manicured gardens that shone in the moonlight before he motioned to the set of trees behind him. “A path of tears.”
Bran gazed at the angel, and Rhys began to understand. “The cemetery is beyond those trees.”
“And where there is a cemetery, there is statuary.”
Everyone began running, all but Rhys and Bronwnn who stood on the hilltop and held each other. Silently they watched the chapel, waiting for Keir to emerge.
When Rhys saw the little white butterflies begin to circle around them, he knew something had happened. Beside him, Bronwnn gasped.
“Dealan-De,” she whispered. “Butterflies. Souls of the dead, and the keepers of power. No harm will come to you where you see butterflies.”
And Rhys knew it for the truth. Butterflies were the souls of the dead. Rowan was gone, and Keir’s anguish tore through him, making him stagger.
In the distance, he heard Bran’s cry of triumph. Carden had been found. But the joy was short-lived, for Rhys was suddenly consumed with the wraith’s need for vengeance, with a rage that swamped him and forced him to his knees. Bronwnn cried out and embraced him. But Keir had no one to hold him; no one to comfort him as Rowan lay dead in his arms.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Rhys stared out the window and into the moonlit garden. It had been two weeks since they had found Carden, still cursed and encased in stone. Two weeks had passed since Rowan’s death, and Keir had locked himself into his room, refusing to see anyone.
“You must eat something,” Bronwnn whispered as she came up behind him and wrapped her arms around him.
Holding her hands, he dropped a kiss onto her knuckles. “I will.”
“You worry for the wraith.”
“I hate to see him this way.”
“You don’t have to.”
Cailleach had lifted his curse, which had severed the bond between him and Keir. But although their bond was fading, Rhys could still hear Keir’s thoughts and feel his pain. He was alone in that room, refusing to see anyone—even him.
“Go to him,” she murmured.
Closing his eyes, he tried to think of a way to ease Keir’s pain.
“Go,” she encouraged. “I will be here when you get back.”
“I won’t be long.”
She kissed him and smoothed her hands through his hair. “Have patience with him. The loss of one’s Anam Cara takes more than a fortnight to heal.”
Nodding, he left their room in Bran’s castle, and made his way down the hall. Once he got to Keir’s room, Rhys’ nostrils began to burn as the acrid stench of smoke wafted up through the door. Keir had been going heavy on the incense. He was performing divinations day and night, trying to connect with Rowan. Rhys had felt his frustration and anger at his lack of success.
Rhys rapped his knuckles against the wood.
“I’m crashed,” spoke the deep voice from inside.
“It’s me.”
“Yeah, I know. And I’m still crashed. Save it for the morning.”
Rhys ignored the biting sarcasm and turned the handle, opening the door to a cloud of smoke. Keir was sitting on the bed, naked, propped up against the headboard with one knee bent. Beside him, the sheet partially revealed a woman with a bright red mop of hair. Rhys knew that hair. It was Abby, the waitress from his club.
He glanced from the sleeping woman back to Keir, who was shoving the butt of his smoke into an ashtray.
“How did she get here?”
“Sayer enchanted her. She won’t remember anything.”
“She’s a complication we don’t need right now.”
Keir wiped his hands along his face. “I needed a fix.”
“You don’t even like her.”
Keir’s gaze pierced him. “But she likes me, and we all need that sometimes, you know, to be wanted? And she knows how to screw; I’ll give her that.”
“So, what are you going to do with her now that you’ve brought her here?”
Keir shrugged and looked away. Rhys had never before seen him so callous, and never to a woman. “I’ll probably do her again, then send her back. She’ll be up for it. She’s always up for it and what I can give her.”
This didn’t even sound like Keir. Christ, he was getting freaked out, looking at the wraith—the wraith he’d been tied to since birth—the one he no longer even knew. “When was the last time you slept?”
“I don’t know. Weeks, maybe.”
“Have you found Rowan?”
Keir laughed and reached for another smoke. “Would I be fucking someone else if I could connect with her?”
“I don’t know. Would you?”
The lighter flared, and Keir took a drag of his smoke. He puffed out a big cloud before he spoke. “Leave it, Rhys.”
“Does she help?” Rhys asked, pointing to the woman beside him. “Does she give you the kind of comfort you need?”
Keir glared at him. “Fine. Nail me to the cross for taking this one to bed tonight, but I needed a reprieve. I needed a few hours of mindless fucking. Is that a problem for you?”
“No, but I think it is for you. You don’t have to do this. It can be different.”
“Really? Is your new wife willing to share you?”
“Leave Bronwnn out of this.”
Keir’s gaze darkened, but Rhys continued. “You’re hurting and grieving. I hate seeing you like this. Come by our room—”
“Oh, won’t that be cozy,” he snorted.
Keir could argue for hours. He was a stubborn son of a bitch who would never budge once he dug his heels in, and shit, he was dug in deep. Rhys turned his back and reached for the door.
“You don’t really want this—or her.”
“Our bond is severed,” Keir snapped. “You no longer know what I want.”
There was a pain in his chest when Keir reminded him of their bond. “Yeah, it’s severed, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel you anymore.”
“Go back to your wife,” Keir snarled, “and leave me alone.”
There was no reaching him yet—not tonight, and not tomorrow. He was raging and hurting. Once the anger let up, he could find Keir once again. Until then, he could only wait—and hope.
“I’m around when you need me.”
“I won’t.”
Rhys turned back to his wraith; his best friend. “She’d hate to see you this way, you know.”
Keir’s gaze flickered; then he looked away. “Well, she’s not here, is she? Go away, Rhys. Go back to your mate.”
Reluctantly, Rhys shut the door behind him. Christ! That . . . That had been a complete stranger. It wasn’t Keir any longer, but someone else.
“Rhys?”
Turning, he saw Bronwnn standing in the hall. She held out her hand, and he walked to her, grasping on to her like a lifeline.
“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I think I might have. It was Keir.”
“Grief has hit him hard. He’s hurting, and knowing you have your mate is making him feel the loss of his more acutely.”
“He won’t let me help.”
She stood up on her tiptoes and kissed him. “It’s too soon. Everything is too fresh. But he’s there, even i
n shadow. He hasn’t left you.”
Bronwnn dragged him into their room, kissing him, loving him, and he tried to put aside his fear, but he knew Bronwnn was wrong. Keir had left. But where he had gone to, Rhys didn’t know. And he was afraid to find out.
Kneeling before the Supreme Goddess, head bowed, Bronwnn accepted Cailleach’s gift—the Shrouding.
“It was wrong for me to have parted Covetina and Camael,” Cailleach said as she hooked her fingers beneath Bronwnn’s chin and tilted her head up to meet her gaze. “But I won’t apologize for stealing you. If I hadn’t, you would have been in Uriel’s hands, and the light I see in your eyes would not be there. Fate has a way of making things right.”
“ ’Tis true,” Bronwnn replied. “I would have been his servant, his apprentice. He would have used me to destroy Annwyn and all that I love.”
“I never intended to hurt, but I had to keep you separate from the others, because I was never certain where he was, and I didn’t want him to know of you, let alone find you.”
“That is all in the past,” she whispered. “I wish to forge a future. With Rhys.”
“Then you will have it. Go now and make your future.”
Rising from her knees, Bronwnn’s red gown glowed in the candlelight. “Thank you for this gift.”
Rhys rose from the tub and pulled a towel from the rack. Quickly he dried himself, then wrapped the towel around his hips. He was headed for the room he shared with Bronwnn, when he stopped, caught a glimpse of something at the window, and headed for it instead.
Outside, something glimmered, and his gaze tracked it as it shimmered in gold and silver hues. Instinctively, he knew what it was, and he watched as the glimmer rose up again. Hurrying into his room, he shrugged into a pair of jeans. He had no idea what a man wore to a Shrouding, but he knew whatever it was wouldn’t be on him long.
Dressed, hair brushed back, he ran down the staircase that led to the door that would take him outside.
“MacDonald.”
Rhys stopped and glanced over his shoulder. Bran was leaning against the wall, his arms folded over his chest. A strip of white cloth dangled from his fingers.
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