He peered at her from beneath his lids, a look of smoldering disquiet.
She hesitated. “How are you feeling today?”
“I still smell like rancid garlic.”
Her eyes crinkled in laughter. “That is not you.” She pointed to the large clay bowl near her hip. “I am replacing the old poultice with this one. The garlic is not as pungent as before.”
He considered arguing with her, then thought the better of it. “How does my leg look today?”
“Verra well. You heal quickly, Tynan. I see no sign of infection.”
He grunted.
She sat still, gazing at him with those deep gray eyes.
He thought of pulling her down in the bed beside him. “What are you wearing now, silver threads?”
“Doona you like this one?” She looked down at herself.
“ ‘Tis the same as the other.” He struggled to sit up and realized she had the pelts off him again.
“This one has sleeves, Tynan.” She pushed him back down, her strength overpowering him in his weakened condition.
“I would not call those threads sleeves.”
Her eyes flashed at him “You are bad-tempered in the mornings. If you promise to lie still and let me replace the poultice, I will change back to my bedrail. It is clean, though ripped.”
“Doona change,” he grumbled, feeling out of sorts, lying there naked and helpless like a newborn babe.
“May I finish, then?”
He waved at her to continue, his gaze shifting away. A cool cloth glided down his healing thigh, causing him to flinch.
“What are you doing to me now?”
She smiled, a little curve to her lips. “As I told you, I must put the new poultice on your leg.” Reaching in the clay bowl, she cupped handfuls of a greenish mixture and put it over the wound. “It speeds the healing, Tynan.”
“It feels warm,” he said, slightly surprised.
“Aye, did you think it would not be?” She wrapped a white cloth around his thigh.
He frowned a little. “It still stinks.”
“A wee bit, nothing like before.” She sat back and surveyed her work, her hands green from the poultice. “How does the wound feel?”
Tynan shifted, testing the bandage. The ache in his leg had diminished, giving way to another bodily need. He became aware of a building pressure to relieve himself and glanced hopefully at the entranceway.
She turned to where he looked and smiled. “The pale afternoon light filters in, turning the vines to silver this day.”
He had not noticed. He caught sight of a brown wren foraging and wished only to join the bird beyond the holly bush.
“Tynan?”
He gave her a wan smile.
“Does the wound pain you?”
“Not like before.” He sat up.
“Where are you going?”
She had that authoritative tone of the simpler. Rose’s influence, no doubt. He motioned to the open entranceway. “I need to go outside.”
“Why?” she asked, her lovely brows arched in confusion.
He had no intention of explaining what should be obvious.
“HE HAS NEEDS, HONOR.”
Tynan looked up. A halo of silvery light and glitter took form in the entranceway, then strode in.
“Nuada,” Tynan said in relief. The silver garbed Faery King came to stand before him, hands on his hips and a curious quiver to his lips.
Tynan found no amusement in this situation.
“I SHALL TEND THE CHIEFTAIN, GODDESS. GO. IT BE TIME.”
Tynan looked to his faerymate, but she had already stood and left without explanation.
Night fell in shades of deep, black velvet.
A myriad of candles glimmered through trees thousands of years old. White roses bloomed in fey wildness amongst a thicket of thorns surrounding the enchanted well.
Bryna knelt in the moonlit clearing. A flowing gown of white webs hugged her form, leaving her back bare. Clusters of faery diamonds decorated the bodice, sleeves, and entire length of the train.
She bowed her head. Blodenwedd attended her, a kind of penance, no doubt ordered by the Faery King.
Bryna inhaled and took on her fey form as the faeries had taught her.
Her eyes changed.
Black pupils became catlike slits surrounded by a sea of gray.
Gossamer wings materialized.
Formed of silver lace, they unfolded from slender shoulder blades and stretched out behind her.
Her skin whitened, transforming to silk and the color of virgin snow.
And her hair.
Gold and red hues wove into every strand, glittering with heat.
“Are you sure?” Blodenwedd asked.
“Aye.” Bryna shivered with a guarded awareness. “Show me the ways of the Daoine Sidhe, so I may learn and protect the Tuatha Dé Danann.”
Blodenwedd nodded. Her body faded into the night. Fey winds blew through woodlands fragranced with blooms and fatal, mortal enchantment.
Bryna closed her eyes.
The soft wind kissed her cheeks.
Her hair turned into the color of immortal flames.
Behind her lids, a purple light came into being.
She saw the ancient faery fort of Kindred.
She felt her body link with the magical life force of the land. From the waterlogged bogs to the salty wind; from the mysterious shamrocks to the ancient oaks; from the wild goats to the sea gray seals — all linked.
Everything shimmered around her.
All endless.
She breathed in the revelation of BELONGING.
To Bryna it meant peace in her soul, a completeness where none existed before. To Tynan and his tribe, it would mean a strong future and fulfillment of the Dark Chieftain Prophecy for bounty and loyalty.
Bryna ceased being lost and became by right of birth . . . a territorial goddess in full bloom.
It felt very good, indeed.
She had been raised in the mortal way. Her first instincts would always be mortal.
However, the rest would be pure goddess. Her lips curved into a smile.
The fey wind dwindled to faery whispers and silver threads that transformed into butterflies.
All became what should have been.
She was goddess.
Only one thing remained to complete her transformation.
Only one thing remained to gain faery approval of her handfasting, her trial-marriage.
Only one thing remained to permanently bond her with the Dark Chieftain.
She must show him her true self, and in so doing complete the prophecy with his acceptance. She dare not allow herself to think of his rejection.
Bryna folded her wings against her back and returned to her mortal self.
Another morning came.
Tynan’s wound healed, the mark of it disappeared, as is the fey way. His full strength returned.
In the cool air, he stood staring down at the black webs covering his body. Like the course of a stream, the enchanted fabric flowed over skin and muscle, outlining his form. He felt more naked than clothed. The Faery King brought the clothes himself and asked that he put them on.
Tynan could not refuse. He chuckled at himself now, a sudden creature of twilight and depth and wondered what Bryna would say when she saw him.
Turning, he grabbed the leather wrapped scabbard resting on the table. Shrugging into the straps, he anchored it across his shoulders and down his back.
“Blodenwedd is right,” his faerymate murmured from the entranceway. “You were born to wear the faery webs.”
“They are comfortable,” he reluctantly admitted.
She smiled at his tone and walked around him. “You feel better, Tynan?”
“Aye.”
Picking up the sword where it lay on the goatskins, she held it out to him, palms opened, balancing the deadly, double-edged blade and leaving him access to the hilt.
“Thy sword, Dark Chieftain,” s
he whispered. Tynan looked at her and saw the serene manifestation of the faeries in her features, enhancing her beauty. A muscle twitched at his jawline. “You are different, Bryna.” He did not reach for his battle weapon.
She nodded. “Different, and yet the same.”
Tynan inhaled the new, subtle difference in her scent. It coursed through his veins, heating his blood— a mysterious blending of moonlight perfume and lavender, of turbulent storms and summer rain. He lost himself in her silver eyes. Something flickered in their depths, sorrow or desire. He could not be sure, for it disappeared as it had come, suddenly.
“The faeries have treated you well?” he asked.
“They are my brethren.”
Tynan’s hand slid over the sword’s wooden hilt with what he hoped was an easy grace. He had never felt more awkward.
“You are as they now?” He inspected the blood groove down the center of the weapon with the tip of a finger.
“I am more, and less of what they are, part of twilight, between two worlds, belonging to neither and both.”
He nodded, stepping away from her, not understanding. His palm glided over the smoothness of the blade before sliding it into the scabbard at his back. The sword felt familiar, the only thing familiar here in this fey place.
“YOU DOONA NEED THE SWORD.”
“I always need my sword, Nuada.” He looked over his shoulder at the Faery King. “My thanks for your healing.”
Nuada dipped his head and looked to Bryna.
“WE AWAIT YOU BY THE FALLS, HONOR.”
Tynan’s gaze narrowed in suspicion. “What is this about?”
“WORTHINESS. ACCEPTANCE.”
He glanced at Bryna, but she refused to meet his gaze.
“COME TO THE FALLS NOW, HONOR. IT BE TIME AND THE DARK CHIEFTAIN BE HEALED.”
Tynan recognized the direct command. With that, the Faery King vanished, leaving them alone with only shafts of silver light.
“Why does he call you Honor?”
“It is my true fey name.”
“Do you wish me to call you by this name?”
She shook her head. “I am Bryna, not Honor.”
Tynan looked toward the entrance. “They await us,” he whispered. “I feel them.”
“Come, Tynan.”
Tynan’s hand shot out and grabbed her forearm, holding her in place.
“What do I sense, Bryna? Whose worthiness? Whose acceptance? What does the Faery King ask of you?”
“He asks of my worthiness and your acceptance.”
Tynan understood immediately. “He does not give his approval to our handfasting?”
“Nay, not yet. He is angered that we handfasted without faery permission.”
“Handfasting is a trial-marriage. It was the only way I could protect you.”
“He knows this and it tempers his annoyance. But for our marriage to become permanent, you must accept me.”
“Accept you? I chose you. You are mine by ancient promise, my territorial goddess. Look at me, Bryna.” He pulled her gently closer. “What is his other demand?”
Tears glistened in her eyes. “He questions my ability to give you children.”
Tynan glared at the entrance in fury. “He has no right.”
“Tynan, he has every right.”
“Nay, he does not.” Tynan guided her out of the roundhouse. “Let us be done with this foolishness. You are mine by ancient promise, by honor-mark, by claim, by handfasting. I will accept no other, damn them. How many approvals do I need to claim my mate? Show me this place we need to go.”
He followed his faerymate to an isolated path between the trees.
“I have not been here before.”
“ ‘Tis the sacred place of revealing. Blodenwedd showed me yester eve. It is a place of waterfall called the Falls of the Orchids.”
Before them two massive oaks stood guard at the entrance of a boundary of boulders.
“Come,” she gestured. “The falls lie beyond.”
He followed her, entering a clearing of lush jade carpet sprinkled with blades of golden grass. Beyond the carpet, a waterfall fell from a tower of rock to a small black pool. Spray and mist coated the land, giving it an otherworldly appearance. Lichens and mosses clung to fissures in flat rocks and along either side of the waterfall.
“This is a fey place of revealing. My brethren have chosen not to share it with mortals.”
“Selfish sprites,” Tynan remarked under his breath. “Some things must be kept separate, Tynan.”
He grunted, unwilling to give agreement. The temperature dipped as they came forward, marking the serene world of in-between. Around them thousands of fragrant orchids grew with white to creamy green blooms borne on many stems surrounded by fleshy leaves. Amidst the flowers her brethren waited, shimmering and silent in their unblinking regard.
The Faery King sat atop a boulder to the left of the waterfall.
Tynan left his faerymate’s side and walked over to the boulder to face the king. He stared up at cool jeweled eyes in open challenge.
“She is mine by ancient promise,” he stated strongly, passing over formal greetings. He had had enough of faery interference in his life.
“PROMISES CAN BE BROKEN.”
“Not this one,” he answered.
Nuada’s smile did not reach his eyes. “YOU HONOR-MARKED, HANDFASTED, AND MADE THE CLAIM WITHOUT GAINING OUR APPROVAL FIRST.”
“Do you question my geas?”
The Faery King blinked, a single shifting within. “WE QUESTION NOT THE PROMISE, BUT HER ABILITY TO GIVE YOU CHILDREN. THE PROPHECY MUST CONTINUE.”
“She will bear my children.”
“CAN YOU GUARANTEE THIS, DARK CHIEFTAIN? SHE HAS LOST YOUR FIRST SEED.”
“I will accept no other.” Tynan held the fey king’s gaze. They could not force him to choose another.
Nuada’s lips tightened, showing his displeasure. He had the power to wipe the chieftain’s memory clean of Honor, if he so chose. “PRIDEFUL AND STUBBORN.”
“Aye,” Tynan agreed. “She is mine.”
“THEN TURN TO THE WATERFALL’S POOL AND VIEW THE TRUE FORM OF YOUR GODDESS. TELL ME IF YOU STILL ACCEPT HER. TELL ME IF YOU WILL LAY WITH A CREATURE OF TWILIGHT. I WILL KNOW IF YOU LIE.”
Tynan looked over his shoulder.
In the misty waters of the waterfall pool, Bryna knelt, head bowed, body trembling. Water lapped gently at her thighs.
Silvery lacewings stretched out behind her in the glorious display of her kind.
“Bryna?” he said in wonderment. Never had he seen so beautiful a faery. He moved to the edge of the black pool.
She looked up at him, a creature of twilight and legend. Uncertainty shone in transformed eyes. Silvery tears streamed down pale cheeks, catching in the crease of quivering lips the color of yewberries.
He went to her and knelt in the warm waters. Cupping her face, he stared into her catlike eyes. “Bryna, you are beautiful to me in any form.”
She grabbed his wrists with cold hands, holding on in this place of judgment. “Be sure, Tynan,” she said achingly.
“I am.” He kissed her lips, a sweet claiming and promise for the future.
Behind them, the Faery King’s lips thinned even more. He gave a curt nod of approval. He would give Honor a sennight to conceive before removing the chieftain’s memory of her. He had run out of patience. Long ago, he had ordered a territorial goddess stolen and misplaced in punishment for a weak chieftain’s insult. He could have done far worse. For now, he would wait.
CHAPTER 21
AFTER BIDDING THE FAERIES FAREWELL, Bryna and Tynan entered the feypaths. It was early afternoon.
Before them, the cavernous tunnel opened into the colors of soft purple upon gray shades, at odds with the deeper discordant shadows beyond.
“This feypath is different than the other one, faery.” He touched the cool stone outlining the walls.
“I have chosen another feypath for our journey.” B
ryna could sense Tynan’s revulsion. He stood poised, assessing the danger.
“It smells different,” he said, his gaze searching.
Behind them, the purple half-moon rock slid silently back into place.
“It is less foul, Tynan.”
He made no move and Bryna stepped around him to lead.
His hand shot out, holding her gently in place.
“Tynan, the faeries’ spitefulness stains the fey-paths to keep mortals from using them. I can do nothing to remove the taint, but there is no reason for you to suffer. So, I have chosen this path because it is less foul.”
“Less foul.” His tone marked his disbelief.
“Come.” She urged him forward. “ ‘Tis as safe as the other feypaths we’ve traveled.”
“You know this way, Bryna?”
“Aye. With my fey awakening has come the knowledge of many things, including the ancient fey-paths. There are many paths to Kindred. This one,” she gestured forward, “is more direct and, as I have said, less foul.”
“Safer, faery?”
She shook her head. “None of the faery feypaths are truly safe.”
“Why is that?”
She looked down the tunnel. “Envy.”
“Envy?” he echoed, not understanding.
“Have you not guessed, Tynan? The faeries envy mortals. They envy how mortals feel and respond to the natural world.”
“Why? They have so much.” He released her arm. “ ‘Tis hard to explain. If you and I stand beside a flower in a meadow, I will hear the breath of a butter-fly before he lands on a flower. A mortal would simply be pleasantly surprised. They envy that feeling of unexpectedness, of the unforeseen.”
“Are you envious?” he asked, his eyes watchful.
“Nay, I feel with the heart of a faery goddess and a mortal woman.”
“ ‘Tis hard to be caught in between.”
Bryna regarded him thoughtfully. Did he really understand what she was?
“Come.” He took her hand. “Let us see this fey-path that you have chosen for our journey.” He led her forward.
They walked for hours through the strange, desolate tunnel. A faint chill and an odor of mild decay clung to the humid air. Black pebbles littered the dirt floor. Intermittent stone tunnels appeared on either side of their path, opening into vast graves of nothingness.
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