The Edinburgh Seer Complete Trilogy

by Alisha Klapheke

  Callum fisted his hands and pressed them to his forehead, blowing out a loud breath. “There was a car accident. I ran off the road after going to the pub. I hit a girl in one of those tiny cars, and when I checked on her, it was…it was clear she’d broken both legs to the point…to the point that she’d not walk again. She was our pastor’s daughter. I’d paralyzed our greatest holy man’s only child. I would’ve been hated. I hated myself. Still do.”

  Vera crossed her arms. “So you offed her so she couldn’t talk.”

  Callum’s head fell forward. “No. She isn’t dead. She lost a load of blood and doesn’t remember seeing me. I drove off, and no one ever found out I was the one who’d driven her into the ditch beside Lady Greensleeves’ grave. No one knows. They think it was a stranger. A tourist, maybe. That it couldn’t possibly have been one of us.”

  “She could’ve died on the side of the road because of your fear,” Aini said, shock pealing through her.

  “That’s why you built an orphanage.” Vera rolled her eyes. “Guilt.”

  “Aye.” Callum wiped his face with his hands. He knelt. “Lady Greensleeves, I am sorry for what I did and how it hurt you. I will do whatever you wish to put you at rest again.”

  Lady Greensleeves turned to Aini. “Speak to him about honor. Clean the stain. Help me rest.”

  “I’d say a huge house for children who need it was a good start,” Aini said. “What else would you like him to do?”

  “He should conceive a plan and I will be satisfied.”

  “He needs to come up with it himself?”

  But the lady didn’t answer. Her form dissolved into nothing more than a sparkling kind of floating dust as she eased backward, into the wall. With one more line of singing about her lost lover, all noise and the sage scent faded.

  Callum looked up at Aini. It seemed like he wasn’t the same man they’d met earlier, the one with a straight back and the walk of a soldier. This one was humbled with red-rimmed eyes and a cross to bear.

  Words crawled out of his throat, raspy and thick. “What can I do?”

  “She said you had to think of some way to show her honor and clean the stain from her burial place. I have no idea what that could be.” A cold lump formed in Aini’s stomach. Somehow she knew she was supposed to use her other sixth sense, her Seer ability. The surety of it pressed against her heart. “Give me your hand, please. The one with the ring.”

  His eyes widened, but he slowly extended his left fingers. Before she could let that old fear rise up and overtake this intuition to use her gift, she gripped his ring finger.

  The walkway’s damp wood scent, the shadows around Callum’s kneeling form, and the warped floor fell away.

  A vision rushed over her head.

  A rust-haired boy ran down a path guarded by twisted pines and ferns. To the boat, he called out, coming into a clearing. A group of boys and girls with dirt smeared on their cheeks and sticks in their hands turned. A crumpled form lay on the ground. The rust-haired boy drew up, panting. Purplish blue and sick yellow swirled around his head, fear and the sense of betrayal mixing equally. “What have you done to Lolla?”

  “She can’t say the oath right. The oath to the Campbells. She’s a disgrace.”

  “But she’s a Gowrie.” She was his sister.

  He pushed through the bigger children and threw himself on top of her. “Don’t you ever strike Lolla again, you beasties. I don’t care what she can or can’t say!”

  The children lifted their sticks and each took a whack at young Callum before heading back into the big, gray house in the distance. Tears blurred the sight of the house’s sun-hued flowers.

  The inside of Huntingtower Castle and the face of its repentant master blinked back into being.

  “What did you witness, Seer?” Vera said, her voice awed.

  Callum’s mouth opened and shut.

  Aini helped him to his feet. “I saw you sacrifice yourself for Lolla, for your sister, when the children were beating her.”

  Jaw clenched, Callum breathed loudly through his nose. “So you have two sixth senses?” He shook his head. “Lolla died the next day. Accident, they claimed. But it wasn’t. They pushed my good sister out of the tree she liked to climb and she broke her neck. I never told anyone what I suspected though. I kept it from my father and mother. They thought she was mad.” He whispered a prayer and kissed his ring. “But what does that have to do with the lady?”

  “Maybe you need to sacrifice more than money and time to clean the stain of what you’ve done. You need to tell the truth about Lolla and also about the car accident.”

  “My people here will hate me for my part in the accident. As for Lolla, there’s not many left who even knew her.”

  “You’ll never know if it matters until you do it,” Aini said.

  Without a word, Callum left them.

  Aini had no idea whether she’d helped or hurt their situation.

  Chapter 12

  In the Kingdom of Alba

  Thane and Bran slipped out a side entrance to the upstairs guest room right after Myles pulled his own escape. Thane had to leave the stuffy, old place, breathe some fresh air, and try to muster up some hope for tomorrow’s discussion with Uncle Callum.

  “Where are we going exactly?” Bran jumped down into the trimmed grass of the castle garden from the new wall, trailing Thane like a shadow in the moonlight.

  “I thought we’d go to Scone.”

  “Want to check out your predecessors’ old stomping grounds?”

  “Something like that.”

  Thane opened the driver’s side of a sad little auto and set to work hot-wiring it.

  “Ah.” Bran stretched back in the seat and pretended to be relaxed when he was really keeping an eye on the road. Careful Bran. Good man. “This is just like our days before you went to uni.”

  “Never thought I’d miss the days of petty crime.”

  “Stealing cars isn’t actually that petty.”

  “Compared to rebelling against one’s father who works for one’s king?”

  “Point taken.”

  The engine rumbled to life. The road curved between a sloping hill and the rough growth no one wanted to mow.

  Last time Thane had been to visit Uncle Callum, his mother had been with him. It’d been Christmas and snow had blanketed the ground. Now, the town was slicked with dark ice instead of nice, clean powder. He’d been thirteen when he was here with his mother and all he’d wanted to do was tie Callum’s old hound up to a sled he found in an outbuilding and go for a ride. Mother had rescued the dog from what would’ve probably amounted to accidental torture and given Thane a job to do.

  A science-enthusiast and baker herself, his mother had asked him to learn the secret ingredient in Uncle Callum’s famous venison stew.

  He remembered the moment like it was yesterday. After two solid years of doing terrible duties for Nathair, the idea of simply finding out an ingredient had been amazing. This wasn’t knocking a nobleman’s son into the drink to distract him while Nathair’s men searched his car. No one had to be beaten down or scared to their bones with a dead rabbit in their post box. This was a clean job, a mission he could feel good about and not have to vomit over when he was through.

  He’d hurried to the kitchen faster than Callum’s hound could track a deer and set to bugging the cooks about cinnamon and types of Mediterranean salt.

  Maybe that was why Lewis’s lab had felt so right. It had been a good job. A nice thing to do. Well, aside from the spying.

  Thane sighed and drove under a crumbling stone arch. Scone Palace rose up, pointed and arrogant and lovely, lit by tacky floodlights that weren’t good enough for it. Pulling into the car park, Thane couldn’t help but hear Neve’s voice in his ear, telling him about Robert the Bruce being crowned here. She’d know the exact year and how the clothes would’ve looked on that day.

  Thane and Bran climbed the gentle slope to the moot hill where it was said the long-ago crown
ings had taken place. All Thane knew was that the wind through the towering pines and the cool air on his face was like a welcome. He felt as if he’d come home.

  Bran, however, watched the wood like something was about to pop out and grab him. “I don’t have a weapon. Just so you know.”

  “No need for one tonight.”

  “That is the best news I’ve heard in weeks.”

  Thane smiled at his friend and tried to hide the stirring in his wame. He wanted to appear composed and casual to Bran, not like some fainting idiot all pleased with himself, so he pushed the conversation far, far away from here. “So you really do hate Vera? She likes you, you know. And she’s not hard on the eyes.”

  “She has a beautiful backside and a laugh I could fall into, but the woman is a snake and I won’t invite a snake into my bed, I can tell you that.”

  “She is on our side.”

  “She is on the side of the rebellion. Vera would slit our throats in a heartbeat if she thought it would speed the revolution.”

  “I thought I was the only one who saw that. I’ve been trying to persuade myself to trust these Dionadair. It’s no easy task.” Thane took a circuitous route to the red stone chapel that backed up to the wood. The chapel wasn’t what called to him, but he wasn’t ready to stand where his predecessors had taken on the mantle of kings.

  Bran peered into one of the chapel’s windows. “You’re right to watch them. Although I do think it would set their plans back a good step if they offed their Heir.”

  “Aye, I suppose I’m safe as long as they still think I fill that role.”

  Bran poked Thane’s arm. “You don’t think you are? After all that’s happened?”

  Thane shrugged. “The stone roared. The kings defended me. But am I truly meant to rule? I don’t know a thing about politics.”

  “Och. There are plenty around you who can handle that bit for you. You’re meant to inspire the people and carry out the plans you think are best for them. You can do that. I know you can. You’re a good one, young Thane.”

  “I wish you would stop with the young,” Thane smiled to take the bite out of his tone.

  “Can’t let you grow too big-headed.” Bran punched him lightly in the pressure point on the outside of the thigh.

  Thane stumbled a little, swiping back at Bran’s mop of hair.

  Snow drifted from the black sky like the stars had come down to light the hill. The air nipped at Thane’s cheeks like small, rough kisses. With every step through the low grass, he wondered if Cineád mac Ailpin—the supposed first king of the Scots, Kenneth MacAlpin—had pressed down this same piece of earth. What had gone through that great man’s head when they decided to crown him? He’d had advisors certainly. He’d been raised to rule. Thane had not. Well, Thane had been groomed at first to take the role of chieftain. But that had changed when Thane showed signs of weakness, as Nathair called it.

  Thane had shown mercy to wrongdoers and to those not in thick with the clan. Nathair had quickly decided Thane would not lead Clan Campbell, though Nathair never had settled on who actually would take over for him. Thane hadn’t thought much about it. His mind had tried hard to think on it, to wonder what might happen if his father couldn’t lead anymore. But he’d always pushed those wonderings away. Hopelessness had a way of making him pack his feelings and questions into certain boxes, some of which he never opened.

  The wind blew again, pine-scented and soft. Thane stepped onto the flat red stones that surrounded the fake Coronation Stone.

  Without any preamble, his veins lit up like he had gunpowder for blood.

  He exhaled in a gust of white plumes.

  Bran’s eyes were wide. “My God, lad. That’s…” Bran was looking Thane up and down. “I can see this light around you.”

  “Aini said she can see that light all the time since the stone roared for me.”

  Bran rubbed his forehead and whispered under his breath. “Amazing.”

  Thane closed his eyes and let the wind wrap him up, allowed the feel of the place—a heavy, sweet embrace—soak into his shoulders and along his limbs. There was a rhythm hiding in the wind’s noise through the trees. Aini would’ve understood it, he was sure. A coolness filled his left hand, a roughness along his fingers.

  “Open your eyes, lad.”

  Thane did as Bran said and looked down to see a pale, flickering broad sword in his hand. He flipped it upside down and set the tip on the flat stones, taking the hilt in both hands. Closing his eyes again, he whispered to the spirits of the rulers of ancient Alba, of his home, his people.

  “Please help me be the leader they need. Help me find my way. Give me the formula for bringing their enemies low and healing their hearts.”

  When Thane opened his eyes, Bran was grinning. “Only you would ask the spirits for a formula.”

  Joy suffused Thane’s chest and came out in a loud laugh. “I can only be who I am, pal. No more. No less.”

  The sword dissolved in a shower of illuminated particles and Thane was comforted with the knowledge that somehow he’d done the right thing in coming here and paying tribute, in asking for aid. Now if he could just translate this experience into practical capabilities as the Heir.

  “Let’s go on back, aye?” He stepped away from the crowning spot and clapped Bran on the shoulder. “I need some sleep before I battle with Uncle Callum.”

  The stars shimmered in the black sky. Bran stared up at them. “This is some wild adventure you’ve dragged me into. I never could’ve guessed this forgotten boy would live to serve a true born king.”

  He may never have known his family, but he was definitely not forgotten. Not to Thane. “I’m just glad you know how to serve a good whisky,” Thane said.

  With a wry grin, Bran tripped Thane, and they traded a few easy punches before heading back to the castle for some hard-earned rest.

  Sleep did nothing to clear out Thane’s mind and give him a rest. Sleep brought a new Dream and there was no doubt this time that it was a dark tale of a very possible future.

  In the Dream, Thane stood on a mountain top that was really nothing but an impossibly huge pile of round rocks. His foot slipped. The drop to the valley below yawned wide open like a great beast ready to swallow him up. Heart in his ears, Thane steadied himself and grabbed the exposed root of a gnarled pine. He turned to see Aini. A blood-red dress whipped around her as she stood like a statue, not breathing, not blinking.

  “Choose,” she said.

  Her dress, face, arms—all melted down and reformed into Nathair scowling, scar puckering the skin at his neck. He held up Thane’s Campbell necklace and shouted.

  “Choose!”

  Then Nathair melted away too, leaving nothing but a stain of red-black blood on the mountain top’s stones. Thane fell backward. The wind rushing past his ears as he plummeted sounded like a man’s voice, Kenneth MacAlpin’s voice.

  “Tagh. Chì sinn dè an seòrsa rìgh a bhios thu.” Choose. We will see what kind of king you’ll be.

  Before Thane hit the earth, he raised his hands and saw he held the ghostly sword from the moot hill. It was covered in blood.

  Chapter 13

  Decisions and Fireworks

  Uncle Callum’s chair was empty when Thane and the rest followed a guard into a large feast hall. A mound of bright, scrambled eggs and bowls of steaming porridge crowded the table. The guard, who obviously wasn’t just a guard but a butler of sorts, too, gestured to the high-backed chairs. When Thane visited as a child, he used to pretend the chairs were ships, the spindly backs like masts.

  Thane sat beside Aini and to the right of Uncle Callum’s place. “When will my uncle be down?” Thane asked the butler-guard.

  “I don’t know, my lord. I think he had a difficult time sleeping last night. May I suggest you eat? The earl won’t mind at all.”

  Myles looked a little green around the mouth. “I wish I had an appetite.”

  Neve frowned. “I feel like there’s something everyone
knows but me.” She spooned some porridge into her mouth.

  Aini elbowed Thane. “I need to talk to you.”

  “And I you, hen, but maybe it can wait until we’ve talked to Uncle Callum.”

  “You need to know what happened last night,” she said.

  “I went to Scone.” He wouldn’t tell her about the Dream just yet. He’d wrestle with that one on his own. But he could tell her about his experience on the moot hill.

  “You what?” Neve’s spoon hung still in front of her chin.

  “Bran and I,” he said, “we drove to the moot hill where the Coronation Stone used to rest. Where the old kings were crowned.”

  Aini gave him the MacGregor eyebrow lift. “I want to hear all about that, but that’s not what I’m talking about. Last night, Myles and Vera and I—”

  “How come no one thought to invite me on one of these little nighttime outings?” Neve said. “You know what? Scratch that. I’m glad I, for one, had a good sleep.” She shrugged and finished her porridge, moving on to the eggs.

  Myles gave her a weak grin. “You’re the smart one, Neve. You are lucky you didn’t have a run-in like we did. Now, can you see any blueberries or strawberries around for the porridge?”

  “You should eat it with salt and butter only at Uncle Callum’s table,” Thane said.

  The man himself walked in. “He is right. That’s the only proper way to eat porridge.” The memory of a smile graced his weathered face. “I think we all have some stories to tell, aye? I’ll start.”

  Then Uncle Callum’s voice took on that rise and fall cadence he used during clan gatherings by the bonfires. He told them about Lady Greensleeves and a terrible accident. He’d called the city council that morning and told them he was responsible for the car wreck and that’d he gone to the lady’s grave at sunrise to leave a blood sacrifice.

  “What did you leave?” Neve asked.

  “The spirit smelled of sage so I tied up some dried lengths of the herb from my kitchens and dragged my cut palm over them to bless them.”