by Amy Tolnitch
“Paroseea is such a place. I will show you my kingdom and you will understand. For the moment, however, we must discuss the threat of Vardon.”
“Who is he?” Aimili asked. “You said he was not simply a man.”
Sebilla frowned. “No.” She took a sip of wine. “This is difficult. I must ask that all of what I share with you will stay between us. Long ago, we realized that the only way to retain our way of life was to remain separate from your world.”
“You speak as if you are something more, something different from us,” Padruig said.
“We are. Most of us of Paroseea have some type of magical power in varying degrees. For example, some are healers, and others have the gift of fertility. Those of us with the purest bloodlines are born with a particular mark on our skin. We possess the most power.”
“Vardon is one of you?”
“No. That is just it. He is of humble birth. Nevertheless, he manifested powers far beyond what he should have had. You must understand. We are a peaceful people. Paroseea is a place of bounty, of great beauty. We do not fight amongst ourselves. There is no need.”
Sebilla rose and took a few steps, clasping her hands together. “Vardon was different. He lusted for power. He wished to rule Paroseea and tried to murder our rightful ruler.” Her gaze grew cold. “We stopped him and imprisoned him.”
“How did he escape?” Padruig asked.
“He learned enough of the magic used to imprison him to suspend it for a brief time.”
Padruig frowned. “Why come to Castle MacCoinneach? We have naught to do with him or Paroseea.”
“But you do. It was Aelfric, your ancestor, who once aided us in vanquishing Vardon. Vardon has not forgotten that, I am sure.”
Aimili set aside her cup. “What can we do?”
“Our ancestors foresaw the possibility of Vardon’s escape. It is written. This time, to thwart him, we need both of you to defeat Vardon. One,” she nodded toward Aimili, “a woman of fey blood. Two,” she turned to Padruig, “the true Laird of the MacCoinneach clan.”
Aimili saw Padruig’s start of surprise. “Nay,” he said, his gaze darkening. “Aimili shall have nothing to do with this.”
“She must. It is her destiny.”
“You are mistaken, Queen Sebilla,” Aimili told her. “I am not the woman of your prophecy.”
“Aye, you are.”
“But I am not of fey blood.” A chill ran down Aimili’s spine.
“Are you not?” Sebilla lifted a brow.
“The animals,” Padruig said.
“Aye.”
Aimili could not meet Padruig’s gaze, afraid of what she might find there. “I am not … I just have an unusual ability with animals. My parents were normal.”
Sebilla smiled. “I consider myself normal.”
Aimili flushed. “I did not mean to insult you.”
“I know this is a shock to you, but that does not make it any less true. You bear the mark.”
Aimili felt the blood drain from her face. “No, ’tis just a tiny birthmark.”
Sebilla walked close and slowly slipped her gown off one shoulder. Her skin bore the small but unmistakable outline of a heart.
Just as Aimili’s own did.
“My family, my sister and brothers, they—”
“Did not inherit your fey ancestry. Only you.”
A strange kind of relief surged through Aimili. At last, she knew why she was different. She turned the news over in her mind. “You are saying that one of my ancestors was from Paroseea?”
“Yes. We are not sure who yet.” Sebilla tilted her head toward a man who’d identified himself as Arailt. “Once we deal with Vardon, Arailt can search the archives if you like.”
“I would like that, yes.” She smiled at Arailt.
He inclined his head.
“This Vardon,” Padruig said, frowning. “How long ago did he escape?”
“Over a year.”
Padruig’s frown deepened. “And you do not know by what name he calls himself?”
“No. Not yet.”
“How are we to defeat the man if we do not even know who he is?”
“We are working on it. You must be alert, as well. You know your clan.”
“Can he appear as another?”
“I am not sure. ’Tis possible. His powers have grown. Even I do not know the extent of them now.”
“You are queen of this place. Do your powers not exceed one rebel’s?”
For the first time, Aimili saw fear in Sebilla’s eyes. “I am not sure.”
“Yet you would put Aimili at risk to help you? No.”
“I have no choice. It is destined.”
“Can you promise me her safety?”
“I can promise you nothing but that we must find a way to defeat Vardon, else both our worlds are in peril.”
“And how do we do so?”
“I am not sure yet. There is a way, I feel certain.”
“Find a way that does not involve Aimili.”
“That I cannot do.” Sebilla put her hand on Padruig’s shoulder. “Laird, I am heartily sorry that we allowed this creature to escape to your world. I have already lost one good friend to Vardon. I would not lose one person more, nor would I put either you or Aimili in danger if I had any other choice.”
Padruig’s gaze was hard. “Aimili is not a warrior.”
“Aimili can speak for herself,” Aimili said, irked by Padruig’s paternalistic attitude.
Padruig cut her a look, which Aimili ignored. “We shall both help,” she told Sebilla.
With that, the advisors excused themselves, leaving only the queen, Padruig, and Aimili. “Let me show you something of my home,” Sebilla said.
“I would prefer to return,” Padruig said. “I have much to do.”
“Of course.” Her smile faded. “Another time, perhaps. You are both welcome to visit.”
“I would like that,” Aimili said.
“When we discover the means to defeat Vardon, I shall come to you,” Sebilla told them. “Until then, be very careful.”
“I ken he means the clan harm,” Padruig said.
“He means to see you both dead. The rest of the clan is merely a diversion for him.”
Upon their return, Aimili stalked off in the direction of the stable. Padruig followed her and caught her arm.
“Aimili, wait a moment.”
“Why? So that you can tell me once again what a helpless child I am?”
He clenched his jaw. “We both know you are no child.” Not anymore, he thought, picturing again the bruises marring her skin.
“I need to check on Pythia.” She pulled her arm free.
“Aimili, I am no sure what to think of this Sebilla. There is magic afoot, no doubt, but too much I do not understand.”
“You do not believe her?”
“I am no sure what to believe. A hidden kingdom? A fey race with magical powers? An escaped creature with malice toward the clan? ’Tis a lot to take in.” By the saints, in the span of one day his whole world had been torn asunder. He wasn’t sure he knew anything anymore.
“It makes sense.”
“Does it? Why would this Vardon attack you? Why not me, if I am the one descended from his enemy?”
Aimili frowned. “Perhaps he simply took advantage of a chance opportunity.”
Or the bastard sensed more of Padruig’s feelings than he was willing to admit. “If you wish to ride outside the castle, I will accompany you. You shall not give him another opening.”
“Fine.” She glared at him, and Padruig fought the sudden urge to smile. “I shall have the dagger in the event that we encounter Vardon,” she added smoothly.
“I can protect myself, Aimili. And you.”
“Ah, yes, that is your duty, is it not?”
“There is nothing wrong with duty.”
“There can be, when it leads one to poor decisions.”
“Poor decisions?” He did not like the sound of t
hat at all.
“I am your wife, Padruig, not your child. There is a difference.”
By the saints, he knew that all too well. “I still have a duty to protect you, just as I do every member of the clan. ’Tis why I do not want you involved in Queen Sebilla’s plans.”
“I have a feeling ’tis too late for that.”
“The whole idea is beyond my ken. Surely a sword can kill this Vardon as well as any man.”
“Apparently not.”
“All the more reason for you to stay out of it. You do not know what kind of danger this man presents.”
“Nor do you.”
“But I have trained for years to fight. I am skilled at it.”
“I am not without skill.”
“Aimili, you have lived your life shielded by the protection of your family. You have no idea what kind of dangers exist out in the world. I shall not see you fall afoul of what you cannot possibly be prepared to face. Not you, too.”
“Too?” She narrowed her eyes. “You are speaking of Brona.”
“Aye. I failed to protect her. I shall not make the same mistake again.”
“I am not your sister, God rest her soul.”
“Ah, but that is just it. You are much like her.” Far too much for his peace of mind.
“You still blame yourself for her death.”
He cracked out a bitter laugh at her tone of surprise. “Of course. ’Tis my fault.”
“You did not slay her.”
“Not with mine own hand, true, but I drove her to peril and failed to stop Symund from exacting his vengeance.”
A strange look passed over Aimili’s face. “Are you sure he killed Brona?”
“I found him with a dagger in his hand, Aimili. A blade covered in blood.”
“Who else was there?”
Padruig frowned. “Several of my men accompanied me. ’Tis of no matter. Brona is dead. Though I killed Symund, it was too little too late for Brona. I shall not see you endure the same fate.”
“I am not going to die.”
“No. I will take care of this Vardon. ’Tis my responsibility. I did not return to see my clan destroyed by some power-mad outcast with a grievance against my family.”
Aimili stuck out her chin. “Your clan, Padruig? Your family? What am I?”
“You are my wife. What do you want of me?”
For a moment, Padruig thought he saw pain shimmer in the depths of her eyes, but then her gaze turned challenging. “You are right. I am your wife in truth now. Have you so easily forgotten that?”
“Hardly.” Padruig took a step back, hating himself for his weakness but unable to stop it.
She followed. “Was it so horrible, Padruig?”
Horrible? His mouth opened but no words emerged. Wonderful? Amazing? World-altering? All of those, certainly, but horrible? If only that were the case, he would be safe. “You are far too delicate for such rough treatment. My only excuse was that I was overwrought by finding the grove and assuming you had perished.”
“Dear God, how well you play the martyr.”
“I simply speak the truth.”
She gave him a look of utter disgust. “You are a liar, Laird. I am surprised you have the energy to do anything at all after expending so much effort building those protective walls around yourself.”
This time when she turned to go, Padruig let her.
Aimili stomped into the stable to find D’Ary apparently aiding Freya in saddling Zara.
“Ah, my lady, there you are,” D’Ary said. “I was just about to seek you out.”
Freya bounced over and gave Aimili a tight hug. “I am so happy you are all right. What a horrible thing. ’Tis fortunate you know how to wield a blade. I told Padruig that I am going to learn. So is Efrika and perhaps others. Magnus agreed to teach me.”
“Oh.” Aimili felt a bit as if she’d been buffeted by a strong wind.
“You are well, are you not? All of the sudden, you look a bit pale.”
And just like that, Aimili felt like crying. A part of her wanted to just curl up somewhere and cry until she ran out of tears. Why did life have to be so complicated? “I am fine.” Aimili forced herself to smile. She walked over and gave Zara a pat. “What are you doing?” she asked Freya.
Freya bit her lip and exchanged a look with D’Ary. It was obvious they’d been planning before Aimili’s arrival. “I want to ride Zara.”
“She is not Mist.”
“I know, but I have improved. And she is so beautiful and sweet I am sure she will do naught to harm me.”
Zara?
I like the girl.
She is not a skilled rider. You cannot just decide to speed up unless she asks you to.
I understand.
“Aimili? Please say that I can ride her.” Freya reached out and rubbed Zara’s nose. The horse let out a long sigh.
“Very well.” Aimili followed them all out to the ring.
“We shall be fine,” Freya called out. “You shall see.”
“Just be careful. And remember, she needs clear direction from you.”
With a bright smile, Freya nodded. D’Ary held Zara’s reins while Freya mounted, then returned to stand with Aimili outside the rail.
“She is not afraid anymore, thanks to you.”
Freya squeezed Zara into a smooth trot and sailed by, clearly enjoying the ride. “I think she was always a better rider than she thought she was. Her fall was—”
“Likely Vardon’s doing,” D’Ary commented.
Aimili’s head snapped around so quickly she felt a twinge of pain in her neck. “What did you say?”
“I imagine you had the same thought. No one noticed anything to startle the horse, yet a mount that should have been calm and gentle turned uncontrollable.”
“You …” Aimili gulped. “You are not from a village called Parth, I think.”
He chuckled. “Nay.”
“Look, Aimili!” Freya shouted.
Aimili made herself look over, praying she didn’t appear as stunned as she felt at D’Ary’s calm revelation. She clapped. “Well done.”
“They belong together,” D’Ary said.
“Aye.” She gripped the wood railing, suddenly needing to anchor herself to something solid. Had it been only yesterday she set out on Loki? Too much had happened for her to take in. She’d fought off an attacker who intended to kill her; made love with her husband who now, once again, wanted no part of her; traveled to a magical kingdom; discovered she was linked to them; and now found her stable hand was far from just that. “Why are you here?”
“Sebilla initially sent my brother to retrieve Vardon. He killed him.” D’Ary’s expression was stark, his eyes hard.
“Oh, no. I am sorry, D’Ary.”
“I volunteered to come to Castle MacCoinneach to find the bastard. He is here. I can smell the stench of his evil, but I have not found him.”
Aimili didn’t know what to say. So many questions tumbled through her mind. “Sebilla, Queen Sebilla seems to think Padruig and I are meant to be a part of this.”
“Then you are. Sebilla is seldom wrong.”
Something in his voice made Aimili turn and look at him. “You… you like her.”
“It appears so.”
He sounded so disgruntled that Aimili’s mood lifted. “She is very beautiful.”
“Aye.”
Freya eased Zara to a stop in front of them. She looked happier than she had since the Angus Ransolm incident, her green eyes without shadow, her features relaxed.
“You do very well together,” Aimili told her.
Freya stroked the horse’s withers. “Thank you for letting me ride her.” She looked wistful.
“Is something wrong?”
“I wish I could buy her from you, but I have little coin. I am sure she is a valuable horse.”
“Freya, we are family now.” Despite what your brother might think, she added silently. “I would still like to breed her, but other than that sh
e is yours.”
Freya’s eyes filled with tears. “Truly?”
“Truly. I have always believed that oftentimes a horse claims its rightful owner. For Zara, that is you.”
“Thank you, my sister.”
Aimili just nodded, unable to speak past the lump in her throat.
Chapter Fifteen
Padruig fetched the largest jug of wine he could find from the buttery and closed himself in his solar. On his worktable, he set the ewer and the pouch Queen Sebilla had given him. By the saints, what a strange morn.
Who would have suspected the castle held such an extraordinary secret? He knew he’d been rude to Queen Sebilla, but the lavish chamber, the host of people he’d encountered, and the dangerous story of Vardon were a bit much for one man to absorb in the span of a few hours. If Aimili hadn’t been with him, he would have been tempted to dismiss the whole thing as some kind of delirium brought on by excessive worry and tainted food.
But she had been with him. If he’d known that Queen Sebilla would pronounce Aimili a vital part of the battle against Vardon, he’d have left her safely in their chamber, blessedly ignorant of Paroseea and her connection to it. He’d seen the expression of doubt in the queen’s eyes when he’d questioned her. Though she’d expressed confidence, it was apparent that she wasn’t sure in the end they could best Vardon, that he had not become too powerful.
How could he possibly allow Aimili to become a target in the center of a battle they might lose?
She is already a target, his inner voice reminded him. Vardon, or whatever the hell he calls himself, has already tried to kill her once, and from everything the queen said, will undoubtedly try again.
Still, it went against everything he was, every bit of honor bred into him, to put a woman at such risk.
He took a swig of wine and poured the contents of the pouch out on the scarred wood surface. “Dear Lord in heaven,” he said softly, reaching out to palm a vivid green emerald. Even in the slivers of light barely dispelling the shadows he could see that spread across the table was a veritable fortune.
Gold coins. Sapphires. Rubies. Emeralds. Other stones he wasn’t knowledgeable enough to identify.
It was more than enough to save them.
He stood and paced across the chamber, wishing he did not feel beholden to Queen Sebilla for the gift. I owe her nothing, he tried to tell himself. It is her fault that the clan is on the brink of starvation. She admitted as much, though he did not understand. This is nothing more than an effort to make recompense for allowing the evil of her world spill into his.