by Scott, Amber
“Which room, Quinlan?” Seamus called.
Quinlan moved past the other men and led the way. Seamus motioned for them to hang back as he opened the door. A stink so foul that he could not describe it overwhelmed them. Gone was the fresh metallic odor from this morn. Flies buzzed around the room. All five men stepped back, covering their mouths with sleeves and collars.
What had caused such rapid decomposition?
Seamus’ forehead wrinkled with determination right up through his bald head. “McKee, Jamison, go with Quin through the rest of the house. Look for other signs of blood. Get me any weapons you find. Anything that could rip through flesh.”
Admittedly, Quinlan had only made the barest of sweeps through the place this morn. He might be skilled in battle, but he wasn’t one of Niall’s guards. He’d no idea where to begin in such a situation. He lingered long enough to watch Seamus and his other man prop the door full open to air it out and begin rolling up their sleeves.
The blood had become a dark crimson-brown. Aside from the stench and the flies, nothing had changed that he could spot. He strode to the room next door, what he surmised to be Heremon’s old bedchamber. A slender mat lay in one corner—he should have placed Maera in here rather than on the pile of furs. He briefly wondered where Breanne had taken Maera. Perhaps to her home. Perhaps she’d not been resting, but tending to the woman instead. Why secret the woman away at all, though?
He picked up a dust-coated tallow, rolling it in his hand. He’d witnessed the old Druid and Breanne herself light a tallow with a murmur and a breath. This one had not been lit before. He set it down, noticing that there was little dust on the table it adorned. Interesting. A leather-bound volume lay on the table next to the tallow. It had no dust at all along its jacket. Quinlan opened it to find the pages blank. Odd. He’d have to let Danny or Patrick know about this treasure. Blank pages for scribing weren’t so easy to come by, as far as he knew.
He set the book back down and kicked the mat softly. He grabbed its blanket and shook it out. No dust. Interesting. Tossing the blanket back onto the mat, he directed his attention to the walls. An old mirror hung on the east wall, opposite the small window. The window revealed the day was coming to an end, and the horses were taking advantage of a cropping of grass.
“Who’s been staying here?” he wondered aloud.
The gilded mirror wasn’t something he would have associated with Heremon. The frame was rather ornate. It was hanging at a slant and Quinlan reached to right it, his gaze on the reflection of the windows and horses. The mirror wouldn’t move,. He tugged the edge a bit harder and realized it wasn’t hanging on the wall but was fixed to it.
A commotion in the next room made him wince. Sounded like an upturned table. Breanne would have his hide for bringing these brutes here. He decided the room held little more than evidence that someone had cared enough to clean all but the candle in it. He turned to leave when something glinted bluish in the mirror, catching his eye. He turned back to it, trying to find the glint again. He angled this way and that, but again, only the horses and tree line were there.
“Quinlan!” Seamus called from somewhere in the home.
“Aye?”
“You find anything of interest, friend?”
He squinted at the mirror’s frame, deciding that perhaps it was just a trick of the light. “Nay. You?”
“Jamison has. Take a look, eh?”
Quinlan tipped his head and stepped away, then saw it again. It was a reflection, not the gilded mirror at all. Something was on—in?—the wall. He spun around. “Sure, sure,” he called. “Be right there.” He nudged the door so that it closed a bit. Then he moved to the wall, where he ran his hands down the rough wood framework of the window. Somewhere in the knotty surface lay a gemstone of some sort. Something bluish.
Where was it? He touched and pushed and fingered the seams along the corner where the glint had come from. He peered closely, but could see nothing. Footsteps drew near. Seamus pushed his way in. “What’ve you got there?”
Quinlan straightened, shaking his head. “Trick of the eye, is all.” He headed past Seamus. “What did Jamison find?”
“This,” Seamus said, a scroll held high in his fist.
“May I?”
Seamus handed it over. “I’ll be telling Niall the blood is bovine.”
Quinlan’s eyebrows shot up. He paused in unrolling the delicate parchment. “Oh? Why is that?”
“Look for yerself,” Seamus said, folding his arms and widening his stance.
Unrolling the remainder of the long scroll, Quinlan made out the hand-drawn figure of a man in a bull skull mask. The rite flashed bright in his memory. “Where did he find it?” Moreover, how did this drawing explain the blood?
“In the wall near the fire,” Seamus said with a nod. “A loose board.”
Well, that explained the commotion. “What led him to check the wall?”
“A bloody handprint.” Seamus’ voice became slower and more pronounced with each answer, as though he was explaining matters to a child.
Quinlan didn’t know whether to be amused or bemused at the man’s tone. “A bloody handprint leads to a hidden cavity in a wall where this lay inside. Is that the right of it?”
“Aye.”
“Blood, cow, slaughter?” He supposed there was a loose enough association to settle on an animal death. There was naught to suggest otherwise.
“And the small matter of McKee finding a pile of hooves and limbs buried just inside that thicket,” he said, clapping Quinlan on the shoulder. “Looks to me like someone’s been taking advantage of Heremon’s empty abode and needs to work on their slaughter skills. Aye, aye. But dinna feel bad, Quinlan. Any of us would have mistook that mess for murder, too.”
Quinlan nodded thoughtfully. Something about the deduction felt off, but he couldn’t place what. His pride certainly wouldn’t bruise over being entirely wrong. He should be relieved that it was animal blood, and that the rite could be explained. Whoever had been here and participated in the rite would need to move on to another shelter. Mayhap that placed the cattle out of harm’s way.
“Aye, well, I thank you for helping me solve the mystery.”
“Our pleasure. Put a dent in our autumn doldrums. All the quiet these days makes a man miss a good, old-fashioned raid.”
“I suppose we ought to clean it up.” His thoughts were again on Breanne’s disappointment. She had loved her mentor dearly. He’d been a father to her when hers had passed. More so even than her uncle-cum-stepfather.
Seamus bellowed a deep guffaw. “That, my friend, is as tempting as a lift in the frost of winter. You’re on your own there, I’m afeared.”
Quinlan groaned. “Aye, well, will you tell Niall what you’ve found?”
“Most certainly,” Seamus waved the parchment high.
“Might I see that once more?”
Shrugging, Seamus handed it to him, then moved past, hollering for his men that it was time to depart. Quinlan unrolled the parchment again, scanning the depiction again. He didn’t recognize the language or symbols, but he was betting Breanne would. How could he talk Seamus out of taking this? He turned the parchment over and scowled. A small drawing in blue ink at the lower corner drew his attention. It was of a teardrop-shaped orb at the end of a chain. A pendant.
Why did it look so familiar?
“Ailyn,” he whispered, his mind filling with the glimpse of the pendant that had peaked above her breasts just hours before as she stood in Breanne’s home, her eyes asking him for help.
He’d ignored the plea in them, wary of coming to her aid any further.
The odds of her wearing a pendant so like one found on a parchment hidden in a wall were too high to be coincidental. At every turn since the moment he’d met her, trouble followed close on her heels. Why not this, too?
Jamison peered in at the doorframe. “D’ye need help cleaning up your mess there, Quinlan?” His breath smelled of whiskey. He jabbed
a thumb in the direction of the room.
“Right and fine of you to offer, Jamison, but I’ll take care of it.” Quinlan took in his ruddy features, the curved, pale mark receding into the his beard’s jagged hairline. “I’m glad to bring this to Niall myself.”
Jamison’s eyes went to the parchment. He schooled his expression. “Sorry, friend. Seamus wants to deliver it at once. He’s quite taken with it, he is.”
Quinlan had no choice but to reluctantly hand it over. He’d have to convince Niall to allow Breanne to see it. Shouldna be difficult. She was his niece and stepdaughter, after all.
Chapter Twelve
“If Quinlan doesna join you, try not to worry,” Breanne said, brushing at her brother’s sleeve where a stray cat hair had clung.
From atop her horse, Ailyn looked to be waiting with every bit of patience she could muster.
“I’m not worried, Breanne. You are. Ashlon trained me well. I’ll keep us safe.”
Aye, her husband had seen to it that Danny could always protect himself and her if need be, despite his youthful frail stature. He was finally filling out into manhood, but it was difficult to see him as the strong one. “She’s a bit overwhelmed, so spoon-feed anything else she’s wanting to know, will you?”
“We’ve gone over this,” Danny quietly scolded, taking her shoulders. “If you’ve seen Quinlan there, then I trust he will come. If he does not, then I trust that as well. I’ve seen and collected enough of the texts to navigate her safely on our own. Dinna worry yourself into labor.”
Breanne nodded. No matter how many years now the visions came, doubts soon followed. The images of Quinlan standing behind Ailyn, guiding her arm to swing a heavy blade; Ailyn’s pendant glittering pale blue in the moonlight; a pool shimmering behind them; fog trailing along the edges, wrapping around their ankles. Then the vision had evaporated.
The images were only part of the full message, though. The emotions that welled up her chest as she experienced them were what told the story. Quinlan was meant to aid Ailyn on this journey. She was the warrior the Fae prophecy spoke of. She trusted Danny’s deciphering. She’d seen the drawing herself.
The pendant matched. The details measured up.
“We’ll be back in less than a fortnight,” he assured her.
If only she knew what would interest Quinlan in becoming involved. Should she be telling him what her visions foretold? Or did she trust it to destiny, and hope naught else entangled him? How often had Heremon pressed upon her that an Ovate’s first duty was to the truth? Manipulations of that truth were a sure way to doom all involved.
“All will be well,” she said, out to convince herself as much as Danny.
The niggling doubts crept to the fore, regardless. What if her vision was of some different point in time altogether? Like the vision of her daughter. It had come three years ago, and in the space between, Breanne nigh lost her senses, so wrapped in expectancy as she had become. Thank Brigit for Rose.
Her oldest, dearest friend knew plenty about motherhood and had helped Breanne appreciate the few years she would have before that blessing. If only her friend could comfort her through this wait as well.
“If not, send Colm to track us,” Danny said, adjusting his mantle for travel.
Breanne perked up at that. Of course! Colm. She could ask the wolf to follow them, just in case. At least until Quinlan joined them. If he joined them. Should Quinlan not come or, worse, should danger follow, Colm could aid in protecting Ailyn. Or return with news of their safety.
Danny hugged her tightly once more then turned to join Ailyn.
“Danny?” she said, reaching for him once more. “Dinna let your guard down. No matter what. Even if Quinlan manages to join you. There is a chance I’m entirely wrong in my conclusions, and as yet I canno’ tell who else pursues the stones. Whoever it is. I feel a blackness in them unlike anything I’ve ever encountered.”
Danny met her plea with a solemn nod. “I swear it, Breanne. I’ll take every care.”
Breanne released a pent up breath. Aye, she trusted he would. Knowing she could do little more, she watched him mount, waved farewell and sent a prayer to any who might hear to watch over her brother. She’d nearly lost him once. She could not endure it again.
~
The sun’s rays broke through the thick cloud cover of a mild morning, lighting the dewy ground. Ailyn couldn’t take her eyes off of the unusual beauty of the grays and golds and greens of this mortal world. The clip of the horses’ hooves, the creak of their supplies and saddles joined the cacophony of sounds in the wood. It took discipline to keep her attention on the sights and sounds this morning. Her mind wanted to return to last night, to the twists and turns of Breanne’s explanations around her many, many questions.
A few hours before dawn, though, certain of only one thing—that she needed sleep—Ailyn chose to digest the mounds of information at a later point when she could focus. Better to stay alert for now, because when Breanne answered her foremost question—who was the “he” Breanne had seen in her vision?—everything changed.
Breanne did not know.
But she swore Ailyn would recognize him once he neared.
By his presence and his mark.
She had naively believed matters could not get worse. The queen dead, Maera missing and wounded, Colm transformed into a wolf, trapped in the human realm with her people’s future uncertain. What could worsen matters?
Not knowing.
Knowledge gave her certainty. At least a sense of it that allowed her to stay present and alert, as her training dictated. But Breanne did not know who “he” was. She had only a description of the man and a keen sense of his intentions. He was here in the mortal realm, too. For some time now, he had been passing between the two realms and searching for the stones. If he discovered the triad and brought them together, the two worlds would return to their original state as one. Fae and mortals together.
Why would any Fae wish for such a terrible thing? They would die out within a generation.
“We’ll crest that hill and ride east. At sunset we’ll rest,” Danny called from his horse a furlong in front of hers.
Ailyn nodded when he looked back for a response. Then she kept her eyes ahead, feeling the movement beneath her, thankful for the dapple-gray mare. Thankful for the sun warming the day when it peeked through. She had to keep her mind away from all the questions. They would only swirl around her and suck her deeper into fear ,for she had few answers. So much remained unknown, such as where were the stones? What were their powers? How did she sift through legend and truth? Danny promised to share more today.
When she was ready.
She wasna ready. Not for more tales and fewer real answers. Better to stay in the moment, watch the sky, hear the chirping, smell the frangrant, earthy air and, remembering here and now she was safe. She was safe. Colm was safe. Maera, too.
What did Danny keeping looking left for? Ailyn scanned the tree line, too. But she saw no movement, nothing to cause worry. Yet she began to feel…watched.
Before he does.
The pit of her stomach felt a substantial weight inside. Already, she feared she knew all too well who he was.
Kristoph.
The pale blue eyes Breanne had described matched the queen’s foremost aide’s well. The height and build. The obsession for power. Or was Ailyn mistakenly placing the one vile man she knew into the role, clouding her own judgement, making her unable to assess who truly belonged there?
It was all too much at once.
She focused back to the horse, the wood they rode alongside, the well- worn trail. The horse ahead of her. Danny. His lean frame. The way he looked left. Again. Why was he looking left so oft? Ailyn squinted in the same direction, but again spotted nothing amiss. What did she know of mortal behavior, she reminded herself. He could simply be enjoying the view.
Or remaining alert.
As she should be.
A faint snap perked the horse’
s ears. Danny slowed his mount so that hers closed their distance.
“We’ll take turns leading,” he said with a polite smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Ailyn moved to ask why, but thought better of it. Because really, why not? The trail was laid out clearly. She could lead as easily as he. She took the lead, picking up the pace, letting her senses tune into the feeling that something was in that wood. Danny must sense it, too.
Perhaps her escort was more capable than she first thought. Still, taking the lead and feeling her dagger strapped tight to her right thigh gave her confidence. She sorely missed her bow and arrows, particularly being astride as she was, but it couldn’t be helped.
Her mare’s ears pricked to attention, then tucked a bit back. “What is it, girl?” she asked. Could the horse sense the same wary agitation as Ailyn? Did she hear something Ailyn could not?
Ailyn clucked her tongue, urging the mare into a faster pace. The hoofbeats behind her let her know that Danny kept up. Whatever lay in those woods, they’d soon be left behind. Just ahead around the bend, the trees looked to thin out, leaving craggy hill and dark, muddy patches in its place.
“Keep her away from the bogs,” Danny called out.
Ailyn glanced back, shaking her head, not understanding. Danny pointed at the dark puddles. “Bogs. She’s scared of them.”
On a nod, Ailyn guided her mare to the far left of the trail, putting them closer to the tree line but that would soon cease to matter. The mare’s ears tucked again. She let out a whinny. Alarm shot through Ailyn. Something—someone—was in that wood. She could feel it.
She urged her mare again, digging her heels into her haunches. “Give me all you’ve got, darling.” The mare complied, but within a few gallops, she could hear that Danny was not keeping up. Oh, how she wished Quinlan were here. Glancing back, she saw just how great a lead she’d gained. The end of that wood was too close to give up now, though. Better to give the mare her head and wait for Danny to catch up ahead. “Go!”