by Kari Edgren
“Over the years, I came to love and respect humans equal to the goddess born. Day after day, I watched them build homes, till the ground, and bring forth children without any assurance of what the future held. They lacked our power, yet they had the strength to persevere no matter the hardship or challenge. To me, that was courage in its finest form, and the thought of leaving them at the end of my life felt more like abandonment than anything else.”
Cate paused and plucked at her dressing gown. “Facing my own mortality, I recalled my grandmother’s stories about how Brigid had once extended life for some of her strongest descendants. As death drew nearer, I sought Brigid and asked for this second gift. She consented, but with three conditions: I could not live more than one natural life at a time in the same place, I had to return to the Otherworld once a year, and I could only assist in extending the lives of my direct descendants and their families. Having accepted the terms, I drank from the cup and then returned home to put my affairs in order. Though it pained me to leave, my one lifetime had already passed in this village, so I headed south toward the great Roman city of Londinium, or London as it’s known today.”
Dusky shadows stretched from the corners of the room. A small fire burned in the hearth, its light appearing brighter with the passing sun. Cate stood and crossed to the mantel where she lit several candles. As the flames came to life, I saw the oddest collection of curiosities; a jade statue of a four-armed man, intricately carved ivory depicting a young woman from the waist up, a warrior’s battle helm with narrow slits for eyes, and a pounded bronze cross. Amidst these other items, the small, non-descript gray stone would have gone unnoticed if Cate hadn’t run a finger across its top before turning back toward me.
“By this time,” she said, “I had already killed a handful of Cailleach’s hounds, but I had yet to face my biggest danger. Outlaws and bandits plagued the countryside, and not ten miles into my journey, I crossed paths with a band of black-hearted savages.” Mischief filled her eyes. “This time I had no difficulty relaying thoughts, and the moment any of the men touched me, I planted the idea that I was Queen Boudica on my way to battle the Romans. So rather than murdering me, they acted my royal escort into the city.”
“You didn’t!” I cried with a burst of shocked laughter.
“Oh, I certainly did. And believe me, what I did to them was a world kinder than their intentions toward me. When it came time to leave London, I recruited travel companions in the same manner, by waiting for the first band of thieves to attack me. With a few well-placed thoughts, they became the best protectors a woman could wish for, ruthless and cunning from so many years of roaming the land.” She scrunched her nose as though smelling something foul. “Their hygiene suffered at times, but even this could be amended with right sort of persuasion.”
Awed by her bravery and ingenuity, I would have overlooked the less desirable side of her methods if not for the persistent niggling of my conscience. “Did you ever feel guilty for coercing them to your will?”
“Not once I glimpsed their thoughts. If anything, I saw it as penance for wanting to rob, rape and murder me. And they certainly benefited from the arrangement for all the ailments and wounds I healed along the way. Rotted teeth, skin lesions, broken bones, you name it, I fixed everything. At the end of our association, these men were healthier than anyone else alive, and by my estimation, duly compensated for their inconvenience. Besides, it was the only way for me to fulfill the first of Brigid’s conditions. The least these humans could do was provide assistance from time to time since I had stayed in this world for their benefit.”
Her straightforward manner and clear expression seemed to confirm a complete lack of remorse. I couldn’t blame her, living as she did in such a brutal world. Anything less would have resulted in death.
“For the next two centuries,” she continued, “I traveled this way through much of Europe, moving on every twenty years or so. Then around 487AD, I returned to London with the intention of sailing to Ireland. Tom and I met by chance in a tavern and were married shortly thereafter.”
“But what of Lord Din—” The remainder of his name disappeared in a gasp. “Tom was Lord Dinley! And...and...” I tripped over the words, caught up in the sudden revelation. “You were really your own mother!”
“Well done,” Cate said with a smile. “While I lived as an old widow, Tom began construction on this home. Once I passed away of consumption, a much younger Cate returned from the continent and married Lord Dinley within the year.”
“Why did Tom...I mean Lord Dinley have to die?” After so much work it seemed absurd to choose a covert existence rather than living openly as husband and wife, surrounded by all of life’s comforts.
Cate gave an exasperated sigh. “Because your great grandfather is never quite at home unless he’s camped on a battlefield or holed up in a blacksmith shop. He despises pomp and has very little patience for the gentry. Which is why he had secret passageways built throughout the home, so he could visit undetected once the feeble Lord Dinley met his demise in a carriage accident.”
And for Miss Rose to traipse through, I thought darkly.
“Do you have other children besides Justine?”
“Most of our children have passed into the Otherworld. One surviving son lives in Ireland, and Justine and Sophie are our only living daughters.”
I felt a burst of indignation. “If Sophie is your daughter, then why is she acting as your maid?”
“The same reason I have served as her maid in years past—to get a respite from society. For the past forty years, she lived as a noble woman in France, and only came to England when her husband died. Sophie loved him dearly, and the loss has been difficult to bear.”
From every answer, sprang a dozen more questions. “Why did he die? Couldn’t you have extended his life according to Brigid’s conditions?” Such longevity for Henry and myself was too great to even consider at the moment. A serious headache threatened, and I pressed a hand to my temple in an attempt to hold it at bay. Perhaps there had been some sense in allowing more than a day to relay so much information.
Taking one of the candles from the mantel, Cate placed it on the table beside me. She then ran a finger across my brow, and the mounting pressure vanished in an instant. I dropped my hand and watched her return to the bed.
“Almost a year has passed since I last visited the Otherworld,” Cate said, tucking her feet up beneath the dressing gown. “Brigid will expect me before the month is out. I would like for us to go together.”
The question of Sophie’s husband was swept away by another. “I don’t understand why Brigid stipulated a yearly visit when you have to crossover more frequently just to replenish your power.” Three months away had nearly killed me. I couldn’t imagine going a day longer, let alone an entire year.
“Those rules no longer apply to me. As goddess born, we are neither wholly human nor wholly divine, but an aberration of the two. We can yield the power of the Tuatha Dé, but are unable to regenerate it on our own. So in essence, it is our humanness that has kept us tethered to the Otherworld. By loosening the bands of mortality, Brigid had to give precedent to the divine, which in turn, freed me from the need to crossover for any other purpose than to visit her.”
I stared at Cate in stunned silence while this newest idea played further havoc with the world I had once understood. “You no longer have to drink from the spring?” I asked at last. “Are you sure?” Not that she could have mistaken something of this magnitude, but the question slipped out all the same.
“Quite sure,” she laughed. “The potential resides in each of us by virtue of our goddess blood. As a matter of fact, you may have already experienced something similar. Tell me, does anything unusual happen whenever you kiss Henry?”
A slow heat crept up my neck. “Brigid’s fire comes to the surface. Henry says it’s like he can feel my sou
l.”
“So it is for every goddess born once they find love. The Tuatha Dé and humans hold this power in common, and neither side acts to stifle the other. As a consequence, we have an unlimited supply no matter if we drink from the spring or not.”
My thoughts went to the carriage ride with Henry. At the time I hadn’t understood why my power responded so quickly to his kiss, and yet had barely been able to heal a simple cut. The reason seemed so obvious now that I understood how the different races came together in the goddess born, enhancing what was familiar while suppressing the unfamiliar.
With a yawn, Cate stretched and leaned back on her elbows. “I’ve grown tired of talking. What do you think of a few experiments? Nothing too taxing, just enough to test the waters of your gift.”
The offhanded suggestion caught me by surprise. “Right now?”
“Why not. Is there a particular skill you wish to learn first?” She winked at me. “Perhaps we can have you turned to a hag before Henry returns this evening.”
In time I would learn everything, but for today, one skill rose above all others. Leaning forward, I looked straight in her eyes. “How difficult is it to read thoughts?”
Chapter Seventeen
In Cold Blood
From all my imaginings of Henry’s return, none compared with the real perfection in which I now found myself. Well past midnight, silence reigned in the house beyond my chamber door. Within, the sound of soft, rhythmic breathing emphasized the state of peaceful idyll. Firelight cast its golden light across the bed, and I curled on one side like a contented kitten, my head resting in Henry’s lap. He leaned against a stack of down pillows propped up at the headboard, eyes closed and one hand lightly tracing the skin on my arm.
He had arrived two hours earlier, unannounced except for a swift knock on the wooden panel before stepping into the room. As he threw off his hat and greatcoat, one look revealed a black mood, which I quickly learned stemmed from the lethal combination of exhaustion and anger. Eight hours in the saddle could wear on the strongest of men. Being played a fool by one’s own father could drive a man to war, and had done so in darker times. Not that I expected otherwise from the duke. For me, his true colors had been revealed a year ago when he forged his son’s name to the betrothal contract with Amelia. But for Henry, this deception proved unexpected, and their brief interview nearly came to blows when the duke refused to reveal his underhanded interest in my lineage.
Stealing a glance at Henry, I saw the dark smudges still beneath his eyes, but the anger had melted away. Or, at least, been put aside for the time being. From his relaxed manner, he seemed near sleep and occupied with pleasanter thoughts, judging by the faint smile. Even without the benefit of Cate’s calming touch, he had accepted all my news in his usual stride. To be sure, I heard more than a few exclamations in response to the various details, but in the end, nothing exceeded his belief. The revelation that his almost-former mistress was my aunt brought the greatest shock, followed by a sudden burst of laughter. This earned him a sharp cuff to the chest. In turn, I found myself on the bed, my arm pinned between us, and his mouth hard on mine. My other arm went around his neck, and it mattered not that I lacked breath to protest, for I had none to offer.
Now watching him, curiosity stirred as to the source of his smile. He looked the picture of contentment, and I preferred not to disturb his rest by asking outright when it took so little effort to tap into his emotions. At the first drop of power, my whole body grew flushed from the sensations that flooded back. Breaking the connection, I stared at him through narrowed eyes, my interest piqued to new heights.
What are you thinking about Henry Fitzalan?
My fingers twitched impulsively. During our lesson, Cate had warned against excessive prying. “Tread lightly, Selah,” she said on the heels of my first success, “and only when necessary. Otherwise, you may learn something best left unknown.”
Unbidden, a jealous thread wove through my heart. Could someone else have caused his desire? What if our brief talk of Justine had dredged up a memory, one long repressed that crawled to the surface the moment his defenses were down? Henry didn’t mention whether or not he had experienced anything unusual with Justine, anything related to her being goddess born.
I hesitated for a split second. Then Henry gave a contented sigh, and all doubt vanished. I absolutely wanted to know the dreams flitting around his head. Any quandaries of unwarranted snooping and prodding could be addressed later, just as soon as I got a look at what so clearly pleased him.
Impatient for answers, it was no small feat to hold Brigid’s fire at bay to better concentrate on Cate’s instructions. “For the most part there are two sorts of thoughts available to us, visual and auditory. They can form alone or together. Either can be read, though images are by far the easiest to discern. While emotions flow outward, thoughts tend to pool inside the brain. You just need to know where to find them. Practice will enable you to dig deep into someone’s memories, but stay to the surface if you want to see what’s being thought at that precise moment.”
With a measured breath, I closed my eyes and released the slightest trickle of power. Once more, Henry’s emotions flooded into me. I pushed them aside, ignoring the swell of heat in my stomach as I started to wind a path upward into his head. Years ago, my mother taught me to identify the different parts of the human brain. Today, my great grandmother had shown me how to look past the brain and into the mind.
The complexity of tissue, vessels and nerves proved stubborn at first, refusing to budge under the gentlest of prodding. Not to be outdone, I willed patience to subdue the budding frustration, and focused again on Cate’s guidance.
“You see what you expect to see, Selah. Consider a face, if you will. An initial glance yields the usual nose, mouth and eyes. Look a little closer, and these features reveal the intangible layers residing beneath the flesh and bone. Expect only the physical, and that is all that will appear. The mind is there, no less real than the gray matter that holds it.”
My years of training had prepared me to see a brain, healthy or weak, large or small, but a brain all the same. It took every ounce of will to overcome this habit and force the physical image from my mind’s eye—in essence, to snuff out the internal candle and plunge my mind into a state of darkness without breaking the link.
At first, there was nothing. I waited, having gone through a similar exercise numerous times with Cate this afternoon. A stubborn minute passed when something finally shifted, prodded by another trickle of power, and I found myself staring at what resembled the blackest night sky alight with a million stars.
A swirl of color spun across my thoughts, there one moment, then gone. When blurred images appeared, I pushed a little deeper. The edges tightened into separate forms, and I started at the sight of Henry and his father. The two men stood facing each other, expressions contorted and bodies rigid with rage. A sword hung at Henry’s side, the very sword the duke had sent Henry to fetch from the family’s ancestral home as a red herring to conceal his real purposes. Studying the image, father and son seemed frozen in a still life until enough time passed, and I realized that every movement proceeded at a fraction of normal speed.
By no means could this be responsible for his present mood. Obviously I had gone too deep, which would explain the slowness of their actions; Henry may have suppressed his anger for the time being, but the memory continued to play out on some level in his subconscious.
Pulling back, the two men disappeared, and again I waited, this time skimming along the surface. It wasn’t long before another image appeared, blurry like the first. My pulse jumped in anticipation as the lines began to darken and take on form.
A woman came into view, her back to me as she stood in front of what looked to be an altar. Stone walls curved to a low ceiling above her and soft lantern light warmed the otherwise cold grayness in the small room.
At the first heartbeat, familiarity resonated in the image, from the dark curls that spilled down her back to the simple white sheath that stopped at mid-calf. Or perhaps it was the way she trembled with rage, her hands fisted at either side.
The second heartbeat brought full understanding.
We are at All Hallows. I’ve returned from the Otherworld, and Henry has just rebuffed my attentions.
Through his memory, I caught sight of a pile of clothing on the floor. Then in one swift motion, my other self yanked the sheath over her head and threw it into the basket. Gracious me! There I stood in nothing more than my skin. A blush warmed my cheeks, growing hotter still as Henry traced a slow line with his eyes along my spine, pausing at the small of my back.
My next heartbeat was skipped altogether and the breath hitched in my throat. That is quite far enough.
When his gaze slid farther, I moved so abruptly, the link snapped between us. Pushing up from his lap, I found him watching me with heavily hooded eyes.
“See something of interest?” he asked, clearly amused.
A heated retort prickled my tongue. Grudgingly, I forced it aside, choosing to forgo the reprimand rather than admit to my own illicit behavior. “I...I don’t know what you mean.”
“Save the playacting, Selah. I knew you were in there from the start.”
Indecision tugged between my temples. I could either continue with the ruse, or let him know exactly what I had seen. And then be free to give him the piece of my mind he deserved. The second option won the moment he raised a brow.
Lifting my chin, I returned the challenge. “You watched me undress that night in the crypt.” Somehow my blush managed to deepen.