Caedmon’s Curse

by A. J. Nuest

  “Your name is Rowena Analiese Lindstrom.” He lowered his head, eyes closed. “Sorceress of the Veil, and Keeper of the Key.”

  She snatched her hand back. The faint trill of running water sang through the air until the breath he’d trapped in his lungs burned and screamed for release.

  “I need you to speak very plainly.” Though her voice was low, it shook with a terror that boiled near hysteria. “And explain to me everything that you know.”

  He swung around to face her and his stomach plummeted. Two high red spots stained her cheeks. Her fretful hands twisted and worried the folds of her chemise. Half his heart loathed the fright he had placed in her eyes. The other half pounded in relief.

  She should be afraid. If, after he’d recanted, she still determined to follow through with her plan, whatever fear she carried with her would be her best defense.

  “Most of what I believe is supposition. Indeed, no valid proof beyond my—”

  “Caedmon,” she whispered. “Just tell me.”

  Nodding, he licked his dry lips. Perchance to stop her fussing, to dispense the unease between them or mayhap to maintain a physical connection to the present, he wasn’t quite certain why he clasped her hands. Only that an intense need to touch her, one he could not refute, overruled all his reason.

  “Late into my imprisonment, I was paid a visit by Seviere’s Wizard Gaelleod.” He entwined their fingers and pondered the contrast of color, hers like pale flames between the umber pigment of his. Dark separated by light, bare branches of late autumn banded by snow. “Gaelleod’s attendance during my punishments was not a rarity. In truth, his thirst for bloodlust often ensured a watchful eye over the many influential talents employed by his priests.”

  Agitation tightened his shoulders and he rolled the joints to relieve the ghostly ache. How long had he dangled from those wicked manacles, muscles stretched to the limits of their capacity, mingled beads of blood and sweat dripping from his brow? His back molars ground together as the phantom screams of his own voice reverberated inside his skull. “Compounding his delight in their ingenious methods to extract information, was Gaelleod’s belief I maintained the secret to the enigma which is the key.”

  His eyes followed when she lifted his hand and pressed a fierce kiss to its back. He smiled ruefully into her shimmering gaze, submersing himself in sea of verdant love. “Wizard Gaelleod is the worst kind of depravity, my lady. Born of an age long spent, he claims knowledge of prophecy which reaches far beyond the seasons of most men. For me to have achieved such a prize, he knew our time together had been fruitful. A sorceress would neither cross the veil nor gift me the key elsewise.”

  She lowered her gaze, lashes dark and laden with tears. Keeping their hands clasped, he applied the tip of his finger to her chin and lifted until he could kiss the salty dew from her cheeks. Assuredly, these would not be the last of her tears, yet if she was to formulate a clear verdict, she must be privy to everything he’d learned. “Over several generations, Gaelleod has used the influence and wealth of the Seviere reign to gather not just one mystical chest, but many. A purpose both grotesque and unwavering guided his course and, upon the Gleaning, he believed success was near at hand.

  “The key opened them all, yet not one contained the otherworldly wisdom of which prophecy foretold. All, excluding the most recent chest which has come into his possession. This chest the key would not unlock. So he set about breaking me, sparing no enthusiasm to glean answers to a mystery I did not hold.”

  A sob broke from her throat and she untangled their fingers to cup his cheek. “I’m sorry.” Though her lips formed the words, no sound emerged.

  He held her hand to his face, turned his head and kissed the center, lowered it and swept his thumb over the etchings in her palm—a fleeting moment to center his thoughts before the rest of his story was conveyed.

  He raised his eyes and locked his gaze onto hers. “That is, until the bastard made a fateful err in my favor.”

  The blood drained from her face. Her fingers tightened around his.

  “On the day of Gaelleod’s final visit, he brought with him the key. A curious circumstance, to be sure, since I’d last seen it on the day of my arrest, yet one I did not find surprising. After so long under his tutelage, I’d learned not much went the way of unusual behavior where he was concerned. The entirety of Selene’s phase would sometimes pass during which he would be cordial, pleasant even, plying me with food and drink, conversing with me as if we were close friends. These respites were typically followed by days of beatings without end.

  “I recognized his technique, the constant deviation to keep me off guard. So when he approached with the key and thrust it before my face, I was neither unsettled nor dismayed…merely puzzled.”

  Red firelight stoked by the dungeon’s bellows had winked off the surface, the key twirling a dizzying spiral in the air. Not until the movement ceased, had the vile wizard leaned close, his breath a rancid mixture of foul deeds and decay.

  “He pointed to the stamped lettering on the side and demanded I tell him the significance behind the symbols, if they represented an incantation or specific rite of ceremony.” In his mind’s eye, the key remained centered, his lady’s initials so brightly blazing, Caedmon nearly reached out to ensnare the golden treasure in his hand.

  “R…A…L…” he whispered. “Rowena Analiese Lindstrom.”

  Pressure on his thighs jerked him back to the present and he cradled his white dove as she climbed onto his lap. She wrapped her arms around his chest, the crown of her head fitted snug and warm under his chin. A shuddering breath wracked her body and he tightened his arms to stem the tide of her trembling. “I understood then the reason behind his frustrations. Gaelleod had indeed finally located the rightful chest. But only one among us holds the power to wield the key. A beautiful white sorceress whose memories had been stolen so that not even she recognizes the profound influence she retains.”

  A sardonic chuckle soured Caedmon’s throat. “The irony tainting Gaelleod’s dilemma was so preposterous, I laughed. I stared directly into the black eyes of the worst adversary I’d ever faced and hooted as if I’d gone quite mad.” He smoothed his hand down the cascade of her silver hair. “And perhaps I had.”

  Though his lapse in judgment was not one he would soon forget. Nor would he ever fail to recall the sweet stench of burning flesh, the blind agony which blotted out all his rationale. “Gaelleod took it upon himself to instruct me firsthand in the ways of confession that day. My amusement over his failure propelled him to heights of madness I do not wish to relate. Suffice to say only one thing prevented my death. My mind held the answer to his plight.”

  He withdrew from his lady and secured the edge of her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “You, Rowena. You are the answer. The missing piece to why the chest refused to open.”

  She squeezed her eyes tight, her falling tears more beautiful than those of the nine. “I’ve been a curse, haven’t I? Since the day we met, I’ve brought you nothing but heartache and pain.”

  The entire breath of his being roared in denial and he guided her forehead down to his. “You are my blessing. My heart and savior. And I would gladly face the corruption of Gaelleod’s evil wizardry to safeguard you from harm. But we cannot ride for the key. Do you not see? To do so would be an error of imminent destruction.”

  She flung her arms around his neck and showered his face with kisses. Over and again until the nightmare of his imprisonment faded. A ray of hope chased his sorrow into shadow, though his deliverance would not be complete until her vow of consent sanctified his ear.

  “Swear to me now. Promise me you will never partake of such a perilous task.”

  Her kisses gradually slowed, the last coming to rest in the center of his brow. “I can’t do that, Caedmon.”

  He seized her hips to press her away, but she tightened her hold on his neck, keeping them linked. Body to body, chest to chest.

  Her deep inhalation
was weighted with sadness, resignation and, most prominently, her steadfast resolve. “Now more than ever, I’m convinced my going after the key is the right thing to do. I came through the veil for a reason. My initials are stamped on the key for a reason. The chest is mine to open for a reason. I can’t ignore that. I just can’t.” She leaned away from him and clenched his shoulders, her fingertips digging into his skin. “For whatever purpose, I’m a part of this…this whole big puzzle. To snub my nose at such an important responsibility is wrong. To leave all these questions unanswered is unacceptable. You know that as well as I do.”

  She urged his cheek to her chest, her hand holding his head in place, fingers tangled in his hair. “If you can’t go with me, I completely understand. But as soon as I have my weapons restocked, I ride for the realm of Seviere.”

  His eyes slammed shut. Pride and awe inundated his soul even as resignation swilled in his gut. He should have known her duty would take precedence over any fear she harbored regarding her own wellbeing. She was prepared to do what was right, and the strength of her bravery left him humbled.

  “You ride nowhere alone. We face the unknown together. Always and forever together.”

  She dropped a kiss to the crown of his head before turning her cheek to his hair. “There is one last thing.”

  His shoulders fell. For all the tits in heaven, what was she on about now?

  He tipped his chin back, meeting the defiant glint in her gaze, and cocked an eyebrow.

  “That rat bastard Gaelleod? His head is mine.”

  Chapter Six

  “A chance yet remains this preparation could all be for naught.”

  Rowena double-checked the springs on her wrist blades before retracting her daggers in place. Caedmon was right. Even though it seemed only a few days had passed, the Dreggs had warned her before entering the cave—the gloaming of the goddesses was deceitful. Once she and Caedmon stepped outside, they might find one or even several seasons had passed in their absence. “The timing doesn’t matter. If what you think is true, without me, Seviere could have never opened the chest. And I’d place bets that asshole Gaelleod still has the key.”

  A sigh heaved Caedmon’s shoulders, the third or fourth since she’d begun her search of the cave for anything she could use to replace her weapons. All in all, she’d made out pretty well. The decorative wooden box she’d located contained a delightful array of etched silver throwing stars, as sharp as death and nested in a padded, velvet frame. Small knives had been scattered about in ample supply. The only things she couldn’t find were silver spikes but, after a quick rustle through an elaborate trunk, she’d unearthed a pouch of long, ivory hair pins. Though a bit yellowed with age, they were polished as sleek as silk and honed to a finely pointed tip.

  She tossed her hair over her shoulder and inserted the first of eight into her chest plate. The jeweled ends jutted over her breasts, but if a person didn’t know any better, they would most likely assume the makeshift spikes were merely some sort of elaborate decoration.

  The pensive rut that had formed between Caedmon’s brows ever since they agreed to go after the key remained embedded in place. In fact, with each passing moment, it deepened. She shook her head. It seemed the longer they prepared to follow through on their quest, the more he realized the utter hopelessness of their success, and the harder he struggled to keep his objections at bay.

  He worked his head through the collar of a leather chest plate and shrugged until the little buckles on either side sat centered on his shoulders. A fragile rainbow winked off the gold armored medallions affixed to the pecs. The crest of a fierce griffon, wings extended and tongue lashing the air, guarded his torso. Yet the way the muscles along his jaw continuously tensed and released, she was surprised pulverized tooth enamel didn’t coat the air with his next heavy breath.

  She offered a tiny smile of encouragement and stepped closer to tighten and tie the leather laces down his side. Crackling tension hummed off his body and permeated straight into hers. Her lips firmed as her own sigh of frustration flared her nostrils. Sure, they were bound to face troubles ahead, but assuming the worst before they even got started wouldn’t do either of them any good. “You need to stop worrying.”

  He grunted. “My worries shall cease the moment you desist on this foolhardy errand.”

  She rounded his stiff back and cinched the laces his other side, securing the ends in a hard slipknot. “You’d prefer I scurry off and hide somewhere like a scared little girl?”

  “I would prefer to maintain your safety, as is my duty as your husband.”

  Yeah, only one thing wrong with that statement. “Except, we’re not married yet.”

  His head snapped over and he squinted, pinpointing her within the razor-sharp scrutiny of his gaze. Her knees involuntarily locked, the agitation sizzling off of him so charged with the metallic tang of a lightning strike, it lifted the hair on her arms. “Our lives are bound to each other, are they not?”

  She nodded, not daring to blink. Hot damn, the man was sexy when he was pissed. All rock-solid muscle and edgy intensity, shoulders tight and fingers flexing as though he were ready to pounce.

  The thick waves of his ebony hair swung forward as he bent at the waist and snatched a pair of black leather vambraces off the floor. “The exchange of vows before witnesses is merely a formality. In my heart, you are my wife.”

  And he was all hers. Joy surged through her heart and lofted her higher than the uppermost peaks of the castle. A smile burst free. Yes, it seemed right they were married. Here, in the Cave of Tears. A cathedral devoid of time, sought after by so many for its divine blessings.

  She narrowed her eyes and tipped her head to the side. Still, it would be nice if everyone else in the kingdom knew of their commitment to each other. Especially those nattering matrons of the court, not to mention their blushing young daughters of eligible age. Those girls had flirtation down to an art.

  A flash of Caedmon, corralled by an obnoxious gaggle of giggling maidens at his homecoming celebration, ignited a spark of jealousy that flamed up her neck. “I’d still like for us to have a wedding. Hell, I’ll even let Marcelene strap me into a dress.”

  The sharp glance he darted at her could’ve cut glass. “Strapping you into finery has never been my objective. I shall, however, gladly submit to whatever agonizing frivolity that devious mind of yours can concoct should you cease in this madness to ride straight into death!”

  She slumped, grabbed his wrist and tugged his arm close to secure the ties of his vambrace. Certainly Caedmon’s concerns for their safety were warranted, but his protective nature had also clouded his judgment. “Gaelleod’s a smart guy, right?”

  He shifted his stance, nodding. “Without question.”

  “He’s spent the last hundred years, maybe longer, with one goal in mind.” Fingers nimbly tightening the slack, she jerked the laces down the length of his forearm, knotted the cords and moved to the second vambrace.

  “To unlock the chest.”

  “Right.” Last knot firmly in place, she seized Caedmon’s hands and squeezed his fingers. “What makes you think he’ll just suddenly give up? Sooner or later, he’s gonna figure out what those letters on the side of the key stand for, and when he does, what do you think he’ll do next?”

  Caedmon searched her face, the wheels of deduction spinning in his eyes, straight toward the inescapable outcome. Hatred slammed into his gaze. “He shall stop at nothing to seek you out. He will unearth every stone, wreak a path of destruction and raze the very gates of hell until he has you clutched tightly to his chest.”

  “Exactly.” She arched a challenging brow. “Wouldn’t you rather we meet him on our terms? Save all those lives and attack while the element of surprise is still in our favor?”

  He rolled his eyes and then nodded a second time. “Yes, my lady.” “Well, so would I.” She released him and withdrew a step to plait her loose hair into a snug braid.

  Caedmon nudged the toe o
f his boot through the various items at their feet, pocketing a blade here, a bag of coin there. He’d already agreed once they returned to Castle Austiere, they would make it a priority to recompense the Dreggs for the supplies. In the meantime, in case she and Caedmon needed to buy a night’s lodging—or someone’s silence—it would be smart to have the means on hand.

  Something finally seemed to catch his attention and Caedmon leaned down to untangle a small curved blade from a strand of pearls. She bound the ends of her hair with a leather cord and then frowned when he plucked her braid off her shoulder. What was he doing?

  He embedded the knife just above the cinched tie, the jagged edge facing outward, backed a few paces away and twirled his finger in the air. “Spin.”

  Oh, how clever. She executed a quick pivot on the toe of her boot, ending in a low crouch, one leg extended. The whip of her hair sliced the air. Anyone within striking range would risk serious injury. And, what’s better, they wouldn’t have clue until it was too late. She grinned and stood, nodding her approval. “Kick ass.”

  Caedmon huffed and continued his perusal, strolling the walls of the cave as he stuffed odds and ends into his pack, a length of rope, an extra blanket.

  Only one last thing needed her attention. Rowena tugged an empty water skin from her bag and dipped the uncorked end into the Pool of Tears. One could never be too careful, and the healing water was an extravagance they couldn’t afford to dismiss.

  Water glugged into the neck and, once the bubbles ceased, she corked the end, stood and shouldered her pack. “Ready?”

  “Nearly there.”

  Oh, good grief. What could they have possibly forgotten? She closed the distance between them and peeked over Caedmon’s shoulder.

  A whirl of his body and he scooped an arm around her waist, hoisting her flush to his chest. His lips captured hers—hungry, desperate. The tip of his tongue flicked and teased until her head fell back on her shoulders and the ground reeled off-kilter beneath the toes of her boots.