by Jan Delima
Luc glowered at the man. “I called for advice—not for you to come here.”
“Llara and her army are at Rhuddin Village, along with a few of Isabeau’s guards,” Porter informed him. His shaved head reflected the light from the flickering sconces, brandishing the Celtic cross of his Irish heritage. “Your brother has been a right surly thing. I’ve been ordered to set up your communication system and not be returning until it’s complete so he can talk to you freely.”
The feast was served. They sat at tables arranged in rows, filled with platters of roasted meat, crusted pies, and honeyed vegetables. The wine, ale and mead had been reserved for a later time. Even so, as the night progressed, Elen acted intoxicated. After her third hiccup, Porter grabbed her goblet, sniffed, and then shook his head as if confused.
“It’s this island.” Elen giggled. “I feel so dizzy,” she slurred.
Ever watchful, Gareth hovered close. “Are you well?” he asked Elen.
“Maybe I should get some fresh air.” She stood, weaved and grabbed the back of her chair. “Whoa . . . room is spinning.”
Gareth responded by scooping her up into his arms. He carried her away from the table and paused by Luc’s chair. “I’ll bring her to the library and return shortly.”
Luc gave a nod as they passed. “Don’t look so worried,” he whispered in Rosa’s ear as he leaned down. “Trust me when I tell you my sister can protect herself if need be. She enjoys it here, and Elen gets so little enjoyment in her life.”
“We’ve all gotten used to her gentle presence,” Rosa told him. “And Mae adores her, but it’s odd how the island influences her.”
“I don’t want to go to the library,” Elen protested as she was carried away. “Cormack’s in the library with Audrey and”—she hiccupped—“he hates me.”
The Guardians arrived shortly after Elen and Gareth disappeared around the corner. Teyrnon filled the main entrance, appearing stunned, as if someone had just broadsided him in the head with a rather nasty club.
Merin, Briallen and Maelor glided into the great hall with only a glare as a greeting. They wore modern clothes of discreet colors and styles to blend while traveling.
Inappropriate, as her cousin tended to be in tense situations, Cadan leaned over to Tesni with a mischievous smirk turning his mouth. “Look at the Norseman. I think he wants to eat Maelor’s wife.”
Tesni sent a conspiring whisper, “Yes, but in a good way or a bad way?”
Cadan sniggered softly. “Both, I think.”
“Hush,” Rosa ordered them. Once they started on this route, it was difficult to veer them away, and now was not the time for such antics, especially with her husband still as a Walker in his chair.
Tucker came bounding into the room, leapt on the dais that formerly held three thrones, sat back on his haunches—and watched. It was then that Rosa noticed an eerie difference from earthly hounds, as if iridescent waves ruffled the air as it breathed. And there was nothing quite as unnerving as witnessing a hound from the Otherworld stand sentry over three Guardians who had invaded her home.
“Let us do our task and leave.” Maelor glowered at the hound in displeasure, stalky and unkempt, with his massive arm tethered to his petite wife. Briallen stared ahead with unfocused eyes, her red hair hanging loose down her back. Her skin had a pallid tone as if malnourished or stretched thin.
“I must say that for once we agree.” Merin scanned the tables with a serene gaze, landing on Luc. “We will not stay long,” she announced. “We have come to see the Walkers and request Math’s journals.” She turned to Rosa. “Pendaran has also sent you a gift for your upcoming ceremony.”
Under the Guardian’s gaze, Rosa felt pinned to her wooden seat. Assessed like an anomaly of nature who didn’t deserve to live. “Thank you, Merin,” she said. “But I cannot accept such a generous offer. Please tell Pendaran that I’m married.”
Pendaran knew, of course; it was why they were here. Merin’s annoyance flared in her gaze. But Rosa had mastered the art of misleading pleasantries a long time ago. “I’m surprised Neira and William didn’t share this news already, but no matter, so long as he knows the ceremony is no longer viable with me.”
“That is a most unwise decision,” Merin returned.
Luc stood, pressed his knuckles against the table and leaned forward, lowering his head as if he might actually lunge. “You will also inform Pendaran that Rosa and I are mated.”
Inwardly, Rosa cringed. It was not good to tempt fate with a lie. In her experience it stopped it from coming true. Rising next to Luc, she said, “Let us then view the Walkers together and you can be on your way.”
It was a macabre procession to the tombs, Teyrnon with his sinister scowl and Luc void of all emotion, the false boredom of a troubled heart as he helped Rosa slide open the first door. She chose to show Nesien because he tended to be the least malevolent of the four.
The Walker was displayed in English country clothes, with a plain overcoat and fitted breeches and boots. A leather-bound book rested under his crossed hands, a sentimental gesture from the person who had arranged him on the marble slab.
With a slight grimace, Merin ducked under the low overhang, her nostrils flaring at the stale odor.
“Nesien was a bore of a man,” Merin muttered absently. Wearing slacks and a spring jacket, with her golden hair twisted in a serviceable knot at the nape of her neck, she viewed the shell of Nesien with passing disdain. “He could talk of human history for hours if you let him. But he did not deserve a fate such as this.”
With Luc guarding the doorway, they were alone inside the tomb. Rosa felt compelled to warn, “Don’t touch him.”
“Do you think I am stupid?” Merin snapped. Her gaze fell to Luc and suddenly her expression held more shadows than this half-alive grave. “You mustn’t insult Pendaran by refusing his gift. It does not matter if you are married, or even mated. Pendaran will see the prophecy through and destroy anyone who stands in his way.”
“Save your threats for someone who’ll cower to them,” Rosa said with conviction. “I’ll never be ruled again by the Council’s dictates.” She made a motion for Merin to exit before her. “I’m allowing you to see the Walkers because it’s a rational request, no more.”
Merin’s hand snaked out to grab Rosa’s arm. This time, unlike with Briog, Rosa was prepared. With a heady flash of metal through leather, she unsheathed her sword and pressed it against the woman’s neck. Nesien answered with his own song, flooding the enclosure with promises of death were she just to swing the weapon his way.
“Ah, you are your mother’s daughter.” A slow grin spread across Merin’s face, eerily like Elen’s but twisted with hostility. “I had wondered.”
With lips peeled back, Luc charged inside. “Leave,” he ordered, head bent, eyes flashing as he gripped the hilt of his own sword and poised it above Merin’s head. “Leave, or I’ll let my mate slice your throat.”
Merin released her hold. “I have seen enough.” She brushed by Luc with a cursory comment. “You carry your father’s weapon well.”
A muscle tensed on the side of his neck while his gaze followed her retreat. “You wouldn’t happen to know how it found its way to me.”
She turned at his voice. “I have no idea what you are talking about.” Blue eyes lifted, stark with warning. “Pendaran has ears in the wind.”
He opened his mouth but snapped it closed when a lantern’s light edged around Aeron’s tomb.
“Move aside, Norseman,” Maelor spat. “This place reeks of weakness. I have done Pendaran’s bidding. We are going home now.” His wife stumbled alongside him until she righted her footing to his pace on the pathway.
“Briallen,” Teyrnon called after them, his hands opening and closing by his sides, stance ready. “Say the word,” he growled in outrage on her behalf.
Briallen stiffened.
“Do not address me.” She tightened her hold on her husband’s arm and continued walking.
Before she left, Merin studied Rosa in impassive silence. “This may have begun as a dangerous scheme, but I think a true marriage has formed. You must know this will not end well. Pendaran will contact you soon, I am sure. If you choose not to cooperate, be prepared for his wrath.”
“Such warnings should be issued by him,” Luc said in a cutting voice. “Not by his messengers.”
A bitter laugh fell from Merin’s lips. “Pendaran does not give warnings.”
Koko’s Journal
—
January 14, 1931
She stood in the center of a snow-covered field, shrouded by a red cloak, a contradiction of both purpose and nature. Her features were veiled and yet adorned within the boldest of colors; I believe she wanted to be seen. When I first noticed the woman, I thought she was Elen. I even waved and called out her name, but once she turned I realized my grave error.
Regrettably, I stumbled back in surprise. In hindsight, I wish I had shown more composure, but how is one supposed to react when hatred is perceived within a familiar blue gaze? When Elen had never looked at me so?
It was a new experience for me, this hatred. I have faced ignorance, of course, from the people in the cities who only see my brown skin and know naught of my family’s honors.
Sometimes they even watch me with fear in their eyes, and gather their children close as I pass, as if I plot to steal their babes in the middle of the night.
I knew the woman who held such vile sentiment toward a stranger must be Merin, the mother who would have killed my husband to see her older children live among the powerful ones.
Luc does not speak of her. The very mention of her name brings angry words from his lips, which saddens me, because anger is born of pain. I despise the woman, I now realize, for the heartache she caused my husband. Children should never know a mother’s rejection. It steals their joy; it hardens an essential part of their heart.
I would have voiced my feelings aloud had she not departed like a cardinal on the wind in winter. I was left standing alone with only a fleeting glimpse of red over snow. I pray she never returns. I only wonder why she came at all.
~Koko
Koko’s Journal
—
January 21, 1931
After a week of pondering over Merin’s visit, I have a curious thought that demands purchase. I must write it down, even if it angers you, my dear husband. When you read this one day, please remember this: Such as anger is born of pain, so too is hatred. One cannot hate if they have not loved! I will not begin to presume what Merin’s motives were for coming here, to her children’s home where she is not welcomed, I only sense that she must carry a great burden of sorrow in her heart, and I hope one day you will find forgiveness in yours.
~Koko
Twenty-one
Though it was nice to be carried, and held without fear, the jarring motion of Gareth’s strides didn’t help with the spinning of her head.
“I should leave this place,” Elen told him, only to receive silence in return.
He was a stoic man, this porter named Gareth.
“It wants me to,” she rambled, too dizzy to care that he may not welcome a discussion. “I can feel it. This island wants me to leave. You must wonder why I stay.”
Another long pause.
Her arms were wrapped around his neck and it was not her fault that his power soared to be read. Honor among depravity was rare, and his scars ran deeper than the ones recently removed from a shift. She wouldn’t share her findings, but felt better knowing her brother’s porter possessed a pure heart, albeit a troubled one.
“I don’t presume to wonder over anyone else’s reasons but my own,” Gareth eventually said.
But she sensed the lie. He watched all, and considered all, because he prided himself on being the protector and porter of this home. It was his purpose. He was lonely, though, and his emptiness almost equaled hers.
“People don’t fear me here,” she offered, because he was carrying her and therefore forced to listen. “They talk to me and invite me for tea. At home, everyone fears me.” She sighed. “I do miss my garden, though.”
“We’ve known the leadership of Math. Nothing you do would compare.”
“I doubt Cormack agrees.”
“I’m not so sure.” Gareth lowered her, holding out his arms for her to right her balance. “Which is why you’re going to walk into the library on your own two feet.”
“I think I can manage that.” Elen concentrated on her footing, taking slow steps. She giggled again, not a dignified greeting to Cormack’s scowl. Audrey knelt on the floor, unpacking new books from Rosa’s shopping excursion.
“Avon has unbalanced her somehow.” Gareth gave a brisk explanation to Cormack. “I don’t think it’s good for her to be around the Guardians in her current state. Can you stay with her?”
Cormack’s gaze narrowed with concern, or at least Elen chose to believe it was concern rather than annoyance. After a sharp nod, he motioned for Gareth to leave.
“I got kicked out of my brother’s wedding reception.” She hiccupped, slapped her hand over her mouth.
“Me too.” Audrey looked up, interested now. Her trimmed hair feathered around her pixie-like features as golden-green eyes commiserated. “Did you eat Walter’s cake?”
“No, I didn’t have any cake.” Elen slouched into the nearest chair.
Audrey seemed pleased by that, padding over with a book in her hand. “Want to read to me?”
“I don’t know if I—”
The child crawled into her lap and the room stopped spinning. Leaving her with Audrey, Cormack busied himself by a serving cart and returned with a pitcher of water and a glass.
He filled the glass and shoved it in her face. “Drink.”
It was the first time she’d ever heard his voice. Dark and husky with just a word. She accepted the water with gratitude, needing to soothe a suddenly parched throat.
“It’s this island,” she told him. “Somehow Audrey balances the effects.” She handed him back the empty glass. “I feel better now.”
Wiggling into a comfortable crook, Audrey opened the book and pointed her finger. “Read this word to me.”
Flushing under Cormack’s inspection, Elen looked down—then frowned. “Oh, well . . .” She cleared her throat, hedging. “What is the name of this book?” She flipped it over and read the title, Oxford Dictionary of Modern Slang. She scrambled for an excuse not to read the word, suspecting this strong-minded child would use it often.
And the next time Walter denied Audrey of cake, she might be inclined to call him a fuckwit in return.
“This book is boring. Let’s find another one,” Elen said, picking Audrey up, because she was an innocent with power, and therefore an equalizer to this island—and Elen wasn’t letting her go while in the same room with Cormack. “How about this one? Where the Wild Things Are,” she read. “I think this one is very fitting for you, Audrey.”
* * *
After checking on Elen, Rosa found Luc standing on the balcony outside their bedchambers deep in thought. The last days of spring were almost at an end and warm evening breezes carried the scents of summer to her island. From where he stood, he could see beyond the river and across the vale to the mountains outlining a starred horizon. It was why Rosa had chosen this room as hers from the day she came to Avon.
The balcony connected to Math’s former apartments, and for the first time she smiled at that thought, because come morning Porter would begin ripping it apart to refurnish it into a media suite. Divine justice, in her opinion, for the lair of a dictator who’d denied all connection to the mortal world.
Leaning against the doorframe, she admired the view of her husband. “I doubt the Guardians will return this
night.”
But soon.
He only nodded in the meager light that spilled from the open doors. Shadows contoured the outline of his muscled form. He presented an intimidating silhouette, with his back bare and his hair loose about wide shoulders that tapered into a taut waist. His pants rode low on his hips and his feet were bare.
She hesitated before joining him, because she felt his internal conflict, and because he was a proud man who wasn’t comfortable sharing his thoughts on emotional matters. Regardless, she went to him, wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her cheek on his back.
His stance relaxed on a sigh of comfort. He entangled his fingers within hers and they remained silent for a time. As the evening began to chill, he shared, “It was the first time she’s ever spoken to me.”
In almost two thousand years.
“And I put a sword to her throat,” Rosa said without triumph, running her cheek over the hard planes of his back. If she could ease this hurt from him, she would, but that was not the reality of the world they lived in. “I checked on Elen.”
“As did I, and almost everyone in this castle. Their acceptance is why she doesn’t want to leave.” He squeezed her hands briefly. “She needed their kindness tonight.”
Rosa didn’t invade further on the subject of Merin. Like with her first marriage, some matters shouldn’t be needled. “Elen seems perfectly fine as long as Audrey is with her, which I find curious.”
“Innocence with power is rare and my sister is sensitive to such things. Audrey balances the effects of the Walkers.”
“Perhaps, but I’d like Elen to view them before she leaves. She may give us some insight on how to help them.”
He didn’t answer immediately. “I’ll ask her. Porter predicts he’ll be done by the end of the week and I’ve convinced Elen to go with him.”
“Shouldn’t they leave before Beltane?” Rosa asked with concern. “Tonight’s visit was only an information excursion for the Council. They will return.”