by Nora Roberts
With you, somehow with you, I was a man again.
That man loved you beyond measure. What I am that is not a man loved you, despite everything. In all the centuries I’ve loved you. If you loved me, you’ll do what I ask.
Live for me, Moira. Even a world apart, I’ll know that you do and be content.
Cian
She would weep. A human heart needed to shed such a deep well of tears. Lying on the bed where they’d loved each other for the last time, she pressed the letter to her heart, and let it empty.
New York City
Eight weeks later
He spent a great deal of time in the dark, and a great deal of time with whiskey. When a man had eternity, Cian figured he could take a decade or two to brood. Maybe a century since he’d given up the love of his endless bloody life.
He’d come around, of course. Of course he would. He’d get back to business. Travel for a while. Drink a bit longer first. A year or two of a sodding drunk never hurt the undead.
He knew she was well, helping her people recover, planning the monument she would build in the valley come the next spring. They’d buried their dead, and she herself had read every name—nearly five hundred of them—at the memorial.
He knew because the others were back now as well, and had insisted on giving him details he hadn’t asked for.
At least Blair and Larkin were in Chicago now and wouldn’t be hammering at him to talk or get together with them. You’d think humans, after spending such an intense amount of time with him, would know he wasn’t feeling sociable.
He was going to wallow, goddamn it. The lot of them would be long dead, by his estimation, before he was finished wallowing.
He poured more whiskey. He told himself at least he had enough standards left not to drink it straight from the bottle.
And here were Hoyt and Glenna nagging at him to spend Christmas with them. Christmas, for bleeding Judas’s sake. What did he care for Christmas? He wished they would go the hell back to Ireland and the house he’d given them and leave him be.
Did they have Christmas in Geall? he wondered, running his fingers over the dented silver locket he wore night and day. He’d never asked about that particular custom—but why should he have. It would likely be Yule there, with burning logs and music. Whatever, it was nothing to him now.
But she should celebrate, Moira should. Light a thousand candles and set Castle Geall glowing. Hang the holly bushes and strike up the bloody band.
When the hell was this pain going to ebb? How many oceans of whiskey would it take to dull it?
He heard the hum of the elevator and scowled over at it. He’d told the shagging doorman no one was to be let up, hadn’t he? He ought to snap the idiot’s neck like a used chopstick.
But no matter, he mused, he’d locked the mechanism from inside as second line of defense.
They could come up, but they couldn’t get in.
He could barely drum up a curse when the doors slid open, and he saw Glenna step into the dark.
“Oh for pity’s sake.” Her voice was impatient, and an instant later, the lights flashed on.
They seared his eyes so that this time his curses were loud and heartfelt.
“Look at you.” She set aside the large and elegantly wrapped box she’d carried in. “Sitting in the dark like a—”
“Vampire. Go away.”
“It reeks of whiskey in here.” As if she owned the place, she walked into his kitchen and began making coffee. While it was brewing she came out to find him exactly as he’d been.
“Merry Christmas to you, too.” She angled her head. “You need a shave, a haircut—and one day when you’re not sulking I’m going to ask how you accomplish that sort of thing. A shave,” she repeated, “a haircut, and since whiskey’s not the only reek in here, a bath.”
His eyes remained hooded, and his lips curved without a whiff of humor. “Going to give me one, Red?”
“If that’s what it takes. Why don’t you clean yourself up, Cian, come back to the apartment with me? We have plenty of leftover Christmas dinner. It’s Christmas Day,” she said to his blank look. “Nearly nine o’clock Christmas night, actually, and I’ve left my husband home alone because he’s as stubborn as you and won’t come back here without an invitation.”
“That’s something anyway. I don’t want leftovers. Or that coffee you’re making in there.” He lifted his glass. “I’ve got what I want.”
“Fine. Stay drunk and smelly and miserable. But maybe you’ll want this, too.”
She marched over to the box, hefted it, then brought it over to drop it in his lap. “Open it.”
He studied it without interest “But I didn’t get anything for you.”
She crouched at his feet now. “We’ll consider your opening it my gift. Please. It’s important to me.”
“Will you go away if I open it?”
“Soon.”
To placate her, he lifted the lid with its silver paper and elaborate bow, brushed aside the top layer of sparkling tissue.
And Moira looked out at him.
“Ah, damn you, damn you, Glenna.” Neither whiskey nor will could hold against the image of her. Emotion shook in his voice as he lifted the framed portrait. “It’s beautiful. She’s beautiful.”
Glenna had painted her in that moment Moira had drawn the sword free from the stone. The dreaminess and power of it, with green shadows, silver mists, and the new queen standing with the shining sword pointed toward the heavens.
“I thought, hoped, that having it would remind you what you helped give her. She wouldn’t have stood there without you. There’d be no Geall without you. I wouldn’t be here without you. None of us would have survived this without each one of us.” She laid a hand on his. “We’re still a circle, Cian. We always will be.”
“I did the right thing for her, leaving. I did the right thing.”
“Yes.” She squeezed his hand now. “You did the right thing, an enormous and pure act of love. But knowing you did the right thing for all the right reasons doesn’t stop the pain.”
“Nothing does. Nothing.”
“I’d say time will, but I don’t know if it’s true.” Sympathy swam in her voice, in her eyes. “I will say you have friends and family who love you, and will be there for you. You have people who love you, Cian, who hurt for you.”
“I don’t know how to take what you want to give me, not yet. But this.” He traced his finger around the frame. “Thank you for this.”
“You’re welcome. There are photographs, too. Ones I took in Ireland. I thought you might like to have them.”
He started to lift the next layers of tissue, then stopped. “I need a moment.”
“Sure. I’ll go finish the coffee.”
Alone, he uncovered the large manila envelope, and opened it.
There were dozens of them. One of Moira and his books, and with Larkin outside. One of King reigning over the stove in the kitchen, of Blair, eyes intense, sweat sheening her skin as she held a sword in warrior position.
There was one of himself and Hoyt he hadn’t known she’d taken.
As he studied each one his feelings swirled and mixed, pleasure and sorrow.
When he looked up at last he saw Glenna leaning against the doorjamb with a mug of coffee in her hand. “I owe you more than a gift.”
“No, you don’t. Cian, we’re going back to Geall for New Year’s. All of us.”
“I can’t.”
“No,” she said after a moment, and the understanding in her eyes nearly broke him. “I know you can’t. But if there’s any message—”
“There can’t be. There’s too much to say, Glenna, and nothing to say. You’re sure you can go back?”
“Yes, we have Moira’s key, and an assurance of Morrigan herself. You didn’t wait around long enough for the thanks of the gods.”
She walked over, set the coffee on the table beside him. “If you change your mind, we’re not leaving until midday, N
ew Year’s Eve. If you don’t, after that Hoyt and I will be in Ireland. We hope you’ll come see us. Blair and Larkin are taking my apartment here.”
“Vampires of New York, beware.”
“Damn right.” She leaned over, kissed him. “Happy Christmas.”
He didn’t drink the coffee, but he didn’t drink any more whiskey either. Surely that was a step somewhere. Instead he sat and studied Moira’s portrait, and the hours passed that way toward midnight.
A swirl of light brought him out of the chair. Since it was the closest weapon, he grabbed the whiskey bottle by the neck. As he wasn’t nearly drunk enough for hallucinations, he decided the goddess standing in his apartment was real.
“Well, this is a red-letter day. I wonder if such as you has ever paid a call on such as me before.”
“You are of the six,” Morrigan said.
“I was.”
“Are. Yet you hold yourself apart from them again. Tell me, vampire, why did you fight? Not for me or mine.”
“No, not for the gods. Why?” He shrugged, and now did drink from the bottle in a kind of defiance, of disrespect. “It was something to do.”
“It’s foolish for such as you to pretend with such as me. You believed it was right, that it was worth fighting for, even ending your own existence for. I’ve known your kind since they first crawled through the blood. None would have done what you did.”
“You sent my brother here to see I fell into line.”
The god lifted her brow at his tone, then inclined her head. “I sent your brother to find you. Your will was your own. You have love for this woman.” She gestured toward Moira’s portrait. “For this human.”
“You think we can’t love?” Cian’s voice shook with rage, with grief. “You think we aren’t capable of love?”
“I know that you are, and while that love may run deep in your kind, its selfishness runs as strong. But not yours.” Robes flowing, she walked to the portrait. “She asked you to make her one of you, but you refused. You could have kept her had you done as she asked.”
“Like a goddamn pet? Kept her? Damned her is what it would have done, killed her, crushed out that light in her.”
“Given her eternity.”
“Of dark, of a craving for the blood of what she’d been. Condemned her to a life that is no life. She didn’t know what she asked me.”
“She knew. Such a strong heart and mind she has, and courage, yet she asked and she knew, and would have given you her life. You’ve done well, haven’t you? You have culture and wealth, skills. Fine homes.”
“That’s right. Made something of my dead self. Why shouldn’t I?”
“And enjoy it—when you’re not sitting in the dark brooding over what can’t be. What you can’t have. You enjoy your eternity, your youth, your strength and knowledge.”
He sneered now, damning the gods. “Would you rather I beat my breast over my fate? Endlessly mourn my own death? Is that what the gods demand?”
“We demand nothing. We asked, and you gave. Gave more than we believed you would. If it were otherwise, I wouldn’t be here.”
“Fine. Now you can go away again.”
“Nor,” she continued in the same easy tone, “would I give you this choice. Continue to live, grow wealthier yet. Century upon century, with no age, no sickness, and the blessings of the gods.”
“Got that already, without your blessing.”
Her eyes sparkled a little, but he couldn’t tell—didn’t care—if it was amusement or temper. “But now it’s given to you, the only of your kind who has it. You and I know more of death than any human can. And fear it more. There need be no end to you. Or you can have an end.”
“What? Staked by the gods?” He snorted out a laugh, took another long pull from the bottle. “Burned in god-fire? A purification of my condemned soul?”
“You can be what you were, and have a life that comes to an end as all do. You can be alive, and so age and sicken and one day know the death as a man knows it.”
The bottle slipped out of his fingers, thudded on the floor. “What?”
“This is your choice,” Morrigan said, holding out both hands, palms up. “Eternity, with our blessing to enjoy it. Or a handful of human years. What will you, vampire?”
In Geall, a quiet snow had fallen, a thin blanket over the ground. The morning sunlight glinted off it, and sparkled on the ice that coated the trees.
Moira passed her cousin’s infant back to Sinann. “She’s prettier every day, and I could spend hours just looking at her. But our company’s coming after midday. I haven’t finished preparing.”
“You brought them home to me.” Sinann nuzzled her daughter. “All I love. I wish you could have all you love, Moira.”
“I had a lifetime in a few weeks.” She gave the baby a last kiss, then glanced around in surprise as Ceara rushed in.
“Majesty. There’s someone…downstairs, there’s someone who wishes to see you.”
“Who?”
“I…I was only told there’s a visitor who’s traveled far to speak with you.”
Moira’s eyebrows shot up when Ceara dashed away again. “Well, whoever it is has her fluttered up. I’ll see you again later.”
She went out, brushing at her trousers. They’d been cleaning for days in preparation of the new year and her most anticipated guests. To see them again, she thought, to speak with them. To watch Larkin grin over his new niece.
Would they bring any word, any at all, of Cian?
She pressed her lips together, reminded herself not to let her inner grieving show. It was a time of celebration, of holiday. She would not put a pall over Geall after all they’d fought to preserve.
Something trembled along her skin as she started down the stairs. Shivered up her spine and to the base of her neck where her lover had liked to press his lips.
Then it trembled in her heart, and she began to run. That trembling heart began to race. And then to soar.
What she believed never could be was, and he was there, standing there, looking up at her.
“Cian.” The joy that had been shut away burst out of her, like music. “You came back.” She would have launched herself into his arms, but he was staring at her so intently, so strangely she wasn’t sure she’d be welcomed. “You came back.”
“I wondered what I’d see on your face. I wondered. Can we speak in private?”
“Of course. Aye, we’ll…” Flustered, she looked around. “It seems we are. Everyone’s gone.” What could she do with her hands to stop them from touching him? “How did you come? How—”
“It’s New Year’s Eve,” he said, watching her. “The end of the old, the start of the new. I wanted to see you, on the edge of that change.”
“I wanted to see you, no matter when or where. The others come in a few hours. You’ll stay. Please say you’ll stay for the feasting.”
“It depends.”
Her throat burned as if she’d swallowed flame. “Cian. I know what you said in your letter was true, but it was hard, so hard, not to see you again. To have our last moment together standing in blood. I wanted…” Tears flooded her eyes, and she nearly lost the war to will them back. “I wanted just a moment more. Now I have it.”
“Would you take more than a moment, if I could give it?”
“I don’t understand.” Then she smiled and choked back a sob when he drew the locket she’d given him from under his shirt. “You still wear it.”
“Yes, I still wear it. It’s one of my most treasured possessions. I left nothing of me behind for you. Now I’m asking, would you take more than that moment, Moira? Would you take this?” He lifted her hand, pressed it to his heart.
“Oh, I was afraid you didn’t want to touch me.” Her breath shuddered out with relief. “Cian, you know, you must know, that I…”
The hand beneath his trembled, and her eyes went wide. “Your heart. Your heart beats.”
“Once I told you if it could beat, it would beat
for you. It does.”
“It beats under my hand,” she whispered. “How?”
“A gift from the gods in the last moments of Yule. They gave me back what was taken from me.” Now he drew out the silver cross that hung around his neck with her locket. “It’s a man who stands before you, Moira.”
“Human,” she whispered. “You live.”
“It’s a man who loves you.” He pulled her toward the doors, flung them open so the sun poured over them. And because it was still so miraculous, he lifted his face, closed his eyes and let the stream of it bathe his face.
She couldn’t stop the tears now, or the sobs that came with them. “You’re alive. You came back to me and you’re alive.”
“It’s a man who stands before you,” he said again. “It’s a man who loves you. It’s a man who asks if you’ll share the life he’s been given, if you’ll live it with him. If you’ll take me as I am, and make a life with me. Geall will be my world, as you’re my world. It will be my heart, as you’re my heart. If you’ll have me.”
“I’ve been yours from the first moment, and I’ll be yours until the last. You came back to me.” She laid a hand on his heart, and the other on her own. “And my heart beats again.”
She threw her arms around him, and those who’d gathered in the courtyard, and on the stairs cheered as the queen of Geall kissed her beloved in the winter sunlight.
“So they lived,” the old man said, “and they loved. So the circle grew stronger, and formed circles out from it as ripples spread in a pool. The valley that had once been silent sang with music of summer breezes through green grass, the lowing of cattle. Of pipes and harps and the laughter of children.”
The old man stroked the hair of a little one who’d climbed into his lap. “Geall flourished under the rule of Moira, the warrior queen and her knight. For them, even in the dark of night, a light shone.
“And that brings the tale of the sorcerer, the witch, the warrior, the scholar, the shifter of shapes and the vampire to its own circle.”
He patted the rump of the child on his lap. “Off with you now, all of you, while there’s still sunlight to enjoy.”