by Nora Roberts
On it, Hoyt gripped Moira’s hand. “It must be now.”
“Cian. We can’t be sure—”
“I gave my word to him. It must be now.” He raised their joined hands, and together they lifted their faces, their voices to the black sky.
“In this place once damned we hold the power, and we wield it in this final hour. On this ground blood was shed in blackest night, theirs for dark and ours for light. Black magic and demon here are felled by our hand, and now we claim this bloody land. Now call forth all we have done. Now through dark we raise the sun. Its light will strike our enemy. As we will, so mote it be.”
The ground trembled, and the wind blew like a fury.
“We call the sun!” Hoyt shouted. “We call the light!”
“We call the dawn!” Glenna’s voice rose with his, and the power grew as Moira clasped her free hand. “Burn off the night.”
“Rise in the east,” Moira chanted, staring through the smoke that swirled up around them while Larkin and Blair completed the circle. “Spread to the west.”
“It’s coming,” Blair cried. “Look. Look east.”
Over the shadow of mountains the sky lightened, and the light spread and speared and grew until it was bright as noon.
Below, fleeing vampires burned to nothing.
On the rocky, broken ground, flowers began to bloom.
“Do you see that?” Larkin’s hand tightened on Moira’s, and his voice was thick, reverent. “The grass, it’s greening.”
She saw it, and the sweet charm of the white and yellow flowers that spread over its carpet. She saw the bodies of the fallen on the meadow of a lush and sun-lit valley.
But nowhere did she see Cian.
Chapter 21
Though the battle was won, there was still work. Moira labored with Glenna in what Glenna called triage for the wounded. Blair and Larkin had taken a party out to hunt down any vampires that might have found shelter from the sun while Hoyt helped transport those whose wounds were less severe back to one of the bases.
After rinsing blood from her hands again, Moira stretched her back. And spotting Ceara wandering as if in a daze, rushed to her.
“Here, here, you’re hurt.” Moira pressed a hand to the wound on Ceara’s shoulder. “Come, let me dress this.”
“My husband.” Her gaze roamed from pallet to pallet even as she leaned heavily against Moira. “Eogan. I can’t find my husband. He’s—”
“Here. He’s here. I’ll take you. He’s been asking for you.”
“Wounded?” Ceara swayed. “He’s—”
“Not mortally, I promise you. And seeing you, he’ll heal all the quicker. There, over there, you see? He’s—”
Moira got no further as Ceara cried out and in a stumbling run rushed to fall to her knees beside where her husband lay.
“It’s good to see, good for the heart to see.”
She turned, smiled at her uncle. Riddock, his arm and leg bandaged, sat on a supply crate.
“I wish all lovers would be reunited as they are. But…we lost so many. More than three hundred dead, and the count still coming.”
“And how many live, Moira?” He could see the wounds she bore on her body, and in her eyes the wounds she bore on her heart. “Honor the dead, but rejoice in the living.”
“I will. I will.” Still she scanned the wounded, those who tended them, and feared for only one. “Are you strong enough to travel home?”
“I’ll go with the last. I’ll bring our dead home, Moira. Leave that for me.”
She nodded, and after embracing him went back to her duties. She was helping a soldier sip water when Ceara found her again.
“His leg, Eogan’s leg…Glenna said he won’t lose it, but—”
“Then he won’t. She wouldn’t lie to you, or to him.”
On a steadying breath, Ceara nodded. “I can help. I want to help.” Ceara touched her bandaged shoulder. “Glenna looked after me, and said I’m well enough. I’ve seen Dervil. She came through very well. Cuts and bruises for the most of it.”
“I know.”
“I saw your cousin Oran, and he said Sinann’s Phelan’s already on his way back to Castle Geall. But I haven’t found Isleen as yet. Have you seen her?”
Moira lowered the soldier’s head, then rose. “She did not come through.”
“No, my lady, she must have. You just haven’t seen her.” Again, Ceara searched the pallets that stretched over the wide field. “There are so many.”
“I did see her. She fell in the battle.”
“No. Oh no.” Ceara covered her face with her hands. “I’ll tell Dervil.” Tears flowed down her cheeks when she lowered her hands. “She’s trying to find Isleen now. I’ll tell her, and we’ll…I can’t fathom it, my lady. I can’t fathom it.”
“Moira!” Glenna called from across the field. “I need you here.”
“I’ll tell Dervil,” Ceara repeated and hurried away.
Moira worked until the sun began to dim again, then exhausted and sick with worry, flew on Larkin to the farm where she would spend one last night.
He would be here, she told herself. Here is where he would be. Safe out of the sunlight, and helping organize the supplies, the wounded, the transportation. Of course, he would be here.
“Near dark,” Larkin said when he stood beside her. “And there’ll be nothing in Geall that will hunt in it tonight but that which nature has made.”
“You found none at all, no enemy survivors.”
“Ash, only ash. Even in caves and deep shade there was ash. As if the sun we brought burned through it all, and there was none of them could survive it no matter where they hid.”
Her already pale face went gray, and he gripped her arm.
“It’s different for him, you know it. He’d have had the cloak. He’d have gotten it in time. You can’t believe any magic we’d bring would harm one of our own.”
“No, of course. Of course, you’re right. I’m just tired, that’s all.”
“You’ll put something in your belly, then lay your head down.” He led her into the house.
Hoyt stood with Blair and Glenna. Something on their faces turned Moira’s knees to water.
“He’s dead.”
“No.” Hoyt hurried forward to take her hands. “No, he survived it.”
Tears she’d held for hours spilled out of her eyes and flooded her cheeks. “You swear it? He’s not dead. You’ve seen him, spoken to him?”
“I swear it.”
“Sit, Moira, you’re exhausted.”
But she shook her head at Glenna’s words and kept her eyes on Hoyt’s face. “Upstairs? Is he upstairs?” A shudder passed through her as she understood what she read in Hoyt’s eyes. “No,” she said slowly. “He’s not upstairs. Or in the house, or in Geall at all. He’s gone. He’s gone back.”
“He felt…Damnation, I’m sorry for this, Moira. He was determined to go, straight away. I gave him my key, and he was going by dragon-back to the Dance. He said…”
Hoyt took a sealed paper from a table. “He asked if I’d give you this.”
She stared at it, and finally nodded. “Thank you.”
They said nothing as she took the paper and went upstairs alone.
She closed herself in the room she’d shared with him, lit the candles. Then sitting, simply held the letter to her heart until she had the strength to break the seal.
And read.
Moira,
This is best. The sensible part of you understands that. Staying longer would only prolong pain, and there’s been enough of it for a dozen lifetimes. Leaving you is an act of love. I hope you understand that, too.
I have so many pictures of you in my head. Of you sitting on the floor in my library surrounded by books, poring through them. Of you laughing with King or Larkin as you so rarely laughed with me in those first weeks. Courageous in battle or lost in thought. You never knew how often I watched you, and wanted you.
I’ll see you in the m
orning mists, drawing a shining sword from a stone, and flying a dragon with arrows singing from your bow.
I’ll see you in candlelight, holding out your arms to me, taking me into a light I’ve never known before or will know again.
You’ve saved your world and mine, and however many others there might be. I think you were right that we were meant to find each other, to be together to forge the strength, the power needed to save those worlds.
Now it’s time to step away.
I’m asking you to be happy, to rebuild your world, your life, and to embrace both. To do less would be a dishonor to what we had. To what you gave me.
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, New 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.”
