Chronicles of the Half-Emrys Box Set (Books 1-3)

by Lisa Rector

  The sky was cloudless and blue, and the grass was knee high as though it had never been scorched or even trampled. The river flowed on its course through the valley as if nothing had ever happened. An eerie feeling of emptiness hung over the whole picture. If any wildlife survived, it was hidden. The spirit of the realm was damaged, if not the physical landscape.

  Catrin held tight to Meuric’s hand. “How’s the countryside unchanged?”

  “Cysgod’s magic is great, but Deian’s magic is stronger. He must have already repaired what was done.”

  “The dragons… it’s as if there wasn’t any trace.” Her eyes were shining again.

  “Many of them escaped. Their memories will live with us forever. It’s not as if they haven’t existed. Blodeuyn will carry Efa’s knowledge.” All the knowledge Efa possessed when she laid the egg. No wonder the histories never told of the two Emrys who saved the last egg. No one knew. The knowledge hadn’t been passed.

  “Do you think they survived—the other dragons?” Catrin asked. “Thank Deian that Cysgod has been sealed up, or he’d find them anywhere.”

  Meuric knew the dragons didn’t stay in the boundaries of the three realms. They must have flown across the sea. “They must have listened. I’ll be interested to hear how the accounts of Brenin’s people have changed.”

  From far across the valley, a glaring light shot across the sky. Catrin gasped and cried out. “Mother!” She pulled away from Meuric, but he folded his arms around her midsection. As she struggled against him, agony filtered through Meuric.

  “It’s my mother. I cannot bear it. I want to go to her. Mother!” Her grip slackened, and her knees gave way.

  Meuric scooped Catrin into his arms. He wanted, with an all-consuming desperation, to relieve her of her torment.

  “I want to go home.” She buried her head into Meuric’s chest. “Home. Mother is here. Home.”

  “Come on, Cat. We’re going. This is not your home. Not in this time.”

  Meuric turned away and stepped through the gateway between the realms. Gray nothingness fizzled his vision before he emerged onto the snowy ledge. The snowstorm had long since gone. The wind was tranquil. Meuric finally saw the panorama around the high mountain. Snow blanketed peaks and sharp rocky bluffs as far as his eye could see.

  He silently cursed himself. Catrin had climbed these alone. How had she done this? What misery had she endured? Immediately grateful for his gift and eager to run from his failure in protecting Catrin, Meuric closed his eyes and thought of the roaring fire in Beli’s house.

  And they were there.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  RENEWAL

  Catrin was tired. The only way to describe it was an exhaustion so heavy her bones ached.

  She had done too much crying lately, and she was sick of it. The crying had washed her out, and she felt hollow. The only solid things were the hard arms clutching her. She couldn’t believe Meuric had returned. After all that time, after all her anguish. She had all but given up. Now she clung to him as if he was the last thing holding her together.

  She sniggered, but it came out as a timid humph. Meuric was the last thing holding her together.

  When they materialized in Beli’s hut, a shriek bit through Catrin. She didn’t open her eyes at the familiar voices, but hands touched her as they moved her to a bed.

  Betrys—it had been her shriek upon arrival—fussed over her.

  Catrin couldn’t remember the time of year. There was snow… a cave and… Where am I?

  So hot.

  Fire.

  Blinding light.

  Heaviness pressed on her.

  Cold moisture mopped her face.

  “Meuric, what happened?” Betrys whispered. “What did ya do to our poor Catrin? We haven’t seen ya for months, and, well, ya can see the state of her.”

  “Betrys, it’s not cold. She doesn’t need any more blankets.”

  Meuric.

  Cumbersome material at Catrin’s throat slipped away, and cool air settled against her skin.

  “She needs a good bathin’. Look at her—filthy.”

  “She needs food first.”

  “Glynis, bring me some broth from ya stew,” Betrys called.

  Catrin cracked her eyelids open in time to see a blurry Meuric shoved aside. A spoon touched her lips, and a thin liquid slid into her mouth. Catrin closed her eyes and ignored how the broth rolled down her esophagus into a cavernous stomach.

  “Just a couple of spoonfuls every so often,” Betrys said. “It must be constant but in small doses. Her strength will return. I’ve nursed the sickest back to full health.”

  After a few more sips, Catrin choked back the last one and turned her head away. A cloth swiped her chin. “Meuric?” Her own voice was distant.

  “Here.” Calloused hands scratched over hers.

  Catrin weakly tugged Meuric. “Close… come closer. Hold me.”

  “All right. I won’t leave. Not ever again.”

  A kiss on her forehead was all she wanted before she drifted off.

  ***

  It was impossible to gauge how much time went by—hours or days. Catrin was wakened constantly to eat. At one point she relieved herself into a chamber pot. Someone had lifted her onto it.

  More spooning of broth. She kept it down.

  Sponging of her arms and legs. Betrys clucking. Meuric speaking in soothing tones as he stroked her face and hair.

  Sometimes Meuric lay beside her, and his body gave off a constant heat into hers.

  Sometimes she was dreaming.

  “Cat, how could you do it?” Einion asked. “How?”

  She didn’t know if he meant opening the rift or allowing Meuric into her heart.

  A cavern opened under her, and she fell. Her frail body crashed to the ground with a jarring thump. “I didn’t know what to do! Einion, what would you have done?”

  “I would have left Meuric long ago. I would have died on the ledge instead of dooming the dragons.”

  “No. Don’t say that,” she said.

  “You don’t mean that!” Catrin cried out loud.

  “Meuric helped me. Saved me when I almost drowned. I didn’t doom all the dragons. Because of Meuric, we saved some of them. We saved Blodeuyn.”

  A husky, low-pitched murmur broke through her dreams. “Shh, Catrin, I’m here.”

  She climbed toward the voice—a voice that filled her with assurance—up a slippery slope while grasping at stones, pulling until her fingers bled. She scraped her knees, and her body shook. Einion hovered beside her, mocking her.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t mean to come here. I was going home,” Catrin wailed.

  “What about the dragons?” Einion asked.

  “I shouldn’t have gone to Gorlassar! I shouldn’t have done it.”

  Catrin reached the summit. A haze surrounded her. With nowhere to go, with nothing left to do, she lifted her arms to the sky.

  “I’m sorry!” she yelled.

  “For everything!” A pulling sensation tugged at her middle until she was weightless. Catrin arched her body and leaned back.

  She was floating.

  “Don’t cry, my love. What’s done is done. Don’t dwell on your sorrows,” the husky voice said.

  Hands stroked her hair and her face with feathered whispers. She drifted, safe.

  Her mother cradled Catrin.

  “You found me! You found me! Oh, mother.”

  Softly crooning words encouraged Catrin. “There, there, my sweet child. You’re safe. No harm will ever come to you as long as I’m with you.”

  “Mother…”

  “Come back and allow your heart to heal. Come back…” Her mother faded as brightness blotched her dream with holes.

  Voices whispered, angry but low. “I told you not to hurt her, or I’d kill you. What happened to her?”

  “Don’t leave me!” Catrin cried.

  Meuric growled. He was near her. He always was. His hand staye
d in hers. “Shh now, darling. All is well.” In a lower snarl—“I was gone!”

  “You left her! How dare you!” A whisper couldn’t have expressed more outrage.

  “Beli?” she asked.

  “Yes, Catrin, Beli’s here. He wants to cut my throat. Isn’t that nice?” Meuric cooed. He hissed, “I was forced from her. Leaving her wasn’t my choice. I would never—”

  Catrin opened her eyes and muttered. “Meuric takes good care of me, Beli. Not his fault… mine.”

  A fumbling hand grabbed hers.

  “Catrin,” Beli said close to her ear. “I knew your journey would be hard, but not like this. Forgive me. I did not see.”

  “Nothing to forgive… not by your hand… I set on it.” She closed her eyes again and slept.

  ***

  Catrin was more awake than asleep. She had some strength, but sitting still took an effort. Her face burned hot when she realized Meuric supported her countless times so she could use the chamber pot as Betrys lifted her knee-length chemise. Humiliating.

  She was able to lift the spoon to her own mouth and feed herself. And drink water. Meuric talked to her and told her stories. He spoke softly and touched her gently, caressing her face with his fingertips or rubbing his hands up and down her arms. Catrin loved when he held her during the night, and she listened to the thump of his heart and his quiet breathing.

  She was lying on her side with her face turned to Meuric’s chest. It couldn’t be night, but Meuric was exhausted. Having never left her side, he had curled up on the bed with her. Catrin touched his chest. He wore the same linen shirt from that first day in the ocean. The fabric was no longer cream colored, but rather dingy and worn. “Meuric, you need a new shirt.”

  “What?” he mumbled.

  Oops. He’d been sleeping. “Sorry.”

  Meuric shifted his hips in a hazy slumber and pulled her into a hug once he was settled. With her face in his armpit, Catrin choked and pushed on his chest, surfacing for air. “You need a bath.”

  This caught Meuric’s attention. “A bath? I haven’t been able to leave your side for days. That would be practical. But I’m not the only one.” He lifted a limp strand of her hair and dropped it over her face. He pretended to sniff her. “Whew, woman!”

  Catrin laughed, but the effort drained her. “You’re worse off than I am.” She rolled away and turned her back on Meuric.

  Instead of wrapping his arms around her as Catrin assumed he would, Meuric threw off the blanket. She pulled her legs to her chest, trying to hide what a skimpy chemise couldn’t. She’d put some meat back on her bones, and her ribs were less visible, but her breasts had shrunk, her legs were no longer muscled and strong, and her hips were bony. Whereas she’d once been proud of her well-conditioned body, now she was self-conscious. “What are you doing?” she squealed.

  Meuric hoisted her into his arms. “Since we both smell delightful, we are having a bath.”

  Catrin squirmed. “Oh, no, Meuric. I don’t know how you’ll manage that!” She thought of how emaciated her body was and how humiliated she’d be if Meuric saw it.

  “Betrys! Bring me bath supplies. Oils, soaps, cloths,” Meuric commanded.

  Betrys chopped veggies on the other side of the room. “Meuric, Son of Light, what are ya doin’ with that girl. She shouldn’t get out of bed yet.”

  “Oh yes, she should. It’s time. Are you bringing the supplies or not?”

  Meuric didn’t wait for a reply and carried Catrin outside. A surprisingly hot sun shone through the leaves.

  “What season is it?” Catrin asked.

  “Mid-summer, and far past time to take you outdoors. You were too infirm before, but apparently my body odor was enough to rouse you.” He grinned at her.

  Meuric carried her to the edge of the village with more than one pair of Eilian eyes watching the procession. They must have sensed her desire for privacy because they didn’t stop their labors to tag along.

  The trees on the village’s outskirts had grown as big as the ones in Catrin’s time, as broad in diameter as the length of ten Eilian lying end-to-end, and sturdy enough to hold huts in the canopies. Somehow the tegyd’s magic had kept the village clear of the growing trees. Amazingly enough, a stream ran along the village’s edge, curving among the trees’ roots. Meuric moved downstream a ways and found a pool dammed off for bathing and washing clothes.

  He waded into the water, and Catrin hugged him, bracing for the cold.

  “I’ll keep you warm. Hold on to me.” Meuric’s light entered her body, and she relaxed.

  Betrys huffed up to the edge of the stream. She toted a bucket filled with bottles and soaps and cloths, along with a blanket, which she had tucked under her arm. She set them down and plopped down herself with arms folded across her chest. “T’is makes me uncomfortable, Meuric. I’m goin’ to stay and make sure there are no shenanigans.”

  Meuric chuckled as he knelt in the water and submerged Catrin up to her chest. She gasped from the suddenness, but she was warm as long as Meuric held her.

  “Fine,” Meuric said to Betrys. “I need you to pass me the soap anyway.”

  He leaned Catrin back in the water and wet her hair.

  “I’m a baby to be bathed now, am I?” Catrin asked.

  A cork popped, and something dripped on her head. Meuric ran his hand over her hair, working her scalp until it was foamy. Meuric dotted her nose with the soap. “Whatever you may be, you’re mine. Even if your limbs are rubbery noodles.”

  Catrin swatted at Meuric’s chest. Her wrist creaked. “Ow.”

  “See. A babe could hit harder.”

  Too exhausted to deny his help, Catrin peeked at Meuric while he worked. His hair lay flat on his head and shaggy over his ears, and his bangs hung over his forehead. “Your hair is at least two inches long. I like it.”

  Meuric smiled at her. “I usually keep it about this long. I shaved it because of the battle.”

  “It makes you look less scary.”

  Meuric laughed. “Is that how I looked when you first saw me? Did I scare you?”

  He finished her hair and leaned her back to rinse it.

  “No, Meuric, you’ve never scared me.”

  “Not even when I pushed you against that tree?”

  “Not even then.”

  “Well, I always seem to underestimate you. Betrys, toss me soap and a cloth, please.”

  Meuric caught the soap with one hand, but the cloth fluttered onto Catrin’s head. She feebly pinched it between her fingers. Meuric dunked the soap in the water and ran it down her arm.

  “Are you going to do this?” Meuric tucked her hair behind her ear, and his palm lingered against her cheek. “Betrys is giving me dirty looks.”

  Catrin knelt in the stream beside Meuric. She wanted to nuzzle against his chest and forget about the bath, but she took the soap.

  It slipped out of her hand.

  Meuric retrieved the slippery bar. “Here, try this.” He rubbed the soap on the cloth and handed it back to her.

  Catrin felt inept. Her fingers couldn’t maintain enough force to hold on to a bar of soap. The cloth was easier to manage. She proceeded to drag the cloth down her arm, over her neck, and across her collarbone. She wondered if the pressure was adequate enough to scrub off the dirt.

  After passing the cloth over her exposed skin, Catrin wasn’t sure how she should proceed with Meuric sitting there.

  He waded to the shore and grabbed a bottle. Turning his back to her, Meuric dipped his head in the water. He surfaced and whipped his head back, throwing water everywhere. As he washed his hair, scrubbing vigorously, Catrin forgot about her bath, mesmerized by his purposeful movements and nimble hands.

  Meuric rinsed his hair. “You’ll become cold if you don’t keep moving. Although watching me might stir a different sort of fire in your center.”

  “Ahem!” Betrys barked.

  His shirt came off. Something did stir in Catrin’s gut. Master of Light, have mercy. Any m
ore loss of clothing and she might faint. Catrin flushed and turned away, but not before noticing his scar. It had faded and almost matched his skin color, but the mark was raised and puckered.

  “Why haven’t you healed your scar?” Catrin asked.

  Meuric cleared his throat. “Uh, would you believe it’s a reminder of broken promises and promises never to make again?”

  “Yes. Are you going to tell me what sort of promises?” She wanted to glance over her shoulder, but she was too nervous. Water trickled every time Meuric lifted his cloth. Catrin pictured the droplets trailing down his chest and bit her lip.

  “This is an odd conversation to have while we’re bathing ourselves,” Meuric said.

  “I haven’t been coherent for days. I believe now is the perfect time.”

  He sighed. “Rhianu made me promise to kill anyone who touched her or looked at her. I was supposed to kill Einion.”

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  “You can rest assured that she begged me not to once she fell in love with Einion. But I was bound by dark magic. After meeting Beli and watching his hands grope you, I wanted to gouge his eyes out and skin his hide.”

  “Meuric!” Betrys yelled.

  Catrin laughed. “Is that what was wrong with you? You know what Beli said after you stormed away?”

  “I can’t imagine.”

  “‘He’s torn. He cannot simply imagine how he will ever eat a venison stew again.’” Catrin spoke in her best imitation of Beli.

  “By the stars! He’s mad. That’s not exactly what was going on. I had to sever the bond with Rhianu before it carried over and I did something rash. I was able to break my oath because she had broken hers.”

  “So you cut it out of yourself!” Catrin almost turned around. She wanted to cover Meuric’s scar and melt it away. But he had purposely kept it. Instead, she covered her mouth with both hands and willed her shaking body to calm. “How many men have you killed for her?”

  “Too many to count.”

  Catrin believed the pain and remorse in his voice. “How can you love her after all the things she made you do?”

  “Love is boundless. I’m beginning to understand everything after talking with Deian. Arya had faith in me I didn’t see. I promised her I’d change, for our child. But they died, and I couldn’t do it. Because of you, I can—I am changing. There’s nowhere for me to go but back to the light. After being in the darkest abyss, I feel the light’s grace.”