by L. K. Rigel
“I don’t want to be fae. I want the life I have. Cade has no fae powers. No wings, no magic. What if he doesn’t change enough? I can’t lose him.”
“Beverly is a wyrding woman.” Glory frowned again. “I’ll bet her wyrding magic is blocking his fae magic.”
Lilith’s shoulders slumped. Her wings went limp and slid inside. Creepy. Like worms had crawled under her shoulder blades and were resting there. Waiting.
“Bring Cade to Mudcastle tomorrow.” Glory spun up into the air and floated down again. “It will make Beverly feel better, and maybe the visit will bring out more of his fae nature. Goldy and Cissa will be there—and Cissa said she’d ask Max! You like Max.”
“I don’t know.” If they went to Mudcastle, it might do nothing for Cade but it could accelerate her own change even more.
“Think of this.” Glory’s eyes lit up. “Beverly is a really good wyrding woman! She’s been learning all kinds of tricks. She knows how to do magic. She hasn’t had much luck with Boadicea, but she did save Dandelion from Idris. Maybe she can make Cade speed up.”
Or maybe she can make me slow down. “All right,” Lilith said. “I’ll try to get him to go. But—”
“Great!” Morning Glory said. “Ta, then!”
The fairy touched the tether jewel at her throat and popped out.
« Chapter 6 »
These Dreams of You
Footsteps sounded in the hall and Lilith was at her door to open it before Cade could knock. She threw herself into his arms, hanging on to the only thing that felt real in her increasingly surreal universe.
“Do they hate me?” she said. “Are Sharon and Jimmy freaking?”
Of course they hated her. Of course they were freaking out. Marion and Ian knew the truth—where Beverly had gone and what Lilith and Cade were—but they’d told no one else.
“They were pretty much speechless,” Cade said. “Moo must have kept her promise. Sharon and Jimmy were gobsmacked.”
“I can’t imagine what they’re thinking.”
“You know Sharon’s a fae denier.”
“Oh, yeah,” Lilith said. “The first time I met her, she and I laughed at Marion for believing in magic.”
“Well, her innocence is shattered,” Cade said. “I think she’s having an existential break.”
“Sun and moon.”
“Don’t worry about it right now. Everyone’s gone.”
By everyone, Cade meant the family. There were others in the house, new staff hired to care for Faeview in its renovated glory. Lilith didn’t want to leave Cade’s arms, but she wanted the bedroom door closed.
The door slammed shut, and she felt certain in her gut that she’d made it happen.
“Whoa.” Cade’s eyebrow shot up, and he nodded approvingly. “Now that’s useful. How did you…?”
“No idea.”
“And the wings are gone?”
“I don’t think so. They seem to have retracted inside me.”
“My poor darling.”
It was all still horrible. Nothing was resolved, but Lilith relaxed. Sun and moon, he made her feel better. Safe. “I couldn’t control it,” she said. “It just happened, like they had a mind of their own. Just popped up and grew and… and took over everything.”
Cade chuckled. Actually chuckled. “You’ve just described every bloke’s main problem in life. Here, let’s have a look at you.” He turned her around by her shoulders.
“I won’t be wearing this again.” She pulled her ripped shirt over her head and tossed the fabric remnant onto a chair.
Cade caressed her back. “I don’t feel anything. You?” He pressed under her shoulder blades.
“Nothing,” she said. “Everything feels normal, whatever that means.”
“Mm…” Cade moved Lilith’s hair to the side and kissed the back of her neck. “Whatever that means.”
“Mm…” She leaned back against his chest and tilted her head as his kisses traveled down her neck. He unhooked the front of her bra, and she said, “Take me to bed, my lord.”
“Your servant, Lady Dumnos.” He scooped her up in his arms.
The world was right again. Put in order. Lilith felt human. It hadn’t really been so bad today, had it? Except for that one thing, it had been a normal family gathering to watch the game, bemoan the team and, as usual, for Cade to wish Tintagos had the Clad factory back.
“Cade, during the game before Glory showed up, you said you know what to do now about the Clad. What did you mean?”
“Oh, right,” Cade said. “You gave me the idea. We can relocate the factory from Christminster to Dunhevos. At least it would be in Dumnos again, if on the edges. No problem with atmospheric conditions.”
“And it would bring all those jobs back. That is a good plan. How soon could it be done?”
“Dunno. The Sarumens will be pissy about it, but most of the board members are Dumnosians. I can probably get it through.”
“Sarumen. What would the Sarumens have to do with it?”
“They’re a major stockholder. I didn't find out until after James died. He sold a block of shares to a front company owned by old George Sarumen. Apparently his proxy has been quietly buying shares for years.”
“I have a bad feeling about that,” Lilith said.
Bad feeling? She felt sick to her bones. I hate all things Sarumen because one of them stole my boyfriend was hardly the basis for a business argument, but her every molecule hated the idea of any Sarumen owning even a mite of the Clad—or anything that rightfully belonged to Dumnos.
“I still control more than half the shares. It won’t be a problem. I’ll start things moving this week.”
He nuzzled against her neck and draped his arm across her waist. His breathing deepened, heavy with sleep.
She fought off her exhaustion, but she hadn’t slept well in days, making love had been so relaxing, and the rhythm of Cade’s breathing was like a lullaby. She loved him so much! And she loved Dumnos too. If she had any powers at all, she wouldn’t let the Sarumens bring their dark power grab to her home… her people now too.
A vaguely familiar man was standing near Igdrasil, where the Lovers should be. He was dressed in the robes of a medieval priest, but he wore a knight’s helmet and carried a sword. Where was Cade? Did he know they were here?
The priest yelled, “You—wyrding woman! Stop!”
She looked around, but there was no other woman nearby. Lilith was alone.
“Come to me.” The priest faced her. He looked like Jenna Sarumen’s father, though younger. His gaze bore into her with intense purpose, and she knew he meant to enthrall her. He wanted to stop her from warning… someone…
“Leave me alone!” Lilith sat up.
She was in her room, and Cade was sitting beside her in bed, running his hands through his hair.
“Did I wake you?” Lilith said.
“No. Another one of those dreams,” he said. “I was at Igdrasil, only it was different, like it was a long time ago. I mean ancient times. There was no road, and the land between the tree and Tintagos Castle was all undeveloped fields. The castle had been restored or… it looked lived in, anyway. I was the lord of the castle.”
“We’re all the lord of the castle in past lives, and in our dreams.”
Cade shrugged sheepishly. “I was desperate to find you. Only… you weren’t you. And I wasn’t me, for that matter. Then I saw a woman near the cliffs. She had one hand on Igdrasil, and the other stretched toward the castle. A priest faced her, dressed for battle, with a falcon on his arm.
“A falcon.”
“It’s a dream. I knew the priest was a Sarumen, and I was filled with rage. I hated him—and I was terrified for the woman. She wasn’t you… but she was. I had a magical sword in my hand, and I knew I could save her-you, if only I could get there in time.”
“This can’t be happening again,” Lilith said. “I won’t let it.”
“It was just a dream,” Cade said. “I’ve b
een worried about you and thinking about the Clad too much, and they got mixed up in a dream.”
He pulled her down against the pillows and wrapped her in his arms.
“Maybe,” Lilith said. “But what if it wasn’t just a dream? What if it is happening again? What if I’m some sort of conduit for frustrated ghosts, and they’re taking you along for the ride?”
“But nothing seems impossible these days,” Cade said. “But there’s nothing we can do about it at the moment.”
“I hate to think of the Sarumens creeping into Dumnos,” Lilith said. “Or old ghosts creeping into our lives.” Lilith lay in her husband’s arms, listening to his breath sounds, to his heartbeat. He fell back asleep, and she fought the urge to follow. “This is my life,” she whispered.
A year ago, she’d had nothing to lose. She’d been willing to give her life to save Galen and Diantha because she didn’t appreciate how very precious this life was. Since then everything had changed. Every single day had become a treasure.
That was the biggest change in the last year, and the most unbelievable. Now she loved—and was loved. Her life meant something, and she was exceedingly jealous of it. Sometimes when no one was looking she cried with happiness.
She would never risk that love, not one hour of this life, not a moment that could be spent loving Cade Bausiney.
“We should go to Mudcastle.” Cade hadn’t fallen asleep after all. “My mother might know a spell to keep the ghosts out of our heads.”
“It’s worth a try,” Lilith said. She’d do anything to keep her marriage safe, even if it meant turning more deeply fae.
« Chapter 7 »
From War to Rumors of War
12th Century. Barfleur, Normandum
SIR ROSS OF TINTAGOS LET UP bothering the scar on his cheek, a long-time habit when he became lost in thought. It wouldn’t be long now. Soon he’d see Dumnos, feel the Severn Sea’s cold mist on his face, and hear the soft-falling rain in the keep at Tintagos Castle.
He would reconcile with his father, he’d marry Rozenwyn, and he’d never again go to war.
“Our tankards are nearly empty, boy. Bring more ale!” Lord Sarumen, earl of Winchester, shouted across the table and over Ross’s head, not for lack of manners but to be heard above the din.
A crowd of visitors swarmed over the White Lady, its deck lit by torches and lanterns. Most were already drunk, having come down from a tavern in Barfleur at the captain’s invitation. Long tables and benches brought up on deck accommodated the swell of nobles, including William Aethelos, son and heir to King Henry of England, as well as Aethelos’s half sister, Meline.
Captain Fitstevos sat near the two royals, staring into a goblet, his face morose.
Ross felt no pity for the man. Fitstevos had issued his invitation with a different outcome in mind, intending to show off his splendid new ship to the king. She’s the fastest to be seen in Atlantic waters. Nay, in the known world! But approaching the harbor, Henry had caught sight of his own ship and was seized by the desire to leave at once for England. William Aethelos was the consolation prize he’d left behind.
Aethelos, never one to turn away from something shiny and new, had agreed to take the White Lady back to London, which of course meant the inclusion of his retainers and hangers-on.
“The ale!” Lord Sarumen said again.
Ross’s squire looked for permission to comply. Upon receiving the nod, he was off like a hound after a rabbit, a seventeen-year-old tower of muscle and bone pushing through the revelers covering the ship’s deck.
“You have a quick squire there, Ross,” Sarumen said.
“Braedon’s a good loyal lad,” Ross said. “A mere boy when he left Tintagos in search of glory. I had to save his life one or two times at first, but he’s repaid the favor.”
“Loyalty is worth more than gold,” Sarumen said. “I know I value yours.”
“To loyalty then.” Ross lifted the last of his ale in salute, but the words stuck in his throat.
How loyal a son had he been, going off in search of his own glory? How loyal had he been to his house, such as it was, comprised only of himself and his father? He should have married and left an heir in Tintagos.
It had been a heady time, with no thought that he might not return.
Nearly four years ago, Lord Sarumen had arrived at Tintagos Castle and recruited him to join a crusade to the holy lands. In the open air of the castle keep, and by his own sword, Sarumen had bestowed the knighthood.
All the Tintagos household and the tradesmen of the keep had looked on that day with pride, and Ross had gone down on one knee with his heart full. But when he arose, Sir Ross of Tintagos, his father’s face had been a stoic mask of disappointment.
As if he’d read Ross’s mind, Lord Sarumen now said, “The baron will appreciate the man you’ve become, Ross, a knight noble and true.”
“But can he forgive my leaving without his blessing?”
“If you had a son, you wouldn’t have to ask,” Sarumen said. “I’m sure Lord Tintagos prays daily for your safe return.”
“I don’t regret these past years,” Ross said truthfully. Despite all the pointless violence and death, there had also been growth, self-discovery, and discovery of a greater world he would never have otherwise known. “But now I only wish never to leave Tintagos again.”
Sarumen chuckled. “As I said, Ross, you have matured.”
“My lord, you’ve been a good mentor. And I…” Ross caught himself. He’d been about to thank Sarumen for his guidance and patronage, but it was a quirk of the earl to chafe at being thanked. He disdained mere words of gratitude, rather preferring to see proof of it. Instead Ross said, “And I am in your debt.”
A commotion at the gangway saved Sarumen from having to respond, muffled yelling followed by jeers and mocking laughter. Braedon broke through, carrying the ale.
“What was it, lad?” Ross said. “Did they begrudge you that cask under your arm?”
“It was the monks, Sir Ross,” Braedon said. “They were coming up the gangway, but the man ’o the watch said there was no room and told them to go away. Their head priest begged to give the ship its blessing for the journey, but the watchman turned him off anyway. Said the White Lady was the newest and fastest ship on the seas and didn’t need…” Braedon’s cheeks reddened. “Didn’t need God’s permission to go anywhere.
“Blasphemy,” Sarumen barked under his breath.
Unease snaked through Ross’s insides, but he dismissed the feeling as habit, superstition. In truth he agreed with the watchman. God’s blessings and permissions hadn’t saved his fellow crusaders. “The crew would do better to appease Aeolios—if the god of wind can hear them above this noise.”
Braedon crossed himself.
The earl softened. He pretended not to notice Ross’s own blasphemy and turned to Braedon. “Pour one for yourself, squire,”
“Aye, my lord. Thank you, my lord.” The lad hadn’t touched a drop all night, and he quickly downed a tankard of ale. He must have been waiting for a by-your-leave.
Ross stretched his long legs under the table. He let go an involuntary yawn, and the crescent moon low on the horizon caught his eye. How long had it been night? He hadn’t realized how tired he was.
“Braedon, when you’ve finished your ale, go to the Vengeance and assure that our belongings are secured aboard. I’ll be there soon.” The Vengeance was older and slower than the White Lady, but it was to head west on a direct course for Dumnos. Ross was glad to avoid the London court altogether.
He leaned toward Sarumen and lowered his voice. “Why did you not sail with the king, my lord? Surely he wanted you by his side.”
“I’m traveling with the White Lady.” It was amazing how Sarumen could roll duty and disdain off his tongue together. “I fear for Aethelos’s safety. Fitstevos is a reckless buffoon. He was given this command only as a favor to his father.”
“Do you think it wise, my lord?” Ross said. “I fear
for your safety with this drunken crew.”
“I promised the king I’d watch over his only legitimate son,” Sarumen said. “The young man is so pampered he seems destined to be food for the fire, but he is our future monarch. My safety is nothing compared to his. With no sure heir, the kingdom would descend into anarchy.”
It sounded impossible. All Ross’s life there had been a Norman king on the throne. “Who would be king then? Would there even be a king of all England?”
“There will always be a king of England. All England.”
And Dumnos will always long to be free of him.
“But I appreciate your concern.” Sarumen gave Ross a wry look that would nearly do for a smile. “We may not see each other for a time. You should know I’ve petitioned Henry to raise you up. Make you duke of Dunhevos or baron of Bodmin or some such.”
“My lord, I hardly think—”
“I’ll hear none of that,” Sarumen said. “This isn’t charity, Ross. You proved capable and true where it mattered. Henry needs men like you among his lords. Men with wits as well as blades to keep Dumnos within the realm and champion the true faith.”
“If you would honor me, then honor my father,” Ross said. “Elevate him.”
“A wise answer,” Sarumen said. “You’ll make a good lord yet, Sir Ross of Tintagos.”
Ross wanted that. He wanted to be a good lord, when the time came, but in his own home, his own family’s lands. Not in Bodmin or Dunhevos. He wanted nothing to do with politics and intrigues. He planned to reconcile with his father, marry a girl he liked, and raise a passel of fat sheep and scrapping children. If he never saw Sarumen again—or London, for that matter, or any king or king’s son—he’d call it good.
“Hold, there! What are you doing above deck?” The officer of the watch on the Vengeance sounded pleased to have stumbled upon someone to bother. “No passengers—oh.”
“I’m just taking the air,” Ross said.
The early morning light was faint, but the watchman’s discomfort showed, his surly nod resentfully given. “Forgive me, my lord.”
