A Family Oath

by Auburn Tempest

I roll my eyes and leave him in the background with a flick of my hand. Charming, eh? I can do charming. With my gaze firmly locked on my prey, I assess my surroundings and notice the stablemaster’s daughter also has her eye on my manservant.

  She has other problems. She needs to worry about the guy trying to love potion her into liking him.

  Bathalt’s servant finishes speaking with the stablemaster and peels away to head back into the castle.

  The daughter gives him a little wave, but by then, I’m drawing his attention away from her.

  “Hello there.” I match his stride. “I am Fiona. Are you here for the Harvest Festival?”

  “In a fashion, although it is Christians that changed the name to call it a Harvest Festival. For all of time before, people have called it Mabon, or my people call it Albon Elfed.”

  “Och, yer a druid then,” I say in a thick Irish accent. No idea why I started channeling my grandparents, but hell, maybe it’ll make me seem more Celtic and mysterious. “Grand. I’m a druid as well. It’s nice to meet ye.”

  He looks at me and stops on the stairs leading up to the main entrance. His smirk is far too condescending for his good. “Truly? A druid?”

  His dismissal rankles, but the heat of Fionn’s gaze has me tamping down my knee-jerk reaction to throat punch him. “Believe me or don’t. That’s not my concern. I simply thought ye looked like an interestin’ fellow. My mistake.”

  I quicken my stride and leave him at my back.

  Within five paces, his fingers close on my elbow, and he tugs me to a stop. “My apologies. You can’t blame me for being skeptical. Look at you.”

  I hold out my arms and glance down. “What about me?”

  His cheeks flush. “I’ve offended you.”

  Needing a bit of distance, I continue up the stairs. “Ye’d have to matter to offend me. I’m not the delicate flower type that maybe yer used to. No harm done. Go on about yer business, and forget I even said hello.”

  I continue through the grand entranceway, and he catches my wrist. “Lady Fiona, I apologize. My mind and manners were occupied elsewhere. Let me start again. I am Oswald Avant. I’m pleased to meet you.”

  I exhale. “Fiona mac Cumhaill.”

  He looks over his shoulder, and something he sees makes him stiffen. His hand shifts off my wrist and pushes back his sheepskin cloak, and I notice the coin purse hanging from his belt. “I’d like to talk more, but my master is expecting me back with his purse.”

  I shrug. “I’ll walk with ye a bit if ye like. I’ve nothin’ much to do until the celebrations begin.”

  He nods and gestures across the great hall. “We’re in the west wing.”

  I follow and fall into step.

  We walk in silence for a little and only after he casts a glance over his shoulder a few times more does he relax. “So, a female druid. In truth, I have never heard of such a thing.”

  I chuckle. “Weel, it’s not that uncommon. Where I come from, there have been female druids over the centuries.”

  “Where is that? I’ve never heard of one.”

  Huh, maybe I’m dating myself. Oops. “Have ye ever stretched yer legs on the Emerald Isle?”

  “No.”

  “Och, well then, there’s yer answer. A pity, really. Ye should travel a bit.”

  “I’m a manservant. I go where my master goes.”

  I shrug. “Ye never know. Perhaps he’ll visit the Celtic lands one day.”

  The bustle of people readying for tonight’s banquet fills the corridors, and we have to walk single-file in places not to be swallowed by the tide of people.

  “Wow, it’s gettin’ busy.”

  Oswald glances back at me with a teasing smile. “Have ye never stretched your legs at a castle feast before?”

  “No. It’s my first.”

  “Well then, there’s your answer. They’re all like this.”

  Touché. I appreciate the mental wordplay and give him a point for turning my comment back on me. We climb the stairs to the fourth floor and head across an open room.

  It has bookshelves and seating around the perimeter but in a pinch, could pass as a ballroom. On the far wall, a set of double doors leads out to a balcony very much like the one where I met up with Merlin last night.

  “So, will ye be at the banquet then?” I attempt nonchalance. “I overheard yer conversation with the stablemaster. Ye mentioned yer master wants the horses ready after the celebration. Are ye leaving right after the festivities or just going out fer a moonlight ride?”

  Oswald turns, and his gaze narrows on me. “Where were you that you heard that?”

  “Oh, passing by. Apologies, I don’t mean to pry. I wondered is all.”

  He seems to relax, and we carry on. “Well, I’m not certain to tell you the truth. Sir Bathalt doesn’t confide his plans in me. I do as he bids and leave it at that.”

  I nod. “Well, I hope to see ye later then. How about that?”

  His smile is warm, and I feel bad that I’m using him for information. “If I’m able, I shall try to—”

  The scuffle of footsteps behind us has us both turning to defend.

  “Tough as Bark.” My skin transforms from flesh to armor in time to block the strike of a wooden staff. Three brutes are setting in, and the beauty of being the female in the fight is that they’ve already discounted me as a threat.

  “Gust of Wind.” I sweep my arm through the air and knock the third man in on his back. After ripping the staff from his hand, I spin it and thrust a sharp jab into the belly of the man I’m facing off with.

  “Bestial Strength.” As my muscles sing with power, I spin and clock my attacker in the side of the head. He falls over his buddy, and they tangle in a heap.

  I turn to help Oswald, but he’s finished his guy off. He looks at me, and his eyes flare wide.

  I release my natural armor, and the tattoo of branches and roots that cover my skin recedes to leave me pale and soft.

  “You truly are a druid.”

  I chuckle. “I said I was. Why would I lie?”

  He shrugs. “Again, I apologize.”

  One of my guys groans and struggles to sit up. I use the staff to sweep his arm out from underneath him, and he faceplants on the stone.

  “Maybe we should talk about this somewhere else. May I escort ye back to yer chambers?”

  He laughs and tilts his head. “This way.”

  * * *

  I only get moderately lost making my way back to my chamber to meet Fionn. The important part is that I made notes on my phone so I can find my way back to Sir Bathalt’s room should I need to. Which, I’m sure I will.

  We dress and get to the dining hall early so we get a good seat. Tonight, everyone eats in the Grand Hall, so when Bathalt arrives, we want a seat near the door to slip out unnoticed so we can search his room.

  We arrive at the Grand Hall along with the first fifty guests, and I scan the crowd. Merlin is at the front. He wears a long, fur-trimmed cloak and looks every bit as wealthy and sophisticated as the royals who surround him.

  I meet his eyes from across the room, and he glances casually at a man with long, raven-black hair speaking to Oswald on the far side of the room. After pointing at a place on the table quite close to the royals, he slides his cloak off his shoulders and hands it to his manservant.

  “He looks like Professor Snape,” I comment to Fionn, which, of course, he ignores. “The good news is, as long as we can see them, we know they aren’t performing any clandestine rituals. Should we go up and search his room?”

  “Aye, we should.”

  “Fiona!” someone calls from over my shoulder. It’s the flute flirter from last night. “You’re here. Have you come to watch me perform?”

  Awesomesauce. “I did, but unfortunately, my uncle feels unwell. I’m going to take him back to our room. Once I get him settled, if there’s time, I’ll try to get back.”

  He nods. “I wish you good health, sir.”

  Fionn nods
. “That’s kind of ye, lad. I’m sure ye’ll captivate the crowd.”

  With our excuses made, the two of us head off to fight the traffic flow as everyone heads into the banquet hall.

  “How much time do we have?”

  I pull my phone out of my silky cloth bag and check the timer. “An hour and forty-two minutes. Give or take.”

  “If luck be in our favor.”

  I frown. “Yeah, luck has been a fickle friend with me these days. I’ll adjust the timer for one hour. It would suck large to get this close, then return to my timeline empty-handed.”

  Fionn nods. “Agreed.”

  I slow to walk behind him for two reasons. First, he’s a brawny warrior, and people get out of his way faster than they get out of mine. Second, we cut through the crowd quicker with me following him than when we walk two abreast.

  Once we’re free of the press of bodies pushing into the Grand Hall, we make our way to the front entrance, and I take the lead. “We came this way and up this corridor into the west wing.” It’s only been a few hours, so there’s no reason any of it should be foggy, but foggy it is.

  When we were kids, Aiden said I could get lost in a cereal box. Sadly, he wasn’t wrong.

  “One moment.” I press my hand to my chest and step close to the stone wall. “Allow a lady a moment to catch her breath.” I smile at the group of courtiers passing, and when the coast is clear, I take up my phone and tap on my notes. Once I’ve oriented myself, I slide my phone under my wonky, one-armed poncho and off we go.

  “Yep. We’re good. These steps. Fourth floor.”

  We climb the stairs together, and I fight the urge to fist pump the air. “This is the ballroom space where we got jumped. We’re doing well.”

  I point at the corridor ahead, and we march on. “End of the corridor turn right. Third door on the left. Bathalt’s emblem is an antlered stag beside the door.”

  Fionn’s in the lead, and when he stops at the door, he taps a finger on the signage. “Here it is. I’ve never been happier to see such a full rack.”

  I blink up at him, and I’m not sure if he meant that as a joke. “So-many-comments. Brain. Hurts.”

  He frowns at me, but before I start cracking wise someone’s coming down the hall.

  “You there. You’re not from this floor. What business have you here?”

  “Oh, crap.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  At the sound of the guard’s voice, Fionn straightens, eases me tight into the doorway, and turns. He leans against the wall to block the entrance with his broad shoulders, and I do my best to shrink back into the inset of what can’t be more than ten inches from the hall.

  Fionn taps his finger on the stag plaque.

  “This isn’t a griffon…it’s a deer,” He slurs his words. “I’m lookin’ fer the griffon plaque. Have ye seen a griffon? Do you know where my chambers are?”

  My gallant escort raises his arms, and I watch his shadow gesture willy-nilly as he staggers up to the guard playing hall monitor and blocking any line of sight to expose my hiding place. “Och, I need to take a piss.”

  “Not here, you don’t.”

  “Aye, I do. And it needs to be now.”

  The guard curses and the quick shuffle of footsteps leave me alone in the corridor.

  “Open Sesame.” I pass my hand over the latch plate of Bathalt’s chambers. The real spell is Access Granted, but mine is more fun.

  A slide of the latch grants me entrance. The moment I step over the threshold, my shield tingles.

  “Cat crap on a cracker.”

  I wait to see if it was a ward of protection I tripped, but when nothing comes at me to fry my ass, I wonder if maybe the book’s magic set off my warning bells.

  “Tough as Bark.”

  What can I say? I’m a safety girl. If fireballs are about to strike me down, I want some protection. Then again, if Bathalt has half a brain, he probably wouldn’t ward a magical book with fire. That could end badly for him.

  Nothing overtly threatening comes at me, so I take another step and close the door.

  “Fiona?”

  Crap. I close my eyes and wish with all my might that when I turn around, I’m not staring into the eyes of… “Oswald, you’re here. Perfect.”

  He steps out from behind the heavy door of the armoire and frowns. “I am. Why are you here?”

  “I… was looking for you, silly.” I go with that and rush closer. “I honestly had such a nice time this afternoon. I thought we connected. When you left the banquet to,”—I spot the black cloak hanging in the armoire—“bring your master’s cloak back upstairs, I thought I’d take advantage of the opportunity to get you alone and surprise you. Surprise!”

  He frowns and looks at the door. “You’re not allowed—Wait. How did you get in here?”

  “The door was open.”

  “No. Sir Bathalt spelled the door to close, lock, and set a Ward of Warning on the chamber entrance. He’ll know someone other than me came through that door. He’ll be coming.”

  Shit. “We’ll explain it to him. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

  “And you’ve lost your accent.

  Double shit. I roll my eyes and hold up my palms.

  “Exhaustive Slumber.” As Oswald collapses and crumples toward the stone floor, I grab hold of his shoulders and push him back into the armoire’s depths. “I’m so sorry, Oswald. You’re a good guy. I totes suck.”

  I lift his feet, bend his knees, and pretzel him into the tall, wooden wardrobe. When I close the doors, I make sure nothing catches in them, and no one will find him before I want them to.

  If I tripped a warning to Sir Bathalt, time is ticking faster than ever. When I reach out with my senses, my shield fires to life, and there’s no doubt in my mind the book is behind the door to my right.

  I hurry over, press a palm to the door, and feel for any other spells of protection. Nothing obvious comes back to me, so I raise the latch and swing it open a crack.

  “Detect Magic.” I ease the door open more, searching for any arcane designs in the air.

  Everything looks good.

  I open the door, shuffle inside, and am drawn immediately to the wooden chest behind the door. Merlin is right. I feel the lure. The book is there, and it wants to be used…and I need to get to it.

  The chest is a heavy, oak monstrosity with black, iron hinges and locks. My shield fires to life and burns hot against my back. I feel the thrall of the Eochair Prana drawing me into its confidence.

  It has so much it wants to show me.

  I’m practically a blank slate next to the knowledge this book holds. It’s an honor simply to be nominated.

  “Open Sesame.” The trunk latch succumbs to my need for access, and I fling the top up and back.

  A bolt of power explodes from the chest and hits me with a force that throws me back on the floor. I blink and fight to scramble to my feet.

  I don’t move. I’m locked in my body, and my muscles don’t respond. Shitshitshit.

  The Ward of Paralyzation has me in its grip.

  In the long moments that follow, I struggle to breathe. My chest won’t inflate, so I can only draw minute amounts of air into my lungs. My panic shifts from not getting the book in time, to not getting caught, to not suffocating while I wait for a powerful sorcerer to come find me robbing him of his “Precious.”

  “What’s this?” a smug male voice mutters above me.

  My eyes are locked straight ahead when my waiting ends. I see nothing but fabric boots and a cast shadow darkening the space between me and the chest.

  “A woman thief? A seductress come to take what is mine?” The shadow shifts and the snick of steel pulling free from a sheath cuts the air.

  I’m rolled onto my back, and Sir Bathalt looms over me. He holds a dagger above my chest and smiles. “It’s too bad I’m in a hurry. There are other ways I would rather teach you the penalty of crossing me.”

  My heart races, and as hard as I pull at t
he base of my throat for breath, oxygen refuses to fill my lungs. I’m starved for air. My vision swims as blackness closes in.

  Hot tears singe my temples, but I’m helpless to defend, to retreat, or even to close my eyes.

  Steel glints in the torchlight and the dagger plunges hard and fast. The blade pierces my dress…

  It takes a moment for reality to set in. I’m not impaled.

  My mind flickers. Right.

  Tough as Bark for the win.

  Bathalt pulls back his dagger and frowns at the bent tip. “You are a mysterious one.” He draws the blade from the soft hollow of my throat down to my navel and splits the layers of my dress. “What magic is it that makes your flesh impenetrable to my blade?”

  His dark brows pinch tight as he flips the fabric back and sees the inked bark of the armor across my chest and torso. He rises with his gaze fixed on me. “That’s a mystery for later. More pressing matters await at the moment, I’m afraid. You wait here, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

  He shifts to the storage trunk, grabs the book from its belly, and cradles it in his arms like a beloved child. “Think of me while I’m gone, lady thief. I look forward to unraveling your many mysteries.”

  I track the shuffle of footsteps as he leaves, and I’m both relieved and anguished. I’m thankful for the distance between us, but he has the book. My book.

  Left to myself, I focus on breaking the spell’s hold. It’s not that different from when Sloan paralyzed me in Ireland and made me feel like a fool.

  “Focus, Fi. Control yer temper and come at me with a clear plan.” I slow my panic and focus on my breathing. Passing out isn’t an option. To break free and go after the book, I need to be conscious. “If yer not in control of yer offense, yer out of control and no good to yerself or the others.”

  I hear Sloan’s words so clearly now. At the time, I was hurt and angry about being made to look like a fool in front of my family, so I missed the whole point.

  I have to be ready for anything at all times and know how to handle adversity when it hits.

  “Better she learns the lesson here than at the hands of the enemy,” Da had said.