by KH LeMoyne
Her breathing eased, the stiffness gone, and she wrapped her arms around herself within his hold.
“My mother was the first one killed. I was eight. Old enough to understand she wasn’t coming back, young enough to believe my father must have known ahead of time, not mature enough to understand the limitations of magical powers.”
Bri leaned her cheek against his arm. The gesture soothed. He continued, not ready to embrace the comfort in her touch.
“She drowned during a family vacation. The police classified it a suicide. My family knew better. In my young mind, what happened should have been foreseeable and averted.”
Her palm lifted to his chest.
“I blamed him. From my perspective, he was my dad, invincible, with special powers. He should have known and saved her.”
“Logan.”
He squeezed her to stop her. “My father was a strong empath. However, clairvoyance was a secondary skill he couldn’t control. I now understand his limitations. Unfortunately, I also understand his grief—his burden. It’s too late. My gift shows me now that, despite my anger, he knew I loved him. I know because I carry those powers. It's obvious now how much he loved me, loved my mother. I can help people because I understand. Going backward only helps with perspective, Bri. Going forward makes the difference.”
She was still for a moment, then rubbed her head along his jaw. “How do you know she didn’t—”
He took a deep breath and pressed his lips to her hair. Sorrow whiplashed through him, then vanished. “The minion’s handprint was burned onto her chest.”
She turned in his arms to look into his face. “Logan—”
“It held her beneath the surf until she died, killing my unborn sister with her.” He allowed her embrace, her arm sheltering him, as her tears dampened his neck. Her comfort eased the pain. Not the intent of his story. He’d reconciled the past long ago.
He brushed a hand along her hair and down her back. “We don’t control any of what happens, only ourselves. Don’t take my defending people I care about on your shoulders. Move forward with me. Your family loves you. Wherever they are, they understand.”
She nodded against his skin, her inhalation building a warm need in him as she pulled back. He brushed the wetness from her cheeks and she offered up a weak smile.
When he caressed her lip, she quivered and pressed closer, gazing up at him in the moonlight. So beautiful.
Not able to resist, he tasted her lips. Warm and soft, she accepted the intimacy. He welcomed the desire rushing through him as he kissed her. Heavens, he wanted her. Beyond reason, he wanted her.
He didn’t move. When she pressed closer, he brushed his lips over hers again, and then reluctantly lifted his head.
No matter how strong his emotional pull to Bri, and hers to him, neither of them was quite ready to handle the force of the bond between them.
Clasping her hand in his, he picked up his sword and turned for the cottage. “Let’s go check on Fiona.”
10
Grainne stood as they entered, muttering as she wiped her hands on a cloth. The astringent scents of alcohol and acetone permeated the air. Whiskey and another distilled concoction, no doubt. Logan was surprised to see Robert at her side.
“I’ve a few more things to try. The fever is lower, which is good. However, if she doesn’t wake up in the next day or so, I’ll try another approach.”
“The mages?” Logan couldn’t keep the annoyance from his tone. Grainne raised a brow and shook her head.
“I wouldn’t trust the mages with our chickens. They’re not healers. Thanks be to Heaven, the only people with magic left untouched on the island are healers.” She didn’t say from whom she’d seek counsel, but continued toward the corner, muttering sounds trailing behind her.
Robert sniffed his hands with distaste. “Back to the bay to make certain no one sneaks up on us. Anything we should discuss before I go?” He looked pointedly between Logan and Bri.
“I think we all agree a minion attacked Quinlan. Three of them, if his last words to his wife are true.” Logan glanced at Fiona. “I’m impressed you allowed yourself to get pulled into babysitting detail.”
“Well, you two were busy.” Robert mouth twisted in a knowing smile. He paused with a raised brow for a long moment, playing on the embarrassment factor.
Bri tapped her fingers against her mouth, refusing to give him the satisfaction.
“You two are a tough crowd.” Robert shrugged and gestured to Grainne. “She needed help. The kid doesn’t weigh more than a feather, anyway. Get some rest. I’ll be back in a bit.”
Logan checked Fiona’s pulse and her forehead. She didn’t move, not even random stirring—her sleep the deep slumber of dreamers. He hoped she dreamed something safe and light, full of a little girl’s innocent imagination. He took heart in her tranquil appearance and the steady rise and fall of her chest. Surely, a nightmare wouldn’t hide inside such a peaceful shell.
“She’s not suffering.” Bri sat beside the girl and offered him a smile. “You’re easy to read, too.”
“I’m fine with you reading me.”
He moved back to his blankets and kept an eye on them. Bri curled around Fiona, a protective measure against nightmares. It seemed to work. The girl had slept peacefully through the last two nights, despite her low fever. At least her restlessness calmed in Bri’s presence.
Logan focused on the two of them mingled before the fire. His thoughts drifted. The tug pulled, and he let go for his vision…
“Our lands are at risk with fewer and fewer infants born.”
“Infants or blood slaves, Lord Owain? You seem to use the terms interchangeably.”
Owain snarled. “Prince Kiaran, I speak of children bearing the magic our land needs for defense and prosperity. In this desperate time, our own acolyte flees her duties after years of tutelage right before her final commitment to her people. Her actions define her as a traitor. Her punishment must stand equally strong. Publicly so.”
“Lord Owain, we have not had heinous issues across this land such that we need public castigation,” replied Kiaran.
“Ah, but we do. Fewer mages are born, and our harvests falter. The weakening of our borders can’t be far behind,” Owain said. “A public and very permanent statement will ensure the people understand the risk, should they defy the rules and protect one who turns on their own.”
“Lord Owain, this woman is hardly old enough to be held accountable for the woes of the whole country,” an older man, the only one on a dais, leaned forward.
“Your Highness, she is old enough to plot an escape, fraternize and surrender her purity, and renounce her teachings by whoring her nights away.”
The king and Lady Edythe flinched at the comment, but Owain glared at Rhiamon.
“She’s had more opportunities than most young women in this land, trained with the promise of leadership. Her open denouncement of all we hold sacred requires a punishment of the highest severity.” He spat the last words and leaned close.
Logan remembered the night in the garden. Owain was throwing Rhiamon’s words back in her face, his rage fueled by her rejection of him. Yet there was more beneath the anger. Not just greed, but fear.
He focused on feeling the emotions in the room. He couldn’t speak, move, or control the body in his vision, but his powers still operated, if in a diminished capacity. Owain considered Rhiamon a threat to his rise in power. Why?
“Surely we can find other resolutions for our issues besides a public humiliation,” furthered the king.
“Not humiliation. Death.” A ripple of shock at the pronouncement washed through the room. “For one of our own to break such rules, we must show a strong sense of purpose and commitment to justice. The people will not place their trust in those with power, especially if we are too lenient with failures within our own ranks.”
Logan’s stomach twisted. The only solace he had was that Rhiamon was free to send him these visions. All along
his gut told him this was Bri’s mother and each dream only confirmed his instincts. Most importantly, if Rhiamon hadn’t escaped what Owain planned, Bri wouldn’t exist. He calmed at that realization.
“Our circumstances cannot be so dire we sanction a punishment that exceeds the crime.” The king’s voice rose in angered astonishment. The thoughts of Kiaran and Coel were unreadable, but both princes had their gazes locked on Owain with a Herculean intensity Logan hoped boded poorly for the lord mage. “The woman has already testified to her purpose. And while it might have been counter to the rules of the citadel, seeking a connection with the people she was beholden to serve is hardly a crime.”
“Our circumstances are severe. The lands produce one-tenth of their yield from five years ago. The people of the lands to the west of the Capellarius Mountains seek to overrun us. The City in the Clouds offers more threat now than ever.” Owain turned back to the king with a slow nod.
“There has been no harsh overture from either of those lands.” Prince Kiaran glanced at his brother and received a nod of agreement before he turned back.
“Then they’ve received our emissaries?” Owain asked.
The king and princes were silent.
“We have few resources,” Owain continued. “We should seek alternatives through paths previously barred. Facing such dire straits as these, we will need to take actions to protect ourselves.”
The king rose slowly. “We will not enact forbidden practices that would put our lands in jeopardy.”
“Do not worry, Your Highness. The council of mages will take only the precautions required to ensure the well-being of all,” Owain said.
“You cannot possibly be considering the portals? Our oath and word secured those gates millennia ago.”
“A king’s oath, yes. Times change.” Owain shrugged and turned his back as the king’s face suffused with red and his jaw clenched.
“The line of Makir and the sentinels will guard against your plans, Lord Owain. I urge you to reconsider.” Lady Edythe stood, her hands clasped, and took in each of the other mages. “Surely, this, too, should be assessed by the full council.”
“The Makir and their partners will bow beneath our need, or fall.” Faces in the room reflected shock at Owain’s declaration.
“The bloodline of the Makir is sacred. Inciting violence against their people, against warriors imbued to protect against the darkest of magic, is its own treason.”
“You dare accuse me, Lady Edythe?”
In the face of his anger and the silence from the other mages, she faltered. “I urge caution, for our people’s protection.”
“My only aim, my lady.”
The king gestured to Prince Coel and his guards. “Return the acolyte to her cell. She does not need to hear the rest of these proceedings.” He looked straight at Rhiamon with a dour expression. “You will be brought here when your sentence is resolved. You have my apologies for not sending you from the debate sooner.”
Logan wanted to shout.
He wanted to stay and hear the rest of Owain’s plan, though, in truth, it would make little difference. Bringing his plan public now, in front of the royal court and citadel council, only confirmed that Owain had already begun his assault on the Makir line. His distinction between the bloodline and the sentinels made little sense, but the overall destruction of both was clear. The same way he had already planned Rhiamon’s sacrifice after her rejection of him in the garden.
He walked down the long, dark halls, accompanied by silent guards.
Even Prince Coel remained in the chambers with his father, abandoning Rhiamon to her own silent death march with his guards.
Prepared for days and nights of solitude, Logan startled when the cell door opened after what seemed like minutes. He suspected, as during previous visions, that time fluctuated and Rhiamon had spent hours in the dark considering her fate.
Two cloaked and hooded figures motioned her into the hallway and handed her a robe. They waited until she’d donned it with shaking fingers. When she continued to stare at them, one brought her hands before her, bound them, and covered her face with her hood.
Guards or executioners? Logan wondered.
Not eager to see the worst, yet unwilling to abandon her to her fate, he swallowed his frustration and counted the hundreds of steps down darker and darker hallways.
The feet of other guards and servants were visible beneath the deep hood, but Logan grew confused at the winding turns and stairways. Dampness and moisture hung in the air when they slowed, the trickle of water now audible.
Rhiamon stumbled. Strong hands beneath her elbows stopped her fall. They pushed back her hood and then their own.
“Prince Coel?”
Two guards moved toward a boat tied to a jetty, as Coel untied the bonds at her wrists. Flaming torches provided pockets of light in the underground tunnel. No light shone from the river’s path.
“I apologize for the subterfuge, my lady. It was necessary to convince others, in case we were stopped.” He led her to the boat and held her hand as the guards assisted her in. He shook his head, his eyes kind. “We don’t have time for explanations. Will you trust me?”
She nodded.
He and the others dug long staffs into the dark murkiness beneath the water and poled the boat quickly away from the jetty. The first man lifted his hand. The torches behind them extinguished after they passed. New ones lit before them in the cave. The small glimmers of light rode like oil slicks on the water, flagstones of light guiding them.
Several minutes later, they switched to oars and moved the boat through the tight cave, heedless of their noise.
Rhiamon raised her hood and clutched it tighter about her face as her hair fluttered in the pre-dawn breeze. The men in the boat beside her paid no heed, digging their oars harder into the water, speeding their journey toward several large vessels outlined against the horizon.
“I regret abducting you without warning, but my fleet prepares to sail,” Prince Coel offered, facing her as he bent his back over his oar. “This was our best chance to free you from Mage Owain’s sentence of execution.”
“I wish no martyr’s death, my prince, though I regret you risk so much from my actions.”
He lifted his oar as the boat finally maneuvered alongside a large vessel.
“Titles aren’t needed between friends, Rhiamon. And your rescue coincides with my own plans.” He glanced at her. “If it is any comfort, the other priestesses denounced Owain’s sentence. The king vetoed it as well. But the mages are either unified with Owain or terrified of him.”
He wrapped an arm around her, his other coiled around a thick rope. “Hold on, my lady.” Hoisted into the air and over the railing, he released her as their feet touched the deck. “Weigh anchor and signal the others to assume defensive positions.”
“Aye, Commander. And our position?”
“Tell each captain to prepare for attack. We’ll cover the flank.”
“Aye.”
Logan looked behind them, expecting to see the harbor and castle. Instead, black extended from sea to heavens. A thundering drumbeat vibrated against his skin as the solid darkness separated into creatures. Vast wingspans brushed the sky as they spit arcs of fire.
Wingspans the length of 747s, the Jurassic horde of pterodactyl-like creatures consumed the distance between them at an alarming rate.
Coel’s face remained impassive. “Wait until we are all cleared of the shoals and I’ll signal our dragon riders.”
“Aye, Commander.”
Dragons? Of course. With magic, there’d be dragons, Logan thought with vibrant tickle of anticipation.
The ship’s bowsprits dipped and pitched against the cresting waves at the bay’s perimeter. Shoals, clearly marked by the disappearance of the calm waters, would be an exercise in threading the needle. No staid line of sandbars, but tall blades of rock rose from the water. Teeth to claw a ship from stem to stern.
Rhiamon moved beside Coel�
��s helm, watching Owain’s army expand with serpents tunneling beneath the water’s surface. The creatures, as thick Coel’s vessel and ten times the length, powered through the water, their fangs white, razor-sharp flashes, visible in spite of the distance.
“I can help.”
Coel didn’t look her way. “Do whatever you can, my lady.”
The ship rolled and Rhiamon toppled, but Coel grabbed her firmly around her waist. “Go ahead. I’ll keep you safe.”
She closed her eyes and Logan counted, frustrated with not seeing his surroundings, but he felt the tension coil within her. Then she opened her eyes, her hand splayed before her. A wave swelled behind Coel’s fleet, growing as power sizzled through her.
Logan felt the power course through her, the strong expansion and contraction so tight it felt like his chest was crushed and blown apart.
“We must clear Keegan’s teeth, my lady.”
“Trust me.”
“Always,” he murmured against her temple then turned to his crew. “Brace yourselves.”
Logan tried to keep focus. This was way too much for him to take in.
The ship pitched as the wave lifted them. Secure in Coel’s grip, Rhiamon’s concentration held fast.
One prolonged surge and the ship cleared the spikes of Keegan’s shoals. The crew cheered as the backwash rushed toward the serpents, dragging them into a whirlpool beneath the waves.
Coel released her and discarded his robe. Steel bracers covered his forearms, imbedded with jewels of ruby, citrine, and diamond in intricate patterns. One of his men handed him a staff. A helix of colors glowed in synchronized pulses with the jewels on his bracers. “Riders, prepare.”
A roar echoed overhead. Logan held his breath as dragons appeared above them, their flight seeming effortless with the slow beat of their broad wings. The ship’s sails billowed as he squinted against the reflection from the beasts’ silver-scaled bellies and multihued hides.
Staff raised, citrine flickered on Coel’s bracers. Four sand-colored dragons, their riders perched in saddles, headed toward Owain’s horde.
The horde spat flame, like kittens hissing at tigers. But the dragons exhaled fireballs, ripping through the enemy ranks, raining black creatures from the sky.
