Veil of Thorns

by Gwen Mitchell

  But she didn’t know what would happen if she failed to show up on the next full moon—she still had to figure out how to do that without the Synod discovering—or if she was foresworn. So, in case the book had some gnarly power to hold her to her word, like undoing the magic she’d used to save Kean, she put in the work.

  Every time she stumbled upon anything worth investigating, she would feel the mirror buzz at her through the ether, as if she was being watched, and she had to wonder if the Hirune’s presence wasn’t partially to blame for Vika’s paranoia.

  It definitely put Bri on edge.

  Of course, she was being watched by the Synod. They wanted to use her, or else kill her, as they had every other Skydancer. At some point, they would decide, and she would have to choose what path she took next. For now, she was sleeping with the enemy. She would learn the inner workings of the Synod, their arsenal, their weaknesses, who the major players were.

  Know thine enemy.

  That was as far as her plan extended.

  She’d told Lucas about the Hirune—silently, since they were also likely being listened to—and they had agreed that it must not fall into the Synod’s hands. Something brief and fleeting had passed between them in that moment, like the draft of cold air under a door. The whisper of unspoken intent.

  What was she doing?

  She was infiltrating.

  But to what end?

  The enemy of my enemy is my…friend?

  The Synod had exterminated her kind and enslaved both of the immortal races. Bri was now an immortal, ergo, if there were two sides, she was on the side of the immortals. But she was also human, and she realized that the individual servants of the Synod were not all evil. The idea behind the Synod was evil.

  The idea of using magic, bending it to one’s will, rather than letting it flow naturally. Forcibly stripping it away from the Kinde, forcing the Hohlwen to subsist on that harvested energy. It was all wrong. It was corrupt. It was…unnatural. The very idea at the heart of the Synod was the taint permeating the magic of the Arcanum.

  How do you kill an idea?

  She had no clue. So it was back to good ol’ plan A: lay low, play nice, and learn as much as she could. Which left her poring through texts or otherwise wandering the halls aimlessly to keep from going stir-crazy while she waited for the Council to rule on her first petition.

  Kean was alive and she hadn’t even spoken to him yet. Cell phone and satellite signals couldn’t penetrate the vortex of wards concealing the Arcanum from the mundane world, and being on a remote island, there was no land line. Or internet. Or cable. Or electricity. She would have paid her friends an astral visit, but she didn’t want to paint more of a target on their backs.

  She’d sent Ryder to deliver a letter to Astrid, explaining the situation.

  To Bri’s astonishment—though apparently no surprise to Lucas—the Hohlwen had come back that first night, rousing the two of them from sleep.

  He’d stepped out of the most shadowed corner of her room, flopping into one of the high-backed chairs by the fire and throwing one leg over the arm with a put-upon sigh. “This isn’t bad, but you should have gotten me a room out of the bargain.”

  “I thought you were going to bail,” Bri had answered.

  “And miss whatever mischief you’ve got cooking up in that pretty little head of yours? Not for the world,” was Ryder’s reply.

  The next day, she’d asked for two more rooms. Ryder was given Bri’s first chamber, and Bri had been moved two floors up. Lucas’s room was attached to hers by a single door, and the last two nights, he’d slept on the floor beside her as the wolf.

  When the approval for leave finally came, she’d asked them both to stay behind while she traveled to North Wake. She’d relished the time alone on the stern of the Council’s best speed boat, the salty mist on her face and the crisp wind stripping the clinging cobwebs of the Synod’s magic from her aura.

  Now, she was standing at the top of Astrid’s driveway looking out over the islands as the sun sank towards the western horizon. It felt like this was the fantasy, not the chamber in a high tower wreathed in mist, next door to a wolf.

  This was the dream. This was the life she could never have. Sunset on the back porch with the dogs playing at their feet. Mojitos and karaoke and roasting marshmallows on the beach.

  Astrid’s cliffside bungalow sat below her like a taunt. A commercial for something she could never afford. She knew inside would be worse but made her way down and knocked on the door. The skitter of Astrid’s menagerie on the other side lightened Bri’s heart a bit, but when the door swung open, she held her breath. For a second, she thought, it could be Kean, and her brain froze.

  It was Astrid. She squealed and leapt into Bri’s arms, nearly choking the life out of her. Sensing the excitement, the dogs howled, and the birds whistled and squawked.

  Bri looked around as Astrid ushered her inside. The scent of simmering onions and spices filled the air, and her stomach did a slow, nervous roll. “Where’s Kean?”

  “Down on the beach,” Astrid said, sounding tired. “He sits out there all the time. When he’s not sleeping.”

  Bri followed her to the kitchen and climbed into one of the barstools on the opposite side of the counter. “How is he?”

  Astrid blew some of her freshly-dyed purple and green bangs out of her face and finished chopping the veggies on her counter and dividing them up into small metal bowls. “I’ve never seen him like this. He’s just so listless. I’m worried.”

  There was no accusation in Astrid’s tone, but the words hooked into Bri’s heart and gave a heavy tug, weights of guilt hanging on the line.

  “His mom is coming to get him tomorrow.”

  “Oh,” Bri said, a little surprised. But, of course Anne would want her son–whom she’d thought was dead–back home with his family. “That will be good for him.”

  That was the life that Kean deserved. Being surrounded by people who loved him. Respected by his community. Eating barbeque and drinking wine and swimming in the lake with his nieces and nephews. It wasn’t a vision, but she saw it just as clearly.

  “He doesn’t want to go,” Astrid said, distributing the bowls to the respective cages.

  “Well, he should.”

  There’s nothing for him here, she thought bitterly.

  Astrid closed the last cage and turned back to Bri. “Do you want some tea?”

  “Scotch?” Bri asked hopefully. She’d faced down an ancient enchantress and the Synod on bravado alone, but for this, she could use a little liquid courage.

  Astrid froze a moment, giving her a funny look. She climbed up on a stool and pulled down a bottle from above her fridge. She poured a dram and handed it to Bri. “So. How is Lucas?”

  Bri scowled into her glass and shrugged one shoulder. “Fine.”

  “Are you two…”

  She shot Astrid a warning look. “It’s not like that.”

  “Kean thinks it is.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  Astrid bent to pull a casserole dish out of the oven, and Bri realized what the gorgeous aroma was. Shepherd’s Pie. Like she’d had every month on the night of Kean’s ritual. It gave her a strange sense of deja-vu.

  Nothing has changed, but everything has, she reminded herself. She was still going to eat Shepherd’s Pie and see Kean, and talk to him, and not be able to touch him, and have to say goodbye.

  “Only what I knew. That you and Lucas were bound in a past life, and that you left a month ago to find another Skydancer. And everything that happened in the Arcanum after he passed out.”

  Bri scoured all emotion from her face and downed the rest of her Scotch.

  “Oh, don’t get all sour-puss on me. I had to tell him the truth. He thought you’d been kidnapped and brainwashed. How do you expect me to handle this all by myself? I have a life too, you know. And a business to pull out of a one-month nose-dive, and you’re…” A heavy sigh.

  “Wha
t?” Bri asked.

  Astrid wouldn’t look at her as she dished up two plates. She softened her tone a bit, but said, “Unreliable.”

  It hurt, but seeing the circles under Astrid’s eyes and acknowledging her own track record, it was fair.

  “I don’t mean to be,” Bri forced past the lump in her throat. She felt like her whole life was unreliable. Just when she got her bearings, reality loved to flip everything around on her. It’s hard to be reliable when you’re just doing your best to hang on.

  Astrid sighed, her velvety blue eyes shining with unshed tears. “I know.”

  “I love you, Prickly Pear,” Bri said.

  “I know. I love you too.” Astrid hung up her apron and pushed the plates across the counter. “Go. Talk to him. I have to go take care of some stuff at the pub. See if you can get him to eat something.”

  Bri wasn’t offended by Astrid’s blunt dismissal. A lot of people saw her aversion to touchy-feely conversations and general effervescence as a sign that she was shallow, but it was just the opposite. She felt things so deeply she didn’t like to do it in front of an audience. When they hugged goodbye, Bri squeezed her extra tight and held on for an extra-long time. For some reason, this felt less like a casual see-you-later and more like a farewell. One laden with things unsaid.

  I will see you soon, Bri said silently. “I’ll send Ryder with messages.”

  Astrid snorted and wiped her eyes. “Wonderful.”

  “Oh no,” Bri said, a smile sneaking onto her face. “What did he do?”

  “Just popped up right in my office and scared the piss out of me. He said he’s your official envoy now, and I have to be sweet to him. I’m not sure if he was coming on to me or wants to eat me.”

  Bri did laugh then. “Probably both. I could tell him to tone that down, but he wouldn’t listen. I will tell him to use the window next time, though.”

  Astrid looked at her, perplexed. “Do they serve you now?”

  Bri shook her head. “Only when it suits them.”

  “Oh.” Astrid sounded unconvinced. More questions swirled in her midnight gaze.

  I’ll tell you everything, Bri said. Next time.

  Deal, Astrid answered, pulling on her shoes and jacket. “Good luck,” she said, and was out the door.

  As soon as Bri’s feet crunched on the pebbles of the beach, Max and Maggie came bounding up to her, tails wagging and tongues lolling. They were wet and sandy, but that didn’t stop them from jumping up and licking her face as she tried to hold the plates out of their reach.

  “Hi guys.” She let them slobber all over her shoulder and breathe their steamy dog breath in her face. She laughed, and when she glanced up, Kean was watching her from the water’s edge.

  The dogs ran back to him, Max barking excitedly, announcing who he’d found.

  Kean showed no reaction for a heartbeat, then wiped his hands on his thighs and sat in one of the chairs by the blazing fire, staring out at the horizon.

  Bri’s smile wanted to wilt off her face, but she forced it to stay propped up until she drew closer. Still, Kean didn’t turn or so much as acknowledge her presence. For those awkward last few steps, she wished for the earth to just open up and swallow her.

  He looked amazing, especially for someone who had been trapped in stone for the past six months. Everything about him was the same as the last day they’d spent together–skin, hair, eyes, check, check, check. There was a slight flush in his cheeks, and the stubble on his neck and jaw had grown out.

  He was alive. Seeing that in the flesh was a balm on her charred heart.

  That’s all that matters.

  “Hey.” She waved the steaming plate of meaty-potatoey goodness under his nose.

  He looked at the food, at her, back at the water.

  She pressed it closer to his face. “Astrid said you have to eat this or she’s gonna kick your ass.”

  Kean took the plate and set it loosely in his lap. Max and Maggie took that as an invitation to lick the plate clean while Kean sat there giving Bri the silent treatment.

  She sighed and took the seat beside him, setting the other plate on the table. She leaned back and crossed her legs, fixing him with a cocked eyebrow. “I go through hell to bring you back from the dead, and you can’t even look at me?”

  The old Kean would have risen to such a challenge, but he just sat there.

  Listless.

  “Look at me,” she said again, no taunt this time. “Kean, look at me. Please?”

  Finally, he did. The firelight danced across his features, glimmering in his hazel eyes. Gold and green, green and gold, soft like heather and warm like sunshine. With an ache, Bri realized that would always be her favorite color. She would spend the rest of her life—her unnaturally long life—looking for it in something else, and never find it again.

  So, she made sure to burn it into her memory this time. And in the space and seconds between them, all the love and anguish Bri had shoved down beneath the weight of survival came rushing up. A tide filling a cave. It welled in her eyes.

  Kean rubbed shaking hands over his face. “Everything feels wrong.”

  Her stomach knotted up at the agony behind his words.

  “It feels like I was on a merry-go-round and I jumped off and landed in the wrong reality. Like a part of me wants to get back on and make this all go away. Or just disappear again.”

  “Kean.” She reached over and squeezed his forearm. “You’ve been through so much. It’s going to take time to adjust to being back on this plane.”

  He gave a humorless laugh. “I’ll get over it? Is that what you’re saying? I’ll just get over the fact that I died and came back? My house is gone. My job is gone. My identity is gone. And meanwhile, my girlfriend–the one I died for, the love of my life–ran off with a fucking Kinde.”

  The rancor in his words stung Bri’s cheeks like nettles. “It’s not like that and you know it. I did it to save you.”

  “To save what? What’s left of me?” His eyes were haunted and wild, as if he was looking everywhere around him and still seeing nothing but grey. His shoulders shook, but he would not let himself cry. Bri hadn’t thought her heart could break any more, but seeing Kean like this cracked open a new fissure of pain.

  There will be a price, the book had said. She’d agreed to pay it. In blood. But she saw the irony now. The book’s price was paltry compared to the karmic cost. There is always a price to magic that reshapes fate. She was paying hers. Now Kean would pay, because of her.

  “You were all I ever wanted.” He drove the heels of his palms into his eyes and shook his head. “This is all so wrong.”

  “I didn’t mean for it to happen this way,” Bri said, feeling even more hollow than she sounded.

  “Then tell me how it did.” He clenched his jaw and exhaled slowly. “Tell me so I understand, because right now I feel like I’m going crazy.”

  Bri knew the feeling all too well, and she was glad she could give him this much, at least. So, she told him. She talked until her voice was hoarse, and the tide went out, and the sky darkened, and the fire dwindled to coals. She told him about Vivianne and the bond that she and Lucas shared. She explained the lore of the Skydancers and Vika’s immense age and power. She left out the Hirune, and Lucas’s deal with Vika, and what the ritual to make her immortal had entailed. In this version of the story, Lucas was her protector, Ryder her ally, and both of them her friends.

  She tried to capture the terrible beauty of the White Wood, the enchanting enigma of Vika, but she did neither of them justice. How does one describe the kiss of a frost butterfly on their cheek? The potent mixture of awe and horror and magic. Her voice shook with wonder when she spoke of the dream tree and the girl by the fountain, and with tears when she finally reached Emil’s sacrifice.

  When she finished, Kean swallowed thickly and went to his knees before her, taking her hands.

  Bri’s heart picked up an erratic rhythm that made her want to rush to her feet, but
at the same time left her feeling too weak to stand.

  “Okay, but now you’re back. I’m back. I don’t understand why you would choose serving the Synod over being with me… with us.”

  “That’s not an option,” she said. “They won’t allow me to be free, Kean, just because of what I am. I’m powerful, but I can’t take on an entire army. Unless I went into hiding, I had to find a way to co-exist with them.”

  “We can fix this, what you are.” His smile was heartbreakingly hopeful, her stubborn optimist. She had to make a fist to keep from running her fingers through his wind-tousled hair. “You brought me back. There has to be a way to undo it. All magic has counter-magic.”

  “Not this. It’s done. It was done lifetimes ago.” She shook her head and drew her hands back, wrapping her arms around herself, shuddering with the realization that she didn’t want to undo it. Even if she could. This power was hers now. This knowledge was hers. She was strong because of them, and she liked being strong, even if that meant she was in greater danger.

  “You’re just giving up? After all of that?” Kean slumped back in the sand.

  “Not for the reasons you think.”

  “Oh, I’m sure I can guess what your reason is.”

  “This is not about him.” How could she make Kean understand? This was bigger than her, than this one life. But Fate and destiny were only concepts to him. Pretty words and romantic ideas. He didn’t feel the ichor of it moving in his veins, didn’t sense the gravity of the Cosmos pulling him to a new course, the weight of the stars on his shoulders.

  Kean just felt cheated.

  And he had been. They had both been cheated out of the future they’d dreamed of. The future they’d fought for. He had sacrificed everything for it.

  In the fairytales, when the knight in shining armor is killed defending his fair maiden, she brings him back to life with a magical kiss, and they live happily ever after.

  But this wasn’t that sort of story.

  Bri had always known in her most secret heart that she was destined for misery. She’d felt it like a cloak, always hovering, snapping at her every step. She never should have dared to hope for more. That dream was not for her. She would never shed her cloak of nightmares.