Through the Veil

by Kyra Whitton

“Only because of Ail—Elizabeth.”

  “You mean me?”

  He didn’t answer at first, the crashing of the waves below an eerie soundtrack between them.

  “Yes. It’s always been for you, even when you didn’t need him.” Iain’s words sounded bitter.

  That hit her like a punch to the gut, had she used him? The thought twisted inside her.

  She remained quiet, her thoughts turning inward. She knew Alec was in love with her. He’d been on the verge of telling her that night in Atlanta, and when she stopped him, he had done everything in his power to show her. But were those feelings for her or the woman he knew lifetimes before? Would discovering they were one and the same change things? Maybe it would make things worse. And then she might never be ready to hear it.

  Fear might always keep her from being able to accept him loving her. And loving him back might require more strength than she had. Losing Calum did her in. Used her up. Made her useless for anyone else… ever.

  “I know who you’re thinking about,” Iain murmured. “He was never meant for you, Evie.”

  The words cut like a knife. Because as unsure as she was about Alec and her own feelings and what the hell she was doing… the thought of him not in her life was agony.

  ****

  Twilight was upon them when the small keep rose out of the distance. Its dark stone weathered, the fortress was a sentinel looking out over the waves as they rolled into the gentle curve of beach below. Torches flickered brightly at even intervals, and Evie counted them as they approached the gates.

  “Where are we?”

  “Imeall Thalami Ar,” Iain answered, the name a song.

  “Is-is she here?”

  “No.”

  “Oh. Then why are we here?”

  “Do you want to sleep in the snow?”

  She shook her head.

  “I didn’t think so,” he retorted.

  They walked through the thick archway, their boots slapping through sticky mud, after the portcullis lifted, metal clanging against rock and chains rattling. Iain moved to speak with a straight-backed man waiting for them just inside the wall, arms at his sides, eyes narrowed. Evie flicked her gaze around. It was smaller than the ruins of the St Andrews castle, with no more than a cropping of outbuildings and a long, low structure that must be the barracks.

  When she turned back, it was to find all attention on her, just as it had been in the tavern. Iain gave the other man a sharp look and a quick shake of the head as the stranger’s gaze drifted her way. He wore the same uniform as the others, leather, a tunic of mail, and an over tunic of black with three silver, swirling rings embroidered across the center forming a triangle. When he caught her staring, he executed a swift bow. Iain rolled his eyes and threw up his hands in defeat.

  “Come with me,” Iain murmured.

  He escorted her through a side door and up a narrow set of stairs to a surprisingly spacious chamber. The same black and silver that graced the people in the courtyard the room. Iain stood on the other side of the threshold.

  “A meal will be sent up, but I suggest you get some sleep. We have a long day tomorrow.”

  “You won’t stay and eat with me?”

  He seemed to contemplate the invitation, but ultimately shook his head.

  “No.” He turned on his heel, pulling the door closed behind him.

  Evie stood in the middle of the room, taking it in. A few bookshelves piled high with leather bound tomes, all stuffed haphazardly onto the rough wood of the shelves; a lone window, panes thick and bubbled; a small, stooped desk with a lone candle standing sentinel over the inkwell and stack of parchment paper; and a simple wardrobe looming over the rest of the room from the opposite wall. The latter was flanked on one side by a full-length mirror spotted with age and on the other by a dummy holding a full suit of armor. The three-swirled symbol was etched across the chest.

  She ran her fingers over the symbol, and then opened the wardrobe.

  Inside hung some more leather leggings, reinforced leather tunics and white underthings. Her eyes grew wide as she took in what was displayed around the clothing: knives of every size, a long, intricately hilted sword, and a beautifully crafted bow with matching leather quiver. She quickly shut the doors. She would feel much safer with those out of sight.

  A knock on the door came, and a young man entered, carrying a battered tray laden with food. He probably wasn’t any older than she, but he shuffled in, head lowered, as if he were waiting for her to beat him with a stick. She tried her softest, friendliest smile, but he didn’t even look up as he set the food down on the desk.

  “Thank you,” she murmured. Her stomach knotted and she realized how hungry she was.

  He bowed low and backed out of the room.

  Evie lifted a brow as the door clicked shut, and then dug into the roasted fish, potatoes, and warm bread. The food was accompanied by a large mug of ale, and she gulped it down, throat straining when she swallowed too quickly.

  Full to bursting, she stripped down to the white underclothes, tossed the leathers over a chair, and fell into the bed. It was fluffy and warm, the quilts covered with a heavy white fur. She nestled into the down pillows, closed her eyes, and found she couldn’t sleep.

  Only when she imagined Alec, his hands running down her body, that she drifted off to a sleep filled with him.

  ****

  It was dark when she awoke, but if there was one thing she remembered about her time with Alec in the Otherworld, it was that time made no sense.

  Muffled voices echoed up from the courtyard, and curious as to why Iain hadn’t already begun banging on her door, she threw off the bedcovers and quickly pulled on the clothes she’d worn the day before. She wished there was water for a bath but had a sinking suspicion the basin and bowl on the cabinet in the corner were the closest thing to bathing she would be seeing in awhile, and she just couldn’t bring herself to freeze to death first thing upon waking.

  Evie opened the door and looked out into the hallway. It was dark and empty but for the single torch stationed outside her door, and another down the stairwell. She followed the little circles of orange light until she found herself back in the main hall, and then used the sounds of chanting to guide her into the courtyard.

  Men and women lined up performing what she assumed were morning exercises. With each move came a chant, a repetition of what their exercise leader called out. She counted the number of people in each row and decided there couldn’t be more than one hundred members out there, all wearing the same uniform she saw the day before; leathers, chain mail, black and silver colors.

  Iain stood off to one side, hood pulled down over his brow, obscuring his eyes, but she knew the moment he spotted her by the little jerk of his head. He left the shadows, striding over to her and taking up a spot directly behind her right shoulder.

  She frowned. She felt exposed like this, him putting her in front of him, and fought the urge to duck behind him.

  “What are you doing?” she muttered over her shoulder.

  “Watching morning training.”

  “Why?”

  “Would you prefer we be out there with them?”

  Her eyes widened as the soldiers broke out into smaller sparring groups. Some took to the far side of the courtyard with bows and quivers. “I wouldn’t know the first thing about any of this.”

  He snorted. “Let’s see if you remember anything.” He took a couple of sparring sticks from a soldier. “You were rather good with the dart, if I recall.”

  “Remember?” she echoed dumbly and took the one he offered her.

  The words were no sooner out of her mouth than he swung the end of his stick toward her. She yelped, dropped hers, and held her hands up in front of her face as the long, rounded bit of wood slammed into her stomach.

  Air knocked from her lungs as she fell backwards, her back hitting the soft mud behind her. It wrapped around her in a cold embrace, splattering her face and squishing between her fing
ers. Her breath returned in a wheezing wail as she stared accusingly at Iain.

  He leaned forward casually against his stick, grasping it between both hands, his lips quirked to the side.

  She narrowed her eyes and rolled to her hands and knees, kneeling in the muck. Slowly, she rose to her feet, fingers already aching with cold, and realized she would have use that bowl of cold water, after all.

  She flung her hands out, trying to shake off as much of the mud as she could. “What the actual heck, Iain?”

  He let out a long sigh and bent to retrieve her stick. “It looks like we have a lot of work to do.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Alec snapped the cover of his journal closed and slid it away. He’d kept journals since before arriving in Otherworld with Mora and continued once out of her thrall. Though he used them to ensure he never crossed his own path twice on the mortal side of the veil, the writing was therapeutic, and scouring the most recent notebook allowed him to relive the days since he first found Evie at the bookstore in Aggieville.

  It was Delyth who directed him to Evelyn. She was unwilling to reveal her source, her pride hurt over a failed mission. The location would help him well enough if he planned accordingly and kept his eyes and ears open. He should have thanked her for her help when he saw her.

  “Iain and his ilk are on the move. They have a great many leagues to cover, but you will do best to bide your time on the one where wildcats play on fields of royal purple.” She’d then snapped a slip of paper into his palm, a year written in her straight, stick-like hand.

  Evie’s accusation still haunted him. He understood her fear. She wanted to be seen as herself, not the wife he had lost lifetimes ago. But her hurt and desperation to leave him was as good as a knife poised to rip through his chest. He’d tried with every fiber of his being to see her as no one but Evie. But there was no denying who she was. The moment he saw her, standing in the back doorway of her parents’ house, hair sticking out and stained shirt drooping over her shoulder, he knew he finally found his missing half.

  He’d tried to separate Evie Blair from Elizabeth Meyner Carlisle. He’d thought he had even succeeded. In so many ways they were the same. And in so many they were different. Evie had a vulnerability to her that Elizabeth never possessed. Elizabeth allowed him to play at protecting her, but he’d always sensed it was an act; she didn’t need it. Elizabeth was a wild thing, a contained chaos, her edges sharp and her mind always turning. He’d loved her for her wildness, her brilliance. But she never curled into him, her innocence shining on her face as she slept. She never looked at him with tears in her eyes and begged him not to tell her he loved her. Elizabeth had been a storm, fearless. A force. Evie was so much more.

  Seeing her again in Manhattan only confirmed everything he already knew. The connection, the invisible tug pulled them together, again and again. She was the mate of his soul. Finding Iain with her outside the coffee shop only confirmed it. For him, there was no turning back. He was hers for eternity, just as he’d always been.

  At first, he thought Iain followed her only to find him. Laid her out as bait to track him down and drag him back to Mora’s stronghold in the heart of the Otherworld. He’d kept his eyes on the skies, his senses trained on the crows. But they didn’t trail him. Didn’t watch him as he passed. Didn’t care when he sent them scattering.

  Because they were not after him. They wanted her.

  And yet the look on her face, of fear and betrayal and, dare he say, the vestiges of disgust, made him question every moment they spent together.

  Anxiety and fear left him in the little cottage in the wilds of the Otherworld, reading over his own clumsy writings about love and fate and destiny, contemplating whether he should wait in the shadows, ready to protect her at all costs, or whether he should leave her alone as she asked.

  Both options threatened to shred him apart from the inside.

  ****

  Evie loosed the arrow. It pierced the center of the target. She grinned, grabbed another, and took aim. The second took up the space a fraction of an inch from its twin. A third impaled the target between them, the fletching flicking in the breeze.

  Her gaze shifted to Iain’s target. She’d done just as well as he had. “Tell me again how I will need years of practice.”

  “What makes you think you haven’t done just that?”

  He handed the bow to one of the soldiers standing behind him. She ignored him and did the same. The woman who accepted it was a handful of years her senior, with mousy brown hair and a wicked scar across her left cheek. Evie bounced as she joined Iain, her leg hurting not a bit.

  “This feels exhilarating,” she said cheerfully, her face still bright with her accomplishment.

  She didn’t know how long they had been there. She supposed it didn’t really matter, though occasionally she wished she’d had the foresight to do as Alec did and write it all down. Perhaps seeing it on paper would help her make sense of time. What she did know was that for every morning since she had been there—whatever morning meant, it always seemed different—she met Iain down in the courtyard and they had sparred, practiced knife throwing, fought with swords, and pushed each other through target practice. He’d been patient with her at first, becoming more stern and demanding the more familiar the weapons felt in her hands.

  She’d been a disaster at first, and Iain wouldn’t let her train near any of the others. Her days were spent in the mud and dirt until she found she was more than adept, and only then did he bring the others around. She could now best every one of them so long as she kept her mind clear and muscle memory to good use.

  The bow and arrow was her greatest talent, though she quite liked the throwing knives, as well. They were like darts, and the quicker her fingers, the more accurate they were, planting themselves just where she wished them to go.

  The sword’s weight gave her the most trouble, though she held her own against Iain, even when he wielded two. Knowing she had infinite amounts of time slowed her pursuit of truth, and for the time being, she enjoyed being honed into a weapon.

  None of the others ever spoke to her, and though loneliness often crept in, she was often too exhausted to care. She took her meals alone most days, but Iain occasionally joined her. He was her sole companion.

  She stared up at him. He had shaved that morning. Usually, his jaw was shadowed with stubble but he left a bit of a mustache and a sinister-looking triangle of hair on his chin. It was almost dashing. Almost.

  “Flora told me we were companions. Once.”

  His eyebrows rose. “You saw Flora?”

  “You didn’t know?”

  He shook his head as they entered the main hall.

  “Hmm” she murmured. “You were the one who tipped me off. I was starting to wonder if you had done it intentionally.”

  They turned up the stairs and she waited for his response. “Well?”

  “Well what?”

  “Tell me about us being companions.”

  “You mean in the solstice kingdoms?”

  She nodded. “Where else?”

  Something in his eyes flashed, but it was quickly gone and he leaned against the wall outside her door. “Yes, we spent some time with King Hafgan before traveling with Flora to Annwn.”

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  “Tell me about it.” She sauntered into her room, leaving the door open in invitation.

  Evie pulled the laces loose on her uniform as she approached the wash basin. It was mysteriously filled with warm water every morning after their training sessions, and sometimes a silver tub would be waiting for her next to the hearth, but it was noticeably absent.

  Iain entered behind her, quietly shutting the door behind him. She turned away to splash water on her face before scrubbing away the grime with a small hand towel.

  “You were there for Flora. I was there for you.”

  “For me?” She patted her chin dry and turned to him.

 
; “Mmm.”

  “You can’t just talk in grunts and sighs,” she complained as she dropped the towel and sat down on the edge of the bed to unlace the boots.

  “Can’t I?”

  “No. You promised you would tell me what you know.”

  “And I will. After I bring you to her.”

  She rolled her eyes and kicked off the boots, then stood to pull the black tunic over her head, revealing her breast band. It would have been amusing to drop it on the floor with the rest and watch him try to avoid looking at her, but she took pity on him and left it in place.

  “Flora said you were in love with me,” she said as she returned to the wash bowl to sponge away the sweat collected under her arms and across her lower back.

  Iain stared at the ceiling, but his cheeks warmed to a pretty shade of rose.

  “Is that why it didn’t take much to get you to sleep with me in Kansas?”

  “I don’t remember any sleeping,” he grumbled.

  She laughed. “Well, were you?”

  He turned his gaze to the tips of his boots before taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. “Perhaps I thought myself so for awhile.”

  “Really?” She was thoroughly shocked he answered her.

  “Why is that so surprising?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the heavy wood of the door.

  She paused mid-scrub, the hand towel poised over one elbow. The water ran in rivulets down her flesh, dripping onto the floor, slipping between her skin and the leather pants she had loosened.

  “I don’t know… I suppose I see you as a silent automaton.”

  “A what?”

  “You know, a machine that just does as it’s been programmed…” She flushed and twisted her mouth to the side.

  “I suppose you would see that.”

  “Iain, I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s fine,” he murmured. “I’ve been… serving her for so long, I suppose I have perhaps lost a bit of my…” He stopped, as if thinking of the word he would like to use. He lifted up a finger and ran the back of it along her cheek. “Humanity.”

  Her lips parted, but words stuck in her throat. His eyes grew soft, his gaze dropping to her mouth.