Mists of Velvet (37 page)

Instantly, he released Cailleach.

With a roar of outrage, the angel fought until the venom began to paralyze him. With a thud, he fell to the floor, his sightless eyesholes peering up at the ceiling.

Rhys ran to him. “Are you the Dark Mage?” he demanded as he started to search the angel’s ragged clothes.

“Camael,” he whispered, his mouth beginning to froth.

“What are you doing here?”

“My child.”

Rhys followed Cailleach’s gaze to Rowan. “Rowan is your child?”

“Yes.”

“Where is the mage?”

“Hiding. Waiting for her death. He covets what is inside her.”

“What is inside her?” Keir demanded.

“A symbol of great power,” spoke a disembodied voice. It was followed by the sweep of a black shadow, a flash of light, and then Suriel was revealed. “Covetina’s amulet. It is one of the keys he needs.”

Suriel walked around the prone body of Camael and gazed down. “What has he done to you?”

Camael ignored Suriel, and, instead, opened his palm to Cailleach. He motioned to her. With great effort he spoke. “Uriel . . . is the mage. He searches . . . for his flame. The witch Morgan stole it from him and hid it within the one she cursed.” He took a pained breath. “I was there when she did it. I heard the spell, but I do not know who it was. He is vulnerable . . . He grows more fearful as time passes without it.”

“Carden,” Bran said. “He was cursed by her.”

Cailleach bent to him and reached for his hand. “You will be taken back to Annwyn, where my healers will rid you of the poison. And then you will join us,” Cailleach said, her gaze pointed on Bran; then it focused on Drostan. “Griffin, summon Camael to the temple.”

The griffin stepped forward and held out his palms. The golden light of summon magick swirled in his palms, and then Camael was gone.

“Suriel!” Keir demanded. “Rowan is dying. Do something!”

Suriel bent to Rowan and brushed his hand along her hair. “This is the moment, wraith, when you will request something of me, and I must refuse you.”

“Damn it, don’t you play games with me, you son of a bitch.”

“I cannot save her. Her path lies elsewhere, not with us. But I can facilitate her death. It will be painless.”

“What can I do? What can I offer in return for her life?”

“Nothing. She might have been fathered by an angel, but now she is a mortal with a mortal’s soul. She belongs to Him, and He wants her back.”

Keir cursed at the sky, calling Him every foul name he knew.

“Please,” Keir begged, and Rhys felt the agony that filled him. “I will do anything.”

“There is nothing to be done.”

“There has to be a way.”

“Keir,” Rhys murmured, taking a step toward him, but he heard Keir’s voice, hard, biting, warning him back, wanting him away. But Rhys ignored it and placed his hand on Keir’s shoulder. He looked down at Rowan, whose eyes were open, her face contorted in pain. Rhys could not bear to look at her. Whatever the mage had done to her, she was dying in pain and terror. “She suffers under his spell. Let her go.”

“No!” Keir snarled, hugging Rowan to him. “No, she doesn’t.”

“The mortals believe in the afterworld, and you believe in transmigration,” Suriel reminded him. “Is it not one and the same? The life essence or soul of a living thing passes immediately from the old body into a new life after physical death.”

Keir shook his head, not wanting to hear anything other than that Rowan would live. But she would not live—not for much longer. Pressing his face to her, Keir kissed her, his large body protectively covering her as he held her in his arms.

“If you love her,” Rhys murmured, “then let her last moments be peaceful.”

Rhys felt Keir’s inner struggle. His love was strong, but his grief was stronger.

“This is not the end for her, Shadow Wraith,” Suriel said. “You will meet again.”

“In how many mortal lifetimes? How many centuries will I have to wait for our paths to cross again?”

“I do not know your destinies.”

Keir clutched Rowan to his chest. He wanted to be alone with her. Rhys heard his thoughts and honored them.

Motioning to the chapel door, Rhys nodded in the direction of the moonlight. Everyone filed out, including Suriel, to give Keir some privacy with Rowan.

With a sigh, Rhys clutched Bronwnn to his chest, holding her tight. He couldn’t lose her—ever. He wasn’t strong enough to endure what Keir was going through.

“Rhys, descendant of Daegan.”

Rhys lifted his gaze to find the goddess leaning against Bran and Sayer. She was weak and frail, her powers swiftly draining.

“You saved me. Even though I would have killed you had Bronwnn not offered an
adbertos
, you saved my life.”

He shrugged. “We mortals are like that. We forgive.”

“Then I have much to learn,” she whispered, “for I have never forgiven. I would offer you something in return—I would offer you Bronwnn.”

Bronwnn turned around and gazed up at the goddess. “You would give me my mate?”

“I would. For he is worthy of you,” Cailleach murmured. “And the wraith deserves to mourn his woman. The mortal is yours with my blessing. I must leave now. My soul is tied to Annwyn, and I cannot exist outside my realm. But it is my hope that you will both be able to find peace in Annwyn.”

Rhys grabbed Bronwnn and kissed her hard, pouring all his love into that one kiss. While his heart was soaring that Bronwnn was to be his, he felt the pain of Keir watching his love slip away.

“Rowan,” Keir murmured as he pressed his lips to her cheek, “don’t leave me. Not yet.”

She was growing cold in his arms, and he hugged her closer, rocking her. For the first time in his existence, he felt his eyes well up, and then a tear fell, only to land on her pale cheek.

“I would do anything, give anything, if only I could have you back.”

She did not answer. She only looked at him with those blank eyes. And he knew it was too late to save her in this lifetime. But there was a way. He had seen it in his vision.

“One night is not enough,” he said, his voice catching, then breaking. “It has only made me love you more.”

He continued to rock her, to kiss her cheeks. His tears tumbled onto her, and he clutched her closer. “If love could save you, you would live forever,” he whispered. But there was no reply, and he closed his eyes against the reality of what was happening.

“You have made me the thief of your heart,” he murmured. “I am forced to take it, to steal it, and hide it away until you come back.”

He knew what he must do, and he reached for the athame lying on the floor next to him. Then he pulled one of the satin ties from his pocket. It was one of the ones she had used to tie him up, and it still bore her scent. He closed his eyes, inhaling it, bringing her into his lungs, and filling his soul with memories of her. Then he placed the satin over her chest and picked up the athame.

“Your blood is precious. I will keep it with me, and, though you are unable to speak, I know you would have it so.” Keir glanced at the quartz still around her throat. It was truth enough. He could find her anywhere as long as she wore it. And then he took the tip of the athame and pricked her finger, allowing three perfect circles of crimson blood to drop onto the white satin.

“I will find you anywhere you are,” he whispered as he kissed her cold lips. “I have the power. Come to me when you are reborn.”

Keir watched as Rowan took her last breath.

He had talked to her, whispered to her, told her they would find each other again, and he believed she had heard him. He had told her to come find him when her soul settled into its new vessel, and he believed she would. She had to, because he could not exist without her.

Butterflies circled, gathering around her. One landed on his shoulder, and he watched its white wings, edged in blue, flutter elegantly. On the windowsill, his wren sang a melancholy song that matched what was in his soul.

“We will meet again,” he whispered to the woman he loved.

In his arms, her body turned hot, then slowly crumbled to ash, just as he had seen in a divination. Wind from somewhere came and spread her ashes, leaving nothing but dust in his hands—even the quartz pendant was gone—and on the floor, by his knee, a metal ring. Picking it up, he saw the triscale—the gems. With a start, he realized what it was. It was the first key to the prophecy, the amulet.

As he pocketed it, Cliodna sang out a warning, which he quelled with a dark look. It was a part of Rowan, and he would surrender nothing.

“Raven,” Suriel murmured, “come with me.”

Bran motioned for them to follow Suriel up a long, darkened path that wound uphill. At the top, Suriel stopped and gazed down at the little chapel. “A house of mourning. A garden of pain.” Suriel’s hand encompassed the manicured gardens that shone in the moonlight before he motioned to the set of trees behind him. “A path of tears.”

Bran gazed at the angel, and Rhys began to understand. “The cemetery is beyond those trees.”

“And where there is a cemetery, there is statuary.”

Everyone began running, all but Rhys and Bronwnn who stood on the hilltop and held each other. Silently they watched the chapel, waiting for Keir to emerge.

When Rhys saw the little white butterflies begin to circle around them, he knew something had happened. Beside him, Bronwnn gasped.

“
Dealan-De
,” she whispered. “Butterflies. Souls of the dead, and the keepers of power. No harm will come to you where you see butterflies.”

And Rhys knew it for the truth. Butterflies were the souls of the dead. Rowan was gone, and Keir’s anguish tore through him, making him stagger.

In the distance, he heard Bran’s cry of triumph. Carden had been found. But the joy was short-lived, for Rhys was suddenly consumed with the wraith’s need for vengeance, with a rage that swamped him and forced him to his knees. Bronwnn cried out and embraced him. But Keir had no one to hold him; no one to comfort him as Rowan lay dead in his arms.

Rhys stared out the window and into the moonlit garden. It had been two weeks since they had found Carden, still cursed and encased in stone. Two weeks had passed since Rowan’s death, and Keir had locked himself into his room, refusing to see anyone.

“You must eat something,” Bronwnn whispered as she came up behind him and wrapped her arms around him.

Holding her hands, he dropped a kiss onto her knuckles. “I will.”

“You worry for the wraith.”

“I hate to see him this way.”

“You don’t have to.”

Cailleach had lifted his curse, which had severed the bond between him and Keir. But although their bond was fading, Rhys could still hear Keir’s thoughts and feel his pain. He was alone in that room, refusing to see anyone—even him.

“Go to him,” she murmured.