Mists of Velvet (6 page)

“An admirable quality,” the angel mocked, “if one desires to be bound to an altar and mutilated.”

The fierce protectiveness that came naturally to him all but swallowed up Keir’s rational thought. “He’s a mortal. He has free will. He will do as he chooses, regardless of warnings.”

Suriel shrugged. “I think you could have stopped him from a fate we both know is awaiting him.”

“Rhys isn’t suicidal. And he isn’t magical. He won’t be able to open the door to the cave, and he won’t intentionally get himself killed.”

“Fate is a funny thing,” Suriel said. “You cannot outrun it, or alter it, no matter how hard you try. It is the same even in your world, is it not?”

Fisting his hands at his sides, Keir strived to keep his emotions under control. But the truth was, he was unraveling. Something was happening to him, and he couldn’t explain it. A piece of him was dying inside, and it had nothing to do with what was happening in Annwyn, or Rhys.

“What are your motives?” Keir suddenly snarled. He didn’t trust Suriel, and he didn’t believe for one minute the angel was all he appeared to be. This concern for Rhys was some kind of ruse to deflect Keir from Suriel’s true purpose.

“My motives are my own. What about yours?”

“Mine?” he choked. “What the hell are you insinuating, Suriel?”

“Just that we all have parts to play in this prophecy. And those parts are preordained. Like fate, we cannot alter what we are.”

“What are you, Suriel?”

“A fallen angel. And what about you, wraith? What are you, really?”

“You know what I am.”

Suriel’s slow smile raised the hair on Keir’s nape. “Yes. I do. I do know.”

“Just stay the hell away from me, and Rhys, too!” Keir thundered. “Stick to your mortals here on Earth, and I’ll worry about Annwyn.”

“Very well.” Suriel moved to leave, then stopped. “There will come a time—very soon, in fact—when you will humble yourself before me. You will request a favor of me, and I will not be able to grant it.”

“What a surprise,” Keir mocked.

“Fate, wraith. Remember, it cannot be altered.”

“So why bother to tell me?”

“Because when that time comes, I don’t want you to believe that my refusal to give you what you desire most has anything to do with this petty disagreement today.”

“I want nothing from you, Suriel.”

“You will. Now, I have one more visit to make; then I’ll be gone again. Give my regrets to the crow for missing him, and tell him not to bother trying to find me again.”

Keir watched as Suriel disappeared in a shaft of glimmering crystals. Bastard. He didn’t like him, but more importantly, he didn’t trust him—never had. There was a darkness to Suriel. He had seen it in a divination, as well as with his waking eyes. Suriel was hiding something, and that made him more dangerous than ever.

Perhaps if he weren’t so damned tired and weak, he might be able to reason it out, to discover what it was that set his nerves on edge whenever Suriel was around. But the truth was, his brain was fried, and his concentration was shit.

Flopping down into Rhys’ chair, Keir placed his head on the desk and pressed his eyes shut. He felt out of control, angry, insolent. He was worried about Rhys, and he felt guilty as hell for the way he had been leaving him alone the past few weeks, not to mention the way they seemed to be bickering like an old married couple.

He’d tried to tell himself that Rhys was safe enough within the walls of Velvet Haven, but he knew better than that. The human woman had been taken from the club and sacrificed out in the open. No place—and no one—was safe from the Dark Mage.

Especially not a mortal like Rhys. He had plenty of Sidhe pride, and fiery Fey blood, but none of the magick.

Damn it, Keir knew better than to leave. He was Rhys’ Shadow Wraith, created to follow him through life, guarding and guiding. But he’d been doing a shitty job of it.

But it wouldn’t be forever, he reminded himself. Soon, the reason for his distraction would be gone.

The pain of that admission cost him. If he had a heart, it would be twisted and squeezed, making him breathless. It was unbelievable to him that he had done the unthinkable. He had fallen in love with a mortal woman. And not just any mortal, he thought with hatred, but one who was dying.

Rowan. Even the image of her flashing in his mind caused him pain. He couldn’t lose her, but he knew he was going to. There was nothing he could do; it was fate, just as Suriel said. As much as Keir despised the truth, he knew it was so. There was nothing in the mortal realm or in Annwyn that could save her.

If only his love could.

Jesus, he was fucked up. He was a Shadow Wraith, his existence tied to Rhys. But his soul was overtaken by a dying mortal, who didn’t even realize he loved her—wanted her and fantasized about being deep inside her.

If he could only have her—just once, to feel her and keep her memory alive. Just once, and she would live forever in his memory.

A gentle tapping at his hand made him open his eyes. Cliodna, his little wren, pecked gingerly at his thumb. All seers—or shamans, as they were known in Annwyn—had animal allies who bonded with them; he had been chosen by this wren. It had always made sense to Keir that this little bird had chosen him. In the Otherworld, the wren, or
dreathan-donn
, was a sacred bird, considered to be a messenger from the deities. Cliodna’s magical musical voice and complex song were a source of divination for him.

Picking her up in his palm, he met her black gaze. “What is it you wish me to know?” he murmured while brushing his thumb along her back.

Cliodna began to sing, and while she did, he focused on her gaze, the feel of her soft plumage beneath his thumb. He quieted his thoughts, so her magical song could bring him into a trancelike state. He was weak, having not fed from Rhys’ energy in days, which made it much more difficult to alter his state of consciousness.

Patiently, his wren sang, until he could at last enter his meditative trance. Instantly, his spirit was transported to Annwyn, while his physical form remained rooted in the mortal plane. He saw himself in a dark chamber, a woman’s form on a bed, draped in white.

Keir felt his mind begin to race, despite his deeply entranced state. It was Rowan. He felt her and the instant desire to take her and claim her. But she was still, her face covered with the white cloth.

Cliodna sang louder, and he glanced away from the body on the bed to the wren. That was the trouble with divination. One could not pick and choose when it came to visions, or bring one to an end when it became too disturbing.

He didn’t want to continue, but the wren sang on, forcing him to interpret her musical notes as verbal directions.

Pulling the sheet off, Keir was not shocked to discover that it was Rowan lying beneath the sheet. He knew her shape, her scent, as intimately as if he had lain with her. But he hadn’t, and he likely never would. Perhaps that was the reason he stood now, studying her, absorbing every nuance of her beauty and innocence.

She was naked, her body full and voluptuous, despite her illness. Her pale skin was smoothed and unmarked. The turquoise eyes he found so enticing were closed, giving her the appearance that she slept. But her chest was still, her breathing silent. It was not the repose of slumber; it was the repose of death. A feather quill, an inkwell, a candle, and a piece of folded paper were placed above her head. An athame, its blade tip stained with something rust-colored, was placed to her left. Beneath the blade, three perfect drops of blood glistened upon the white sheet. And in her hand, peeking out from between her fingers, was a feather.
Cliodna’s feather
.

The wren’s song pierced his thoughts, and he heard words rise up between her musical notes.
“So must it be done.”

“No!” he roared, severing the astral link. He awoke as his mind and soul slammed back into his physical body. Sweating and breathing hard, Keir opened his eyes, his mind whirling with what he had seen, his body exhausted from the journey. Cliodna was still perched on his hand, her head cocked to the side as she studied him with eyes that suddenly looked sorrowful.

“Was it a vision of what is to come, or a possibility that may be altered?” he asked.

And for the first time since his little wren had chosen him, Cliodna’s song was that of silence.

In the darkened hall of the temple, Bronwnn stood in awe of the great king. His magical powers were palpable, and the fear he lit within her was very real.

“You are the seer Cailleach speaks of?” he asked.

She nodded, and started at the sound of a bird approaching. Cailleach’s
oidhche
, no doubt. The owl was not just Cailleach’s pet, but a spy she enjoyed sending out into Annwyn.

“There is nothing to fear,” the king murmured as he cupped her chin, forcing her to meet his mysterious, mismatched eyes. “’Tis only a wren.”

The little bird flew out of an alcove and then out through the arched window that led to the inner courtyard. She had seen that particular
dreathan-donn
on her travels through the woods. The bird’s hauntingly lovely song was embedded in her mind, because seeing the wren always preceded a vision of her lover—a dream lover she now realized was going to be her mate.

“You have taken a vow of silence, I am told.”

Refusing the urge to look away from the king, she nodded. He looked down upon her, watching and studying her as if she were some strange new creature he had never before seen.

“You have a look about you, little one. Something familiar,” he murmured. “The memory is so close; yet whenever I try to reach out and claim it, it floats away like mist.”

Bronwnn allowed him to tilt her chin as he looked at her from all angles. “Have you ever been to Velvet Haven?”

She shook her head. She had heard of it, of course, but had never gone farther from the temple than her walks in the woods and the little cottage that was her secret from Cailleach.

Releasing her chin, he allowed her to take a step away from him. Her hands no longer shook, she realized, as she smoothed them along the front of her white gown.

“Cailleach informs me you are the order’s scribe. Your visions are prophecies.”

She inclined her head, hoping he would not ask how she came by her visions. That secret she could not give up.

“I sense something in you. A great power. I wonder if Cailleach senses it. Is that why she wishes to gift you to the wraith?”

He was thinking out loud. He did not need an answer from her. And thank the goddess, for she would not know how to reply.

“You heard me name my warriors. What do you think of my choices?”

A shrug was her answer. She knew little outside her world. She knew only what her visions had foretold—that there would be nine warriors, and one of them would be a Destroyer; a powerful, powerful apprentice to the Dark Mage, who would either destroy Annwyn and the mortal realm, or the very master he served.

The king seemed to understand her, despite her silence. “Tell me, do you know which of the nine will betray Annwyn?”

She shook her head vigorously, hoping he could see her seriousness.

He sighed, but he looked kindly at her. “We are allies, are we not?” he asked as he held out his palm to her. “I will protect you. Even from Cailleach. All I ask is that you come to me with any new visions that may aid us. You can trust me, Bronwnn. My word is my bond—and my honor. I do not give it lightly. But you can believe me in this. I will not let you suffer, not under the wraith, nor under Cailleach.”

She smiled, feeling light with joy. She had an ally in the king. As he started to move away, she reached for his hand and clutched it in her own. Turning his palm up, she traced the lines with her fingertips and closed her eyes.

He was searching for his brother, and Bronwnn vowed to gift him with anything she might see. If the king had vowed to protect her from Cailleach, it was the very least she could do.

Images of water came to her—a long snaking river that traveled through darkness. A tunnel? A cavern? A pathway? It was a cavern of sorts, with strange symbols not of her world; yet the river was in Annwyn.

Opening her eyes, she met his gaze, then reached into the little satchel she wore at her side and pulled out the notebook she carried in order to communicate with Cailleach.
Begin at the reflection pool
, she wrote quickly,
and follow the river, until it leads to a cavern, where you will see mortal cipher. Your brother waits at the end
.

Tearing the page free, she pressed it into his palm, then slipped away, knowing she had stayed too long in the hall. Cailleach would have need of her soon, and Bronwnn did not wish to arouse her suspicions. But before she could leave, the king clasped his fingers around her wrist and stopped her. The wren was back, she noticed, perched on the thick stone sill.