The Cathedral of Cliffdale (18 page)

Chapter 27

“How is it possible?” Tristan was still struggling to reconcile what he had seen last night with what he knew to be true. He, Quinn and Isaiah were standing in the cornflower field, having bid farewell to the unicorns that had brought them back. A few yards away Camille’s furious voice was taking an elated Monique to task.

“A dragon rider?’ Quinn interrupted, also looking to Isaiah for answers. She had heard of it before, decades ago, but she had never seen anything like it. Tristan, who had been a Guardian less than a tenth of the time she had, had not heard of it at all.

“Yes,” Isaiah watched Monique reverently. “She must be a descendant of Alain – he was the first dragon rider.” Alain, like Isaiah and Daniel, had been one of the original twelve Guardians.  

“But... if she’s a descendant of Alain, then so is...” Quinn gaped at Tristan.

“Tristan,” Isaiah nodded, “yes, he must be.” Although the descendants of all Guardian families were kept track of, nobody remembered who was descended from whom. It was only important that the families of any living Guardians were traceable.

“Can you...?” Quinn raised her brow incredulously at Tristan.

“No,” he shook his head, “I’m pretty sure I can’t ride them. Not that I’ve ever been close enough to try – I generally run in the opposite direction when they start hurling fire at me.” Now that Monique was safe all the tension had left him. Quinn smiled, marvelling at his resilience and how quickly he had recovered. Tristan smiled back, and a moment passed between them that Quinn was not sure she entirely understood. Something flashed in his eyes, an emotion she had not seen in a very long time and certainly not directed at her – not since Avery had unwittingly come between them.

“A dragon will not breathe its fire at a rider,” Isaiah pointed out, which answered Quinn’s question. Tristan was no dragon rider.

“She’s letting her get into her stride,” Tristan mused, as the sound of Camille’s voice grew louder and more agitated. “You’ve got to agree and apologise quickly or she gains momentum. I better go and save her,” he added, loping off in the direction of his niece and irate sister.

“The girl has the most natural affinity for our precious creatures of any Guardian I have ever seen,” Isaiah mused thoughtfully.

“What does it mean?” Quinn asked, sensing there was more to his words.

“Possibly that my time as a Guardian is coming to an end.” His answer was so candid that Quinn flinched.

“What?”

He turned to face her, his face perfectly tranquil.

“Amongst the Guardians there have always been those with a certain natural affinity – they find their place immediately – their niche, you could call it. Daniel and his Hunters were born to pursue the enemies of the wards, although Blair is more nurturing than most. Other Guardians serve only to protect. I have always been closest to the inhabitants of Summerfeld and they have trusted me above all others. Now it seems that Monique has surpassed me in that respect.” Quinn did not answer. The thought of the guardianship without Isaiah was too awful to bear thinking about.

“What am I, then?” she murmured, wondering about her own place within the Guardian council. Her guilt at leaving was, in this moment, stronger than ever before.

“You will find your niche, Quinn. You question and you challenge – more so than anyone ever has. You have lost your way and you have a great journey ahead of you, but I am confident that you will find your way back. I think you will bring about a great change.”

“What kind of change?”

“I have no idea,” he smiled, “but I sincerely hope that I am around to witness it.”

Slowly, they were eating away at her resolve, without even being aware of it. Quinn could feel her resistance crumbling, the lure of her Guardian life calling, almost too powerful to resist.

“I must go,” she announced, as they made their way toward the fountain. Nobody said a word, but a dark glance passed between Isaiah and Tristan. Isaiah nodded his head discreetly and Tristan followed her through the Gateway and into the Cathedral.

“Quinn, please stay.” Tristan finally spoke, as they reached her car. The sunlight danced off the golden streaks in his hair. His blue eyes held her own, pleading with her to reconsider.

“I have to find Avery’s crystal,” she insisted. “I need to make sure that Jack and Ava are safe.”

“They would have been safe with Kellan and Freya.” She could hear the underlying message in his voice. Tristan wanted her to forgive him for his and Avery’s decision to allow the Faery couple to adopt their children. In truth, Quinn had grudgingly accepted that being raised by Kellan and Freya would not have been the worst thing that could have happened to Jack and Ava. They would have been loved and well-cared for, and she could have visited them often. In the absence of that option, though, Quinn had to revert to her previous plan. She would find Avery’s crystal and barter for their safe return, and the time that she needed to raise them in the realm of man.

“You think I don’t care for them, don’t you?” It was not really a question, and he continued quickly, “Quinn, I don’t for one second think that the Guardians would let any harm come to Jack and Ava. If I did, do you honestly think I wouldn’t have sought them out myself?”

“It’s not just about keeping them safe,” she countered, “it's about them being loved and being with family – with people who would die to protect them.”

“The Guardians would die to protect them.”

“Perhaps. But they would not love them as a mother would.”

“Would you?” he asked cryptically, “would you love Avery’s and my children as if they were your own? After everything that happened?” Never before had they spoken about what had transpired between them before Tristan met Avery. It was as though it had never happened. Quinn’s eyes widened in surprise at his boldness in bringing it up now. Lifting her chin she met his gaze defiantly, daring him to contradict her. 

“I do love them like my own, Tristan. What the hell do you think I’m doing all of this for?”

“For Avery?” he murmured, stepping closer to her. Quinn nodded, unable to speak. “For me?” he crooned; his voice low and heavy with meaning. She wanted to lash out at him, to deny that she would ever do anything for him after all he had put her through, but she couldn’t find the words. Blinking, she nodded again. 

Tristan seemed to grow in stature as he inhaled deeply, comprehension dawning on his astonished face. He lifted his hand towards her cheek and Quinn almost closed her eyes in anticipation of his touch. Almost. Her tanzanite eyes flew open a second before he reached her, and she stepped away from him.

“I’ll see you around, Tristan,” she yanked open the car door and got inside, starting the engine and pulling away before he could utter a single word.

Tristan stood dumbfounded, in the exact same spot, watching the car until it disappeared over the crest of the hill. For just a second Quinn had shown him something; a vulnerability he would never have believed of her if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes. He lifted his hand and stared at it, fascinated. He had almost touched her – he had wanted to touch her. Tristan had loved Quinn; he had thought he would never feel that way again until he had met Avery. Avery had captivated and enchanted him from the moment they met; it was as if all his feelings for Quinn had been redirected and amplified a thousand fold.

In the euphoria of his newfound bliss he had initially not grasped the gravity of his betrayal and the extent of the pain that he had caused her, but, as the years had gone by, the hollow look in Quinn’s eyes had begun to haunt him. She was so brave and so fearless, and she had stepped aside at great personal cost so that he and Avery could be happy. Tristan had tried to treat her with kindness, but every act had seemed to hurt her even more and her beautiful bruised eyes caused him pain. And then... Avery had died. And the sorrow in Quinn’s eyes had been replaced by a black hatred, so intense that he could barely stand it. In the end, he had simply stopped talking to her, stopped looking at her. She had disappeared shortly after and he had turned his focus to his Guardian duties – throwing himself into his work.

He had been completely unprepared when Isaiah had told him that Quinn had returned to Summerfeld. He had followed her and Kellan to Dragon’s Peak with the intention of putting the past behind them, but he had found Quinn in danger and he could not allow anything to happen to her. He had been even more unprepared for the physical reaction he had experienced holding her in his arms in that cave in the mountain. Since then he had watched her closely. Quinn had changed – she was harder, more unyielding, more determined. She had always been stronger than Avery, not on the surface, but deep down where it mattered. He had just never seen it before.

It took a few miles of driving before Quinn could get her breathing back to normal. How dare he, she thought to herself. How dare he dredge up old memories... memories that she had spent years trying to repress. She would not let Tristan get under her skin again, there was too much at stake.

Chapter 28

“Why are we moving camp?” Jonas asked, as Balthazar packed up the Chevy.

“There are woods, not far from here,” his father replied curtly, “and a freshwater stream. It’s only about an hour’s drive.” Jonas nodded, satisfied. At least they weren’t leaving the area and their current living arrangement was hardly comfortable, with nothing to shelter them from the baking sun.

Balthazar had picked a campsite miles from the portal to Summerfeld, and deep within the trees. He did not want any of his people stumbling upon the canyon, or any of the Guardians stumbling across them.

“Don’t you think you should tell him?” Rowena murmured, approaching silently.

“Not yet.” Balthazar shook his head. He didn’t want to start a riot. Many of the gypsies had also been searching for generations and he couldn’t be certain that they wouldn’t flock to the City in pandemonium. He had to find a way to tell them, but only once he could contain them.

“Jonas starts school tomorrow.” This reminder was met with a surly frown. “It might be good for him,” she persisted, “to meet some people his own age.”

“You know exactly what is going to happen at that school,” Balthazar would not be convinced. It pained him to think of the cruel treatment his son would endure.

“You never know,” Rowena sighed, but secretly, she knew Balthazar was right. “Anyway,” she shook her head, changing the subject, “there’s a market fair coming up. It’s a decent-size town so hopefully we’ll have a good turn-out.”

Balthazar softened, reaching for her and planting a kiss on her smooth forehead. Rowena and her girls were the only reason that they had managed to survive for so long. They made more money at the fairs than the gypsies made by any other means, although the men were constantly on the lookout for odd jobs. People had become more cynical over the years and they no longer wanted to employ drifters. The gypsies' path was not an easy one.

“What would I do without you?” he murmured into her hair.

“You would be lost,” she admitted teasingly.

“Rowena,” a feminine voice called, and Rowena stepped away from Balthazar.

“Yes, Cara?” The woman’s dirty blonde hair hung in wispy tendrils around her face, caked with sweat and dust. Nearby, her husband, Zebulon, was loading the final boxes into the back of his station wagon.

“We’re ready,” Cara replied, forcing a stilted smile. The two women had a love-hate relationship. Cara’s ancestor had been Jasmine’s best friend, and the women in both families had remained close through the generations. Rowena and Cara had grown up inseparable, sharing everything with one another. Two mischievous imps, they had, on more than one occasion, seen the tanned hide of their fathers’ belts, but this only served to bring them closer together. Blossoming into womanhood, their contrasting beauty – Rowena’s dark wantoness paired with Cara’s fair indifference – earned them the adoration of many of the youths in the camp. Both girls, however, had eyes for only one. Balthazar Blackman. Cara was more aggressive in her pursuit of their leader’s handsome son, but in the end, it was an outsider who caught Balthazar’s attention. During an extended stay near a thriving market fair, Balthazar had met a local farm girl. Plain, but kind, Rose had captured Balthazar’s heart, and despite his parents’ protests that he should marry within their community, he had taken her for his wife. Her own parents did not mind in the least, only thankful that someone had deigned to marry her, and Rose was unhampered in her desire to join the travelling community.

Conceding defeat gracefully, Rowena had embraced the girl and befriended her. Cara, green with envy, and far harder by nature, refused to even acknowledge Rose, and slowly, this caused a rift in her friendship with Rowena. Cara had gone on to marry Zebulon - a friend of Balthazar’s, and she had enjoyed a happy, although barren marriage. Rowena had never married, but she remained close with Rose, and, when Jonas was born, she doted on the boy. She had never intended to steal Balthazar’s heart after the death of her friend, only to help him with the baby, Jonas, but invariably her love for Jonas had eased Balthazar’s pain and he had begun to see her in a new light.

In the wake of Rose’s death, Rowena and Cara had rekindled their friendship. They were never again as close as they had been as children, but both women were grateful to have one another. 

“Rowena?” Cara’s voice sounded again and Rowena gave a small shake of her head.

“Thank you,” she replied, finally, smiling at her old friend. “I guess its time to go.”

As the convoy trundled along, Rowena spotted a few more cornflowers along the roadside. Like before, they defied logic; single plants growing through the dry cracked earth. Rowena could scarcely comprehend the gravity of Balthazar’s discovery. He had been right about the sign. She had always known that he would find the lost city, but now that he had – now that they had finally fulfilled their destiny, she had no idea what would happen next.

The girl sitting beside her in the passenger seat of the truck shifted, hoisting her heavy skirt off her legs in an effort to cool herself.

“It won’t be long,” Rowena soothed. Cosima was one of her charges, a young girl of nineteen who Rowena protected from the lecherous advances of the men in camp. Cosima bore a physical resemblance to Cara – she had the same lank blonde hair and pretty green eyes, but that was where the similarities ended. While Cara was outspoken and confident, Cosima shied away from anyone who got too close to her. Her fear and insecurity stemmed from a horrific past. The gypsies could be barbaric, and Cosima
had been victimised by the worst of their kind. Rowena was determined to protect her from ever having to go through anything like that again.

The entire community was delighted with their new campsite. They manoeuvred carefully through the trees to the clearing that Balthazar had picked out. The surrounding trees provided much-needed shade and they could hear the gurgling water of the nearby stream even from the campsite. Birds chirped in the trees and the soft grass was far friendlier than the hard, compacted earth.

Rowena stopped the truck with a creak of the protesting chassis and climbed out.

“They seem happy,” Balthazar remarked as he came to stand beside her.

“You made the right choice,” she replied. “We couldn’t have stayed out there for much longer.” She watched as the gypsies bounded around, their spirits buoyed. “They will be happy here.”

“There is another advantage to this particular location,” Balthazar murmured, an undercurrent in his voice. Rowena raised a dark brow and he smiled.

“Privacy.”

Leaving the others to delight in their new environment and unpack, Balthazar spirited Rowena into the trees, his need for her far outweighing his satisfaction that his people were rejuvenated.