The Rabbit and the Raven: Book Two in the Solas Beir Trilogy (3 page)

“You know I must,” Cael said. He always strived to maintain an air of dignity and authority in his position as first knight. He was a soldier, trained to keep his emotions in check. Even now, his gaze was stoic. But she knew she had always been his weakness. As he stared into her pale blue eyes, his demeanor softened. He pulled her into his arms. “Your son is determined to go with or without me. I must do everything in my power to keep him safe.”

“Of course,” Eulalia nodded. “Of course I want him to be protected.” She rested her head against his chest. “But you and I have had so little time together. There is much I need to tell you, so much I hid from you while my husband was alive.”

Cael cupped her chin, gently tilting her head up so he could see her face.

She took a breath to steady herself and continued. “I never told you, but when we were young and Ardal chose me as queen, I considered running away with you.”

“You did?”
He looked shocked.

She nodded. “I always thought you would be the one I would marry. We grew up together. You were everything to me.”

Cael ran his fingers along the length of one of her dark tresses and sighed. “Perhaps we should have run away.”

Eulalia shook her head and smiled sadly. “It would not have done for the Solas Beir’s betrothed to be with another. I had a duty to fulfill, as did you. But now there is a new Solas Beir seated on the throne, and I can finally speak the truth.”

“I am listening,” Cael whispered, his eyes locked on hers.

“Ardal’s sudden attention surprised me. Lucia was supposed to become queen, not me. What did I know of ruling a kingdom? I was just a girl. Lucia was the one everyone looked to for wisdom.” Eulalia frowned, remembering.

She was aware that people thought she was lovely, but she had always thought of Lucia as being the greater beauty. Lucia was statuesque, with the face of an angel and silvery blonde hair. Lucia was the one who had carried herself with the confidence and poise befitting a queen, the one who always knew what to say and do.

“I could not understand Ardal’s reasons for choosing me, but I knew I could not refuse him. Instead I had to deny my love for you. Eventually I did find love for Ardal and peace about my new role. But even after he was murdered, I kept my feelings for you to myself, even though you said you still cared for me. I still felt bound by duty to my kingdom and to my son. I pushed you away. The truth is, what I felt for you never died. While I was in exile, those feelings only grew. That is what allowed me to walk with you in your dreams, even from the distance of another world.”

Cael stopped her with a kiss. When he released her, she could see the weariness in his deep brown eyes. “So many years have I waited for you.”

“I know I have caused you great sorrow,” she whispered, looking away.

“You are worth it,” he assured her, cradling her cheek against his palm, giving her the courage to look back at him. “And when I return, we will wait no longer.”

Eulalia looked up at him, and he smiled. She kissed him tenderly. “Promise me, then. Promise me you will return safely, and promise you will protect my son and his friends. Bring them back to me.”

“I promise I will.”

“Here’s the plan,” David explained, “we cross through the portal with Cael, get your families as quickly and quietly as possible, and try not to attract attention. My mother will stay here with the rest of the guard, her thoughts locked on Cael’s in case we need backup. She wanted to send more soldiers with us, but Cael thought we would be less conspicuous if it was just the four of us.”

“Eulalia will sense if we’re in trouble?” Jon asked.

David nodded, thinking about the connection between Cael and Eulalia, the way Cael looked at his mother—how he had held her when they realized Lucia had a tool she could use to free Tierney. David had grown up not knowing his mother, Eulalia, the Dowager Queen. His father, Ardal, the last Solas Beir, had been assassinated soon after David was born. David was getting to know Eulalia and had learned some things about his mother’s life, but he hadn’t decided what to make of Cael yet.

Cael treated David with respect, but to David, it felt like Cael was the one in authority. The man had been tried in battle and it showed. At first glance, he was just a well-toned man in his mid-thirties; but the look in his eyes and the long scar running from his jaw to his neck told a different story.

Although David respected Cael, he wasn’t sure how he felt about the idea of Cael courting his mother. It wasn’t like he knew either of them well enough to have a right to an opinion about their relationship. It was one of those things he could focus on later, after he had figured out the rest of his new life in Cai Terenmare. Right now he had bigger fish to fry.

David ran his fingers through his dark, somewhat unruly hair. He was grateful that Cael was willing to come with them. He was only just discovering his power as Solas Beir, and knew he wasn’t yet ready to face the greatest enemy this world had known. David pulled down some armor for himself and checked to make sure Abby’s fit well enough to keep her safe. “Come on,” he said. “Time to meet up with Cael.”

Marisol watched the easy smile vanish from Ty’s face.

“It’s cool,” he muttered. “Whatever.” Standing abruptly, he walked around to the other side of the fire, where Emily sat strumming her guitar.

Emily smiled as he sat, and Marisol wondered if he’d have better luck with a fellow surfer. Em certainly had more in common with Tyler than she did.

She felt bad for turning him down. He was a sweet guy—but he wasn’t entirely sober. Still, she hadn’t meant to hurt his feelings. She really hated conflict. Her natural defense was to yield, giving someone else the right of way. It wasn’t that she wasn’t willing to stand up for what she believed in; she just didn’t see the point in fighting about trivial things. The irony, she reflected, was that she wanted to study law. She had a feeling she was going to have to get comfortable with conflict, and quickly. Maybe if she could find an area in the field that she was passionate enough about, she would stop letting people steamroll her.

She’d been steamrolled a lot lately. Most of it had to do with her mother. The world-famous Esperanza Garcia had been one of the all-time most bankable supermodels. Being that much of a household name came with a whole slew of stories publicized in the tabloids. Her history of eating disorders, her leaving modeling for painting, her sudden marriage to Marisol’s father (a wealthy, if considerably less-well-known, businessman from Dublin), their recent divorce, and the fact that Esperanza was as far from Newcastle Beach as she could get. She was focused on her new life, her boyfriend who was twenty years younger, and her exhibition at the
Guggenheim Museum Bilbao in Spain.

The only part of Esperanza Garcia’s life that had remained sacred and relatively private was Marisol. Both Marisol’s mother and father had valued protection for their daughter, and there were few photographs published of the family together. Esperanza almost never appeared at public events with her daughter. Marisol appreciated that, but she hated it too, because it felt almost as if she didn’t exist—especially now that her mom’s calls were growing more infrequent and her dad had become more immersed in his work.

Marisol found herself worrying about many things. Was her dad avoiding her because she reminded him of her mother? Was it so painful that she physically resembled Esperanza that it was driving a wedge between them? Or—and this was somehow worse—did he just not care anymore? He seemed apathetic about everything these days, except for his financial investments.

As for her mother, Marisol had mixed feelings. She hated her for leaving and yet
, she was glad she was gone, glad her parents had stopped yelling at each other and were at least being civil now that there was an ocean between them.

The other thing she hated about her mother was her former eating disorder. Even now, Esperanza was too thin, and because of her struggle with the disease, everyone assumed that she was still battling anorexia and that Marisol would follow suit.

Marisol was not too thin. She watched Michal and Monroe flirting with boys around the bonfire, and compared their bodies to hers. Her friends were stick-thin, and they were constantly urging Marisol to lose weight. It wasn’t that their criticisms were malevolent—or at least, Marisol hoped they weren’t. It just seemed like they were always pressuring her, trying to fix her. Marisol didn’t need to be fixed. Her weight was fine.
I’m perfectly healthy, thank you very much.

But because of her mother’s history and the way her friends looked, well-meaning adults often tried to intervene, adding to the pressure, because they assumed that if she wasn’t anorexic, she must be bulimic. She was neither, although denial only seemed to reinforce the assumptions. Marisol tried very hard not to focus on her weight. The hard part was that as much as she tried not to think about it, everyone around her insisted on talking about it. She just wished they would leave her alone.

She thought she heard her name and looked up. Yep, she’d heard right. Michal and some new guy from school she wanted to impress were looking over at her. Joe, was it? Marisol couldn’t remember the guy’s last name, but it didn’t matter. Why
she
was the topic of interest for Michal and Joe what’s-his-name, Marisol didn’t know, but she guessed it wasn’t for her benefit.

Michal, her best friend (well,
a
friend at least—perhaps
best
was pushing it), was one of the reasons Marisol had grown tired of high school. Michal could be moody at the best of times, and lately, it seemed like she was always irritated, constantly using Marisol as her personal doormat. Michal had been rather testy with Monroe, their other
best
friend, as well, but Monroe had always been better at deflecting the negativity, basically leaving Marisol in the line of fire.

Michal said something Marisol couldn’t quite hear. She leaned forward and managed to catch a single word: “Jon.” She groaned. Whatever they were talking about, it probably had to do with all the time Marisol had spent with Jonathon Reyes at the Newcastle Beach Inn’s Autumn Ball.

Michal despised Jon. She would have insisted that it was because she was so out of Jon’s league; Michal was disgusted by his audacity to hit on her. But Marisol suspected it was because he had the gall to flirt with Monroe and her as well, rather than make Michal the sole focus of his attention. Even if Michal didn’t want Jon, she couldn’t stand not being in the center of things. The universe
did
revolve around her, after all. And nothing captured Michal’s attention more than someone else being in the spotlight. Marisol was sure that Jon’s recent favoring of her over Michal reinforced this.

Marisol didn’t get why Michal had to be so mean about Jon—there was nothing wrong with him. Jon was cute and he made her laugh. It felt good to talk to him. There was no pressure like there was when she hung out with other people. People like Michal.

Michal glanced over, saw Marisol looking her way, and returned to her conversation. The guy apparently said something particularly witty, because Michal rewarded him with a high-pitched laugh, tucking a strand of her long blond hair behind her ear.

Annoyed, Marisol turned away.
I really need to get out of here...go someplace to clear my head.

The bonfire was on the stretch of shoreline just outside the Newcastle Beach Inn. Marisol considered taking a walk around the inn’s garden path. The stone steps leading to the path were close, and it would be safer to walk around the inn than down an isolated part of the beach. The beach in Newcastle was relatively shielded from crime because of the affluent neighborhood and a stone wall that defined its boundaries. Across the wall though, in Santa Linda, the beaches had a bad reputation as gang hangouts and
hotspots for late night drug deals. De Luna Beach, the area just north of the Newcastle wall, was not a good place for a young woman to walk alone after dark.

Marisol turned her attention back to the inn and something caught her attention. There was that creepy feeling again; she shivered and her arms broke out in goose bumps. Something bright and reflective was in the hedge near the inn. She stared at the pair of crimson lights, trying to discern what they were.

Suddenly, the lights blinked out and Marisol realized she had been right all along—something
was
watching her. She heard the breaking of twigs and branches as whatever it was scurried away like it had been caught doing something mischievous. By the noise it made, the thing with the red eyes seemed to be headed for the blackness of a grove of trees growing between the fortress-like wall of the inn and the beach, just south of the stone steps.

If it was an animal, it sounded big.
A raccoon?
No, she had seen raccoons around before. They were rare in Newcastle Beach and they were generally stealthier. A raccoon would not have made that kind of noise going through bushes
. And raccoon eyes don’t glow red.
With this realization, she stood up and backed away, instinctively trying to put some distance between herself and the hedge.

“What’s wrong?” Monroe asked. Marisol jumped—she hadn’t even noticed that Monroe had sat down beside her.