Valley of Silence (16 page)

She picked him up, held him high over her head. “Behold your prince!”

The troops who hadn't been destroyed in the brief battle knelt.

She lowered him to kiss him long and deep on his mouth.

“I want more,” he said.

“Yes, my love, and you'll have more. Very soon. Toss that thing on a horse,” she ordered with a careless gesture toward Tynan's body. “I have a use for it.”

She mounted, then held out her arms so that Davey could leap into them. With her cheek rubbing against his hair, she looked down at Midir.

“You did well,” she said to him. “You can have your choice of the humans, for whatever purposes you like.”

The moonlight shone on his silver hair as he bowed. “Thank you.”

 

M
oira stood in the brisk wind and watched dragons
and riders circle overhead. It was a stunning sight, she thought, and would have sent her heart soaring under any other circumstances. But these were military maneuvers, not spectacle.

Still, she could hear children calling out and clapping, and more than a few of them pretending they were dragon or rider.

She smiled a greeting when her uncle strode over to watch beside her. “You're not tempted to fly?” she asked him.

“I leave it for the young—and the agile. It's a brilliant sight, Moira. And a hopeful one.”

“The dragons have lifted the spirits. And in battle, they'll give us an advantage. Do you see Blair? She rides as if she was born on the back of one.”

“She's hard to miss,” Riddock murmured as Blair drove her mount toward the ground at a dizzying speed, then swept up again.

“Are you pleased she and Larkin will marry?”

“He loves her, and I can think of no other who suits him so well. So aye, his mother and I are pleased. And will miss him every day. He must go with her,” Riddock said before Moira could speak. “It's his choice, and I feel—in my heart—it's the right choice for him. But we'll miss him.”

Moira leaned her head against her uncle's arm. “Aye, we will.”

She would be the only one to remain, she thought as she went inside again. The only one of the first circle who would remain in Geall after Samhain. She wondered how she would be able to bear it.

Already the castle felt empty. So many had already gone ahead, and others were busy with duties she'd assigned. Soon, very soon, she would leave herself. So it was time, she determined, to write down her wishes in the event she didn't return.

She closed herself in her sitting room and sat to sharpen her quill. Then changed her mind and took out one of the treasures she'd brought back with her from Ireland.

She would write this document, Moira determined, with the instrument of another world.

She'd use a pen.

What did she have of value, she wondered, that wouldn't by rights belong to the next who ruled Geall?

Some of her mother's jewelry, certainly. And this she began to disburse in her mind between Blair and Glenna, her aunt and cousin, and lastly, her ladies.

Her father's sword should be Larkin's, she decided, and the dagger he'd once carried would go to Hoyt. The miniature of her father would be her uncle's if she died before him, as her father and uncle had been fast friends.

There were trinkets, of course. Bits of this and that which she gave thought to bequesting.

To Cian she left her bow and quiver, and the arrows she'd made with her own hand. She hoped he'd understand that these were more than weapons to her. They were her pride, and a kind of love.

She wrote it all carefully, sealed it. She would give the document to her aunt for safekeeping.

She felt better having done it. Lighter and clearer in her mind somehow. Setting the paper aside, she rose to face the next task. Moving back into the bedroom, she crossed to the balcony doors. The drapes still hung there, blocking the light, the view. And now she drew them back, let the soft light spill through.

In her mind's eye she saw it again, the dark, the blood, the torn body of her mother and the things that mutilated her. But now she opened the door and made herself walk through them.

The air was cool and moist, and overhead the sky was full of dragons. Streaks and whirls of color riding the pale blue. How her mother would have loved the sight of them, loved the sound of the wings, the laughter of the children in the courtyard below.

Moira walked to the rail, laid her hands on it and felt the sturdy stone. And standing as her mother had often done, she looked out over Geall, and swore to do her best.

 

S
he might have been surprised to know that Cian
spent a large portion of his restless day doing what she had done. His lists of bequests and instructions were considerably longer than hers and minutely more detailed. But then he'd lived considerably longer and had accumulated a great deal.

He saw no reason for any of it to go to waste.

A dozen times during the writing of it he cursed the quill and wished violently for the ease and convenience of a computer. But he kept at it until he believed he'd spread his holdings out satisfactorily.

He wasn't certain it could all be done as some of it would be up to Hoyt. They'd speak about it, Cian thought. If he could count on anything, he could count on Hoyt doing everything in his considerable power to fulfill the obligation Cian meant to give him.

All in all, he hoped it wouldn't be necessary. A thousand years of existence didn't mean he was ready to give it up. And he damn well didn't intend to go to hell until he'd sent Lilith there before him.

“You were always one for business.”

He pushed to his feet, drawing his dagger in one fluid motion as he turned toward the sound of the voice. Then the dagger simply fell out of his limp fingers.

Even after a millennium, there can be shocks beyond imagining.

“Nola.” His voice sounded rusty on the name.

She was a child, his sister, just as she'd been when he'd last seen her. Her long dark hair falling straight, her eyes deep and blue. And smiling.

“Nola,” he said again. “My God.”

“I thought you would say you have no god.”

“None that would claim me. How can you be here? Are you here?”

“You can see for yourself.” She spread her arms, then did a little turn.

“You lived, and you died. An old woman.”

“You didn't know the woman, so I'm as you remember me. I missed you, Cian. I looked for you, even knowing better. For years I looked and I hoped for you and for Hoyt. You never came.”

“How could I? You know what I was. Am. You understand that now.”

“Would you have hurt me? Or any of us?”

“I don't know. I hope not, but I didn't see any reason to risk it. Why are you here?”

He reached out, but she held up her hand and she shook her head. “I'm not flesh. Only an apparition. Here to remind you that you may not be what you were when you were mine, but you're not what she would have made you.”

Because he needed a moment, he bent to pick up the dagger he'd dropped, then sheathed it again. “What does it matter?”

“It does. It will.” And apparition or not, her eyes swam as they locked on his. “I had children, Cian.”

“I know.”

“Strong, skilled, gifted. Your blood, too.”

“Were you happy?”

“Oh, aye. I loved a man, and he loved me. We had those children, and lived a good life. And still my brothers left a place in my heart I could never fill. A little ache inside. I would see you, and Hoyt, sometimes. In the water, or the mist, or the fire.”

“There are things I've done I wouldn't have you see.”

“I saw you kill, and feed. I saw you hunt humans as you'd once hunted deer. And I saw you stand by my grave in the moonlight and lay flowers on it. I saw you fight beside the brother we both love. I saw my Cian. Do you remember how you'd pull me up on your horse and ride and ride?”

“Nola.” He rubbed his fingers over his brow. He hurt too much to think of it. “We're both dead.”

“And we both lived. She came to my window one night.”

“She? Who?” Inside him, he went cold as winter. “Lilith.”

“We're both dead,” Nola reminded him. “But your hands go to fists and your eyes go sharp as your dagger. Would you still protect me?”

He walked to the fire, kicked idly at the simmering turf. “What happened?”

“It was more than two years after Hoyt left us. Father had died and mother was ill. I knew she would never be strong again, that she would die. I was so sad, so afraid. I woke from sleep in the dark, and there was a face at my window. So beautiful. Golden hair and a sweet smile. She whispered to me, called me by name. ‘Ask me in,' she said, and promised me a treat.”

Nola tossed back her hair, and her face was full of disdain. “She thought since I was only a girl, the youngest of us, I'd be foolish, I'd be easy to trick. I went to the window, and I looked in her eyes. There's power in her eyes.”

“Hoyt must have told you not to take such risks. He must have—”

“He wasn't there, and neither were you. There was power in me as well. Have you forgotten?”

“No. But you were a child.”

“I was a seer, and the blood of demon hunters was in my veins. I looked in her eyes and I told her it was my blood who would end her. My blood who would rid the worlds of her. And for her there would be no eternity in hell, or anywhere. Her damnation would be an end of all. She would be dust, and no spirit would survive.”

“She wouldn't have been pleased.”

“Her beauty remains even when she shows her true self. That's another power. I held up Morrigan's cross, that I wore always around my neck. The light flashed from it, like a sunbeam. She was screaming when she ran.”

“You were always fearless,” he murmured.

“She never came back while I lived, and never came again until you and Hoyt went home together. You're stronger than you were without him, and he with you. She fears that, hates that. Envies that.”

“Will he live through this?”

“I can't know. But if he falls, it will be as he lived. With honor.”

“Honor's cold comfort when you're in the ground.”

“Then why do you hold your own?” she demanded with a whip of impatience in her voice. “It's honor that brings you here. Honor that you'll carry into battle along with your sword. She couldn't drain it out of you, and just the little she left was enough for you to draw on again. You made this choice. You've still more to make. Remember me.”

“Don't. Don't leave.”

“Remember me,” she repeated. “Until we see each other again.”

Alone, he sat, lowering his head into his hands. And remembered far too much.

F
or the most part, Cian avoided the tower room
where Hoyt and Glenna worked their magicks. Such things often involved considerable light, flashes, fire and other elements unfavorable to vampires.

But in a way he hadn't—or hadn't admitted to in centuries—he needed his brother.

He noted before he knocked that one or both of his magically inclined relations had taken the precaution of drawing protection symbols on the tower door to keep the curious out. He'd have preferred to stay out himself, but he knocked.

When Glenna answered, there was a dew of sweat on her skin. Her hair was bundled up, and she'd stripped down to a tank and cotton pants. Cian lifted a brow.

“Am I interrupting?”

“Nothing physical, unfortunately. It's just viciously hot in here. We're working on a lot of heat and fire magicks. Sorry.”

“I'm not bothered much by temperature extremes.”

“Oh. Right.” She closed the door behind him. “We've got the windows blocked off—keeping everything contained—so you won't have to worry about the light.”

“It's nearly sundown.”

He looked over to where Hoyt stood over an enormous copper trough. Hoyt had his hands spread above it, and there was a sensation, even across the room, of more heat, of power and energy.

“He's fire-charging weapons,” Glenna explained. “And I've been working on, well, it's a kind of bomb, really. Something we may be able to drop from the air.”

“The NSO would love to have you on staff.”

“I could be their version of Q.” She swiped at her damp brow with the back of her hand. “You want a tour?”

“Actually…I wanted to…I'll just speak with Hoyt when he's not so involved.”

“Wait.” It was the first time Glenna could remember seeing Cian flustered. No, not flustered, she thought. Upset. “He needs a break. So do I. If you can stand the heat, just hang out a few more minutes. He's nearly done. I'm going to go get some air.”

Cian caught her hand before she turned to go. “Thank you. For not asking.”

“No problem. And if it is a problem, I'll be around.”

When she went out, Cian leaned against the door. Hoyt remained just as he'd been, hands spread over the silver smoke that rose from the trough. His eyes were darkened as they were when he held his power strong and steady.

It had always been so, Cian thought, since they were children.

Like Glenna, Hoyt had stripped down for work, and wore a white T-shirt and faded jeans. It was odd, even after the past months, to see his brother in twenty-first-century clothing.

Hoyt had never been one for fashion, Cian recalled. But for dignity and purpose. However much they looked alike, they'd approached life from different poles. Hoyt for solitude and study, and he himself for society and business—and the pleasure both brought him.

Still, they'd been close, had understood each other on a level few others could. Had loved each other, Cian thought now, in a way that was as strong and as steady as Hoyt's power.

Then the world, and everything in it, had changed.

So what was he doing here? Looking for answers, for comfort, when he knew there could be neither? None of it could be taken back, not a single act, a single thought, a single moment. It was a foolish waste of time and energy on all counts.

The man who stood like a statue in the smoke wasn't the man he'd known, any more than he was the same man he'd been. Or a man at all for that matter.

Too much time spent with these people, these feelings, these needs made him forget what could never be altered. He pushed away from the door.

“Wait. A moment more.”

Hoyt's voice stopped him—and it irritated him to understand Hoyt had known he wasn't simply shifting position but leaving.

Hoyt lowered his hands, and the smoke whisked away.

“Sure we'll go into this well-armed.” Hoyt reached into the trough and lifted a sword by the hilt. Spinning, he pointed it toward the hearth. And shot a beam of fire.

“Will you be using one of these?” Hoyt turned the sword in his hand, eying its edge. “You've skill enough not to burn yourself.”

“I'll use whatever comes best to hand—and do my best to stay away from those you arm who are considerably less skilled.”

“It's not worry over poor swordsmanship that brings you here.”

“No.”

Since he was here, he'd do what he'd come to do. But he wandered the room first while Hoyt removed the other weapons from the trough. The room smelled of herbs and smoke, of sweat and effort.

“I've chased your woman away.”

“I'll find her again.”

“Since she's not here, I'll ask you. Are you afraid you'll lose her in this?”

Hoyt laid the last sword on the worktable. “It's my last thought before sleep, my first on waking. The rest of the time I try not to think of it—or let out the part of myself that wants to lock her away safe until this is over.”

“She isn't a woman you could lock away, even with your skill.”

“No, but knowing that doesn't stop the fear. Are you afraid for Moira?”

“What?”

“Do you think I don't know you're with her? That your heart is with her?”

“A temporary madness. It'll pass.” At his brother's quiet, steady look, Cian shook his head. “I've no choice in it, and neither does she. What I am doesn't run to white picket fences and golden retrievers.” He waved it away when Hoyt's look turned puzzled. “To home and hearth, brother. I can't give her a life—if I wanted to—and what passes for mine will go on long after hers is ended. And that's not what I've come to tell you.”

“Tell me this first. Do you love her?”

It came into him, the truth of it, swirling through his heart and into his eyes. “She is…She is like a light for me when I've lived eternally in the dark. But the dark is mine, Hoyt. I know how to survive there, to be content and productive and entertained there.”

“You don't say happy.”

Frustration snapped into his voice. “I was happy enough before you came. Before you changed everything again, as surely as Lilith had done to me. What would you have me do? Wish for what you have, and will have with Glenna if you live? What good will it do me? Will it start my heart again? Can your magic do that?”

“No. I've found nothing that can take you back. But—”

“Let it be. I am what I am, and I've done more than well enough. I'm not whining about it. She's an experience. Love is an experience, and I've always sought them out.” He dragged his hands through his hair. “Christ. Is there anything to drink in this place?”

“There's whiskey.” Hoyt lifted his chin toward a cabinet. “I'll have one as well.”

Cian poured whiskey generously into cups, then crossed to where Hoyt drew two three-legged stools together. So Cian sat, and they drank for a few moments in silence.

“I've written out a document, a kind of will, should my luck run out on Samhain.”

Hoyt lifted his eyes from his whiskey and met Cian's. “I see.”

“I've accumulated considerable property and holdings, assets, personal items. I expect you'll see to them, as I've instructed.”

“I will, of course.”

“It'll be no small task as they're spread out over the world. I don't keep a great many eggs in one basket. There are passports and other identification papers in the New York apartment, and in safety deposit boxes here and there. If any are useful to you, you're welcome to them.”

“Thanks for that.”

Cian swirled the whiskey in his glass, kept his eyes on it. “There are some things I'd like Moira to have, if you can get them here.”

“I'll get them here.”

“I thought to leave the club and the apartment in New York to Blair—and to Larkin. I think they'd suit them better than you.”

“They would. They'll be grateful, I'm sure.”

Annoyance rose up at his brother's easy and practical tone. “Well, don't let sentiment choke you, as it's more likely I'll be holding a wake for you than you for me.”

Hoyt angled his head. “Do you think so?”

“I damn well do. You haven't had three decades and I've had near a hundred. And you never were as good in a fight as me when we were both alive, however many tricks you have up your sleeve.”

“But then again, as you said, we aren't what we were, are we?” Hoyt smiled pleasantly. “I'm determined we'll both come through this, but if you fall, well…I'll lift a glass to you.”

Cian let out a half laugh as Hoyt did just that.

“And would you be wanting pipes and drums as well?”

“Oh, bugger it.” Now a wicked gleam came into Cian's eyes. “I'll toss in some fifes for yours, then console your grieving widow.”

“At least I won't have to dig a hole for you, seeing as you'll just be dust, but I'll show you the honor of having a stone carved. ‘Here doesn't lie Cian, for he's blown off with the wind. He lived and he died, then stayed on like the last annoying guest to leave the ball.' Does that suit you?”

“I'm thinking I'll go back and change some of those bequests, for principle only, seeing as I'll be singing ‘Danny Boy' over your grave.”

“What's ‘Danny Boy'?”

“A cliche.” Cian picked up the bottle he'd set on the floor and poured more whiskey into the cups. “I saw Nola.”

“What?” Hoyt lowered the cup he'd just lifted. “What did you say?”

“In my room. I saw Nola, spoke with her.”

“You dreamed of Nola?”

“Is that what I said?” Cian snapped. “I said I saw her, spoke with her. As awake then as I am now, looking and speaking to you. She was still a child. Jesus, there isn't enough whiskey in the world for this.”

“She came to you,” Hoyt murmured. “Our Nola. What did she say?”

“She loved me, and you. She missed us. She'd waited for us to come home. Damn it. Goddamn it.” He pushed up to pace. “She was a child, exactly as she'd been the last I saw her. It was a lie, of course. She'd grown up, grown old. She'd died and gone to dust.”

“And why would she come to you as a grown woman, or an old one?” Hoyt demanded. “She came to you as you remembered her, as you think of her. She gave you a gift. Why are you angry?”

It was fury in him now, fury to wrap tight around the pain. “How can you know what it is to feel this, to have it ripping inside you? She looked the same, and I'm not. She talked of how I'd swing her up on my horse and take her riding. And it was like it was yesterday. I can't have those yesterdays in my head and stay sane.”

He turned back. “At the end of this, you'll know you did what you could, what was asked of you—for her, for all of them. If you live, whatever pang you feel at leaving them behind will be balanced out by that knowing, and by the life you make with Glenna. I have to go back where I was. I have to. I can't take this with me and survive it.”

Hoyt was quiet a moment. “Was she in pain, afraid, grieving?”

“No.”

“And you can't take that with you and survive it?”

“I don't know, that's the plain truth. But I know that one feeling leads to another until you drown in them. I'm half drowned now with what's in me for Moira.”

He calmed himself, sat again. “She wore the cross you gave her, Nola did. She said she wore it always, just as you told her. I thought you should know. And I thought you should know she told me Lilith had come back, and tried to lure her into an invitation.”

As Cian's had done, Hoyt's hand fisted. “That hell-bitch went for our Nola?”

“She did, and got a boot up the ass for the trouble—metaphorically.” He told Hoyt what Nola had said, watched Hoyt's grim face soften a little with pride and satisfaction. “Then she flashed that cross of yours and sent her packing. According to Nola she never came back again, until we did.”

“Well now, well. Isn't that interesting. The cross didn't just shield the wearer, it frightened Lilith enough to send her haring off. That, and the prediction we'd end her.”

“Which may be why she's so determined to end us.”

“Aye. Nola's threat could have added weight to that. Imagine how it must have been for Lilith, being frightened off by a child.”

“She wants her own back, no doubt of it. She wants to win this, of course. To set herself up as a kind of god, but under that, it's us. The six of us and the connection between us. She wants us destroyed.”

“Hasn't had much luck with that, has she?”

“And what do you think of that? The gods depose, don't they? We've all of us had our close calls, and bled for it. But we're all of us, Lilith included, being driven toward one time and place. The fact of the matter is, I don't care for being led by the nose by gods any more than demons.”

Hoyt lifted his brows. “What choice is there?”

“They all talk of choice, but which of us would turn away from this now? It's not just humans who have pride, after all. So, the time clicks away.” He rose. “And we'll see what we see on that reckoning day. The sun's well down. I'm going out for air.”

He walked to the door, paused to glance back. “She couldn't tell me if you survived it.”

Hoyt lifted a shoulder, finished off his whiskey. Then he smiled. “‘Danny Boy,' is it?”

 

C
ian went to see to his horse. Then, though he knew
it was risky, saddled Vlad and rode out through the gates. He needed the speed, and the night. Maybe he needed the risk as well.

The moon was past half full now. When that circle was complete, blood—human and demon—would soak the ground.

He hadn't fought in other wars, hadn't seen the point of them. Wars for land, for riches and resources. Wars waged in the name of faith. But this one had come to be his.