Kiss of the Goblin Prince (23 page)

You
don’t deserve anything; you were born a prince but you will always be my slave.

Damned if he’d listen to a man who’d died while trying to destroy the Celtic tribes of Wales. He may not be able to kill Claudius, but he didn’t have to listen anymore.

“There’s no need for you to come into the city. I’ll meet you there.”

“Okay. I’ll meet you at the tea house then, say…two-ish?” The golden threads reached out and took hold. Slipping past his skin and holding on tight.

“That sounds good.” Could he spend an afternoon with her and not screw it up?

“I’ll see you there.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of them hung up. The silence rested and rose like dough with each breath.

“Thank you for inviting me.”
For
trying. For thinking I’m worth a try.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Amanda hung up, and the original gold strand through his palm thickened and pulsed like a stray vein linking them together, growing stronger each time he let Amanda a little closer, building a connection that would wound them both if broken.

If he didn’t want to see her hurt, he was going to have to be careful. Even that was a lie. He wanted to kiss her again. And a kiss would lead to other things. He glanced at the ink on his arm.

What he wanted was as out of reach as the sun. There could be nothing else without him first exposing what the ink failed to hide, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever be ready to do that. There was too much. He rolled his shoulders and feathers rustled softly at the edge of his hearing. Some shadows didn’t dissolve in sunlight.

***

Dai looked at his reflection and shrugged. It was as close to beach wear as he got—a long sleeved shirt, jeans, and weird rubbery shoes. He wasn’t taking his leather shoes anywhere near saltwater and sand. At least it wasn’t summer. Not too many people would be in shorts and a T-shirt, so hopefully he wouldn’t look too out of place.

He picked up his sunglasses and his cell phone. He’d discovered a new feature on it that was actually useful while trying to locate Birch’s office. With a few touches he could pull up a map of anywhere in the world. With the cell phone he didn’t need to have been there before, or know anyone there, to travel there. He’d failed to locate any branch of Birch Trustees—secretive thieving bastards—but finding Cottesloe beach was easy. At his thought reality opened, and he simply followed the thread to the map location and stepped out into sunlight. Someone sidestepped him but didn’t question his sudden appearance. He put on his sunglasses and walked down the footpath to the tea house.

As he walked he studied the other people around him. He didn’t stand out; he didn’t even rate a second glance. The tension in his back eased with each step and tightened in his chest. Nerves. He could control reality, yet he was nervous about seeing Amanda without an excuse to protect him. They were meeting for no other reason than that Amanda wanted to see him. It was enough to make him want to step back into the safety of his apartment. The only thing that stopped him was knowing that Claudius would still be controlling him if he didn’t face up to the attraction that slid through his blood like liquor every time he saw Amanda.

“Dai!” Brigit waved from the park bench that overlooked the beach from its own grassed terrace.

Amanda turned her head and smiled, but her lips were tight as if she was no longer sure about inviting him. That made two of them. He wasn’t sure about coming.

“You found it okay?”

“The magic of technology—the globe on a phone.” He gave his cell a shake. It was almost the truth. If Rome had developed that kind of technology, the world would be speaking Latin and wearing togas.

They walked down to the sand without touching, but he was aware of the swaying of her hips as she walked and the slight turn of her head as she looked at him, the sunlight catching in her hair so it shone like gold. On the beach, Brigit tipped out a bag of buckets and spades and set about constructing a castle.

Kids had it so much easier. At eight he could swing a wooden sword and hunt down dinner. He’d still had a mother then, and was eager to see if the child she was carrying would be a brother or sister—and if baby would survive. He didn’t like to see his mother sad, and she always was when a baby didn’t live to be named. He was glad she wasn’t around to see what happened to her children. He wouldn’t have been able to look her in the eye after his father’s death.

Dai rolled up the cuffs of his jeans, took off his shoes, and sat. The sand was warm, not like the desert at night where the temperature dropped away to be almost as cold as the Shadowlands. He’d missed the sun. As a goblin in the Fixed Realm he was only ever able to see the world at night, because sunlight hurt. It boiled the marrow of his bones and, unless a shadow other than his own was nearby, escaping was impossible.

He leaned back on his elbows and tipped his face to the sky, but his gaze slid to the woman next to him. Amanda sat cross-legged with her eyes on her daughter. Her back was straight as if she couldn’t relax. She glanced at him and caught him looking. He wanted to look away but was trapped by her gaze—he knew her sunglasses hid the heat in her eyes. But if he couldn’t see her eyes, she couldn’t see his. He tried creating a conversation that two people getting to know each other might have. He hadn’t done that in a couple of centuries and it was a well rusted skill.

“Do you come to the beach often?”

“Most weeks. In summer Brigit has swimming lessons. The saltwater is good for her asthma.”

Dai nodded. He’d read a little about asthma and understood the damage he’d seen in Brigit’s body. But he also understood the cause. It was manifestation of damage done many lifetimes before. What he didn’t understand was why she held onto it. There was no reason—he glanced at the child—except him. Mave had waited for him to return to the Fixed Realm and undo the damage he caused. He shivered despite the warmth of the sun.

“How are the treatments working?”

She frowned. “Eliza told you?”

“Yeah, a bit.” That was better than telling her he could see the fibers that made up her daughter and that he knew she was dabbling in things older than modern medicine.

“Not good.” She watched Brigit add another level to the castle. “You’ve been around the world and believe in magic; you must have heard of something.”

Dai pressed his lips together. He should know something…well he did know what needed fixing. All those loose and broken threads needed to be mended back into a tight weave. He looked at his hands. He just didn’t know how to do it. What use was magic when he couldn’t help those he needed to?

“I don’t know.”

Amanda stared at the sand as if he’d delivered awful news. She desperately needed hope to hold onto and he’d taken it away—he couldn’t do that to her. He knew that feeling, when grabbing at anything was better than holding nothing.

“I’ll see what I can dig up. I’m waiting for my books, still.”

“Thanks. I’m taking her to a new-age healer later this week. She specializes in aura cleansing.” She flicked him a grin. “You are probably thinking I’m a little crazy.”

Dai blinked and was glad the sunglasses hid most of his surprise. “No. Many cultures believe illnesses are caused by damaged to the non-visible parts of the body.” Maybe this woman could help Brigit where he couldn’t. If she was a true healer, he wouldn’t mind going to see her and asking how she worked. And if she wasn’t…how much harm would she do? “Let me know what happens.”

“Really?”

“I’m curious about that kind of stuff.” He shrugged, trying to make light of it. He hoped it worked. For Brigit, for Amanda, and for himself. But if his sister had carried the wound through multiple lives, there was a bigger reason. He hated not knowing what was going on.

From the corner of his eye he watched as Amanda dug her toes into the sand. He followed the line of her leg, the curve of her ankle as it peeked below her jeans.

“You know the kid I was telling you about?” Her face looked strained, like she was holding onto the news, waiting to tell him.

Dai nodded, the sun suddenly losing its warmth. He’d seen Fane, and he knew it wasn’t going to be good.

“The police called me this morning.”

“He turned himself in?” Dai asked, trying to hope he’d broken free and started the path to healing. Even as he spoke he knew how hollow his words were. Amanda was pale and drawn, not out of anxiety but out of sadness.

Amanda shook her head. “His father found him in the garage. He’d used a hacksaw blade to cut his throat.” Her voice quivered as she spoke.

Dai closed his eyes, the sun was too bright for such a dark day. The weight of every year he spent under the curse pressed hard against his chest and stole his breath. A thousand years of study and he did nothing for Fane. He should’ve done more to help him. Should he have called the police and forced him to get help? But what good would that have done when every time Fane was given a chance to be free he killed himself?

How many times would he have to die before he changed—or succumbed?

If Fane failed, would Dai do any better? Or was he damned to repeat his mistakes forever?

He opened his eyes and looked at Amanda. Her mouth was turned down and her shoulders were slumped. His hand twitched, wanting to offer comfort. She’d known Fane better in this life than he had. He let his hand move so it landed lightly on her thigh.

“There wasn’t anything more you could’ve done for him.” Fane’s mistakes were his own to fix. But that knowledge did nothing to quell the fresh loss clogging his throat. Amanda wouldn’t understand his grief, so he swallowed it down and let her indulge in hers.

Amanda didn’t brush him away; instead she laid her hand over his, her thumb sweeping over his skin. Then she laid her head on his shoulder. “He was getting better.”

She sniffed, and her body trembled as she drew in a breath.

He said nothing. There was nothing to say, so he rested his cheek on her sun-warmed hair, wishing he could’ve done something to save her the pain. They sat without moving, drawing strength from each other as they watched Brigit play. Amanda’s fingers moved in a small circle against his wrist as she examined the ink on his skin.

“That’s interesting,” she said as if looking for a distraction. Her finger touched his arm and traced the line of text that wrapped around his forearm and disappeared up his sleeve. She shifted to look up at him. “May I?”

Dai resisted the urge to pull down his sleeve. His tattoos were personal. A testament to survival and magic long forgotten. He nodded and let her push the sleeve up farther.

Her fingers moved over the black letters, tracing the shape, as if she could unravel the meaning, and leaving heat in their wake. “What does it say?”

“It’s Sanskrit. Roughly
forgiveness
is
sharper
than
the
sword
of
vengeance
.”

“And is it?” Her eyebrow arched over the frame of her sunglasses. She made no move to withdraw her hand.

Beneath her fingers, his skin was starting to burn as if her gentle touch could erase the words etched into his skin or soften their meaning—it was harder to forgive than to seek vengeance.

“I don’t know. I was denied one and have failed at the other.”

“Forgiveness is a process, not a state of being.” She lifted her hand off his wrist. The words were as black and sharp and as fresh as the day they’d been pressed into him.

“That may be true, but it feels like I’m letting him off the hook,” he said through clenched teeth. He didn’t want to share that with Amanda. He didn’t want her to see how damaged he was on the inside.

“No. Forgiving is about freeing yourself. Until you do
he
still holds the power.”

He shook his head and glanced out over the ocean. “You’re right.”

It was a conclusion he’d been in the process of drawing. He couldn’t defeat Claudius; the man didn’t exist anymore. All he could do was let go of the hate. But it had kept him warm for so long, it had become part of him. If he let go, what would be left?

“This is about your sister.”

“Yeah.” He glanced at Brigit now digging a moat out for the castle which was more of a pointed spire reaching for the blue sky.

“Can I ask how she died?”

The secret was too heavy to hold on to, so he let it fall. “Her throat was cut.”

She closed her eyes and looked away. “I’m sorry. Roan never said.”

“He wouldn’t.” Roan was raised to be a king, not a brother, and he pushed that part of his aside as easily as he’d shaved of his dreads. “I should’ve protected her better.”

It didn’t matter how many times he’d thought it over; once he was cursed, there was nothing he could do to protect her. Before then he’d done everything he could to keep her safe.

“Were you there?”

Was he there? How did he answer that without betraying himself?

“Yes. I was there.” He’d never forget the feel of the sword in his hand, or the way it cut through her flesh with too little resistance, and the coppery scent of her blood. “I should have done more.”