Mists of Velvet (23 page)

“Of course.”

“And the portal? It’s still enchanted?”

“There’s no way Rhys or any of the staff opened the door.”

“Positive?”

“Rhys has zero magical abilities. He’s tried, and none of his attempts have been successful.”

Keir glanced at the empty box on the floor. Rhys might not have any magick inside him, but maybe the torc did. Unfortunately, Bran followed the direction of his gaze, and his expression turned murderous.

Bran looked once more at the box, then to Keir. “He’s impetuous, hotheaded, stubborn, and pissed-off with being a mortal. He could only have gone one place—Annwyn.”

Bronwnn came awake in Rhys’ arms. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth, and she gagged as she struggled to break free of his grasp. Her mind was reeling with the knowledge that she shared the same blood as this evil magician who was terrorizing Annwyn.

“It’s okay,” he murmured as he smoothed his hand over her hair. Her body was shaking violently. “You’ve bit your tongue. That’s where the blood is coming from.”

Shaking her head, she wrestled out of his hold. She had to wash. She had to get the mage’s blood away from her skin. It sickened her—the taste of it and the knowledge that he was inside her.

Memories of the vision replayed in her mind. She had lunged at him, breaking the skin of his throat with her fangs. But the instant she had bitten down, the vision had ended and she was returned to her body.

“Look at me, Bronwnn,” Rhys soothed. “Let me wipe your mouth.”

She looked frightened and wild when she saw herself in the reflection of Rhys’ eyes. What she had witnessed and heard in that vision horrified her—first what the mage’s captive had said, and now this. The revelation of who she was and the understanding of her connection with the mage—it was all too much.

How she wished she could speak to Rhys and tell him what she had seen. But there was safety and comfort in her silence, and she was not yet ready to put into words what had been revealed in that black crypt of evil.

Frantically she pulled away from Rhys and reached for the quill and parchment she had used to communicate with him.
Vision. Mage. To Bran.

Rifling his hands through his hair, Rhys glanced at the paper, then back at her. “You had a vision of the mage, and you need to get to Bran?”

She nodded, then stood, her legs unsteady. Rhys caught her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “Easy; I’ve got you.”

Sinking into him, she turned in his arms and pressed her cheek to his chest. She had never had anyone to comfort her before, and the feeling was extraordinarily nice.

Beneath her cheek, Rhys’ heart pounded in a soothing tempo. His skin was warm, his unique scent a reminder that he was hers, and that he would keep her safe. For all her existence, her safety had been her own responsibility. It had been up to her to soothe her aches and pains, to fill her loneliness and need. But now she had Rhys, and she wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight because she feared he would evaporate into the air.

Nothing was going to take her mate from her.
Nothing.

She knew she was getting the mage’s blood on him and tried to pull away, but he tightened his hold and kept her close to him. “Not yet,” he whispered to her, chasing away the tremors in her body with the palm of his hand. “Let me hold you.”

They stood like that for a long time, and Bronwnn allowed herself to absorb his strength. All her previous visions of the mage had left her frightened, scurrying to hide for fear he could see her. And she had been right to think that, because he had known she was there all along. He had felt her. He had seen her.

But this vision left her horrified. So much had been revealed, yet so much left unanswered. She needed answers. She needed the king, who had vowed to protect her. She didn’t dare go to Cailleach, because she would have to take Rhys with her, and she knew deep down inside that Rhys was not safe from the Supreme Goddess.

“I’ve seen someone else have a vision while having a seizure,” he whispered into her hair. “Her name is Rowan.”

Instantly, Bronwnn felt envious. Who was this woman? Did she mean something to Rhys? She hoped not, for she had no wish to kill, but she would if the woman thought to take Bronwnn’s mate from her.

“She’s here in Annwyn, at the king’s residence. I wonder if she could help.”

Bronwnn wanted to be nowhere near another woman for whom Rhys might have feelings. She knew she was being foolish to think Rhys hadn’t had any previous lovers. He was far too skilled for that. But Bronwnn hadn’t thought about seeing the women he had taken to bed, let alone being introduced to them.

Suddenly, Rhys stiffened, then pulled her away from his chest. He was gazing down at her, but she refused to look at him. She was filled with envy, and her mouth and chin were covered in blood. But he forced her chin up with the tip of his fingers.

“Did he see you in your vision?”

Reluctantly she nodded.

“Did he speak with you?”

Again, she admitted he had.

“Then is it possible that he has visions of
you
? That he can see where you are?”

It was Bronwnn’s greatest fear. Gazing up into his eyes, she nodded.

“All right. We’re leaving—now.”

Bronwwn knew he was right. They had to tell Bran. Her connection with the mage must be acknowledged. She only hoped and prayed that Rhys would still want her after he discovered who, and what, she was.

Keir paced Bran’s study just as he’d paced Rhys’ office. He couldn’t sit. He couldn’t focus. He’d been trying to locate Rhys’ thoughts and still couldn’t.

“Sit,” Bran ordered.

“I can’t.”

Mairi, the king’s mate, came over and took his hand. Her presence did not calm him as she intended. “Why don’t you go and see Rowan?”

He couldn’t—not when he was unraveling like this. He might do something stupid. He wasn’t thinking clearly.

A quiet voice interrupted the conversation in the room. “May I come in?” No one had noticed Rowan appear in the doorway. “I’ve had a vision. I think I know where Carden is.”

Bran shoved back his chair and jumped up. The two warriors who flanked him followed suit. Melor was a black-haired phoenix with the ability to be reborn. Because of that, necromancy was his magick ability. To Bran’s left was Drostan, a griffin shape-shifter who was also a summoner. “She’s a mortal,” the griffin sneered as his golden eyes narrowed on Rowan.

“And so is my queen,” Bran growled.

Drostan’s razor-sharp claws retracted. But his eyes were still golden and filled with fire. “And whom does this one belong to?” he asked as his lusty gaze raked over Rowan’s voluptuous body.

“Me.”

Drostan’s gaze slowly left Rowan to fix on Keir. Keir didn’t like the look in the griffin’s eyes. He respected no boundaries. He took what he wanted, and he cared for nothing but his own selfish pleasures.

The griffin wisely chose to keep his mouth in check, but Keir placed a protective arm around Rowan’s shoulders.

“Tell us your vision,” he said softly.

Nervously she swallowed and looked at him, Mairi, and then finally Bran. “I fell asleep and awoke in a beautiful garden. At first, I thought it was a dream, but then I knew it wasn’t. It felt so real. And when I could smell the flowers, I knew it couldn’t be a dream.”

“And Carden?” Bran asked quietly.

“I traveled through a tunnel. There was water in it, like a little canal. It wasn’t deep, only up to my knees. I didn’t know where I was going, but I followed the winding path, and it ended at a bank of stone steps. There were doors, and I . . .” She trembled and stepped closer to Keir. “I knew I had been there before.”

Mairi reached for her and held her hand. “It’s okay, you don’t have to go on.”

“I think I’ve finally figured out the riddle,” she said, her body steeling itself beside him. “ ‘A house of mourning, a garden of pain, a path of tears.’” She stared at Bran. “It was a cemetery. And I saw a statue of a gargoyle. In his hand was a torch, which was lit—like a lamppost. But the light within it flickered, like a flame. Maybe the flame you’ve been looking for?”

“What is a cemetery?” Melor growled. “And why would you trust this human?”

“A cemetery is hallowed ground where mortals bury their dead,” Keir snapped in reply. “And we trust this human, because she’s never been wrong, and her intentions are the purest of us all—unlike your dark thoughts and past, Melor.”

“Enough,” Bran barked. “We will put aside our differences. Mortals and immortals alike are both affected by this prophecy. It will take all of us to discover the identity of the Dark Mage and destroy him and his apprentice. There is no room in our alliance for petty squabbles.”

“Rowan,” Mairi asked quietly, “have you any idea which cemetery?”

“No, but I feel most strongly that it is within the city. The surroundings definitely felt familiar to me. I need more time, though, to try to dissect the words, and to have more visions. Maybe I will see something familiar, such as the name of a church or something attached to the cemetery. I will keep trying. I know this riddle and my visions are the only clues to Carden’s whereabouts.”

“Thank you,” Bran said. “Your help in this is crucial.”

She nodded and, for the first time, Keir felt her fatigue as she pressed into him. He held her up with his arm, his heart feeling heavy. She looked exhausted, and there were dark circles beneath her eyes.

“You had a vision because of a headache, didn’t you?”

She nodded, her face flushing. She was looking at Drostan and Melor, and Keir knew she wanted her illness kept private.

“Rest,” Bran ordered her. “There is still time to find my brother. I would not have you exhaust yourself.”

Mairi was reaching for her friend when Cliodna flew into the study and landed on Keir’s shoulder. She began to sing in a high-pitched song that sounded a little frantic.

“What is it, friend?” he asked.

Her tiny wings were flapping furiously, and he picked her up, holding her in his palm. His little wren wanted him to see something.

Keir had always preferred to practice his magick alone. But when Rowan entered his life, he had been forced to perform his divination magick before her and Sayer. He still didn’t like it, but he was becoming used to it. After the divination spell with Rowan, he felt slightly more at ease to do magick before others.

Letting his mind still, he focused on the bird’s black eyes. Beside him, he felt Rowan’s body pressing into him. Normally, it would have been a distraction, but this time it felt good to have her with him.

His vision narrowed, and his body became lighter as he focused on the bird. Then suddenly his spirit was lifted, and he was transported to another place.

Keir found himself standing before a ramshackle cottage in the midst of a thick forest. Firelight flickered from behind the filthy window. Inside, he felt Rhys and heard his thoughts. The mortal was edgy, fear tainting his thinking. Keir tasted that fear on his tongue.

The wren flew before him, and his concentration broke. The divination was over, and his spirit was once more reunited with his body.

When his vision returned, he saw seven faces staring expectantly at him. “I know where Rhys is.”