Aaron blinked and turned to Sheng. How could Juno possibly have known that they would ask for an artefact? “We create many artefacts ourselves, as you know.” He indicated the crown on his head. “If you are in need of objects of power, as a queen of the Otherworld, we would be pleased to provide you with what we can, in addition to a gate to the Halls of Mist.”
Grenna seemed surprised, and she bowed to Aaron. “Our Lady never told us to anticipate such generosity.” She indicated the walls. “Most of our structures are sound, but some of the runework has broken. My people do not have the capability to make repairs, as most cannot read runes, much less restore them to their original purpose. The abandoned building where your Mistgate appeared is one such place. Only by moving objects of power from other houses were we able to prepare it for your return. My Watchers told me you wear runed artefacts.” She looked at the small tokens hanging around Sheng’s neck. “Such riches.”
Sheng took one of the items off. To Aaron, it looked like the one he said Ewain helped him work on in Danastai. “This is a token of air flows,” he said. “Send your power through this, then choose your direction here on the reverse side, and you can create a shield of air.” He handed it to her.
Accepting the small stone with reverence, Grenna ran her fingers over the piece. She frowned, concentrating her powers, and a moment later, a soft breeze flowed over him. She beamed with delight. “Amazing,” she said.
Aaron didn’t want to be the one to tell her that Sheng was a novice. If the token made her happy, then perhaps they could eventually get somewhere, have a basis for negotiating for the Cup of Cultus. He had no idea how to get around Juno’s edict, but there must be a way.
“Keep it,” Sheng said. “A gift from the Druid Hall.” He looked around the room. “Your kingdom fascinates me. I would love the opportunity to return and work with your people, determine if I and others can restore your existing artefacts.”
She bowed again. “We of Meditar thank you.”
“We’d be very interested in seeing what objects of power you have,” Aaron said. “In every kingdom, we like to study what we can, to add to the knowledge of the Druid Hall. So much wisdom and experience has been lost over the centuries.”
“Of course,” she said. “Given your limited time tonight, I will show you our main vault with some of the pieces entrusted to us from Juno herself. You will not be able to enter, of course, but you may find it enlightening. Another night, we will guide you through our temples and sacred halls.”
“Thank you,” Aaron said, hoping the Cup of Cultus would be in the main vault. It might take some negotiations to be allowed to enter, but the druids would give her anything she needed if it meant Huck and Demi’s return.
Chapter 13
Flùranach sat by a stream, scraping the inside of a hide with a long, curved knife. Since coming to Danastai, her work consisted of tending their basic needs: food, clothing, shelter. Her magical skills helped with hunting, but she wished she’d retained more of Rory’s earth talents to aid with growing food. Fortunately, the jungle provided abundant resources.
The ruined city was lonely, but not quiet. Monkeys screeched and frogs sang, birds called constantly in a chaotic symphony. The forests of Caledonia whispered in comparison. Flùranach felt like an interloper in a place reclaimed by the wilderness. She wondered if faeries native to the Otherworld might react similarly and if her discomfort was due to having been born in human civilisation.
Born on the Isle of Skye in Scotland, she was only in Caledonia a short while before the temporal accident aged her so dramatically, turning her from a child to a grown woman in the space of a week. Soon after her transformation, she and Rory found Huck, and then came that terrible night when she’d attacked Rory. She cringed at the memory, flushing with humiliation as she remembered what she’d done. She made no excuses. She’d been a child in a woman’s body, but her actions had been wrong. Over the following years, she’d tried to make him forgive her by begging, using her wiles, and at times, her astral talents, desperate to erase the mistake that ruined everything. When none of those efforts worked, she attempted to change herself, striving to become whatever Rory wanted. That only irritated him more.
With a sigh, she put the finished hide aside. Leaving the Druid Hall had been the right choice. She couldn’t repair the damage done, but Ewain had that power. If she stayed with him, he would heal Rory, then maybe the druid would forgive her. He would never love her again. She doubted he ever would have in the first place without her manipulating his emotions. But she might, at least, give him the peace he desperately wanted, a chance to bond with someone else, and a new life.
She wasn’t unhappy with her lot. Who would not wish to serve the Father of the Sky? The fae revered Ewain as a god, and he had chosen
her
. Of course, like all druids, he was mostly interested in her talents. Still, he appreciated her spirit, her desire, the things that made her an individual.
She sensed him approaching the river, despite her long reverie. His druid talents shone like no other’s. Putting aside her tools, she washed her hands in the river and tidied her clothing. By the time he reached her, she was ready. She bowed as he emerged from the brush. “Lord Ewain, I—”
“Yes, yes,” he said, grabbing her hand. “Come with me.”
She followed, startled at the way he’d touched her. He had practiced delving into her power several times, and each instance culminated in an intense sexual experience. Outside of those moments, however, he didn’t make physical contact with her. Leading her by the hand was simple, but unnecessary.
Ewain was, for the most part, a mystery to her. He was ancient, but even though manipulating the time flows had made him appear younger, some things physical changes couldn’t disguise, not to her, not when she’d surrendered so much to him.
In their brief time together, she’d discovered he didn’t like being questioned. If she intruded on his thoughts, he withdrew. He gave only what he wanted of himself, which wasn’t much. Rory had shared everything with her, his thoughts and fears, things he didn’t want the other druids to know, ideas that confused her sometimes. Although she’d been raised around humans, she barely felt more at home with their ways than she did with those of the fae. Running through the forest, holding hands with the Father of the Sky, she wondered if she would ever fit in anywhere.
After a time, the jungle opened onto the Plains, and she knew where they must be going: to see The Way. “Lord Druid Munro visited while you were gone,” she said, glancing aside at Ewain’s face, hoping he wouldn’t be angry at her for speaking with Munro.
“Did he try to take you with him?” Ewain asked. “I suspected one of them might.”
“He offered. When I declined, he gave me supplies.”
Interesting.
So he’d told her not to have anyone in the palace not because they might ask about his work, but because he worried they would take her away? In his strange way, Ewain did care. The idea warmed her. “I tried to keep him out, but he had an artefact that enabled him to see through my illusions. He walked right up to me unhindered.”
Ewain didn’t respond to her revelation. “What else did he want? I assume if the only goal had been to secure your return, Rory would have come.”
Flùranach snorted. “If they wanted me back,
he
would have been the least effective agent.” She sensed a ripple of pleasure from Ewain at the statement. Could someone so powerful as the Father of the Sky have been jealous of her previous relationship with Rory?
Before she wondered too long, she realised Ewain must have been delving into her flows. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have detected his emotions. Disappointment poured over her when she had to acknowledge this was the reason he’d held her hand. How stupid she could be, imagining that an ancient and powerful druid might have more personal reasons for wanting to touch her?
In the distance, Flùranach saw an enormous ring of stone pillars, many of which had crumbled and broken. Ewain didn’t speak again until they arrived. The structure was much bigger than she’d imagined, and she commented on its size.
“Time warps The Way’s appearance,” Ewain explained.
“I don’t understand,” she said.
“Look,” he said, leading her in a semi-circle around the artefacts.
As she watched, she noticed that sometimes, in certain light, The Way seemed whole, but with one more step, the stone had crumbled almost into dust. “The light warps my vision, the same way water appears to bend a branch.”
“Not the light, child,” he said. “Time. The Way is both whole and broken, depending on
when
you look at it.”
“So if I see the pillars as whole, I am looking back in time?”
Ewain gave an awkward smile, as though unaccustomed to the expression. “Precisely. You are a clever faerie.”
The praise sent warmth through her. “How will the Cup of Cultus help? Do you not merely need to be here at the right time?”
“With you,
the right time
is always at hand.”
“So why do you need the Cup?” she asked. He closed his connection to her, and she regretted the question.
As he often did when she asked something he didn’t want to answer, he ignored her. Instead, he released her hand and indicated her clothing. “Undress,” he said.
She untied her shirt without hesitation, a thrill of anticipation rushing through her. “Yes, my lord druid,” she said. While she removed her trousers and boots, he took off his robes. His body looked so different from the first time she’d seen him nude. He’d grown younger, stronger, but the change made little difference. Her attraction was to the raw power that raced through her when he touched her.
“Stand here,” he said, indicating a spot directly in front of the stones but not within the circle. She moved herself where he’d asked, and he took her by the shoulders, turning her to face the inside of the circle. He stood behind her, wrapping his right arm around her body and resting his hand over her heart. His other arm entwined her waist and pulled her close. When he touched her temporal flows, she felt like a glove on his hand. “Without your power, I never would have attempted this.”
“What is special about my power? Would not a natural temporal faerie perform even better?”
He chuckled and inhaled deeply. She realised he was smelling her hair. “No,” he said. “Within you, the astral and temporal combine in one. With my spirit power and the blood of the Cup of Cultus, joining together, we two might do what four could not.”
“The Cup gives blood power?” she asked, enthralled by his touch.
“More,” he said.
As he manipulated her temporal power, the circle of stones filled with darkness, then exploded with a light of stars as though the circle contained a galaxy. He moved his hand over her body, like one playing an instrument. With every glancing touch, the scene shifted. At first, there was nothingness, then shadows danced within the gates like dark spirits. They whispered, their voices warping in eerily exaggerated tones.
He continued to realign their position, time flowing forward at incredible speed, whirring with lights like rushing meteors. When a different type of creature, a tall and mangled aberration, appeared, Ewain stopped. The hideous monster growled. It turned and stared at her, and Flùranach held her breath. When the thing rushed forward, Ewain held her still. With the merest brush of his hand, he shifted them ahead a few moments, and the creature passed through her. A chill made her shudder, but when it passed outside the circle, it vanished.
Her heart pounded, but Ewain’s strong arms gave her comfort. “What was that?”
“When I have the Cup of Cultus, I will heal the seat of your bond. You will be free to give yourself to another,” he whispered into her ear.
“Yes,” she said. “Perhaps someday, if the Hall continues to seek out druids, I will find one who will be a compatible bond-mate.” Turning her head, she brought her lips close to his. “Until then, I am content.”
“You do not realise, but you have the power of druids in you. You must be descended from my brethren, otherwise, you would not be able to detect our power.”
“Am I?” she asked, furrowing her brow.
“Your ability to bond with any druid is a gift only imparted to our descendants. I’m astonished such a rare talent has resurfaced after so many generations.” He paused, looking at her face as though studying something he saw beneath the surface. “Some bonds are a natural fit and call out to two as soul-mates, but one who knows how can forge a bond. Such a pairing can be a strong one. Its gifts are different, but not less. These young druids understand so little of bonding magic. The bond is a gift of the blood, the spirit, the mind, and yes, time. The injury to your former bond-mate was caused by your inexperience. It is possible to forge such a bond without pain.”
“I hurt him,” she said.
“Yes. I have seen men die from such violence.” Her heart ached with the sting of his casual indictment. “Flùranach.” He said her name like a command, drawing her out of the remembered pain. “I will give you what you most desire. I will heal the druid and restore the temple of your bond.”