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“You have quite an escort, Your Majesty.” As Magnus walked with Seona across the terrace, her voice pulled him from his spinning thoughts. The smooth alto tone of it soothed him even though he knew she was not herself.
His skin should be crawling to have her gloved hand tucked in the crook of his arm. His senses should rebel at the sound of her voice, the scent of her perfumed skin, and the sight of her clothed to perfection in a forest-green winter gown. She was possessed by an entity that desired his destruction. He should find her abominable.
But nothing about her offended him. Having her on his arm felt good. It felt right.
He’d been too long without a bedmate. The impatient fire in his loins was to blame for his lapse in good judgment. He would ignore the way his body leaned toward hers, the way it longed to dominate hers until she lay replete beneath him. He must ignore it. He must focus on freeing Seona from Hyrk’s hold.
“Do you take eight men with you everywhere?” The question was asked innocently, but surely, this was Hyrk’s way of assessing the security at Glendall.
“I take as many guards as I deem necessary,” he answered vaguely. “We’re almost there.”
“Where are we going?” As they neared the temple, she looked in every direction, marveling at the towers of the castle, the winter-bare rose bushes, the ornamental trees, the fountain, the soaring spire of the temple topped with a crescent moon. She treated each sight as something novel and wondrous, but it was merely a mask. Hyrk lurked behind it, scanning Magnus’s home for signs of weakness.
“It is a surprise,” he said as they neared the temple’s entrance. The entrance facing Glendall’s grand courtyard was more beautiful by far. Adorned with marble sculptures of winged Fae and golden ornaments depicting the moon in all its phases, the main entrance clearly marked the building as a place of worship. But from this side, only simple columns of stone and a door of aged timbers greeted them. Let Hyrk wonder where they were. All the better for surprising him into slipping up and revealing himself once they were inside.
Two of their escort pulled open the door. “Cover the entrances,” he commanded them quietly. They obeyed without question, accustomed to waiting outside while he sought privacy and refuge in the presence of his goddess. In this case, he desired privacy because he did not wish for news of Seona’s predicament to spread before he could compose a statement for distribution by the proper channels.
Once inside the temple, he tuned all his senses to the woman on his arm. He searched for any sign of discomfort, but Seona made not the slightest flinch as they stepped within the holy house of Danu.
“Sire,” Assaph greeted. He had been waiting for them, as they had planned. “Lady Seona.” He bowed his covered head. Looking above the lenses of his spectacles, he said, “It is my honor to welcome you to Chroina’s First Temple of Danu.”
Seona gasped, but it was not a sound of pain. She withdrew her hand from Magnus’s arm and clapped. Joy shone from her face as clearly as when the pups had brought her bathwater earlier.
Curious. This was not the reaction he had expected.
From Assaph’s raised eyebrows, Magnus guessed he had not expected the reaction either.
It was possible Hyrk found delight in the prospect of wreaking havoc here in Danu’s holy house. If that was what the entity intended, he would be sorely disappointed.
“I have heard of your temple,” Seona said, eyes bright and curious as she turned in a slow circle to take in the modest alcove. She came to a stop facing the arched entry to the sanctuary and smiled softly. Rocking up on the balls of her feet, she seemed eager to explore, but a darting of her eyes back to Magnus showed some hesitation.
Ah. She wished to enter but she could not. Because Hyrk’s evil prevented her.
“You have treasured the temple, as have all the kings of your line,” she said to Magnus, her eyes locking with his. Something passed between them. He must be mistaken, because he had an impression of gratitude filling her countenance. To Assaph, she said, “And you have devoted your life to my—to the service of Danu.” She clasped both his hands in hers. Her lips parted as if she would say more, but then she clamped them shut.
Again, he and Assaph exchanged a look.
Releasing Assaph’s hands, Seona sailed into the sanctuary, uninhibited as a freshly-released bird.
No expense had been spared in building and maintaining the temple. The central structure dated back a thousand years and was made of eight towering, interlocking arches. Over the years, marble, gems, silver, and gold had been used to enhance the stone for dazzling effect. When the sun shone through the tall east- and west-facing windows, the sanctuary gleamed with beauty for Danu’s glory. A large window of stained glass featuring a scene from the Temple Archives let in the southern light from above the pulpit, where Assaph would read the scriptures on the morning of each full-moon.
Seona walked the length of the sanctuary, her face tilted to take in the windows and arches. Fingers encased in supple boar skin skimmed the worn armrests of the benches. Her slippered feet stepped soundlessly over the marble of the central aisle.
Magnus watched from where he and Assaph stood, still in the entry alcove. “What do you make of her reaction?” he asked the priest in a whisper.
Assaph only shook his head. He seemed as perplexed as Magnus.
At the altar, where the citizens of Chroina had taken communion for centuries, Seona came to a stop. Her head tipped back, and she gazed up at the stained glass.
The hues of sunset made the scene glow like a giant lantern. In the window, Lachlan, an ancient king of Eire stood on a shelf of rock overlooking a canyon bursting with color. He raised both hands to the heavens in worship of Danu, who was shown as a blinding figure cloaked in glory, floating above the scene like the sun. Around Lachlan, his Knights of the Crescent Moon formed a protective ring, and behind them were worshippers on their knees with their hands lifted in praise. Danu’s blessing shone around them like an aura.
Artists had also rendered this scene in expensive inks and stains in the Temple Archives, and given it the name Lachlan’s Last Communion. It was said that Lachlan was so favored by Danu that she appeared to him at the famous shelf of rock—Lachlan’s Promontory. Sadly, shortly after this communion was said to have taken place, Danu’s blessing disappeared from the face of the Earth. No more revelations were recorded in the Archives, leaving Danu’s followers no explanation. Priests and scholars had proposed theory after theory as to exactly why Danu’s blessing had been replaced with a curse on the births of females, but no two students of the Archives agreed in full. Not even Magnus and Assaph.
Magnus assumed the curse had something to do with Jilken, Lachlan’s brother, whom Lachlan defeated in battle. Allowed to live despite his defeat, Jilken was exiled to the west, where he created the kingdom of Larna. He summoned dark magic to breed wolfkind with wolves, the goal to create an army of the fiercest warriors to ever walk the Earth. This perversion of Danu’s creation was reason enough, in Magnus’s mind, for her to curse them. But all hope was not lost. His dream vision promised Danu’s blessing would return. Magnus and Seona would birth an heir that would begin a new era for their people. He’d seen it clear as day. He believed it with all his heart. This was to be his legacy.
But before that could happen, he needed to deal with Hyrk.
He saw only Seona’s back from this angle. It wasn’t good enough. He needed to witness what secrets her face revealed as she gazed up at the scene of Danu and Lachlan.
Quietly, he made his way toward the altar. As step after silent step led him toward the place where he knelt each morning in prayer, he planned what he would say. He would invite her to worship with him, and then he would utter words of devotion to Danu and watch Hyrk reveal himself. With a glance back at the alcove, he assured himself Assaph was ready.
The priest nodded. In his hands was a cage covered with a cloth.
When Magnus was a single step from Seona, he scented something that brought him up short. Salted tears.
The unmistakable weight of sorrow rounded her shoulders. Nearly inaudible breaths hitched in and out, sending tremors over her. The lady wept freely. This was most unexpected.
He had been prepared to witness hatred pouring from her eyes. Or disgust curling her lip. He had not expected tears. Nor had he expected to feel an overwhelming urge to wipe them away and comfort her with kisses.
“My lady.” He had not meant to speak. The words simply came forth, quiet and strained because her apparent pain caused him pain as well.
Her shoulders jumped, and she sniffed. Trembling fingers swiped tears from her averted face. He had startled her, and she attempted to compose herself discreetly. These simple acts suggested her emotions were genuine.
This morning, at the very place depicted above them, hatred had glowed from the red eyes of a possessed Bilkes. The evil entity possessing the prisoner would not show such vulnerability, not in Magnus’s presence, and especially not here in the temple of the goddess he’d scorned with such venom. Perhaps he had made a mistake in thinking Hyrk controlled her.
But he could not be certain. Nothing was certain where Seona was concerned. Even if she was not possessed, she still was not herself. Whether the change in her was due to memory loss, deception, or interference from a wicked entity, the truth of the matter was that Seona was different than she had been. She was a mystery, and the need to solve her plagued him to his core.
“I remember that day,” Seona said, interrupting his thoughts. Her voice held strength even as it carried strains of sorrow.
His hand twitched with the need to rest on her shoulder, to comfort her, but he kept it at his side. He did not trust his body’s urges. He would not trust them until he was certain Seona was Seona.
Following her gaze to the stained glass, he tried to see the scene through new eyes. Seona must be remembering her altercation with Bilkes, her fall. Perhaps Giles had been right all along and she simply suffered from memory loss. Her tears might be a sign that her memory was returning, and with it her terrible experience in Larna.
The prospect of her remembering herself made a stone of dread settle in his gut. Regardless of why she had been different, he cherished the new Seona. He did not wish to hasten the return of the old one.
Nevertheless, he would help her remember. “It was only this morning. Though it feels like much more time has passed.”
The corner of her soft lips twitched. “Much more, indeed,” she said, eyeing him with a speculative glint in her eye.
He could not help standing straighter and jutting his chin forward. He did not know why she studied him so, but whatever the reason, let her see the strength and confidence in him.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her lips purse with pleasure.
She finds me pleasing. The sure knowledge puffed him up like a lad with his first boar-kill.
He nodded at the window. “The scene we see here is an artist’s rendition of King Lachlan’s last communion with Danu.” Under her scrutiny, he felt compelled to demonstrate his respect for their traditions and his love for their goddess. A feeling of rightness filled him as he told the ancient tale. “It occurred two thousand years ago and was the last time Danu appeared to us. After this day—” He motioned toward the glass. “Danu gave us no more revelations. Our numbers began declining. There were fewer and fewer female births until—well, today our hope rests on the wombs of only a handful of women.”
He had not meant to tell her so much of their dark history, but now that he had started, he could not seem to stop. As he spoke, he kept his gaze on the window, but every other sense was tuned to Seona’s reactions. He felt more than saw her tilt her head as she listened intently.
“Some think Danu did not curse us intentionally, but rather she was taken from us. Forcibly.” Her shoulders stiffened as he gave voice to Assaph’s theory. Why the theological debate spilled from his lips, he could not guess, but Seona’s attention, focused on him like a moonbeam, encouraged him to continue.
“I do not believe such,” he said. “For the Temple Archives tell us of Danu’s power, her steadfast devotion to her creation. I do not believe there is any power in existence that could overcome a goddess filled with love.”
Nothing and no one,
Not even godhood itself
Shall separate her from her lifemate
The words from Tanisten’s poem popped into his mind, even though he had dismissed the writings as irrelevant. Was Danu trying to tell him something? Could she be leading him in this moment?
He felt Seona’s gaze soften. Turning to face her, he found fresh tears shimmering in her eyes.
“You are correct.” Her voice was softer than a whisper, almost as if she spoke without meaning to. It entranced him. “No power can overcome a goddess. But she can fall victim to her own foolishness.”
The Translation Stone grew warm against his chest. A frisson of awareness passed over him. Suddenly, Seona’s transformation—the miracle of her mended body, her changed speech, her wonder at every small detail of life, her tears at the altar—it all made sense. Profound, miraculous sense.
“Can it be?” His voice sounded like he was in a cave. It echoed in his ears.
Desperation and fear collided in Seona’s eyes as she held his gaze. But it was not Seona looking back at him.
It was Danu.
