Rori listened intently at the door, his ear pressed against the worn wood. Neither his uncle nor Seren had made a sound for at least a half an hour. Were they alright? Had Seren hurt herself again, the way she had done when helping Ruan? Fear and sorrow clutched at Rori’s heart. Taking a deep breath, he prayed to the Celtic gods his uncle would forgive him, if he was still alive, for what he was about to do. He was going to break his promise and enter Brennon’s room.
Calling upon his courage, Rori reached up, feeling for the door latch. When his fingers slid over the familiar smooth, cool metal, he grasped the handle and pulled it down. The door didn’t creak as it slid open, and his sightless eyes were met with a blanket of darkness. Rori swiveled his head, deciding the lamp he brought for Seren had gone out, and the fire had burned down as well.
Rori put out a hand, entering the strangely silent room and felt his way toward the hearth. His outstretched fingers told him there were a few coals still warm in the fireplace, so he felt his way to the pile of wood nearby, adding a few logs. The telltale sound of crackling wood, the sharp tinge of fresh smoke and the sudden brightening of the darkness told him the fire was growing. Rori then turned to face the bed, at least, to face where he thought it was located. Carefully, he made his way in that direction, bumping his shins against the chest Brennon kept at the foot of the bed.
Once again, Rori reached out his hands, his fingertips finding the carved and polished wood of one of the four posts. He felt his way up farther, fingers trailing over the mattress and crumpled sheets until he touched a new fabric that was different from the others. Recognition sparked. He would know this material anywhere. It was the nightshirt his mother used to wear. Soft and delicate and clean. The same nightshirt Seren now slept in. Rori’s mouth tightened, not because he was angry at Seren for donning his mother’s old clothes, but because he was afraid he might find the Fahndi woman cold and lifeless, the way she had been after the attack on the chicken coop. Squashing his fear, Rori continued the search with his fingers and breathed a sigh of relief when they met up with warm skin. Seren was alive.
Rori took a few moments longer to examine the scene with his touch, discovering Seren was deep in sleep on the bed with his uncle. Furrowing his brow, Rori climbed atop the bed, his hands running along Seren’s face, then her shoulder. He stopped when his fingers encountered an arm that didn’t belong to her. Strong, warm and large. Uncle Brenn. He, too, was fast asleep. Rori nearly collapsed then, his eyes streaming tears when he realized they were both alive and well. And from what he could tell, his uncle had Seren wrapped in his embrace, an aura of contentment and security pouring from both of them.
Rori knew he should retreat to his own room, now that he’d found out both his uncle and Seren were safe, but he wanted so badly to share in their quiet, secret happiness. Making a decision he knew would get him in trouble in the morning, Rori snuggled up between them. He sighed when his uncle’s arm lowered just enough to rest gently over his neck, and when Seren’s hand came to rest at his hip.
Overcome by bliss and an overwhelming sense of safety, Rori gave a jaw-cracking yawn and murmured, just before he drifted off to sleep, “I love you, Uncle. I love you, Seren.”
***
Winter descended upon Ardun like a barn owl gliding through the night, its ghostly wings spread wide as it silently soared over the barren fields. The evening Brennon suffered his haunting nightmares, the grey sky opened up and dropped a heavy layer of snow, cloaking the earth in a blanket of white, thick enough to muffle the world from all sound.
Inside Roarke Manor, however, things were not as quiet as the outside world. Just before dawn, Brenn stirred in his sleep, drawing in deep breaths as his eyes fluttered open to a semi-dark room. Before moving to get up, he found himself furrowing his brow. Something was different about this morning. He had gone to bed agitated, the ghosts of his past rearing up and taunting him. He’d had his nightmares, he was sure of it. The dry, burning sensation in his throat was proof he had screamed half the night away, and his pounding head was further evidence he hadn’t rested all that well. But, he could only recall a few of the terrible scenes from his dreams. Despite his pains, his heartbeat was steady upon waking, and his skin wasn’t damp with the cold sweat he had come to expect after a night spent fighting off invisible foes.
Confused, Brenn made to get out of bed, but something stopped him short. His right arm was pinned beneath some unknown weight, his left draped over something soft and warm. Brennon tried to angle his head to see what was holding him in place, one of the wolfhounds, most likely, but his chin was obstructed by something solid. Whatever it was tickled him, the hair too fine and silky to belong to one of the dogs. Instantly, icy dread pooled in the pit of his stomach. Had Rori, against his wishes, entered his room last night?
A sudden flash of anger coursed through him. He could have hurt the boy with his thrashing. Had he not stressed this enough to his nephew?
Before he could sit up and wake Rori to chastise him, the boy squirmed against his stomach. A soft sigh met Brenn’s ears and Rori struggled to sit up. It was in that moment, Brenn realized Rori wasn’t the only person in bed with him. His nostrils flared, finally taking in a familiar scent of clean forest rain, sweet lavender and fresh pine needles. The color drained from his face when he inched back and caught sight of Seren’s earth brown hair. Oh, gods. What had happened last night?
“Uncle Brenn?” Rori murmured in a sleep-tainted voice.
Brennon, still somewhat obstructed by Seren’s head tucked beneath his chin, managed to angle a glance up at his nephew. Rori’s hair was disheveled, and his eyes were heavy with sleep. He yawned widely and rubbed at one eye, the other one pointed toward the bed’s headboard.
“Uncle Brennon? Are you awake?”
Brenn shifted, careful not to wake the sleeping Seren, and worked his right arm out from under her. She took a deep breath and sighed, rolling over onto her back. To Brenn’s relief, she did not waken. The sight of her looking so unguarded sent heat racing through his blood. When she was awake, Seren was always so careful to keep her emotions off her face. But now, with the first light of dawn streaming through the window, it was easy to see she was just as vulnerable as he was.
Stricken by a sudden urge to touch her, Brenn pushed himself up with his right arm and carefully ran his other hand over the top of her head and down the side of her face, reveling in an act he had so seldom taken part in since the day he’d been torn from his family. His fingertips tingled at the silkiness of her hair and the smooth surface of her skin. So different from his work-roughened hands and hard angles. Seren’s breathing was deep and even, and as he studied her, he wondered what had driven her to enter his room and climb into his bed.
“Uncle?”
The sound of Rori’s tentative voice jerked him back to the present. He removed his hand and pressed his lips together. He would have to ponder Seren’s motives later. Right now, he needed to get out of bed and interrogate his nephew about the activities of the night before.
“I’m up, Rori,” he answered, his voice ragged and sore from a night spent screaming at his demons. “But Seren is still asleep, and I think we should let her sleep some time more.”
Rori nodded vigorously, his pale blue eyes wide. Brennon helped Rori from the bed and ordered him to go put on his day clothes. When he was gone, Brenn cast one more look at Seren to make sure she was asleep before donning his own clothing. Ten minutes later, he was sneaking away from his bedchamber after adding another few logs to the fire. He shut the door silently behind him and turned to find Rori waiting at the top of the stairs. Heaving a wearied sigh, Brenn approached him, the floorboard creaking as he bent to sit next to his nephew.
“What happened last night, Rori?”
The blind boy tilted his head toward the great room below, his shoulders slumping a little. He tugged at a loose thread in his tunic and bit his bottom lip. Brennon, knowing the boy needed patience from him above anything else, waited.
“You, you were having one of your nightmares,” he said with a rasp, as if he’d been the one screeching like a terrified cat all night.
“Yes, but how did you and Seren end up in my room? In my bed.”
Rori whipped his head around, his eyes filling with tears. As usual, he focused on nothing in particular, but his facial expression was intent. Clearly, the boy was still rattled.
“I was staying outside your door, honest!” he insisted.
Brenn lifted a hand and placed it on Rori’s shoulder. The boy jumped.
“I believe you, Rori. But how did you go from sitting outside my door to sleeping in the bed?”
“Seren came out of her room. She heard–”
Rori didn’t finish, but then, he didn’t have to. Brenn lifted his hands to rub his face. So, she had heard his torment. Not much of a surprise considering she had entered his room. He had hoped to hide this part of him from her, as futile as that hope had been. But once again, his demons, egged on by that accursed faeduhn magic, had come calling in the night, and it had once again affected everyone in the house.
“She told me she thought she could help you,” Rori said, in a choked voice. “I hoped she could because she helped Ruan. She went into your room and, for a while, nothing seemed to change. Then, the yelling stopped, and everything was still and quiet. I had to check to make sure you were okay, you and Seren. Please don’t be mad at me, Uncle.”
Brenn removed his hands from his face and stared straight ahead into the rafters of the tall ceiling of Ardun. So that explained why, despite his weariness, his mind and nerves seemed calm now. Even though his throat was raw and dry and his muscles sore, the darkness didn’t haunt him so terribly this morning. After every single episode of night terrors, he had always woken weak and ragged, his mind racing and struggling against the memories of his past, as if they’d happened the day before. That daylight torment was not present now. It was as if he’d been visited by normal, disturbing dreams, dreams which had faded as his mind returned to consciousness. And Seren had done this wondrous deed, had somehow wrought this miracle. He had no idea how she’d done it, but at the moment, he didn’t care.
Brenn was exceedingly tempted to rush back into his room and scoop her up into his arms and share his gratitude, but he remembered the promise he made to himself to remain distant. No. He would have to thank her in some other way.
Deciding to let Seren be for now, Brenn placed his hands on his knees and glanced down at Rori. His nephew still resembled a young puppy who had let his master down. This brought a smile to Brenn’s face.
“What say you we go downstairs and fix a nice breakfast for Seren?”
Rori turned his huge, sightless eyes onto his uncle once more.
“Aren’t you mad?” he wondered aloud.
Brenn considered it for a moment. “No, I’m not. You know why I made the rule that you stay out of my room when I have my nightmares, right?”
Rori nodded. “Because you might hurt me by accident.”
“Correct. But I think in this case, the situation is different. You wanted to make sure Seren hadn’t been injured.”
“Or you,” Rori pointed out.
Brenn draped an arm around the boy’s shoulders. Normally, he would be angry, but the simple fact that he felt well and rested after last night’s ordeal put him in a good mood.
“Or me. And upon finding us both safe and sound, you couldn’t resist staying with us.”
Rori gave a toothsome smile and wrapped both his arms around Brenn’s middle. “I wouldn’t have been able to sleep by myself after all that.”
Brenn kissed the top of Rori’s head and rested his cheek against the boy’s hair. “I could imagine not.”
The two of them sat there for several minutes more, content in one another’s company. The grey light streaming in through the windows didn’t grow much brighter, and the dust motes falling from the ceiling floated lazily in the air. Downstairs, Nola let out a discontented meow, and Brennon could hear some of the hounds stirring, wanting out so they could chase rabbits through the newly fallen snow they spied through the window.
Eventually, the two rose. Brenn got a fire going in the large fireplace, and Rori let the dogs out, joining them for a few minutes before returning to the warmth of the house. By mid-morning, they were busy preparing spiced oatmeal, hot tea, scrambled eggs and some bacon from the smokehouse, all the while laughing and joking as if the house hadn’t been visited by the Morrigan’s evil taint the night before.
***
Seren woke to the scent of frying bacon. Although she couldn’t eat such things, the smell of cooking meat always enticed her senses. She stretched out, enjoying the warmth of her sheets, her mind lost in a few moments of bliss before a sudden realization slammed into her. It was her task to cook breakfast for herself, Brenn and Rori. She shot up out of bed, her heart racing in her chest, then groaned as she felt her face lose most of its color. She wasn’t in her room. She wasn’t even in her own bed.
Seren gasped and covered her mouth with both her hands. She was in Brennon’s room, in his bed, and he was nowhere to be found. Her eyes, huge with shock, darted around the spacious chamber. The curtains still blocked the morning light, and a cheery fire burned in the hearth.
“Oh, gods,” she breathed, feeling suddenly dizzy.
What had happened last night? She remembered coming into the room and using her glamour to help Brenn with his nightmares, but she couldn’t remember anything after that. Had she blacked out? Had she collapsed onto the bed with a half naked Brenn in it? Heat suffused her cheeks, and she thought she felt tears welling up in her eyes. Oh, what a disaster!
Seren fell back onto the pile of pillows, her arms crossed over her face. What must he have thought, finding her in his bed earlier that morning? And now, he was downstairs making breakfast, because she had overextended her magic once again. Seren groaned. She didn’t think she could face him now.
Before Seren could descend deeper into her humiliation, someone knocked softly at the door. She jumped and let out a little yelp. She sat up again, her eyes wide as they darted toward the sound. The muffled voice that greeted her ears took away the edge of her panic, however.
“Seren? Are you awake? Can I come in? Uncle Brenn and I are almost finished making breakfast, and he told me to come see if you were up.”
Seren breathed a sigh of relief, and in a slightly squeaky voice called out, “Yes, I’m awake! You can come in, Rori.”
The boy pushed the door open and aimed a grin in her general direction.
“Good morning! You were still asleep when we got up this morning, and Uncle Brenn wanted to let you rest.”
Seren felt her cheeks go red again and was glad, for once, Rori couldn’t see her expression.
“Thank you,” she managed, pushing the sheets back and climbing out of bed. She met Rori halfway across the room, telling him to go back downstairs, and she would join him and his uncle soon. She couldn’t spend the rest of the day hiding upstairs, no matter how awkward she might now feel in Brennon’s presence.
Before making his way to the staircase, Rori tilted his head and said to her, “Thank you, Seren. Thank you for helping Uncle Brenn with his bad dreams.”
Seren paused in the doorway of her own room and turned to look at him. There was something in his voice, something that stopped her from giving him a simple ‘you’re welcome’ before turning away again. In that moment, Seren pushed aside her embarrassment from the night before and let her curiosity get the better of her.
“Why does he have those dreams, Rori?” she asked softly.
Rori tensed, his unseeing eyes fixed on the wall beside her.
Seren stepped away from the door and came to stand before him, taking his hands in hers.
“You can tell me. I won’t hold it against him, I promise.”
“You were angry with him after the Samhain ritual,” Rori murmured, his voice strained.
Seren drew in a deep breath and let it out in a great sigh. She nodded, although the boy could not see the gesture.
“I know,” she said. “But I was concerned for you. I have had plenty of time to think on it, and now I know, he must have done it for you, even though you were hurt.”
“It didn’t hurt all that much, I promise! And if Uncle Brenn doesn’t perform the blood ritual every year, then–”
Rori stopped himself and caught his lower lip between his teeth.
“It’s okay, Rori. You don’t have to tell me about the Samhain ritual if you don’t want to. But, I would appreciate it if you told me why your uncle has dark magic plaguing him.”
Rori shook his head, tears forming in his blue eyes.
“Alright,” Seren relented, patting him on the shoulder. “It isn’t your secret to tell. I understand.”
She let go of his hands and turned back toward her room.
“It is memories from when he was with the Morrigan,” Rori blurted behind her.
Seren froze, the fine hair on her arms and neck standing on end. She turned a wide-eyed expression back toward the boy.
“What?”
“Uncle Brenn was taken by the Morrigan’s army when he wasn’t that much older than me. I-I don’t know what happened to him, but he’s had the nightmares ever since.”
Seren was too horrified to press the boy any further. No wonder Brennon had been trying to claw himself out of his own skin. Dear gods. The Morrigan. The goddess of war and strife and all things evil in their world. She shuddered now at the images and specters she’d glimpsed racing through Brenn’s mind as her glamour fought to destroy them.
“Please don’t tell Uncle Brenn I told you.”
Rori’s plea brought Seren back to the present, and she glanced down at him once more.
Seren reached out a hand and squeezed his shoulder. “Don’t worry. I won’t. But I’m glad you told me, Rori,” she said. “Now, maybe I’ll be able to help him even more if the nightmares come back.”
Rori’s expression grew rigid, and his mouth formed a grim line. “They’ll come back,” he insisted. “They always do.”
With those final words, the boy turned and felt his way down the stairs. Seren turned as well, heading into her room to get dressed, an entirely new set of questions and troubles weighing on her mind. She forgot her embarrassment and the anxiety of facing Brennon after waking up in his bed. Instead, she felt a wave of fierce determination wash through her. Maybe it was her healer’s glamour detecting a hurting soul in need. Maybe it was those feelings brewing just below the surface, feelings for a man who both frightened and enthralled her, finally breaking through her carefully constructed wall. Perhaps, it was a little bit of both. Either way, she knew whatever misfortune befell this troubled and enigmatic man and the boy who lived in this house, she’d be there to help them through it so long as they let her.
Breakfast that morning was civil and quiet, and only slightly uncomfortable. Brenn had turned to greet Seren when she first stepped into the kitchen, his half smile warmer than usual, his grey eyes flashing to silver and back to smoky quartz. Seren’s breath caught in her throat as she remembered her thoughts from earlier and schooled her face, so it wouldn’t show her feelings.
Rori greeted her with a hug, his ear pressed to her heart, and his arms wrapped tightly around her waist.
“Let her breathe, Rori,” his uncle chided, as he offered her a chair.
Once seated, the three of them turned their thoughts inward, each of them commiserating on the disruptive events of the night. Seren, unable to help herself, glanced up at Brenn every now and again, only to find his intense eyes studying her. Each time, she felt the color rise in her cheeks, encouraging her to get back to her oatmeal and tea.
After the meal was finished and the dishes cleaned, Brenn excused Rori to go explore the winter wonderland waiting outside. As soon as he heard the door close behind his nephew, he turned to Seren.
“May I speak with you for a moment?”
The Fahndi woman froze, the color draining from her face. The reaction was short-lived, however. She took a quick breath, smoothed out her skirts and nodded once.
Feeling suddenly restless, Brenn adopted a casual stance next to the kitchen fire. His fingers itched to push their way through Seren’s silky hair, so he shoved his hands in his back pockets to keep them preoccupied. He should not have taken such liberties with her this morning. Before, he had been blissfully ignorant of such things. Now, he knew what he was missing.
“I wanted to thank you for last night. For helping me through the nightmares.”
His voice was low, and he refused to meet her gaze. Seren realized he was just as uneasy about the whole situation as she had been, and that strengthened her resolve.
“You’re welcome. No one should have to feel like a captive of their own mind.”
She tried a smile when he looked up at her, but his returning grin lacked warmth.
“No,” was his response. “They should not. I hope you won’t have to witness that again. I had hoped you would never see me in such a state.”
Seren stepped forward and brushed her fingers against Brenn’s bicep. He jerked slightly in response, his eyes surprised when they met hers.
Before she could lose her courage, Seren looked him in the eye and said, “I was happy to help, Brennon. I’d never hold what happened last night against you. No one can control the awful things that haunt them in their dreams. You have done so much to help me, it was the least I could do.”
His slight shock at her forward behavior melted away, and he gave her a roguish smile. Suddenly, Seren’s mouth felt parched. She had managed to gather just enough courage to reach out to him, but now it was slipping away once more.
“You keep forgetting. The entire reason you got dragged into this cursed house to begin with is because I shot you, remember?”
He had meant it as a joke, but his casual words set alarm bells off in Seren’s head. She furrowed her brow and frowned, drawing her hand back. “Cursed?”
Brenn shook his head and released a deep breath. “Sorry. Residual nightmares speaking for me.”
Seren tried a smile in return, but something told her Brenn’s words weren’t entirely meant as an off-color joke. There was some truth to them. Not that she was surprised. She would have to get to the bottom of it one of these days. If not through Rori, then maybe some other way. She doubted either Rori or Brenn would ever just tell her, so she would have to pay attention; see if she could figure it all out on her own. Something dark dwelt here, if not in the house, then within Brennon himself. Until she understood what it was, she could not drive it away and heal the wounds it left behind with her glamour.
“How did you do it, by the way?”
Brennon’s quiet question pulled her from her reverie.
She blinked up at him. “What?”
His sharp eyes were probing, suspicious.
“How did you drive my nightmares away?”
Seren, for some reason, hadn’t expected this question. Although, perhaps, she should have. Of course, Brennon would want to know how she’d made the demons disappear. How to tell him without giving away her own secret?
Shrugging, Seren stated, “I used my glamour.”
Brennon leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms, lifting one eyebrow as he scrutinized her.
Obviously, her answer didn’t satisfy him. Taking a tiny step back, Seren did her best not to panic as she fished for an explanation he would believe. In all honesty, there was no rationalization for what she had done, except for the truth. And she could not tell Brenn the truth.
Finally, she said, “I didn’t think it would work, but it did. I simply brought my glamour into my fingertips and sent it into your body. After a while, you calmed down.”
“And you collapsed in exhaustion when it was all over.”
Now, Brennon’s eyes flashed with anger. He pushed away from the wall and moved in close to her. Seren gasped, backing up until she met the opposite wall. Brenn was so close, she could feel the heat pouring off his body, breathe in the scent of wood smoke, leather and hay that always clung to him. He placed his hands on either side of her head and trapped her, his presence intense and intimidating.
Seren’s heart raced, with excitement or fear, she could not tell.
“What you did,” he growled, “was extremely dangerous, Seren. Every Faelorehn child is taught from a very early age not to send their glamour into another person’s body. There was no way to tell how my own glamour might have reacted with yours. You could have killed yourself! Do they not teach you this among the Fahndi?”
Seren had turned her head away from Brenn, letting him vent his frustration on her. Yes, she knew about the dangers of glamour crossing. The Fahndi taught their children this as well. Only those who shared an unquestionable trust between each other were able to do this. But her glamour worked differently than most. Her power also carried with it Fahndi healing magic, but she couldn’t tell Brenn this.
Latching on to her way out of explaining it to him, she said in a breathless voice, “N-No. I was never taught about this danger. I’m sorry, Brennon. I only wanted to help.”
Brenn seemed to lose most of his anger then. The darkness brewing behind his eyes and the heat radiating from his body dissipated. He released a ragged breath and let his forehead fall against the wall above her. Seren held her own breath, trapped inside the cage his arms and torso had created. He shook slightly, as if every muscle in his body fought to remain still. Seren reached out instinctively, her healing power compelling her to touch him. Giving in to the demands of her glamour, she pressed her hand against the skin exposed below his neck. She didn’t land quite on his heart, but close enough. She could feel its erratic beating, sense her magic rising up to calm him. Closing her eyes, she sent up a silent prayer he couldn’t feel her power brewing or else he might grow angry again. Brennon’s chest rose and fell with his deep breaths, Seren’s hand rising and falling with it. Eventually, he moved, pushing away from the wall and lowering his hands to gently remove Seren’s.
He curled his fingers around her own, the coldness she felt in them reminding her of the white world outside.
“Forgive me, Seren. I’m not angry with you. I will be forever grateful for what you’ve done for me, but I would ask you not to risk your safety again.”
He gave a rueful smile, then released her hand, so he could rake his fingers through his dark hair. “Even if the screams from my nightmares bring down the roof. I have suffered through them for many years. I am used to their visits, and they won’t kill me.”
Seren set her jaw, fighting against the tears she felt gathering in her eyes.
“Very well,” she muttered, as she turned to leave the kitchen. “I will respect your request to be careful, but I will not promise to withhold my help in the future. I ask that you respect my decision as well.”
Brenn considered this for a while. He had been so overcome by rage, a rage not entirely of his own making, at the thought of her being so reckless with her glamour, that he’d felt the faeduhn magic stirring again. When she reached out and touched him, however, warmth suffused his blood, chasing away the iciness brought on by the shadows. Her touch alone had brought him back from the brink of madness. He turned his gaze back onto Seren. No longer was the timid doe staring back at him, but a strong, stubborn woman who knew her own heart. For a breathless moment, Brenn wondered if that same heart beat for him the way his had begun to beat for hers. No, Brennon. You cannot allow yourself to venture into such territory. Do not condemn her to your own fate. Shaking such nonsense from his head, he smiled, his eyes softening.
“I believe I have no choice in the matter. I do accept, my lady Seren.”
He reached out a hand to shake on their deal, eager to feel the press of her warm skin against his once again, almost laughing out loud at the notion. Brenn, who had recoiled at the very thought of making physical contact with others, couldn’t wait to press his palm to Seren’s. She accepted his offer and instead of shaking, they simply clasped hands for a few moments, the trade of their sincere expressions enough to let the other know mutual respect had been met.
As Seren turned to head back up into the main entrance hall, she paused in the doorway, eyeing him curiously over her shoulder.
“Does the ritual on Samhain have anything to do with your nightmares?” she asked.
Brennon, who would have bristled at her question had she asked it a few weeks ago, only sighed.
“Yes. But that is all I’m willing to tell you, Seren.”
She nodded once, leaving him alone with his thoughts, whatever they might be.
On the morning before Winter Solstice, Brennon woke to a world dusted with a thin layer of crystalline white. By the way the frost had gathered along the windowpanes, he knew the chill would linger long into the day. Pulling out his warmest set of clothes, Brenn dressed quickly before heading downstairs. It was still early, so he didn’t expect to find anyone else awake. He was surprised, however, when he found Rori and Seren huddled together on the floor in front of the great fireplace. Stacked high between them was a mountain of books. Brenn lifted a dark brow at the scene, and Seren smiled. She had been doing a lot of that lately. In fact, her mood had been rather pleasant ever since she’d rescued him from his night of plagued dreams a few weeks ago.
“I nearly have all the letters committed to memory,” the Fahndi woman said, lifting up a primer Brenn and his sister, and later Rori, had learned from. “Rori has been helping me as best he can.”
Now that winter had driven them inside, Seren had doubled her efforts in learning how to read and write. And Rori had proven to be a very effective and enthusiastic teacher.
“We came up with a system,” the small boy stated rather proudly. “I describe what the letter looks like, and then she tells me what she thinks it is and says what sounds it makes. For example,” he began, sitting up straighter and puffing out his chest, “It forms one peak, like a mountain, with a horizontal line through the middle, connecting the two slanted legs.”
Seren ran her finger down the list of letters, giving them all a good look before she stopped on her choice. “A,” she stated. “The first letter listed.”
Rori beamed. “Correct! And what sounds does it make?”
Seren proceeded to demonstrate the various sounds, Rori nodding in approval each time.
For a few moments, Brenn simply stood there, temporarily forgetting why he had come downstairs to begin with. His nephew had changed since Seren came along, and in a very good way. He was smiling and laughing more. Although he couldn’t see the words, he had gone back to his precious books because now he had someone to share them with. Not that he didn’t have that connection with Brenn, but his uncle was usually preoccupied with other tasks and didn’t have the time to read with Rori. A pang of guilt swelled and then subsided within his chest. Perhaps that was more his fault than he was willing to admit. Regardless, he was grateful for the happiness Seren had brought back to the boy.
Brennon cleared his throat. “Very impressive indeed.”
Seren smiled again, then cast over her shoulder as she got back to work with the letters, “Breakfast is waiting in the kitchen. Spiced oatmeal in the cauldron hanging over the hot coals in the fire. Rori and I already ate.”
Knowing a polite dismissal when he heard one, Brenn ducked his head and headed to the semi-underground room. As he ate in the relative silence of the kitchen, Brenn thought about his decision to attend the Solstice ceremony in town.
For the past several days, he had been thinking about the attack on the chicken coop, and all the other incidents of misfortune which had befallen Ardun of late. He knew Baird, Arlana and that twisted Druid Uscias were behind it all, but he couldn’t prove it, and he’d never get the town elders to act on his behalf. Instead, he had two choices: ignore it and simply clean up every time they inflicted damage, or he could take care of it himself. Neither option seemed particularly appealing, so he opted for a compromise instead.
Every year, at the Solstice festival, Uscias was required to bless and harvest the mistletoe growing in the sacred grove just above town. The mistletoe was then passed around to the people to hang in their homes as a ward against evil things and malicious deeds. Brenn was hoping his presence at the harvest would work twice in his favor. First, he would be sending a message to the Corcorain siblings and the Druid that he knew who was behind the attacks on Ardun. Secondly, if he brought home the blessed mistletoe and the vandalism continued, then Uscias’ reputation would be at stake. The vile man would have a hard time convincing the masses of his power if the magic he used on the mistletoe couldn’t even keep a few pranksters at bay.
Pushing away his empty bowl, Brenn leaned back in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose. It wasn’t the best plan, but it was better than his other options at the moment. And who knew? Perhaps his tormentors would get the hint and leave him alone. Brennon snorted and stood up, carrying his bowl to the sink. That was highly unlikely, but he had to start somewhere since his spoken threats to Baird and Arlana hadn’t helped much.
Brenn returned to the common room to find Seren and Rori where he had left them. Donning his winter cloak, he reached for the door, pausing long enough to announce, “I’m going into town for the Solstice festival. I’ll be back late, so do not wait up.”
Rori perked up at that and drew a breath to say something, but Brenn cut him off. “I’m leaving the dogs behind to keep an eye on things. Stay to the house, but if you must go outside, do not venture beyond the barn.”
Before he could get a reply, Brenn was out the door and crunching through the thin layer of frost and old snow coating the ground. He strode purposefully toward the barn and quickly saddled Dermot. Once on the road, Brenn loosened his grip on the reins and allowed the horse to quicken his pace. As they headed northeast, he considered his enemies once again. Baird was a bully and Arlana a spoiled brat. And their reasons for harassing Brenn were easy enough to figure out. Years of getting whatever they wanted from their doting parents had taught them never to take no for an answer. When both Meara and Brenn shunned their interest those many years ago, the siblings merely kept on pressing, so much so that it drove the Roarke family to tragedy. Seeking the support of Uscias had only made things worse. Even now, with Meara dead and Brenn cursed, the Corcorains refused to forget that initial rejection.
Uscias’ reasons for his continued role in the feud between the Roarkes and Corcorains, however, was a bit more complicated. But then again, Druids always were. They acted as the spiritual entities between the living Faelorehn and the living earth. Like the circles of standing stones meant to enchant and collect the glamour around them, the Druids were living, breathing purveyors of magic, and they understood it more than any living Faelorehn man or woman, save for the legendary Tuatha De Danann. Because of this, the Druids were the only Faelorehn, other than the half-mortal Lorehnin, who aged. The raw power of Eile took their youth, leaving them looking grizzled and grey for eternity once they reached the end of their magical education. And like any beings capable of wielding such power, Druids often came out of their training believing they were superior to all others.
Uscias was no exception to the rule. Ruthless, cunning and devoid of all compassion, he was one of the most corrupt Druids in all of Eile. Wanting to cur favor with the Morrigan, and covetous of the deep magic rooted in the earth surrounding Ardun itself, he had manipulated the Corcorain family’s personal grudge against the Roarkes in order to subdue Brenn and turn him over to the goddess of war. Unfortunately for Uscias, the Morrigan simply took what was offered and gave him nothing in return.
Brennon drew in a deep, frosty breath and cast the thoughts of the brooding, scheming Druid from his mind. Time enough for that later. The road into Dundoire Hollow was deserted, and the world was draped in winter’s pale colors. The thin layer of snow covering the ground glittered like powdered glass, and both Brenn’s and Dermot’s breaths misted the air as they kept a steady pace. The dreary weather didn’t seem to bother the great bay horse, but Brenn was already beginning to feel the cold in his fingers and toes.
When Brenn rounded a turn in the road and Dundoire Hollow drifted into view, he led Dermot to the left. They took a narrower trail veering from the main road and followed the outer stone wall of the settlement. The oak grove where the mistletoe was tended and trimmed every year occupied a low hilltop overlooking the small city. The ground was littered with large stones and the path lined with holly bushes, their bright red berries standing out like blots of blood against the dark green foliage. Despite the weather, only a few chimneys exhaled smoke. Most people, Brenn guessed, were braving the cold in order to take part in the final blessing and harvest of the mistletoe.
He was proven right five minutes later when Dermot reached the top of the hill. Before them, the path widened out into an open meadow with a small grove of tall oak trees at the other end. Beyond the grove, a wide valley stretched for miles until it reached the base of the northern mountains beyond. Like the landscape he’d passed through on the way into town, the earth was dusted with white, the river originating in those icy peaks now a sluggish, dark ribbon winding its way through the center of the valley. Brenn could have spent ages simply admiring the stark beauty of his surroundings, but he didn’t have that luxury at the moment. An unexpected pang twinged in his heart, and he tried to shove it away. He loved these northern reaches of Eile; loved them like the very blood in his veins. Unfortunately, such adoration came with the bitter aftertaste of sad memories.
“Brennon!”
The deep, familiar voice snapped Brenn out of his reverie. He blinked and glanced down to find Artur shoving his way through the crowd. A few people turned to look, their eyes widening in surprise at seeing him. Brenn sat up straighter in the saddle and hardened his expression. He would not be cowed by their interest. No matter what they thought of him or his behavior on the day he reprimanded Baird, and then the more recent encounter with Arlana, he had not acted out of line. He had merely been defending his honor and privacy, and if they thought worse of him for it, then they could go rot in Donn’s underworld for all he cared.
“Brenn, my boy! What on Eile are you doing here?”
Brenn smiled at the large Faelorehn man, glad to find one friendly face in the crowd. He slid from Dermot’s back and clasped hands with his old friend before leading the horse to an oak limb where several other horses had been tied.
“You never come to any of the festivals in town!” Artur exclaimed.
Brenn darted his eyes over the people standing closest to them. Most of them had abandoned their curiosity and turned back to their companions, but not everyone.
“I’ve been experiencing a rash of vandalism around Ardun lately and thought some Solstice mistletoe might help.”
He was careful to keep his voice low.
Artur blinked at him, as if Brenn just transformed into a faelah before his very eyes.
“And you think that will keep the culprits away?”
Artur’s voice came out a little harder than usual, as if he found Brenn’s reasoning foolish.
Brennon took Artur’s elbow and drew him away from the crowd. His cloak brushed against a few bystanders as he pressed through them and those nearby balked.
“Careful, Keeley! That Roarke outcast can control minds with his glamour. Do not get too close, and do not give him reason to dislike you!” a Faelorehn woman hissed at what Brenn assumed was her young daughter.
A few people standing around her turned slightly white and backed away as subtly as possible. Brenn wanted to grit his teeth. It was as if they had forgotten his family had been well known and liked in this part of Eile. It had been the talk of Dundoire Hollow, Artur and Creidne had told him a few years ago, when the handsome young son of Deaglan and Coira Roarke was carted off by the Morrigan’s soldiers, and even more so, after he returned seven years later to find his entire family murdered. Only the death of Fraser Corcorain, Baird’s and Alana’s father, three years after Brennon’s abduction, had caused more of a stir. A Fomorian raid had brought about Fraser’s demise, not too uncommon this far north and this close to the boundary between Eile and Fomor, but tragic, nonetheless. That was when Baird took over as head of his family’s household, and when Corcorain Manor began to whither and fade. It was all in the past now, but Dundoire Hollow was a small town. Its bored citizens latched onto any morsel of gossip they could find and fed off it for as long as they could.
Gradually, the crowd lost interest and moved away from Brenn and Artur. Many of the people present were farmers or shepherds living on the outskirts of Dundoire Hollow. A few had even traveled in from the northern reaches in order to be present for the festival. Some of them had brought small wagons or wheelbarrows, while others carried large sacks on their backs. All to be filled to the brim with as much mistletoe as their Druid would allow them to take.
As if the very thought of Uscias was enough to conjure him up, a commotion far ahead of them announced the Druid’s arrival.
“If it isn’t the faelah-hearted man himself,” Artur grumbled under his breath, crossing his arms over his massive chest.
Brennon couldn’t agree more. Tall and thin with sharp-boned features hidden under a faintly lined face, Uscias resembled a half-starved, grey raven perched upon a fencepost, grumbling his discontent. His silvery hair and beard fell in neatly-plated mats down his chest and back, and the dove-grey robes he wore were so pale, they nearly blended in with the snow and bare branches of the oak trees surrounding him. On first glance, one would draw the conclusion Uscias was a frail old Lorehnin man past his prime, but all one had to do was look into his eyes and that assumption vaporized like a drop of water hitting a hot coal. Pale blue and fierce as the raging winter wind that sometimes howled down the valley, Uscias’ eyes always gave away his intent. Ruthless, cold, calculating and intelligent. Only a fool would meet the Druid’s gaze and think they stood a chance against him if they wished to issue a challenge. Brenn had learned that the hard way.
Since Brennon was still a ways back, partially hidden by the trees and evergreen shrubs growing on the edge of the wide, flat hilltop and partly blocked by Artur’s massive size, Uscias didn’t see him right away. This gave Brenn time to adjust to being so close to his enemy once more. Spotting him lurking among the shadows the few times Brenn went into town didn’t count.
A snort of derision almost broke free of Brenn’s control as he continued to study the older man through narrowed eyes; the man who had been the cause of most of the grief in his life. Brennon thought about the invisible boundary surrounding and protecting his home. He and Rori could feel the magic given off by the geis. Their blood was tied to it. Every time he passed through the stones to the world on the other side, a strange sensation washed over him, quick and unsettling, before he felt like himself again. Brenn wondered if the Druid felt the same way when he approached the boundary of Ardun property. If he did, Brenn would bet his glamour Uscias didn’t know why such a powerful spell surrounded the farm. And Brenn wanted to keep it that way.
“I can get the mistletoe for you, if you want,” Artur growled under his breath as the crowd spread away from the center of the grove like fish avoiding a larger predator.
Uscias, graceful as a swan, stepped into the center of the throng and lifted his arms, asking for silence. His request was immediately granted. In his deep, commanding voice, the Druid began to speak, explaining to those present what the harvesting ceremony would entail. Brenn leaned back against the curved limb of the bent oak tree and crossed his arms over his chest to match Artur’s pose.
“No,” Brenn said quietly, finally responding to his friend’s comment. “I’ll stay for the entire ceremony. It has been too long since I’ve attended, and I’ve spent too much time holed up at Ardun. It will do me, and the residents of Dundoire Hollow, some good.”
He lifted a hand and placed it on the big man’s shoulder. Brenn could barely see Artur’s eyes beneath his shaggy beard and hair, but he could tell by the tightness of his face he had flattened his mouth in slight disagreement.
“Trust me,” Brenn added. “I know what I’m doing.”
At least, he hoped he did.
Uscias was still droning on about the proper fires in need of lighting and the scaffolding to be raised in order to reach the mistletoe high up in the trees, so Brenn turned back to Artur.
“Where is Creidne?”
Artur shrugged his bear-like shoulders and huffed in slight indignation. “She’s down the hill a little farther with the other merchants and vendors. As soon as I got the tent and table set up, and a cauldron boiling over a cook fire, she shooed me away and told me not to come back until I had wrestled up some customers.”
Brenn smiled as he continued to watch the Druid speak to the townspeople. He could easily picture the red-haired Faelorehn woman snapping her dish towel at Artur as the man scuttled away to avoid injury.
“I hope she saves me some stew and a tankard of ale,” he commented.
Artur nodded sagely. “She’ll be sure to set some aside when I tell her you are here, though I’ll doubt she’ll believe me.”
The big man grew stiff then, drawing in a small breath as if he suddenly remembered something. He flashed his dark eyes toward Brenn, their color lightening just a fraction, then quickly shot them back toward the spectacle taking place in the center of the grove.
“What is it?” Brenn asked, shifting his weight against the tree.
Artur let out a long sigh, placing his hands casually on his hips. He glanced down at his boots, the scuffed leather damp from the dusting of snow covering the hilltop in uneven patches.
“Oh, just something I heard the other day in the tavern. Gossip, really. I had forgotten all about it until you enquired after Creidne.”
Unease unfurled in the pit of Brenn’s stomach.
“What gossip?” he asked, his voice losing all its humor.
“Rumor has it,” Artur said carefully, “you’ve got a young lady staying with you.”
Immediately, Brenn’s blood cooled in his veins, and he grew as still as the tree beside him. He felt his expression go blank and his eyes change to a darker shade of grey.
“Where did you hear that?” he asked, his voice low and tight.
Artur shrugged again. “Some people were speaking of it in the tavern a week or so ago. They were asking each other if they’d seen the dark lass up at Ardun. One of them clucked his tongue and grumbled any girl unfortunate enough to wander onto that farmstead was likely to turn Faeduihn for being under your power.”
Brenn’s face drained of color as old memories came flooding back into his mind, the same memories that spurred on the nightmares Seren had somehow banished only a few weeks ago. With each passing day, he feared his soul would give up its struggle and he’d be lost to the faeduhn magic infecting him. Every time he let anger or violence get the better of him, he risked giving up the last bit of goodness he possessed. He would lose all honor and become a creature of evil and darkness, his free will stripped away and replaced with an uncontrollable desire to cause harm to all around him. One, two, three more acts of aggression or corruption, and he might fall into the vat of darkness he so feared. He didn’t know what it would take, and he wasn’t willing to risk finding out.
“I told them to leave my establishment and never return,” Artur growled with some menace, bringing Brenn back to the current topic of conversation. “I will not suffer the presence of fools who speak of what they do not know.”
Brenn clenched his teeth against a wince. Oh, Artur, my old friend, they are more right than you know …
“But they weren’t the only ones to speak of this strange woman. There were others.”
Artur let his words hang in the cold air. Several yards in front of them, Uscias finished his lecture, his assistants now stepping in to help him construct a central fire and light the incense as his apprentice unfolded a large white bundle of cloth atop a table someone had set up. Brenn narrowed his eyes at the newly arrived, cloaked figure. The cowl of the pale, grey-white garment was thrown over his head, so Brenn couldn’t see his face. So, the stodgy, power-hungry Druid had finally found someone to teach his precious secrets to. Brenn wondered if the man was stupid or simply didn’t mind being a groveling servant.
Artur cleared his throat, and Brenn turned to find his friend gazing at him with curious eyes. Ah, yes, the rumors about a young woman …
Brenn sighed and lifted a hand to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose while squeezing his eyes shut. He’d had absolutely no intention of telling anyone about Seren, but perhaps it was too late for that. Who had seen her to start the rumors to begin with? She hardly ever left the house and never wandered past the barn when she did.
And then a cold realization fell over Brennon. He slowly lifted his head, the coldness that had started in the pit of his stomach now spreading to his blood. He could feel his eyes flashing from one color to the next as his gaze fell upon Uscias. The Druid was absorbed in his ritual, still unaware of Brenn’s presence. The man held out a branch now, a wand of sorts, and the tip was glowing an odd, dark red hue. His voice was low and monotone, the archaic words he spoke bringing up images of deep caverns, clear lakes and ancient forests watered by cleansing rains.
Brennon was certain the Corcorain siblings, and of course Uscias, were behind the vandalism at Ardun. If they’d come sneaking around during the day when he wasn’t around, it was very possible they had seen Seren at some point in time. The very thought made him sick with anger and fear. Had they seen her only once? Twice maybe? Had they seen him carefully pick her up and carry her back to the house after the incident with the chickens? Had they witnessed the blood ritual on Samhain Eve? What did they think she meant to him?
Brenn ground his molars together as the beginnings of a headache pressed against his skull. If they thought he cared in any way for Seren, then they would find a way to use her against him. Considering Artur had learned about her through the gossip of strangers was not a good sign.
“Brennon? Lad, are you well?”
A strong, heavy hand fell upon Brenn’s shoulder, jostling him from his turbulent thoughts.
“I am,” he said simply. Then, thinking quickly, he added, “there is a young woman staying with us, but she is merely passing through. She’ll be leaving soon.”
Artur’s black eyebrows drew together. “She just showed up on your doorstep?”
Brenn shrugged and added to his lie. “I found her huddled in the barn one day a month ago. She claimed to have run away from home. Her family abused her, and she felt she had no other choice.”
It was close enough to the truth, and come spring, Seren would be gone anyway. The thought made Brennon’s stomach twist.
“I know you have a good heart, Brenn,” Artur said under his breath, “but even a young, pretty lass can take advantage of that. Are you sure she isn’t pulling the wool over your eyes?”
Brennon nodded once, returning to his position of leaning against the tree. “Aye, I am sure.”
He wanted to drop the conversation, not because he thought Artur was prodding too deeply, but because he wanted to think without any interruptions. This new information about the townsfolk of Dundoire Hollow knowing about Seren was unsettling. Now, more than ever, he needed to get the mistletoe, if only to send the message he was on to the Druid’s devious schemes.
For the next several minutes, and to Brenn’s great relief, Artur remained silent and simply watched the ceremony unfold. While volunteers constructed the scaffolding, Uscias walked around the grove, anointing each tree with the glowing wand. He wielded it the way a scribe utilized a quill, tracing ogham letters, triskeles and other ancient designs onto the bark of the trees. The marks glowed orange-red for several minutes, sending up white smoke as the brands slowly cooled and blackened, leaving dark etchings in the pale, ashy bark. Hundreds upon hundreds of similar marks scarred the trees, etched into their bark over the years to encourage growth, healing, power and a magic-infused crop of mistletoe.
By the time the complex platform was complete and Uscias had climbed to the top, it was past midday.
“It will take him hours to trim enough mistletoe for all of us, and even longer for those boys to move the structure to the next tree. What say you we go visit Creidne and see if the stew is ready?”
Brennon nodded at Artur’s suggestion. The two men began to make their way around the circle of observers, some of whom had started heading down the hill toward the camp of food vendors as well. Although Brenn hadn’t cared about Uscias seeing him, he threw the hood of his cloak over his head anyway. The longer the Druid was unaware of his presence, the better.
As they passed the scaffolding and the assistants standing below it, Brenn cast his eyes upward. Uscias was now using a golden sickle to saw through the tough wood of the mistletoe branches. The man in white, the supposed apprentice from earlier, was up there with him, holding out a great swath of his cloak to catch the falling branch. He was just lowering a great clump of freshly harvested mistletoe down to one of the boys on the platform below when his hood opened up enough for Brenn to catch a glimpse of his face. Not for the first time that day, he was struck dumb with shock.
He knew that fair hair and those green eyes. Baird Corcorain.
Brenn hissed an expletive, and the group of women standing in front of him turned and blinked in his direction.
“Forgive my friend,” Artur boomed, clapping Brenn on the back. “He took a boar tusk to the shin the other day while out hunting. If he isn’t careful with his steps the wound ails him.”
The girls’ eyes widened and they nodded, a few of them trying to appraise what they could see of Brenn. “I’d best get him something to eat and some ale.”
And with that, Artur led Brenn by the shoulders down the path of the hill and away from the center of attention.
“When did Baird Corcorain become Uscias’ apprentice?” snapped Brenn, the moment they stepped free of the oak grove.
A few other townspeople, heading back up the hill with baskets of hot rolls and mugs of ale, mead and tea, cast the pair looks of concern.
“Wait until we reach the tent,” Artur warned, through his teeth.
Brenn drew his fingers into a fist. He did not want to wait. He wanted to march back up the hill, shake the scaffolding until Baird toppled over the side, and run him through with one of the daggers he’d strapped on before leaving Ardun that morning. Baird learning Druidic knowledge was like an infection in a bad wound. His evil would only spread. And if Brenn was on the verge of becoming Faeduihn, then so was Baird, if he wasn’t there already. The only difference was, Baird had accumulated his wealth of dark magic all by himself. No Morrigan or her lackeys and their heinous acts to push him as close to the edge of sanity as possible. Brennon didn’t need his enemy to have one more weapon to use against him.
Halfway down the hill, Artur pulled Brenn off the trail and behind an outcropping of rocks. The younger man blinked up at him in surprise.
Artur ran his fingers through his black, tangled hair.
“Look,” he began, his eyes falling everywhere but on Brenn, “I won’t pretend I know what you went through when you were with,” he paused, then cleared his throat, “while you were gone from Ardun,” he amended lamely. “But isn’t there something you could do to get Uscias, Baird and Arlana off your back for good? It doesn’t seem like they are taking your threats seriously. And now, with Baird being,” Artur waved a careless hand in the direction of the grove, “in the process of becoming a Druid, maybe you could use your, your–”
Artur was floundering again, and Brenn was ready for him to get to his point. “You mean my cursed glamour?” he asked quietly, his voice frighteningly calm. “Wrest control of his mind to convince him to leave me be?”
His large friend swallowed and nodded carefully. “Yes, that. Before Baird moves from novice to graduate.”
Brenn stood up straight and removed his hood, his black hair standing out like a raven’s wing against the washed-out white and grey landscape. He leveled his pale eyes on Artur, figuring by the big man’s facial expression they were darkening to shades of soot and lead.
“You do not know what calling upon that part of my glamour does to me, Artur, or you would never ask it of me.”
Artur’s face paled beyond its usual, ruddy complexion.
“Very well,” he managed, his voice coming out raspy. “I was only trying to help.”
Brenn’s dark mood retreated, and he gave his head a slight shake. Of course Artur was trying to help. He had never done anything but offer friendship and hospitality to the two remaining members of the Roarke clan.
Letting out a heavy sigh, Brenn reached an arm forward and grasped Artur’s shoulder.
“Forgive me, old friend,” he breathed, feeling suddenly weary. “I know you and Creidne only ever mean well by me, and Rori. It was a shock seeing Baird Corcorain in that position. The whole thing gives me a bad feeling, and I’m afraid I took it out on you.”
Artur nodded. “Come along lad,” he said, the usual cheer seeping back into his voice. “Let’s have something to eat and drink, perhaps even some mead if Creidne will open a keg. We’ll feel better once we’re fed, and maybe we’ll be able to think more clearly as well.”
Brenn smiled, though it felt brittle and cold.
As he and Artur came upon the miniature canvas and wood village, Brenn took stock of the wares for sale, grateful for the distraction. There were, of course, plenty of people selling ale, hot spiced mead, flaky pies, both the meat and fruit varieties, and sweet nut cakes. The scents of roasting venison, pork and simmering soups filled the air, and Brenn felt his stomach grumble. Breakfast had been hours ago, and he was famished. Besides those preparing and selling food, there were merchants present, as well. Trinkets carved from the rare wood found only in the Weald, silver and gold chains crafted from Eile’s renown mineral mines, potions and scented oils extracted from the rarest herbs growing in the meadows of the south … Everywhere Brenn turned, someone was enticing him to buy something. He gently turned away each offer. He was only interested in getting something to eat, visiting with Creidne and Artur for a spell, then returning to the oak grove to get his share of sacred mistletoe. And perhaps, if he was lucky, silently convey with his presence alone that he was not to be easily intimidated by the Druid and his underlings.
Creidne was busy with customers when Artur and Brennon stepped under the canvas cover of the open dining area, so she didn’t see them at first.
When she finished setting a basket of dark soda bread in front of a few patrons, she finally noticed them.
“Creidne!” Artur boomed. “Look who I found on the hilltop!”
Creidne remained still for a few moments, blinking in bewilderment. When her good senses returned, her hands flew to her cheeks.
“Brennon! What on Eile has brought you to town on Solstice Eve? You’ve not been in years!”
Before getting an answer, the tall woman stepped forward and threw her arms around him.
Brenn huffed in surprise, reluctantly returning the hug. He couldn’t begrudge one of the only people in Dundoire Hollow who didn’t hate him. And besides, the physical contact didn’t bother him nearly as much as it usually did.
“Oh, it is good to see you again,” Creidne said, stepping back and holding him at arm’s length.
She studied his face all too intently. “There is something different about you, Brennon Roarke,” she added, in a curious tone.
Brenn furrowed his brow, wondering what she was talking about.
“He just learned that Baird is Uscias’ new apprentice,” Artur put in, speaking quietly, so his wife’s two customers wouldn’t hear.
Creidne flinched and dropped her hands to her hips. “None of us is happy about that. But no, that’s not the change I’m detecting. It’s something else.”
She lifted a hand to her chin and tapped her lips with an index finger. “You don’t seem as withdrawn into yourself,” she finally said. “You’re more like you were before–” she caught herself and clucked her tongue. “You just seem different, in a good way. Like there is a little more light shining from you.”
The Faelorehn woman smiled, her hazel green eyes sparking and turning to topaz. “I’m very glad to see it,” she finished, before pulling both men over to a small table set within the three walls of the tent.
Once two tankards of ale were placed before them, Creidne got back to work preparing the next round of meat pies and stirring the cauldron hanging over the fire. When everything was cooking and simmering to her satisfaction, she sat down next to her husband and took a deep breath.
“So, you have learned the unfortunate news about Baird.”
Her eyes had gone hard again, and all the humor had left her face.
“As we were leaving the harvest to come down here, he caught a glimpse of the little bastard’s face beneath his hood,” Artur confirmed.
“Why did you not send word?” Brenn asked, studying his tankard of ale.
“We just found out ourselves, only a few days ago,” Artur admitted.
Creidne nodded her head, her fly-away hair like a corona of red ferns framing her face. “By accident. I had to make a late night run to the butcher’s because I had misjudged our meat supply, and on my way there, I happened past Arlana and Baird. I overheard part of their conversation. The Druid’s name was mentioned, which wasn’t a surprise since those three are like peas in a pod, but then, I also heard Baird say something about being out late because of his lessons and the upcoming Winter Solstice obligations. I told Artur the moment I got back from the butcher, and we concluded Uscias must have finally accepted an apprentice.”
Brenn’s fingers tightened around the wooden vessel holding his ale. He couldn’t be angry with Creidne and Artur. They just happened to be the purveyors of bad news.
“Now, enough about that awful, power-hungry toad and his lap dog. I want to know how you are doing, Brenn. Word around town is you have a young woman staying with you.”
Creidne reached out a hand and clasped it over Brenn’s forearm. He shot his gaze up to meet hers. The woman’s eyes simply shone with joy, and her smile was pure delight.
“Might this be the reason for the brightness I detected in your spirit earlier?”
Brenn gave a slight shake of his head and told himself to practice patience. Creidne meant absolutely no harm, and considering her and Artur’s children were grown and out in the great world of Eile seeking their own adventures, she had no one else to mother but him. And she was wrong about Seren. Completely wrong.
“I’ll tell you what I told Artur,” Brenn said, his voice a little more clipped than he’d meant it to be. “She is a runaway, escaping an abusive household. Her stay at Ardun is temporary.”
A slight pang of regret bloomed in Brennon’s chest. He might try to deny Seren meant anything to him, but it was a fool’s errand, and he knew it. He leaned back in his chair and retrieved his arm from Creidne’s grasp to rub at the imaginary ache.
Creidne matched Brenn’s posture and let out a long-suffering sigh.
“That is too bad,” she murmured. “It would do you good, young man, to find a nice woman to settle down with. I know it isn’t my place to butt into business that isn’t my own, but I can’t help it. You, and that nephew of yours, deserve just as much happiness as the next person. A nice young woman to become part of your family, to offer comfort and love to both you and Rori ... Now, that would be a blessing indeed.”
Brenn clenched his teeth again. Seren was a nice young woman. More than nice, there was no denying that. But despite the fact she was born and raised in Eile like the rest of them, she was from an entirely different world. Her spirit longed for the deep, wild heart of the Weald. Her soul was made of light and joy and summertime. His soul was plagued with darkness, a wasteland perpetually trapped in winter. They couldn’t be more opposite to one another. And even if he longed to keep her by his side, he would not risk contaminating her. In fact, if not for the geis keeping Rori safe inside the boundaries of Ardun, he would beg Seren to take the boy with her when she left. Perhaps, then, his nephew might have the chance for a happy, somewhat normal life. Brenn knew it was only a matter of time before the faeduhn magic won out and turned him completely Faeduihn. When that happened, he had no idea what he might do to Rori.
“Now, that’s enough Creidne,” Artur chastised gently. “Leave the boy be. He’s still young and has plenty of time to think about settling down.”
Creidne shot her husband a dark look, but the one she offered Brenn was all apology. “I’m sorry if I’ve pushed too far, Brennon. It’s only that I care about you and Rori, and I know having Artur by my side, despite his sometimes gruff and inconsiderate manner, has brought me much joy throughout the years.”
Artur blinked up at her then, his face, well, at least the portion of his face Brenn could see, a mask of confused astonishment. He lifted a great bear paw of a hand and flattened it against his chest, crushing his wiry black beard beneath it.
“Me?!” he exclaimed, his voice higher than its normal growl. “Gruff and inconsiderate? When has that ever happened?”
Creidne rolled her eyes and stood, smacking him good-naturedly with her towel. “All the time, Artur. You are just too oblivious to notice.”
The big man snorted as his wife sauntered away to check on the pies and stew. By then, the patrons from earlier had left, and all three trestle tables were empty.
Beyond the edge of the canvas awning, snowflakes floated down in tiny, feathery crystals, barely covering the ground and disappearing the second the boots of the passersby trampled over them. Against the low banks on either side of the wide trail and in between the places where vendors had set up their own tents, small piles of white powder had managed to accumulate. Several children, those too young to take part in the ceremony or help out with their elders in the tents, were laughing and playing in what little snow they could gather.
Against his will, Brenn’s thoughts wandered back to what Creidne had said concerning Seren. Giving into temptation, Brenn let himself wonder what it would be like if he asked Seren to stay with them, and what it might feel like for her to say yes. He pictured the three of them: him, Seren and Rori, strolling through the fields of grain at dusk on a summer’s eve. He could envision Rori running ahead of them, trailing his fingers over the ripening barley, laughing as the wolfhounds guided him around stones and other obstructions. Brenn saw himself as well, strolling several feet behind his nephew, one arm placed protectively around Seren’s waist. They would stop near the Shallows, where the creek widened and tumbled over the small rock shelf to gather into a wide, waist-deep pool before continuing on its way at the other end. He would draw Seren close, his hold growing more possessive. And when he turned to gaze down into those deep brown eyes of hers, she would smile at him, and reach up to pull him down into a kiss …
Brenn drew in a sharp breath and shook his head.
Artur gave him a curious look. “Is anything amiss? You looked far away there for a moment.”
“I am well,” Brenn answered, his voice gruff. “Simply lost in thought.”
“Ah,” was Artur’s simple answer. He didn’t elaborate.
They spent a half hour more in the tent, eating the meat pies Creidne brought to them and finishing up their ale. Brenn kept a tight rein on his thoughts as they ate, refusing to let them return to the fantasy he’d envisioned before. In that corner lay disappointment and heartache; a future that would never come to pass. Once they were finished with their meal, Brenn and Artur took a turn around the small city of tents to see the rest of the goods being offered by the vendors.
Brenn had every intention of leaving the encampment behind without purchasing a single item. What might he do with a yard of scarlet fabric, a vial of lavender oil or a string of polished stone beads? When he and Artur happened upon a wagon boasting several shelves crowded with small wooden statues, he had a sudden change of heart. Brennon had taken note of this vendor on his way into camp. He’d admired only the quality of the rare wood and craftsmanship, but hadn’t looked too closely at any of the items. Now, he did. The carved statues ranged in size from a few feet tall to only a few inches, and the detail was even more exquisite than he’d realized. There were ravens carved of wood black as coal, and horses in polished tones of bone-white, chestnut, deep earth brown and blond.
Brenn had only meant to admire the fine work, but then his eyes fell upon a statue that caught his full attention. He reached out gentle fingers, brushing them delicately against the smooth, honey-colored wooden statue of a doe. Large enough to stand in his palm, every line of the deer was perfect. She stood with her four, graceful legs spread evenly to support her weight, her head turned to glance back over her shoulder with both ears pricked forward in cautious, curious investigation. The natural grain of the wood gave her a series of dark lines so accurate to the real, live version. But there was something in the small statue’s structure, in the attention to detail, in the very way it stood out among all the rest, that made Brenn think of Seren.
“What did you find there?” Artur asked, turning to discover why his friend had lagged behind.
Brenn didn’t answer right away. He was far too captivated by the perfect representation of Seren in her doe form.
“Now, that’s a lovely piece,” Artur commented.
Brenn blinked up at him.
“You should get it for Rori.”
Brennon tightened his fingers around the statue and nodded. He didn’t even bother to check the price. He felt compelled to purchase it, but not for his nephew.
The vendor, an old Lorehnin woman with a deeply lined face and snow-white hair, grinned a toothless welcome at Brenn as he brought the statue forth to pay for it.
“Will ye not be getting a second? If ye buy one, the second one is half the price.”
Brenn began to shake his head, then remembered the statue wasn’t for Rori, as he had indicated to Artur. He couldn’t bring home something for Seren and not get something for Rori as well. He turned to look at the many statues once again and when he spotted a strutting rooster carved from chestnut wood, he smiled. Rori would much prefer the rooster to the doe anyway.
“I’ll take these,” he said, presenting the wooden statues to the old woman.
She gave him that toothless grin once again and then proceeded to wrap the miniature animals carefully in parchment and dyed linen. As she worked, Brenn studied her. Her skin was dark, far darker than Seren’s, and a large cataract clouded one of her eyes. Gnarled, arthritic hands carefully tucked the statues into place, and Brenn wondered if she had any family to help her. The old Lorehnin woman finished up her task, tying colorful ribbons around the packages and adding a sprig of fresh holly to each.
Brenn handed over the coins the woman asked for and cradled the statues close to his person. He joined Artur farther up the trail, and they began their trek back to the sacred grove. The day had progressed late into twilight, and when they reached the top of the hill they noticed the scaffolding had been moved to the final marked oak in the grove. More wood had been added to the ceremonial fire, the red and yellow flames leaping high into the dark sky, and a sizeable pile of mistletoe occupied much of the once empty meadow. The young men who had helped build the platform earlier were now passing pieces of the sacred plant out to those gathered around.
“Another hour or so, and it will be time to disperse,” Artur grumbled, out of the corner of his mouth.
Brenn gave a sharp nod, his attention trained fully on Uscias. The Druid was busy slicing away at the bunches of mistletoe sprouting high in the branches of the oak, his golden sickle reflecting the firelight. Brenn watched the movement with the obsession of a cat guarding a gopher hole.
For nearly an hour more, the Druid cut the mistletoe bushels free of their anchor and handed them down to Baird. The pile of already harvested mistletoe was beginning to dwindle as those gathered around got their fill. Not wanting to miss out, Artur stepped forward and began gathering a sackful for himself and Creidne, as well as some for Brenn and Rori. By the time Artur had both bags full, Uscias and Baird were climbing down from the platform.
The Druid and his apprentice had yet to notice Brenn. He had checked on Dermot several minutes ago, patting him affectionately and tucking the statues safely into his saddlebags. But now, he was back within the circle of oaks. It was time to face his enemies. He had waited long enough. Brenn hated public confrontations, but he had no other choice.
At least most of the crowd has dispersed, he thought to himself as the Druid touched down on solid earth. Looking much wearier than he had earlier in the day, Uscias threw back his hood and approached the crackling fire to warm his numb fingers. The young assistants had begun dismantling the scaffolding, and Baird was now mixing the herbs and powders used in the final blessing of the trees. Brenn knew this ritual well. Uscias would add a few more marks to the trees, thanking them for their harvest and giving them extra strength, so the mistletoe wouldn’t sap too much of the trees’ energy as it grew back during the coming year.
Brenn cast Artur a sidelong look, drew in a deep breath, and reached up to pull back his hood, but a large hand on his forearm stopped him short.
“Are you sure about this, lad?” Artur asked, his voice pitched low.
Brennon nodded once and stepped away from his friend. With his head now exposed, he need only wait until Uscias glanced in his direction. It didn’t take long. As soon as Brenn moved within his peripheral vision, the Druid stumbled on his chant and shot his head up, presumably to give him a nasty look and perhaps even shout at him for disturbing the ritual. What happened instead gave Brenn a bit of satisfaction. The grey-haired man did look up, his eyes sharp and his eyebrows lowered angrily. The moment he recognized Brennon, however, his countenance changed abruptly. Those ice blue eyes flared with astonishment before settling back to their cool stillness and a muscle in the Druid’s cheek twitched.
“What in Donn’s black underworld are the likes of you doing here?” he growled, his voice not much louder than a whisper.
Baird, sensing Uscias’ change in mood, lifted his head as well. He almost dropped the bowl of powdered herbs as he jerked back in surprise.
“I’m here for the same reason as everyone else,” Brenn answered coolly. “I wish to procure some mistletoe harvested from the sacred grove to hang up around my farm. I have been experiencing a rash of vandalism of late, and I was hoping to use the plant to discourage it. After all, you do have a reputation, Uscias, for growing the most potent mistletoe in the northern reaches.”
The Druid’s eyes narrowed, their irises flaring with hatred.
“Yes, I do,” he bit out.
“Then, I shall take my trimmings and be gone. I should think once I have it distributed throughout my land, I will be seeing no other acts of destruction against my property.”
Brenn ground that last part out like a hammer driving a stake into the ground. There were enough witnesses present to have heard him. If Uscias and Baird planned any more damage to Ardun and its surrounding property, all Brenn had to do was complain loudly about it in the Black Boar. Word would soon spread that the resident Druid couldn’t even properly charm the mistletoe in his keeping. If he lost the respect of the people, Uscias lost his authority. He could have glamour that rivaled the Tuatha De, but if his followers didn’t take him seriously, he would become virtually powerless.
The Druid only glared at Brenn, his face stony and his blue eyes flashing. That muscle continued to twitch, but he said nothing for several heartbeats. Brenn fought against a self-satisfied sneer. So, he hadn’t been wrong after all. Not that he ever suspected he might be. Who else would want to sabotage his home?
Sensing the confrontation was over, and feeling he had, in a way, won this round, Brenn turned on his heel with every intention of gathering up Dermot and heading home.
“Filthy, faeduhn-stained swine!” Baird spat in utter disgust.
Brenn froze, a sliver of ice prickling up his spine.
A light murmur started among those people who had lingered. Slowly, they backed away, casting nervous glances between Brenn and the Druid’s apprentice. For a few moments, Brennon merely stood there, forcing his rage to settle down before it grew too strong to control. Somewhere ahead of him and to his left, he heard Artur hurl a garbled curse at Baird. Fortunately, someone grabbed the great man and held him back before he could do anything stupid.
Battening down the turmoil stirring up the darkness in his soul, Brenn put on a cool, calm demeanor and turned to face the bastard who had been his enemy since childhood. To his satisfaction, Baird actually took a tiny step back.
Brennon crossed his arms again and regarded Uscias’ new apprentice with a cool, calculating look.
“Who would have thought?” he said in a calm voice. “All this time people figured you couldn’t find a suitable apprentice because no one alive could measure up to your strict standards, when all along you simply wanted the least motivated, worthless piece of faelah meat you could find. How did you even get him to accept the apprenticeship to begin with? Did you bribe him with ale?”
To Brenn’s surprise, a light titter rippled through the crowd. Baird’s face paled, then his cheeks reddened with anger or embarrassment. Probably both.
Baird drew in a deep breath and clenched his fists, taking a step forward. He didn’t get very far. Uscias whipped out an arm to stop him and snarled something under his breath. With great effort, the younger man reined in his temper and stayed exactly where he was.
Uscias turned flinty eyes on Brenn. “You are a fool to make an enemy of me,” he hissed.
Brennon threw his head back and laughed, surprising the crowd once again. “Are you serious, Druid? You dare stand there and accuse me of making an enemy of you? Now? You became my enemy the day you stole me from my family and handed me over to the Morrigan’s torturers,” he spat.
Uscias went still while Baird shook with rage at his side.
Brenn turned his hard gaze on Baird. “And you,” he continued, his voice rising with his own brewing anger, “you dare call me faeduhn-tainted when your sins are plentiful enough to paint your entire soul black? Do the good people of Dundoire Hollow know the true story, Baird Corcorain? Do they know how you lusted after my sister, and when she turned you down, you took your resentment out on her brother? And then conspired with the corrupted Druid in order to enact revenge on a young woman who simply fell in love with someone else?”
Brenn paused to take a breath. He knew he was saying too much, far more than he had wished to and even more than what he should have said in front of these people. But once he had started, he could not stop. Like an avalanche high in the northern mountains, careening down the mountainside, deadly and out of control.
“If you threaten me or my family ever again, I will unleash the fury of my glamour against you. I have vowed never to do so again, but if you push me over the edge, if you threaten those I love, then you will wish you were never born.”
Brennon spit the last words at the two men the way a viper spits poison, then turned on his heel and headed toward the horses. His temper boiled high, and the dark magic threatening his soul purred in delight. No. He had to push it away. He had to remain in control.
He reached Dermot in ten ground-eating strides. He started untying the horse’s reins, and then, felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. Brenn reacted violently, throwing back his arm and snarling at whoever had dared touch him. Fortunately, Artur had quick reflexes for such a large man.
He held his palms up and backed away. “Easy, Brenn,” he said, in a voice one might use when speaking to a spooked horse. “It’s only your friend, Artur.”
Brenn shook his head and continued to draw in deep gulps of air. When he thought his heart had slowed a little, he glanced back up and over Artur’s shoulder. To his surprise, he found the small meadow deserted. The fire had been put out and the people had scattered, even Uscias and Baird.
“Where did everyone go?” he asked, his voice hoarse. They had been there only a minute ago. Two minutes at the most.
Artur shook his head. “You were lost in fury for a few minutes there,” he said calmly.
Brenn clenched his teeth. “How many minutes?”
When Artur didn’t answer, Brenn growled his question once again.
“Nearly a quarter of an hour.”
Brenn felt the blood drain from his face. Fifteen minutes he’d been lost in his rage? How was that possible? When the obvious answer came to him, he shuddered. That dark magic was spreading. This recent loss of temper had fed it and given it strength. Brenn took a long breath and glanced around the meadow. The darkness had grown suddenly deeper, much deeper than what seemed natural.
“No,” Brenn whispered in defeat, as he leaned against Dermot. The great horse turned his head and nudged Brennon, wondering what his master was up to.
“Brennon,” Artur said gently, moving in closer. Apparently, he thought it was safe to approach his friend once again. “It will be alright. You are well now.”
Brenn lifted his eyes to Artur’s, barely able to make out his friend’s face in the dark. He imagined his own face was gaunt and drawn. Could the dark magic be spreading? He had been so sure that only taking part in cruel deeds or using his cursed glamour would push him over the edge. Could any violent thought or act, no matter how trivial, be the last straw?
“This is the worst it’s ever been,” he rasped, trying to stand back up.
Artur used his arms to support his young friend. “You cannot let it win, Brenn. I know you. You are a good man, one of the best. It will not defeat you.”
Brenn snorted in laughter, though it was entirely devoid of humor.
“Come along, now. It’s time for you to return home. It is late, and your nephew and that lovely lass are surely waiting for you.”
Artur helped Brenn secure the great satchels of mistletoe onto Dermot’s back. By the time Dundoire Hollow was well behind him, the waning moon had just begun its climb into the sky.
As Dermot plodded along down the dark, deserted road, Brenn tried very hard not to think about what had happened between himself, Uscias and Baird. In all honesty, he was angry at himself above everything else. To so blatantly accuse his enemies in public like that? It was common enough knowledge to those who indulged in rumor mongering, but one didn’t publicly claim gossip to be true.
But that wasn’t what bothered him the most. It was the encroaching darkness he had felt probing his soul, and then taking over completely. That oily, black presence that had exuded some disturbed joy at knowing Brenn was perilously close to losing what little light he had left in him. How could he let himself stray so far? He could never allow the faeduhn darkness to defeat him. Never. No matter the pain it caused him. Who would take care of Rori if he became Faeduihn? Who would make sure the boy stayed within the safety of the stones? Who would help him renew the blood geis that kept the Morrigan away?
Brenn tightened his hold on Dermot’s reins and encouraged the horse to walk a little faster. He’d had enough of his dismal thoughts. It was Solstice Eve, and although they were probably already in bed, Rori and Seren awaited him back at home. For the second time that night, Brennon allowed himself to picture Seren as something more than a guest at Ardun. But holding onto that thought, as foolish as it may have been, kept the darkness at bay, at least for the time being.
Seren woke early on the morning of Winter Solstice. She had taken advantage of Brenn’s absence the day before, working hard with Rori to collect holly and evergreens from the edge of the forest to decorate the great house. Now, as she lingered under the warm covers, she relished the scent of clean pine needles and wild spices clinging to the greenery she had hung around her room. She stretched lazily, her muscles protesting slightly from yesterday’s work. Seren then curled and uncurled her fingers, noticing the ache there as well. Not only had she helped Rori decorate, but she’d spent a good portion of the day trying to finish up the two scarves she was making for the boy and his uncle. She had all but finished Rori’s, and Brennon’s needed a little more work, but she hoped to have them both complete before nightfall. It was tradition among her tribe to exchange Solstice gifts after sunset.
Thinking of her people back in the Weald brought a sudden ache to Seren’s heart. She didn’t miss those who hated her, but she did miss her mother dearly. Would Daniela be celebrating with the others, or would she be alone, missing her daughter as much as Seren missed her?
Shaking those thoughts from her mind before she became too depressed, Seren threw back her bedcovers and quickly got dressed. The house was dark and deserted downstairs, but once she got the kitchen fire started, Rori joined her. Shortly afterward, his uncle entered the kitchen and Seren turned to smile at him before catching herself. She quickly got back to her task, tending the potatoes and onions she’d sliced over the skillet and flipping the eggs that sizzled beside them.
Not good, Seren. You’re letting your heart loose again. It’ll just be harder to catch when it’s time to leave in the spring.
Heeding her own advice, Seren dished out the breakfast and remained mostly quiet during the meal. Instead, she listened to Brennon tell Rori all about the things he’d seen in town and the mistletoe he’d brought back.
“I’m going to check the perimeter with the dogs in a little while. I’ll take some of the mistletoe along with me to place along the border.” He sipped his tea, his silvery eyes lost somewhere.
“Seren, would you and Rori mind hanging some around the house? I’ll bring a sack up from the barn before I leave.”
Seren looked up from her tea and nodded.
“Very well,” Brenn said, pushing away from the table. “I’ll go get it now.”
When Brenn left, Seren stood to clear the table. Rori lingered for a while, helping her move the dishes into the sink basin before disappearing upstairs. Seren began washing the plates, glancing up through the small window facing the main road every now and then. The view from this point in the house was more even with the hilltop, but she could still see the stretch of land below their high vantage point. The fifth or sixth time Seren peered through the window she noticed something different about the monotone landscape. A splash of brilliant color stained the grey road. A wagon, heading away from Dundoire Hollow. Curiosity got the better of Seren and so she simply stood there for awhile, watching its gradual approach. The covered cart was painted in the greens and reds of the late season, and garlands of pine and fir hung like draped ropes from the roof.
Seren squinted her eyes, trying to see better over the distance and what little light the break of dawn provided. A flash of silver ran along the harnesses of the horses when one of the animals shook its head. Bells, perhaps? A few people, some adults, some maybe a few years older than Rori, climbed from a door in the side of the vehicle. The driver, a man dressed in colorful, worn clothing, stepped down from his bench as Brenn approached from the direction of the barn. The wolfhounds accompanied him, their stances more curious than confrontational. Seren abandoned the sink and headed for the window farther down the wall, standing on her toes so she could see better. The stranger speaking to Brenn wore an odd hat and held the stem of a long pipe between his teeth. A tendril of white smoke curled from the end, like the downy feather of a goose. But what caught Seren’s attention the most was the tone of his complexion. His skin was a warm, earthy brown. Darker than her own and much darker than any Faelorehn she had ever seen.
Could he be Fahndi? she wondered, breathlessly. And if so, what was he doing traveling this part of Eile in the dead of winter? Then, Seren realized something else. If he was Fahndi, maybe there was a chance for her to survive outside of her tribe after all. Perhaps there was a future for her as a traveling merchant.
Leaving those thoughts behind for the moment, Seren simply watched the exchange below. For several minutes, Brennon spoke with the man and his companions until they all shook hands and Brenn pointed in the direction of the barn. The man returned to his spot on the wagon’s bench and urged the horses forward. With a slight lurch, the cart pulled through the standing stones guarding the path. As it moved forward, Seren noticed one corner dipped slightly with every turn of the wheel on that side.
Furrowing her brow, she quickly finished up with the dishes and hurried upstairs. Just as she stepped out into the main room, Brenn pushed open the back door. He carried two bulging sacks over his back, the olive green stems poking through sporting flat leaves and white berries. The mistletoe. He dumped the bags on the stone floor beside the door then straightened.
“We’ll be hosting some guests in the barn tonight,” he announced to Seren and Rori. “They’re a traveling merchant family and their wagon has sustained some damage. They needed somewhere to stay for the night because it will take a good portion of the day to fix the broken spoke.”
So that explained why the cart seemed to limp.
Rori drew in a breath, probably to spew a stream of questions about their guests, but his uncle spoke first.
“I’d feel better if you two stuck to the house until I return from dispensing the mistletoe. The family has promised a grand Solstice celebration tonight to show their gratitude, so Rori, you can assuage your curiosity then.”
The boy clamped his mouth shut and proceeded to pout silently.
Brenn grabbed the larger burlap sack and reached for the door handle. “I’ll be back after sundown,” he called over his shoulder, as he pulled the door open and stepped out into the white landscape.
The click of the latch catching made Seren jump slightly. Something was off about Brennon this morning. She had first noticed the difference during breakfast, but couldn’t put her finger on it. Now, as she recalled the way he’d spoken to her and Rori, and by the way he’d walked through the door, it was more clear to her. He moved about as if something pained him or slowed him, like a man trudging through a mire. And the shadow he’d cast seemed darker, more substantial than it should. Could it be the darkness from his nightmares, coming back to haunt him? She hoped it was just her imagination playing tricks on her.
Shaking her head against such dismal thoughts, Seren walked over to the remaining burlap sack and lifted it up.
“Ready to fill the house with mistletoe?” she asked Rori.
Grinning, he nodded and headed her way. For the next hour or so, she and her young friend placed sprigs of mistletoe everywhere an evil spirit or tenacious faelah might enter. Along the window sills, around the door frames, above the hearths. Seren also made sure to place some on the bed posts in Rori’s and Brenn’s room, as well as her own. After that chore was done, she and Rori prepared the meat and fruit pies they’d be eating for Solstice dinner.
“We should make extras for the travelers,” Rori stated, his hands buried in the pastry dough.
Seren thought that a good idea as well, and soon, she found herself wondering about their unexpected visitors once more. She couldn’t wait to venture down to the barn later to get a better look at them.
Once all the food for the Solstice was prepared, Seren and Rori retreated into the great room and got a warm fire burning. Seren retrieved her basket of yarn from upstairs and proceeded to work on the scarves for Brenn and his nephew while Rori got to work on one of his own projects. Nola the cat, woken by Seren’s trip upstairs, padded out of Brenn’s room to join them. For the remainder of the day, they worked in near silence, only the rumble of Nola’s purr and the whisper and crackle of the fire to keep them company.
Dusk was beginning to fall upon Ardun when Seren thought she noticed a change in the cadence of the subtle sounds around them. She paused in her weaving and went still. A soft, sweet lilting melody brushed against her sensitive ears.
“Do you hear that, Rori?”
The young boy had been busy twisting together strands of flax fiber to make a new string for Brennon’s bow. Since this skill was based mostly on touch and not sight, his uncle left the task to him. Seren had been doing something similar with the scarves she was working on: weaving the vibrant strands of dyed wool together using only her fingers. It was a technique exclusive to the Fahndi, and Seren was particularly good at it. Not too surprising, considering her peers had ostracized her from their circles. She’d had to come up with some way to occupy her time while growing up. Pushing those negative thoughts aside, Seren focused on Rori.
The boy had paused in his braiding and cocked his head to the side. “Hear what?” he asked, in response to her question.
“Music,” Seren whispered, her voice soft and pliant.
“Music?” Rori repeated.
“Yes. It’s coming from the barn.”
Rori noted the crisp squeak of the reed basket shift as Seren set down her work. The soft swish of fabric soon followed, and he knew she’d stood from her chair and moved away.
“Seren?” Rori queried, setting aside the half-finished bowstring and small block of beeswax he’d been using to bind the twine.
He slid from the chair and went straight for the window, knowing exactly how many steps to take, and in what direction, to avoid crashing into the table.
He could tell by the way the light fell outside that it was twilight. The darkness pressing into his eyes growing a bit darker as day descended into night.
“They are playing music,” Seren said, once again in that reverent tone.
“Maybe Uncle Brenn is back!” the boy exclaimed.
Seren didn’t think so. Although the sun had set, the boy’s uncle would have come to the house to fetch the two of them. She let Rori know as much.
He merely shrugged. “We could go down there and see what’s going on. He’s sure to be home soon.”
Seren took her lower lip between her teeth, considering her options. She had just finished up with the scarves for Rori and his uncle, and it wouldn’t take long to wrap them. And Rori was right. Brenn had to be heading home by now. What was the harm in joining the family in the Solstice celebration early? Besides, it had been so long since she’d had the pleasure of listening to real music.
A shift in the wind carried a more discernible tune up from the base of the hill, and Seren got a better sample of the melody this time around. The joy of it tingled up her spine, and her healing glamour unfurled like a golden rose in the sun. She loved music. Absolutely adored the rhythm and flow of it. Music healed her spirit, the way her magic healed wounds.
Without needing any more encouragement from Rori, she dashed to the kitchen and scooped up the basket of prepared meat and fruit pies. Setting the basket on the floor beside the door, she quickly scrounged up some brown paper and string from the desk. Working quickly but efficiently, she wrapped up the two scarves and tied the bundles with string. Plucking a few sprigs of holly from the garland above the fireplace, she tucked them beneath the knotted twine and left them on the desktop. Rori waited beside the door for her, blinking owlishly in her general direction.
“Here’s your cloak, Rori.”
She thrust the garment at him and turned to retrieve her own from the wall hook. Once it was secure around her shoulders, Seren took up the basket and pulled the door open. Outside, a few of the hounds snoozed in the dry hay tucked beneath the awning. The moment Seren and Rori burst from the house, however, they leapt to their feet and trotted after them down the hillside. Rori worked to match Seren’s pace, his hand outstretched just far enough to keep her flowing cloak within reach. The path evened out, and Seren slowed a little.
Rori could tell they were drawing near the barn because the darkness that shrouded his ruined vision grew brighter. As they passed through the great, wide open doorway, his remaining senses became flooded with action. The faint music grew suddenly stronger, and the laughter of children and the clucking of curious chickens overwhelmed his ears. Fire smoke and incense tickled his nose, and a general thrum of celebration and delight coursed through him.
“Oh, Rori,” Seren breathed quietly. “They have cleared the hay and smoothed out a great circle in the center of the barn. There is a small fire pit, and a boy about your age and a woman are playing a bodhran and a flute.”
He tried to picture it in his mind, and he was sure whatever he envisioned was far grander than what actually existed. He smiled, regardless. It was probably better that way. Before he could take in all the new sensations, someone clasped his hand in theirs and jerked him away from Seren.
“Come along!” It was a girl’s voice, full of mirth and brightness. “My name is Roisin, and that is my brother Cassair and my little sister Aislin.”
Rori assumed she pointed out the other two children, but he had no idea where they stood.
“R-Rori. I’m Rori,” he panted, as the girl dragged him along.
“Come dance with us!” she said with a laugh.
“I can’t!” he managed. “I, I can’t see.”
The girl slowed to a stop, and he almost crashed into her. For several long seconds, nothing happened. Her hand tightened on his and the music continued, but he stood still, afraid to move, afraid to breathe.
“Oh,” the girl called Roisin finally said. “We’ll have to teach you, then. It’s really easy. I’ll hold your hand so you don’t miss any steps, okay?”
Rori’s face split into a great smile as a bright bubble of delight swelled in his heart.
“Okay!” he cried.
His dance partner laughed, clearly in good spirits. After that, he forgot about Seren for the time being as Roisin and her sister Aislin led him around the fire pit to the rhythm of the music.
Seren watched the scene unfold before her, of Rori being so readily accepted by these strangers, and her heart melted.
“Glad to have you join us, lassie,” an old woman said from her seat on the back of a wagon.
Seren jumped, then turned to face the woman, her eyes blinking in astonishment.
“I am Grandmother Peig,” she said, in her raspy voice.
The old woman regarded her with one eye, the one not showing signs of blindness. The piles of wrinkles on her face reminding Seren of rich, freshly turned soil waiting for a new crop, and her good eye sparkled with intelligence and mischief. Despite her shyness, Seren smiled and walked over to the old cart the woman was sitting on, setting her basket to the side.
“I am Seren.”
The Fahndi girl offered her hand, and Grandmother Peig glanced at it for a few spare moments before taking it in her warm, rough palm and giving it a good shake.
The old woman grunted softly, then nodded in the direction of the children. “Thems my grandchildren. Is the boy yours?”
Seren flushed slightly, though she didn’t know why. “No. I am like you. I came to Ardun and was offered hospitality.”
The old woman clucked her tongue. “So, not the young master’s wife then?”
That made Seren blush even harder. “Brennon is a friend.”
Grandmother Peig trained her good eye on Seren and studied her for an uncomfortable minute. Finally, she turned away with a harrumph, and Seren was left wondering what she might be thinking. Deciding to let it go, she asked the old woman about her family.
For the next several minutes, Seren basked in the beauty of the music and listened to Grandmother Peig tell her tales. She learned the name of Grandmother Peig’s son, Finghin, and her daughter-in-law, Treasa. Treasa was the pretty woman playing the flute. Cassair, the boy next to her, was her son and he was a few years older than Rori. The two girls, Roisin and Aislin, were younger than their brother, but not by much. Finghin and Treasa’s brother, Eoghan, and Eoghan’s son Morain, had spent much of the day repairing a spoke in the damaged wheel of their cart.
“Tampered with,” Grandmother Peig sniffed, lifting her walking stick and jabbing it into the ground. “Townsfolk don’t take too kindly to those who look different than them.”
A small pinch of sadness worried away at Seren’s heart. She glanced over at the family of traveling merchants once again. Their skin was dark, like Grandmother Peig’s, and Seren could only imagine what sorts of hardships they might face because of it.
“Not only are we Lorehnin, but our mortal ancestors hailed from a place in the mortal world where the sun shines brightly nearly all the year, giving them a darker complexion.” She held out her arm and gave a toothless grin. “We have inherited that trait.”
Seren smiled at her good humor, but couldn’t squelch her disappointment. So, they weren’t Fahndi after all. So much for asking their advice on living outside the Weald.
Shaking away her discouragement, Seren said, “Your skin reminds me of blackthorn wood. Rich and dark and beautiful.”
“Your complexion is a unique shade as well,” the old woman commented abruptly.
Not knowing what else to say, Seren swallowed and answered simply, “Yes, it is.”
The woman gave her a wide smile, then placed one weathered hand on her arm.
“All is well, young one,” she whispered. “I know you are of the Fahndi, but your secret is safe with me.”
For a few breathless moments, Seren was rendered silent with surprise. However, when the woman continued to gaze at her with an expression of kindness and understanding, Seren allowed herself to relax.
“I have lived a long time, dearie, and I have met many people and have traveled to many corners of Eile. I like to consider myself wise, and I know what common folk do to those who are different.”
Her good eye filled with melancholy then, its focus leaving Seren’s face for a while. A small pang of sadness welled up in her. Clearly Grandmother Peig and her family had experienced the same unkindness that had plagued Seren her whole life.
“Now, enough of the dreary,” the old woman said suddenly, snapping out of her dark reverie.
She dug beneath the quilt folded over her lap and pulled out a tin whistle. She brandished the musical instrument in her hand and gave Seren a wicked smile.
“I predict your young man will be back within half an hour. Let’s say we get this celebration going, so he has something joyous to return home to.”
Seren’s eyebrows furrowed. “My young man?”
Grandmother Peig nodded. “Master Roarke.”
Before Seren could contradict the old woman, Cassair, Treasa and Finghin struck up a new, lively tune. Rori, who had barely managed to catch his breath, was once again pulled into a dance around the fire. Eoghan and Morain made the final adjustments on the repaired wagon wheel, then put aside their tools to join in the foray. Seren cast an impish look in Grandmother Peig’s direction before bounding after the revelers, kicking up her feet and clapping her hands in time to the melody. She had only ever felt truly free among her people whenever music was played. Music held its own kind of magic, a magic with the power to drive away all inhibitions in any Fahndi man, woman or child. And Seren was no exception to this rule.
The fast pace of the melody as the pipes and flute trilled along her nerves set Seren’s heart racing. Her feet, unable to stay still, tapped and jigged along to the glorious sound. She pranced across the barn floor, pulling the young girls and Rori around the small bonfire with her. Laughing at her merriment, they followed without resistance, picking up their skirts and kicking aside their shoes as she had done.
The Solstice was a time for celebration, and in the Weald, the Fahndi would host a great party on this night with music, dancing, storytelling and feasting. Oh, what wonderful meals they prepared! All the fruits, nuts, grains and vegetables the Weald had to offer. Seren could almost smell the delicate sweetness of bog potato tubers roasting among the hot coals, or the tantalizing aroma of dried corn kernels popping over the fire. There would be winter fruit salad, vegetable soup, hearty bread and plenty of berry wine and mead. Seren couldn’t enjoy those things now, for she was no longer in the Weald, no longer part of a Fahndi clan, but she could still enjoy the spirit of the Solstice with her new friends.
The pure magic of the music coursed through Seren’s blood, making her light-headed and happy. She was certain the glass or two of mead between dances also contributed to the muddling of her thoughts, or else she would have noticed the tall man lingering in the great doorway of the barn sooner. When she finally did spot him, it was as if her focus suddenly sharpened, honing in on him as the lights, scents and sounds of the party blurred away.
Brennon Roarke stood out like a beacon to her, even though he remained mostly draped within the night’s deep shadows. Everything about him in that moment sharpened. It was as if he were composed entirely of color while the rest of the world was a simple charcoal sketch. His dark hair, only a few shades away from true black, stood apart from the night and his clear, grey eyes shone with the intelligence, honor and steadfastness Seren had come to expect in this man. His pale skin appeared golden against the firelight, and the forest green cloak he wore over his clothes complimented his complexion well. But that strange darkness, the one she had managed to chase away the evening of his terrible nightmares, had returned. Immediately, Seren’s Fahndi glamour swelled in her chest. This time, however, she did nothing to tamp it down. Her magic sensed something she could not, and she was far too intoxicated with the enchantment created by the bodhran, tin whistle and flute to act rationally.
Without pausing to consider her actions, Seren took a deep breath and strode forward. She was being propelled purely by instinct, and that instinct told her to heal the one who needed it the most. At that moment, that person was Brenn. She crossed the barn floor in ten rapid steps and came to stand just in front of him, their bodies mere inches apart.
The Faelorehn man was clearly startled by her boldness, for he blinked down at her with wide eyes.
“Come along, Brennon Roarke, and share a dance with me,” she stated rather boldly.
On a normal night, when music and mead were not involved, she would never even dare to think to be so forward with him. She had come to care about him, yes, had come to count him as a friend. But to ask him to dance? To have him standing so close to her when she was most vulnerable? In the Fahndi culture, asking another to dance was tantamount to offering courtship. Because the music stripped one of all his or her reticence, a dance together meant tearing down all barriers between two people’s souls.
Seren was drugged by the music, and her glamour was driving her more than her common sense. She needed to make Brenn better, whatever was plaguing his spirit needed to be eradicated. And a dance would allow her to touch him, to lay her hands on his skin and send her magic deep into his soul. She reached up and took his hand, drawing him in from the darkness. If her mind had been completely clear, she would have been a bit surprised at how easily he followed her. But she was too focused on pulling him closer to the warm fire and closer to the sweet, swaying sound of the music.
The musicians had transitioned to a new song, this one smoother and slower. A tune that warmed Seren’s blood to near boiling point. Vaguely, she took note of other instruments joining in with the whistle, flute and drum as she and Brenn began moving together. He must have shed his cloak and jacket at some point, because as her fingers traveled up his forearms she felt no cloth there. Seren shivered. His skin was much too cold. She had to warm him. Acting on instinct once again, she moved in closer, pressing her body against his but never taking her fingers from his arms. She thought she heard him give a small gasp, but she became distracted once again by the beautiful, clear notes of a fiddle and the low, reverberating beat of a drum thrumming through her blood.
Seren took a long, deep breath, wondering why Brennon’s scent was so near. The reason became clear when she opened her eyes to find the side of her face pressed against his chest. And still, she didn’t pull away in embarrassment or horror. Instead, she let her glamour flow free through her palms and fingers, encouraging it to seep into his skin and burn away the demons that possessed him.
Eventually, the strong muscles beneath her fingertips lost their tension and began to warm. The man dancing with her relaxed, as well. No longer were his steps stiff and uncertain, but smooth and natural like her own. And just as quickly as it had flared up, her glamour began to recede back into her. The music started to lose some of its edge as well, the euphoria burning away like vapor under the hot sun.
Seren felt suddenly tired, and her feet shuffled to a stop. She pulled her head away from Brenn’s chest and blinked, gazing around them. Treasa still played the tin whistle as her son continued to pound the bodhran. Eoghan and Finghin had joined the band, one of them shaking a tambourine and the other playing a second flute. Rori and the two girls had given up the barn floor to Seren and Brenn. They were now perched high up on a pile of hay bales, watching the merriment and eating some of the pies she had brought from the house. All of the horses had been put into their stalls, and the repaired cart had been rolled into the space beneath the hay loft.
Seren gave her head a little shake. How much time had passed since the music fever took over her senses?
The sudden tightening of strong fingers on her elbows reminded Seren she was pressed up against Brennon. Sucking in a quick breath, she turned her head to look up at him. For the past several minutes, she’d been so lost in the hypnotic rhythm of the music and the effort it took to heal whatever ailment plagued him, that she hadn’t noticed just how close together they’d become.
Seren’s eyes met Brenn’s, and her heart kicked up its pace. Whatever she had done with her glamour had worked. No longer did she gaze into eyes filmed over with shadows, but eyes smoldering with heat. She wondered, for one insane moment, if the music had had the same effect on Brenn as it did on her. Seren ran her tongue over her dry bottom lip and Brennon’s nostrils flared, his fingers tightening even more. The tension was quickly returning to his body. He started to lean forward, his handsome face taking on an expression filled with purpose. His fingers abruptly loosened on Seren’s elbows and traveled up her arms to press flat against her shoulder blades. Brenn was drawing her closer, if that was even possible, and for one dizzying second, Seren realized he was going to kiss her.
Panic swelled up inside of her and she gasped, pulling away quickly. Brenn, despite the almost feral look on his face and the strength in his grip, let go of her.
“I-I’m s-sorry,” she whispered, nervously tucking her hair behind her ears as heat rose to her face. “I’m a bit out of breath from dancing.”
She tried to give him a comforting smile, but she feared it faltered pathetically.
If Seren thought Brenn’s prolonged silence odd, she didn’t say so. Instead, she moved away from him, his overwhelming presence suddenly unbearable. She turned and gave the family of travelers a quick curtsy.
“Thank you so much. For the music tonight,” she faltered. “I think I’ll head back up to the house now. I’m quite exhausted, or else I’d stay longer.”
Without waiting for a reply, or looking at anyone else, Seren headed for the exit. She plunged out into the crisp darkness of the winter evening, resisting the urge to run. Only once she was beyond the rectangle of firelight pouring from the barn door did Seren pick up her pace. She had been so eager to leave the party that she’d forgotten her cloak, and the frozen air bit at her overheated skin. Her breath puffed out before her and patches of broken clouds above allowed a little moonlight to spill through, dimly lighting her way.
As Seren walked, she tried to convince herself the reason she fled the party was because she’d drained all her energy while dancing. And that really wasn’t much of a stretch. She was exhausted. In fact, she hoped to make it up the hill and into her bed before collapsing into a weary heap. But if she was being completely honest with herself, she knew her excuse was only a cover for the root of the matter. The real reason she’d left so abruptly was because of what she’d experienced while in Brenn’s arms. A deep yearning coupled with a dangerous wash of emotion she wasn’t ready to acknowledge. She had no doubt her flood of glamour had eased the dark magic surrounding Brenn tonight, but it had also brought forth another sensation she’d never felt so strongly until that evening: desire.
When she realized Brenn had been drawing her near to kiss her, she had wanted it. Badly. Only problem was, her glamour, and the euphoria from the music, had mostly burned off by then. She’d come to her senses just in time for the wild, timid doe inside of her to panic and withdraw. But why had she panicked? Why not give in to the desire burning in her heart? Oh, she knew why. In that moment, as Brennon had moved in, the look on his face was purely predatory. It was something she hadn’t seen in his eyes since the day he shot her thinking she was an ordinary deer. His intensity had exhilarated her and that fresh, flaring feeling of excitement had frightened her the way a flicker of flame might unnerve a wild animal.
Cursing under her breath, Seren began climbing the low hill, her legs as heavy as lead by the time she reached the top. Her head was spinning, both with nausea and her own tumultuous emotions. She could not let this happen again. It wasn’t safe for her or Brenn. And what about Rori? She bit her lip and forced back the prickle of tears. She could not let anything happen because when it was all said and done, she would have to leave Ardun. It was best to maintain the friendship she already shared with Brenn and not let it grow into anything more.
To her great relief, Seren made it into the house without collapsing. All was dark inside save for a few orange coals glowing in the hearth. A mournful meow from nearby gave her a start. She cast a glare at the large cat hiding under the table near the bookshelf.
“Nola,” she hissed, “you frightened me!”
Two glowing eyes became half-moons as the cat’s eyelids drooped. The only answer Seren got from the animal was a low, rumbling purr.
Her heartbeat slowing, Seren turned to head upstairs but caught sight of the two brown parcels sitting atop the desk across the room. Brenn’s and Rori’s Solstice gifts. Biting her cheek, Seren hurried over and picked the packages up, delivering them to their perspective rooms before seeking her own.
Weariness once again threatened to overwhelm her, but Seren pressed on, pushing her door open and placing her hands against the door frame to brace herself. Her head was spinning now, and black spots danced before her eyes. Apparently, she had overextended herself while using her magic once again.
Please, please just let me be tired, she pleaded with the unseen gods. Please don’t let me fall ill again.
Once fully inside the room, Seren gave in to her exhaustion and fell to her knees. It seemed to take her forever to crawl to the bed and pull herself up onto the mattress. Before the swell of unconsciousness completely engulfed her, she managed to throw the quilt over herself, and in a handful of seconds, she was fast asleep.
Rori sat upon the wall of hay bales with his new friends, clapping his hands to the rhythm of the music and thinking about what had transpired only half an hour ago. He wished more than ever he could have seen everything, because hearing it, smelling it, feeling it wasn’t enough. He pictured Seren twirling around and laughing, the center of all the light and life in the barn. And then, he pictured his uncle Brennon walking in and seeing them. He had felt it the moment his uncle arrived, as if a pocket of cold winter air had spilled through the barn opening. His uncle always felt cold, but this time he’d felt even icier than usual. Rori had frowned at the sensation. Uncle Brenn only got colder when the nightmares plagued him.
But then, he’d heard Seren’s lovely voice, asking his uncle to dance. A bright smile spread across the boy’s face as he envisioned his uncle, and then Seren to the best of his ability, moving across the floor like his mother and father used to do on Solstice Night. The music had picked up again, and some of the travelers had begun clapping. And then something extraordinary happened. A warm light started growing, a luminous burst of white spreading across the dark fabric of his blindness, a spark so bright it overshadowed the dull yellow of the bonfire. The light flared and engulfed the coldness that was his uncle, and Rori wanted to cry out in shocked delight. The radiant light burned bright, melting away the black frost tangled around his uncle’s spirit. That cool, sheltered manner of his cracked a little as the warmth of that brightness washed over him. Like hot water poured over cold fingers, making them move and flex better. Bringing back their warmth and color. Relaxing, Rori had followed the movement of that luminosity for the next several minutes, tears forming in his eyes as the layers of ice slowly thawed from his uncle’s soul. Of course, he couldn’t actually see anything, but it was how he pictured what he felt in his heart.
“Shall I tell you your fortune tonight, young son?”
Rori jumped at the sound of the rough voice, bringing him back to the present. It was Grandmother Peig, calling up to him atop the hay.
“May I see your palm?”
Rori swallowed and nodded, climbing down a few levels and then holding out his right hand, hoping it was where she could reach it. He almost leapt out of his skin again when her rough, calloused fingers brushed against his. Warm and papery-thin but rough in some spots, he imagined her hand looked like the gnarled roots of the ancient beech and oak trees growing in Dorcha Forest. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to picture exactly how those trees looked before he’d lost his sight.
The old woman was humming low in her throat now, the tune similar to the one the musicians were currently playing. The laughter of the other children, the occasional soft clucking of the hens, the breathing of the horses and sheep, the protesting squeaks of the mice as they scurried through the straw ... All of these sounds came to his sensitive ears as Grandmother Peig turned his hand over in hers.
“Where are Seren and Uncle Brenn?” Rori asked, when she started tracing her fingertips over the lines in his palm.
Grandmother Peig stopped her humming abruptly, and a smile crept into her voice as she spoke. “The lovely Seren left ten minutes ago, and your uncle followed a few minutes after her. She had the decency to thank us for a festive evening. Master Roarke, however,” her voice lowered, taking on more mischief than earlier, “stared through the door after her and then just strode out, as if none of us existed.”
Rori furrowed his brow. Grandmother Peig sounded pleased, giddy almost, about his uncle’s behavior. He couldn’t understand it. If he had done such a thing, just left a party without saying farewell, his uncle would’ve chastised him for being so rude.
“Why do you sound so happy?” he asked Grandmother Peig.
The woman cackled, her grip tightening on his hand but not growing uncomfortable. She patted him lightly and said, “Someday you’ll understand, my boy.”
Rori scowled. He hated it when Uncle Brenn said that to him. It must be something adults were required to tell children.
“Now, back to your palm reading.”
The old woman began her humming again, and Rori tried not to squirm as her careful fingers tickled his skin. Eventually, she stopped her low drone and released a deep sigh.
Rori perked up. “What is it?”
“I have a piece of advice for you, young man,” she said, rather seriously. “My advice is free, and you may choose to take it or leave it, but I will share it, nonetheless. I have studied the lines of your palm and glanced at the glamour hiding deep within you. You have a good soul, Rori O’Faolain, and your future is difficult to read. But I can tell you this,”
Grandmother Peig drew in another deep breath and let it out just as slowly as before. “Old vows must be broken in order to form new ones.”
Rori blinked, his blind eyes seeing only the tiny spot of yellow against black that was the bonfire.
“What does that mean?” he asked, in a small voice.
The old woman held his hand a bit longer, then moved her fingers up his forearm. “It means,” she said softly, “whatever you decide to make of it.”
Her thumb came to rest over the scar below his elbow.
Instinctively, Rori pulled back, remembering what his uncle had always told him about the ritual on Samhain Eve. No one must ever know, Rori, he had said. And as far as Rori knew, only Seren had been allowed to witness it. But Seren wasn’t just anyone.
Grandmother Peig let him go then and returned to wherever she had been before. It was only later that evening, when sleep held Rori close in its embrace, that he realized he’d never told the old woman his surname.
* * *
It took a few minutes for Brennon to return to reality. By the time he regained enough sense to realize he was standing just inside the doorway of the barn, blinking out into the dark, Seren had already started climbing the trail up to the house. His first instinct was to chase after her and give her that kiss, the one he had fully committed to before she’d pulled free of his embrace. Then his senses came crashing back, making him sway a little on his feet. He shook his head slightly, pressing a hand against his forehead.
What on Eile had just happened? He recalled returning home from the perimeter check only to find the barn ablaze with light and music. He had known the travelers wanted to host a Solstice celebration, but the biggest surprise had been seeing Seren dancing. At first, Brenn had felt slight irritation. Had he not asked her and Rori to stay to the house until he returned? But then, the sheer joy radiating from her was intoxicating. For what seemed like an age, he stood in the doorway, staring disbelievingly at the timid girl who had always guarded her emotions so well.
But there she was, flying across the ground with reckless abandon, moving to the music as if she had been born from the melody itself. Yes, he had been surprised, even more so when she sighted him, her golden brown eyes gleaming. She had marched over, radiating confidence and pure delight, to pull him into the dance with her. He’d been so mesmerized, he had followed without a second thought. And then, it was just the two of them and the music. Everyone and everything else just faded away, including the lingering anger, fear and darkness that had been clinging to him since the mistletoe harvest the day before. Every word spoken by Baird and Uscias wiped clean and replaced with Seren’s radiance. And she had been radiant, more than she’d ever been before. She had drawn him in, even as he’d tried to retreat within himself. She had chased after him, a beacon among shadows, and erased the cold darkness, entreating him to come to her light so that he might share in her joy and shake off his melancholy.
Even now, as Brenn stared absentmindedly into the darkness, he curled his fingers into a fist. They had been so cold earlier, and not just because of the winter night. His confrontation with the Druid and his new apprentice the day before had called forth the faeduhn glamour once more, like a breeze stirring new flame from diminishing coals. And that small blaze had threatened to leap forth and engulf everything in its path. But not anymore, now that Seren had entered into his life. He feared the ever growing faeduhn darkness, and he always would, but it seemed every time it threatened to overtake him, Seren would outstretch her hand and force it back into its cage. It was still there, a cold speck lodged deep within his soul, but it was dormant once again. She had done something to staunch its unnatural growth. And that realization alone thrilled and terrified Brennon. He did not want to believe it; would not dare to hope. But he couldn’t deny the woman, with her glamour or her mere beauty of spirit, had put a stopper on the well of darkness within him.
Brenn closed his eyes and tilted his head back. Suddenly, the barn was too much for him. Too many sounds and smells and too much heat. His skin was burning, and his mind was focused on only one thing: he had to find Seren. He had to find her and draw her to him once again, to hold her close before the wonderful feeling faded away. To kiss her long and deep, stealing her breath away, before he lost his nerve. To do what he had been wanting to do for weeks now, something he denied himself because of what he was, of what he was slowly becoming. But Seren’s warmth had burned the cold darkness away, and he would take advantage of his sudden bravado while he had the chance.
Brenn charged out into the night, the heat clinging to his skin cooled by the crisp air. He drew in long, deep breaths, feeling wild and free for the first time in ages. He headed straight for the trail and lunged up the hill at a brisk pace, blinking rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the dark. The wolfhounds greeted him at the top, their tails wagging and some of them whining in excitement at seeing their master. He brushed past them, aiming for the door.
Inside the great room, all was dark except for a faint red glow emanating from the fireplace.
“Seren,” he said aloud, his voice coarse and deep.
There was no answer. Nothing stirred, not even a wisp of night wind creeping in through a cracked window. Wondering if Seren had bypassed the house and went elsewhere, Brenn turned to resume his search outside. If it took him all night, he would find her. He was about to pull the door back open when a faint, grumpy meow caught his attention. Nola. He turned his head and cocked it to the side, gazing up onto the dark balcony hallway above. Had Seren gone to bed already? He had to know for sure. Turning on his heel, he headed toward the stairs, taking them two at a time.
Her door was open, but the room was cold and dark. Brenn was about to change his mind again when a loud purring emanated from the middle of the room. Seren must be in bed, after all. Without a second thought, he bypassed the threshold and immediately sucked in a breath. The room was ice cold and the fireplace a black pit. Brenn narrowed his eyes and trained them on the bed. Just enough clouds had parted above to allow a sliver of pale moonlight to pour in between the curtains. Seren was wearing the same dress and shift she’d worn to the Solstice Eve gathering in the barn. Although she had managed to throw most of the quilt over her legs and waist, Brenn knew she couldn’t be very warm.
Drawing in a deep breath through his nose, he tamped down his desire to draw her into his arms and instead headed toward the fire place. The time out in the open air had taken the edge off his single-minded goal and in a small way, he was glad of it. Did he really think he could march in here and force himself on her? Brenn reached for a log, tossing it into the cold ashes, then shivered as a terrible thought wormed its way into his conscious. He had thought Seren’s essence had chased away some of the darkness, but maybe it was the exact opposite. Perhaps the reason he had wanted to kiss her so badly was because the faeduhn magic was settling in, enticing him to do something that would, in the long run, hurt Seren. And perhaps, that was why he found it harder to resist that temptation now.
It isn’t wrong to want this woman, a small voice inside of him said, but, in a way, it is wrong to forget you cannot have her. Would you satisfy your own desires at the risk of her heart and soul?
Brenn clenched his teeth so hard his jaw began to ache. No, he told himself, no. I will not risk her goodness for a moment of happiness on my account.
Drawing on a little of his glamour, his good glamour, Brenn set the neatly piled logs aflame, waiting as the fire caught and spread, filling the room with warm, cheerful light. Once again he was reminded of Seren’s joy and beauty back in the barn. That craving to touch her, to be near her, to kiss her, burned in his heart again, but he fought it. He wasn’t entirely convinced it was the faeduhn glamour driving him, but at least now he was lucid enough to practice a little caution.
Abruptly, Brenn stood up and turned to face the bed. He could see Seren a little better now with the fire burning brightly in the hearth. Her softly curling hair, in tones of deep brown and russet, spread out like a cloud upon the pillow. Her head was angled to the side, her dark lashes brushing the tops of her cheeks, her beautiful copper-hued skin appearing soft and smooth.
Unable to help himself, he reached down a hand to brush away a stray curl, relief flooding over him when he realized her skin was warm to the touch. After some time, Brenn reluctantly pulled his fingers away. He turned and walked to the door, shutting it gently behind him. It felt like closing himself off from the sun after a long, harsh winter. He wanted to stay beside her, to make sure she remained warm and safe, but the past few days’ trials were starting to wear on him.
Before going to bed, he went down into the great room and got another fire going in the large fireplace. Rori was still down in the barn. He had seen the boy perched atop the hay bales before becoming wholly wrapped up in Seren’s presence. His nephew would either crawl back up to the house later, or, more likely, spend the night in the barn with the pile of hay as his bed. Brenn allowed himself a small grin. He wasn’t worried about the travelers making off in the night with his nephew any longer. They were good people, and he almost wished they were staying for more than one night.
Glancing out the window one last time, Brenn imagined the party was still going strong, the faint notes of a joyous tune drifting through the brightly lit barn door and floating up to the main house. If he’d had the energy, and if Seren was still down there, he would have gone back.
Rubbing his hands over his eyes, Brenn headed once again to the stair case and climbed to the second floor. His room was just as empty and cold as Seren’s had been. After getting a fire going, he strode over to the chair, picking up the saddle bags he’d left there the night before. When something fell from an open pocket, he paused. Furrowing his brow, Brenn bent down and picked it up, immediately recognizing the item. It was one of the wooden statues he’d purchased from the woman in town, the woman who turned out to be Grandmother Peig, wrapped in paper and garnished with a sprig of holly. Grinning, he set it down carefully on his bed and fished for the other one. He moved to set the second package next to the first one when something resting on his pillow caught his attention. Something also wrapped in brown paper and tied with a blue ribbon.
Brenn arched his eyebrows and sat on the edge of the mattress, drawing the item into his lap. It had no name signed to it, but he knew who it was from before he even opened it. Feeling that warm tingling sensation in his heart again, he gently tugged the ribbon away and folded back the paper. Upon seeing the masterfully woven item within, Brenn smiled brightly. With careful, reverent fingers, he drew the scarf out, unfolding it to its full length. The width was broad and the weave just loose enough to allow the scarf to pool softly in his hands. He recognized the individual yarn from the large collection he had gifted to Seren, and when he set the paper and ribbon aside, he noticed the blended colors of blue, grey and russet matched the pattern of his family tartan almost perfectly. The gift was both heartfelt and practical.
Brenn drew the scarf up and carefully wrapped it around his neck. After three passes, he stopped and waited as the wool warmed his skin. Closing his eyes, he reveled in the sensation and took deep, soothing breaths. The scarf smelled faintly of Seren, and its beauty reminded him of her. Standing up, Brenn removed the scarf and carried it to the chest at the foot of his bed. It was something to be treasured, this gift of Seren’s, and he would put it somewhere where it would be safe.
Standing back up, Brenn reached for the two parcels he’d purchased at the Solstice Faire. Since Seren had already delivered her gift, he decided he ought to do the same. After carefully unwrapping the doe and rooster, he made his way down the hall, first visiting Rori’s room and leaving his little rooster statue on the windowsill, then stopping by Seren’s chamber on his way back. As silently as he could, he opened the door and crept in. She was still fast asleep, her fire burning down a little lower than before. Without lingering too long, he strode to the small chest beside her bed and set the statue down, hoping she might see it first thing in the morning.
Having made his deliveries, Brenn headed back to his own room, the weariness from earlier growing heavier behind his eyes. He managed to make it to the edge of his bed, removing his clothing before collapsing onto the mattress and falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.
All throughout the remainder of the night, Brenn dreamed of summer evenings and cool, crisp autumn mornings spent with Seren and Rori. He was laughing and smiling in all the scenes, and the dark, faeduhn glamour he’d accumulated over the years with the Morrigan had been wiped clean.
Seren woke up groggy the next morning with a terrible headache. As she lay in bed, waiting for the pain to cease its pounding against her skull, she scoured her mind, looking for memories from the night before. All she could recall was the exhilarating rush of music flowing through her veins, and the pure delight which had accompanied it, but very little else. Sighing and giving the task up, she rolled over and paused as something on the nightstand caught her eye. She may have forgotten many of the events of the night before, but the exquisitely carved statue of a young deer beside her candle was a new addition to her small room.
Sitting up carefully, she reached out a hand and trailed her fingers over the fine details and smoothly sanded hazel wood. In her opinion, the artist had done an excellent job capturing the perfect image of a doe. Seren followed the smooth curve of the animal’s neck and ran her fingertips down the delicate legs. A shiver shuddered through her as the wild doe inside of her pranced, wanting desperately to be set free. It had been a long time since she last took that form and although it had only happened a few times in her life, she was eager to experience the freedom of running through the forest once again. Biting her lip, Seren forced down her eager magic. She could not transform, not yet. Her wild glamour would just have to wait.
Turning her attention back to the statue, Seren wondered where it had come from. Two people, besides her, had access to the house, but only one of them could have given her this gift. Brennon. As soon as the realization hit her, the memories from the day before came flooding back: finishing Brenn’s scarf and wrapping it and Rori’s carefully before placing them in their rooms, becoming ensorcelled by the music drifting up from the barn, joining the traveling merchant family in their Solstice celebration, seeing Brenn in the doorway and pulling him into a dance, her healing glamour flaring and wrapping around the darkness she’d sensed in Brenn until the edges melted away and it was forced to retreat, Brenn leaning down to kiss her …
Seren shivered and then felt heat rising in her cheeks. She had gone and done what she had promised herself she would never do again. She had displayed her rare glamour for all the world to see. Had she passed out after all of that? Had Brenn, once again, carried her back to the house where she could rest? Did he now know her secret? Seren glanced down and noticed she was wearing her wrinkled clothes from the night before. She closed her eyes and concentrated, trying to think around the headache. After the dance and almost kiss from Brenn, she had fled.
Fresh embarrassment washed over her then, and she wondered if it would’ve been worse to just stay and let the night run its course. At least then she’d have a lovely memory to hold onto. But no, she had run away. She was always running away. Perhaps someday, she told herself, you will find the courage to stand your ground. Her doe, now mostly nestled against her internal well of glamour, gave a slight shiver. Seren released a snort. When half of her existence consisted of a timid prey animal, it was no surprise she was always running.
Taking a deep breath, Seren pushed aside her troubled musings and gave the beautiful wood carving of the doe one last appreciative glance before rising up out of bed. Whether she had given away the secret of her healing glamour or not, she could not hide up in this room forever.
Seren quickly made her bed, changed into a fresh set of clothes and brushed back her hair. Although she was nervous to face Brennon again, she would do so with her head held high. To her relief, and she couldn’t help but notice, disappointment, Brenn wasn’t downstairs when she finally made her way into the great room. Instead, she found Rori, his fingers running over a carving similar to hers. In this case, the wood was red, and the animal was a rooster. Seren smiled brightly. Brenn had known just what to get each of them for the Solstice.
“Seren, is that you?” Rori asked, his voice hopeful.
He set his rooster down carefully on the desk next to their pile of books and leapt out of the chair, feeling his way across the room until he was in front of her. Somehow, he knew just where to stop.
“Where did you go last night?”
Seren searched her still-foggy memories, then shrugged and answered him, “I came back here. I was so tired from the dancing. I barely managed to deliver your Solstice gift before collapsing onto my bed. Did you get it?”
Rori beamed then turned on his heel and scurried back to the chair he had vacated, carefully avoiding the wolfhounds scattered over the floor as they napped. The boy pulled the scarf out from the corner of his little nest and held it out for her to see.
“Tell me what color it is!” he exclaimed, as he wrapped it snuggly around his neck.
The loving way he cradled the woven garment made Seren want to cry. Was it possible for her heart to feel any more love for this boy?
She walked over to him, schooling her features. Even though he couldn’t see her, he would know her mood. He always did.
“They are the same colors I used in your uncle’s scarf: grey, blue and russet orange. Only I added scarlet and burgundy to yours,” she said.
Rori blinked up at her, his eyes not quite landing on her face. “Why?”
Seren lifted a hand and gently ran her fingers through his longish hair, pulling him in for a slight hug as she did so. “Because you have a little bit of each of those colors in your hair.”
Rori reached up and fingered a strand. “I thought I had blond hair,” he remarked.
“You do,” Seren agreed, “but beneath, it is a little bit darker.”
Rori shrugged and hugged Seren around the waist, resting his head against her ribs. “I love my gift. Thank you.”
Seren only had a few moments to enjoy his affection before he was darting off to get his Solstice gift for her. He came back with a braided cord of that flax he had been turning into bowstring, only the one he offered her was worked into a bracelet with a few beads strung on it.
“I made it myself,” he said proudly. “Uncle Brenn helped me with the beads. They are carved from mistletoe, and each bead has a letter in your name stamped on it.”
Seren clutched the bracelet as if it might fly away. Carefully, she turned the cord in a circle, noting each letter. Although she could not read as well as Brenn, she had made great progress since she and Rori started their lessons those few months ago.
“Oh, Rori,” she finally said softly, slipping the bracelet over her hand and tugging the smaller strings to tighten it, “I love it.”
The sound of the door opening and closing behind them pulled Seren’s attention away from the bracelet. She straightened and whipped her head around, only to catch sight of Brennon standing there in his usual boots, pants, casual tunic and overcoat. But around his neck was her scarf. Seren swallowed and braved a glance at his face. Although he seemed less tense than he had been of late, his eyes focused on her as if she were the only flicker of flame visible in an endless, dark cavern. The intensity of it made her shiver and her face heat up again.
“Thank you,” she managed, brushing her hair behind her ears, “for the statue. It’s beautiful.”
“You’re very welcome, Seren,” Brenn answered, his voice more formal than usual. “And, I’ve already been reaping the benefits of the scarf you have given me.”
He reached up and brushed it with gloved fingers, his brow furrowing a little, most likely because the gloves prevented him from feeling the soft wool.
An empty silence soon permeated the room, a silence matching the small chasm that was now stretching between them. A lump of disappointment settled in Seren’s stomach. She and Brenn had been making such great progress, and she had to go and ruin it all by letting her glamour get the better of her last night. Biting the inside of her cheek, Seren lowered her eyes and did her best to squash the discontented feeling. There was nothing she could do now. This awkwardness would pass, just as it had after the ritual on Samhain Eve. She just had to give it time.
Brenn was the first one to break the quiet. “I’ve just been to the barn. Our guests will be leaving in an hour or so. I told them we would see them off then.”
“Then let us have breakfast while we’re waiting to bid them farewell,” Seren piped, grateful for this new distraction.
She hurried downstairs, followed by Rori and his uncle. For the next several minutes, she kept busy cooking eggs and scones with Rori as her assistant. Brenn set a kettle over the fire for tea, and soon, the three of them were sitting down to enjoy a simple morning meal.
Rori was the first to finish and eager to get outside to see if he could help the merchants pack up. Seren also suspected he wanted to visit with his new friends for as long as he could before they left Ardun behind for good. His uncle dismissed him and as soon as the boy was gone, Seren felt the silence in the warm kitchen descend upon her with the weight of a mountain. She and Brennon were entirely alone.
Without looking up from the table, Brenn said, “Seren, I want to apologize for last night.”
Seren went completely still, all the blood in her body sinking to her toes.
“I got caught up in the moment, while we were dancing, and, well, if you think I was trying to force–”
“No!” Seren exclaimed, abruptly standing up from the table. “No, I do not think that. I’m sorry, too, for being so bold. During the dance.”
She gave a faltering smile, her face growing warmer by the second. “You see, music can have a powerful effect on the Fahndi. It makes us lose our senses, sometimes, and we do things we would never really do normally.”
Brenn regarded her with calm eyes, something she was glad to see.
“Well, I can’t say I’m entirely sorry about that.” His lips twitched into a canny smile, the same smile that always made her senses tingle. “I’d had a bad encounter with some people at the mistletoe harvest, and I’m certain my mood would have remained black for a whole week if not for those few minutes in the barn last night.”
The edge of anxiety nipping at Seren ever since this conversation began only intensified.
“As soon as I started dancing with you, however,” Brenn continued, “I began to feel lighter. The anger and frustration lingering from the incident in Dundoire Hollow melted away, as if it had never been there.”
Brennon stopped speaking, studying the mug of tea in his hands, then leveled his eyes on her. This time, they weren’t calm. Curiosity and doubt warred together in his gaze, and something else. Whatever it was, it gave Seren the feeling that although Brenn wouldn’t press her, he wanted desperately for her to explain what had happened the night before. She dropped her head and slowly closed her eyes, her fingernails digging into the surface of the kitchen table. She could not tell Brennon what he wanted to know. It would have been one thing for him to figure it out on his own, but to come out and say it aloud? No. He had proven himself a good man, time and time again, but still, she did not feel her trust ran deep enough. That ever-present fear simply wouldn’t make room for it.
Seren drew in a long breath and let it out slowly, then lifted her head so their eyes met once again. Instead of acknowledging the silent question hanging before them, she simply nodded.
“Music has that power, Brenn. The power to banish our fears and replace our worries with joy. That is why it effects the Fahndi so.”
It wasn’t entirely accurate, what she said, but it was the only excuse she could come up with to avoid telling him the truth.
Brennon’s voice was gruff, low with a touch of command when he spoke again. “Seren–”
Seren didn’t give him a chance to continue. She pushed away from the table and pressed a hand to her forehead.
“Please, Brenn. I’m sorry about my behavior last night, truly I am. But it was the music and the dancing and the good company. And, probably, the mead as well. I hope you’ll forgive me.”
She risked a glance at him then. Brenn’s eyes were still dark; still not convinced. But he let his shoulders drop a little and turned away to stare into the fire.
“Of course you are forgiven.”
Seren nodded, her mouth tight. “I think I’ll join Rori in the barn and see if our guests need any help packing up.”
She turned and headed for the exit.
Brenn glanced back up from the fire, his shrewd eyes following Seren as she ascended the small staircase. She hadn’t been entirely honest with him, he could tell by her skittishness. But he would not press her. Instead, he would give silent thanks that whatever she had done had brought him some peace, if only for a small while.
***
Seren was only halfway across the great room when the back door flew open and a breathless Rori came tumbling in.
“Seren!” he bellowed.
She almost shouted in astonishment, her heart leaping into her throat. Instead, she came to an abrupt halt.
“Rori! Hush, I’m right here,” she exclaimed, holding her arm out to him.
“Oh! Sorry, I thought you’d still be in the kitchen.”
He took a few deep breaths then gasped, “Grandmother Peig really wants to see you. She’s down in the barn.”
Seren blinked in surprise, then managed, “Alright. Just let me get into my boots and cloak.”
Curious as to what the old Lorehnin woman might want with her, Seren bundled up as best she could and stepped out into the frigid air. The snow that had fallen the night before left behind a thin blanket of white, and the sky, for once, was free of clouds. A few of the hounds followed her from the house, their eyes now trained on the landscape before them, their noses testing the air. She felt bad for any rabbits or other small animals who might be out enjoying the winter sunshine.
Seren managed to make it down the hill without slipping on any stray patches of ice, which she was grateful for, and found the travelers’ covered wagon just outside the barn, the adults in the midst of strapping the horses into their harnesses. The young girls waved at her while Finghin and Treasa smiled and nodded a greeting.
“Grandmother Peig is waiting for you inside,” Treasa said, in a melodious voice.
Seren gave her a nervous smile and continued into the barn. The familiar, not entirely unpleasant smells of horses, sheep, chickens, dust and hay, along with the tang of smoke from last night’s fire, tickled her nose. The small collection of hens complained from their coop and Ruan, Rori’s red rooster, clucked contentedly as he snoozed in the corner. Dermot stuck his head over his stall, his nostrils flaring and his ears pricked in Seren’s direction. Usually, she would go over and greet the horse, but Grandmother Peig spotted her and waved her over.
Despite her short stature, crooked posture, collection of wrinkles and one sightless eye, the old woman was a blazing furnace of life. Seren could feel it just as sure as she could sense the cold darkness that often welled up around Brenn.
“I’m glad you’re here. I would read your fortune and pass along some advice before my family and I depart,” the woman croaked, getting right to business.
Seren blinked in surprise. She hadn’t been expecting this. Then again, she hadn’t known what to expect. Grandmother Peig patted the hay bale beside her, and Seren sat down upon it without a second thought.
“Left hand, please,” the woman crooned, holding her own palm out.
Seren complied, almost jerking her hand away when Grandmother Peig flipped it and started tracing the lines in her palm like a half-blind scholar scrutinizing a treasure map.
A few moments passed, then a minute. As she worked, the old woman hummed and traced the lines on Seren’s palm, glancing up at her face every now and then with her good eye. Finally, she drew in a deep breath and let it out, curling Seren’s fingers into a fist with both her weathered hands and holding it shut. She glanced up, her single dark brown eye studying the Fahndi girl intently.
Seren began to grow uncomfortable, but before she could pull her hand away and risk appearing rude, Grandmother Peig said in a quiet voice, “You were so lost, child. Weren’t you? But I believe you’ve found yourself here.” She waved one arm around, indicating the barn and all the land that surrounded it.
Seren gaped in astonishment. Was that true?
“What makes you say that?”
The old woman chuckled, patting Seren’s hand affectionately. Her good eye darted away, and when she spoke again, it was as if she’d left the barn behind, finding herself in a parlor sharing tea with her friends.
“I pretend to read palms,” she stated, almost absently. “But what I really read are hearts. Most of the time, they project themselves on people’s faces, especially when I gain their trust through a comforting gesture, like taking a person’s hand and soothing away their worries. Then, the mask crumbles away, and I can see them.”
“And what do you see?” Seren pressed, her voice a mere whisper.
Grandmother Peig smiled, her few remaining teeth standing out prominently.
“I see a radiant heart trying to shine all its light on those around it, when there is truly only one it desires.”
Seren sucked in a startled breath and jerked her hand free of the woman’s light grasp.
Grandmother Peig didn’t seem offended by Seren’s reaction. Instead, she looked back up at the young woman, her face warm and serene. “Here is my advice for you, dearie,” she said. “A light that burns too bright will soon burn out. Focus that light upon what matters the most, and you will begin to see the world more clearly.”
She reached out and squeezed Seren’s arm, then using the walking stick propped against the hay bale, got to her feet, grunting through the pain in her joints.
“We are leaving soon. My family and I would like to pay a final farewell to Master Brennon and Rori as well. And you, of course. You all have been so kind to us.”
Without a word, Seren ducked her head and strode past the woman, heading back to the house. Her mind was so overwrought with contemplation, she couldn’t decide whether or not Grandmother Peig had been insulted by her behavior. She hoped not. She hadn’t meant to be rude. It was just so disconcerting learning another person could read her so easily.
Firming her bottom lip, Seren lifted her head as she began her climb back up the hill. Regardless of what Grandmother Peig had been hinting at, she was correct on one account. Seren knew if she didn’t rein in her glamour, it would get her in trouble sooner or later. Either she would use too much all at once and kill herself, or someone would see what she was doing and recognize it for what it was. It had been a close call with Brennon, and there was still a good chance he would figure out her secret.
Winter will be over sooner than you think, she reminded herself. Then, it will be spring and you can leave.
Her heart twinged at the very thought of leaving Brenn and Rori behind. They had become her friends and were dearer to her than anyone else in the world, save for her mother. But it was growing too dangerous to stay in Ardun.
Just a little longer, Seren. Just another month or so, and you can be free.
What Seren was forgetting, however, was that she was free to leave any time she wished. Brenn had only wanted her to stay through the winter because of the weather, but a deer knows how to survive in the cold months without the help of the Faelorehn. And there were several places in the Weald that didn’t feel winter’s harsh bite, places isolated from her tribe’s village. But the truth was, she didn’t want to leave. At least, not yet.
As she made her way back to the house, Seren did her best not to think about the little time she had left in this wonderful place where, for the first time in her life, she felt like part of a family.
The travelers left a half an hour later, all of them making it a point to say goodbye to Brenn, Seren and Rori. Seren stood apart from Brennon, still unsure of what to make of his odd mood. Grandmother Peig seemed to spend extra time studying both of them, and Seren tried not to squirm under her scrutiny. She wondered if the woman had read Brenn’s palm as well and what she had told him. Perhaps that was part of the reason for his aloofness.
“I’m sorry they’re leaving,” Rori commented morosely, once the three of them had climbed back up to the house.
He stood on the edge of the hill with Seren, so they could watch and listen to the colorful wagon disappear down the road.
“They were nice people,” Seren agreed, placing an arm around his shoulders and pulling him against her side.
The air was chilly, despite the sunshine, and he was shivering. When they could no longer see or hear the wagon, they retreated back inside where a fire, and perhaps a fresh pot of brewed tea, awaited them.
The next few weeks passed by in this manner, with far less excitement than the previous fortnight. Seren and Rori stuck close to the house to avoid the winter weather while Brenn disappeared for several hours most days. Seren didn’t know where he went or what he did, and she didn’t ask. Time was passing, but it seemed the strained distance which had grown between them since the Solstice had not yet diminished. The light conversations they once had in front of the fireplace in the evenings, or over tea after dinner, became the terse, short exchange of words shared between two strangers wishing only to be courteous to one another. Seren tried not to let it upset her. They had been growing so close, it seemed, and now they were drifting apart.
Perhaps it is for the best, she mused, trying to get her heart to agree.
Three weeks after Winter Solstice, Brenn returned home just as twilight was settling upon the land. It had been cloudy all day, and from the great clumps of white clinging to Brenn’s shoulders, the heavy snow promised by the thick clouds had finally arrived.
After hanging up his cloak and jacket, Brenn turned to Rori and Seren. The two of them were enjoying tea and flipping through books near the fireplace.
“I visited Dundoire Hollow this afternoon to see about some meat from the butcher and ran into my friend Artur on the way back. He invited me to go on a boar hunt tomorrow, so long as the snow stops before morning.”
Seren felt Brennon’s gaze on her, but she didn’t look up. She was afraid to look him in the eye these days, not knowing if she’d find her friend there, or a suspicious man extending his protection only because his honor demanded it. Seren clenched her teeth. How had this happened? How had their relationship devolved back to what it had been when they first met? The very thought threatened to bring tears to her eyes, but the only way to fix it was to take Brenn aside and explain everything to him. How her magic could heal grave wounds, how it was a very rare gift only she and her mother had known about before she so foolishly flaunted it in front of her tribe mates. How she had used it to bring Ruan back from the dead and to chase away Brenn’s nightmares. How she had let it free the night she danced with him around the fire.
Instead, she glanced at Brennon from the corner of her eye. He was focused on his nephew now, his own eyes flinty, the lines around his mouth drawn tight. She couldn’t help but feel it was her fault he’d become so withdrawn.
Before she could think much further on the subject, Rori stood up, almost knocking over his tea cup.
“Can I go on the hunt?” he asked.
Brenn cast him a withering look, the fire in his eyes burning through in the tone of his voice. “Absolutely not. Hunting boar is incredibly dangerous. Even if you were to just come along for the ride, I will not risk an angry, wounded animal taking out its ire on you.”
Rori opened his mouth to protest, but Brenn snapped, “No, Rori. I will not bend on this.”
The boy bit his lip and sat back down, looking as if he might cry.
Seren felt sorry for him, but she agreed whole-heartedly with Brenn. Taking any child on a boar hunt was unthinkable, especially one who was blind.
“What’s wrong with staying here with me, Rori?” Seren asked, her tone placid. “From the looks of it, the snow will be deep tomorrow. We can build snow sculptures in the yard.”
Rori seemed to perk up at her suggestion, and Seren was glad. With her and Brenn both exuding unhappiness like ink clouding water, the last thing she wanted was for Rori to turn gloomy as well.
“If I’m to return at a decent hour tomorrow, I’ll have to leave very early, before dawn,” Brenn said. “I’ll eat dinner now, if you don’t mind, and go to bed early.”
Seren acknowledged his statement with a smile, one he did not return. She abruptly returned her focus to the book she was glancing through. She tried to concentrate on the letters forming the sentences, but the words blurred before her eyes as she listened to Brenn’s heavy footfalls echo up the stairs. Almost a month had passed since the Solstice, and still he remained distant and cold, like the mountains overshadowing Ardun’s wide valley.
She hated this feeling of helpless loss and suspicion. And then, Grandmother Peig’s words came floating back to her: A light that burns too bright will soon burn out. Focus that light upon what matters the most, and you will begin to see the world more clearly.
Was that the answer to all of her problems? Was Grandmother Peig right, after all? Had she been too distracted by her fears, she hadn’t been paying attention to what really mattered to her? Seren furrowed her brow. But what did matter to her? When she had run away from home, she had only wanted to escape those who were trying to kill her. That had been months ago now, and her needs and desires had changed.
Yet, you insist on continuing to live as if that is still your life, her conscience told her. It isn’t your life anymore, Seren. You have forged a new one, and you may take whatever path you wish. This time, however, if you let fear rule you, you’ll have only yourself to blame.
Realization dawned upon her and spread through her body like a ray of warm summer sun. The only thing keeping her from forming a deeper bond with Brenn was her fear of his discovery of her magic. And the only reason she feared sharing her secret was because of what her peers had done to her. But Brennon, and Rori as well, weren’t her peers. They had not hurt her, or ridiculed her, or shut her out. She could trust them, even with the secret of her healing glamour.
Seren shut the book she was trying to read with more force than necessary. She had made up her mind. When Brenn returned from his hunt tomorrow, she would ask to speak with him. She wanted her friend back, the one who had nursed her back to health and treated her with a kindness her own people had never shown. And, she would finally tell him her secret. With a somewhat lighter heart, Seren shared a simple dinner with Rori, then, like his uncle, called it an early night and headed off to bed.
True to his word, Brennon was gone when Seren rose the next morning. Downstairs, she discovered he had lit a fire in the large hearth. She added an extra log in passing, then headed into the kitchen to prepare breakfast for herself and Rori. Using some of her glamour, Seren kindled a fire in the oven and chose one of the smaller cauldrons from the hooks above. She carefully mixed oats, water, nuts and spices to make a hearty, thick oatmeal. By the time the oats were cooked through, the sun was up and Rori was climbing down the stairs, rubbing his eyes with one hand and clinging to the banister with the other.
“Something smells good,” he remarked, through a yawn.
Seren smiled. “I made us some oatmeal. It’ll keep us warm and full while we play in the snow.”
Rori perked up at that. “I forgot! Is there a lot of it?”
“I haven’t been outside yet, but I can barely see through the windows in here, so I’m guessing yes.”
Despite his eagerness to get outside to play, Rori took his time enjoying breakfast and a nice hot cup of tea.
They shared the task of cleaning the dishes, then headed up to the ground floor to wrap themselves in coats and scarves and to pull on warm boots and gloves. When Seren finally opened the door to the back yard, she gasped in delight.
“What?” Rori breathed. “Seren, what do you see?”
Great piles of snow lay on the ground like thick mounds of sugar. Some of it had spilled under the awning, and Seren could clearly see where Brennon had trudged through the knee-deep drift to create a path down the hillside to the barn.
“Oh, Rori! It’s beautiful!”
Seren’s breath puffed in the air as she took his hand to lead him out into the wintry day. As the two of them crunched through the deep snow, Seren described to Rori what she could see.
“It’s as if someone stretched a great, thick sheet of fleece over the landscape, only this fleece is very cold and it glitters where the sun shines upon it.”
She smiled as she scooped up a handful of snow and pressed it into Rori’s waiting hands. He couldn’t feel the snow’s cold through his gloves, but he did crunch it together into a ball.
“Where are you, Seren?” he asked, unable to hide the mischief in his voice.
Seren grinned, knowing what he planned, but answered him anyway.
“Here,” she chirped.
Rori launched the snowball and it caught her on the leg. Laughing in delight, she darted around the yard, making sure to call out to him or make plenty of noise so he had a fighting chance with his snowballs.
Eventually, the two of them grew tired, and they collapsed in the white powder, sweeping their arms up and down in order to make bird shapes in the snow.
When they felt rested enough, Rori suggested they build sculptures for Brenn to see when he came home from his hunt. Seren readily agreed, her heart skipping a beat at the thought of Brennon’s return. Tonight she would tell him about her glamour, and perhaps even admit she wished to stay at Ardun forever. Or perhaps not. She had until spring, after all. Best to see how Brenn reacted to her news first. Drawing in a deep breath of icy air, she joined Rori and the two of them began piling and shaping the snow.
As she worked, Seren’s thoughts kept swirling around her decision to reveal her healing glamour to the master of Roarke Manor. Perhaps she’d really be able to help Brenn, now that she was no longer afraid of being discovered. She furrowed her brow, wondering just how much damage her glamour could heal. And for some reason, Grandmother Peig’s advice from a few weeks ago pushed itself to the front of her mind once again. She had spoken of Seren focusing her glamour only on the thing she held most dear. Did that mean it might work better on someone who meant something to her? If Ruan, Rori’s rooster, had been her pet and not his, would she have been able to heal him without falling ill afterward?
The sudden sound of a large clump of snow hitting the ground distracted her for a moment. Seren glanced to the side, only to find Rori patting the ground, searching for the large snowball he had been trying to place onto another, larger mound of snow.
An odd prickling sensation crawled over Seren’s skin as a sudden realization hit her. Would it hurt her overmuch if she shared her wealth of glamour between two people, instead of reserving it for only one? Brenn undoubtedly suffered from a sickness no normal medicine could cure, but did Rori not need healing, too? Did she not care for Rori just as much as she did for his uncle? Taking a deep breath, Seren set down the sphere of snow she had sculpted and turned toward the boy. She had already decided to share her gift, so why not begin right away?
“Rori, I’ve always been curious,” she started, deciding to ease her way into what she planned to do. “When you focus on something with your eyes, can you see anything at all, or just blackness?”
Rori frowned, then lifted his head to face her. He considered her question for a long moment, then shrugged. “All I see is complete darkness, except when there is a bright light, like a fire or a torch, then the darkness gets a little yellow.” He pursed his mouth and then shook his head. “I’m sorry. It’s hard to describe.”
Seren lifted a hand. “No, you’re explaining it just fine. May I ask how exactly you lost your eyesight?”
She knew she might be treading on sensitive ground, but if his blindness was a result of some damaged nerves or even broken blood vessels in the eyes, perhaps she could heal them. Seren’s heart began to flutter like the wings of a butterfly trapped in a web. If she could restore Rori’s eyesight … She might just be willing to drain all of her healing magic to the point of death if it meant giving such a gift to this boy.
Careful, Seren, she chastised herself, remember what Grandmother Peig told you.
Seren was so distracted with her own internal thoughts she hadn’t noticed how still Rori had grown. Only when he finally spoke did she realize discussing his blindness was, as she had suspected, a very painful subject for him.
“I don’t really know,” he murmured softly, answering her earlier question. “I was hiding in the barn and someone screamed at me, then there was a great pain in my head. When I woke up, I couldn’t see anything.”
So, a blow to the head most likely. Perhaps, there was hope after all.
Trying to contain the excitement in her voice, Seren said very carefully, “Rori, I want to try something. Do you trust me?”
He must not have expected this question, because he jerked back to attention, his pale blue eyes aimed toward her shoulder.
“Yes,” he said, without hesitation.
Seren squashed down a sudden rush of guilt. Of course Rori trusted her. Why had it taken her so long to extend her own trust to this boy and his uncle?
“Okay, but there is something I need to tell you first.”
Rori swallowed hard, then nodded again. “What is it, Seren? Are you in trouble?” he asked.
Drawing in a deep breath, Seren let it out again while shaking her head. “No, Rori. I’m not in trouble. I have a gift, a very rare gift which could be used against me if the wrong people found out about it.”
Seren thought back to the times she’d argued with her mother about her healing magic. Daniela had insisted she keep it secret. The tribe would only exploit her special glamour, turning her into a slave and forcing her to heal everyone brought before her. She would be too valuable to them and have no free will of her own. Seren had argued back that her gift could be her chance to finally earn the respect of their people. So many times before the fateful day she’d slipped and given her secret away, she’d been tempted to tell the elders. But her mother had always looked at her with such sorrow and fear, so she never went through with it. Only now, did she understand what her mother had meant. It didn’t matter whether or not she was blessed by Cernunnos. She was still the outcast, her power no longer an attribute to finally give her a place among her people, but a threat to all those who once thought themselves far superior to her.
Shaking her head slightly, Seren returned her attention to Rori. The boy hadn’t uttered a word during the past few minutes. He simply sat there, as still as the snow sculpture he’d been creating.
Once her nerves settled, Seren continued, “The Fahndi all have glamour like the Faelorehn, but every now and again, perhaps every couple hundred years or so, or maybe even longer than that, one of us is born with the power to heal serious wounds and breathe life into those who are sick. I have that power, Rori.”
Rori’s eyes grew huge but still, he remained silent.
“Remember Ruan?” she asked, lowering her voice even more.
There was no one around, so she had no reason to worry. She and Rori were alone in the yard. Even the dogs had ventured off into the barn to sleep in the warm hay. But Seren had been guarding her secret for years and breaking the rules, telling another person about her gift, still went against all her instincts.
“Yes,” Rori finally said, his voice raspy with wondrous realization. “Yes! I knew you had done something more than just help him through his shock! You brought him back to life, didn’t you, Seren?”
Seren reached out and grasped Rori’s shoulder, causing the boy to gasp.
“I did,” she admitted. “But it is why I got so sick afterward. I used too much of my magic all at one time. I can’t do that again, or I might grow ill, or worse.”
Rori shivered, but Seren suspected it wasn’t from the cold. “Or you might die,” he murmured softly.
Seren tightened her grip on his shoulder. To her surprise, he flung himself forward, catching her in a clumsy hug.
“Then don’t!” he cried. “Don’t ever use your magic again. I don’t want you to die, Seren! Please, promise me you won’t! Even if Ruan is hurt again. I love him, but I love you more!”
Seren had to fight back tears. “Oh, Rori! Don’t worry. I’ll be careful, I promise!” she vowed.
Gently, she nudged Rori away from her. He was shaking a little, but when he finally calmed down, she took in a deep breath, released it very slowly, and said, “But I do want to try something. Rori, I want to see if I can heal the injury to your eyes. I want to see if I can make you see again.”
The moment the words left Seren’s mouth, the tears began to spill faster from Rori’s eyes. He sniffled, rubbing his sleeve across his face.
“I don’t want you to if it means draining all of your glamour,” he managed between small sobs.
Seren’s hands were still on Rori’s shoulders, and she tightened her grip once more. “I won’t,” she vowed, her voice tight. “I’ll go slow and only use a little bit of glamour. Besides, in this situation, I think it’s best to try and heal you slowly over time. It might work better that way. So, what do you say? Should I try?”
“Will it hurt?” Rori wanted to know.
“I honestly don’t know,” Seren admitted.
Rori furrowed his brow, and Seren felt him shift a little. When she looked down, she noticed he’d placed one hand against his forearm. Layers of cloth and the mittens he wore kept his fingertips from brushing his bare skin, but she knew what he was thinking about. He was remembering the scar on his arm, a result of all the times his uncle had cut him to collect his blood for the Samhain ritual.
Rori took a deep breath and let it out carefully, then nodded. “I want you to try.”
Seren steeled herself, forcing all of her attention on the small boy before her. She could already feel her heated glamour swelling, as if it knew the importance of this new challenge she was placing before it.
“Okay, Rori. I’m going to lay my hands on your temples and let my glamour seep into your skin. Is that alright?”
He nodded. “I trust you, Seren.”
“Let me know if it starts to hurt, okay? We can take this in small steps. Oh, and Rori,” she added, “I can’t promise you this will work. It is only a hunch.”
Rori reached up and hooked his mitten-clad fingers over her wrists. “I know, Seren. But I’m glad you are going to try.”
She gave a weak smile, then carefully pulled her gloves off so her fingers could touch his bare skin. For a moment, she entertained the thought of returning to the house before undergoing this experiment, but she feared if they made the effort to relocate, both she and Rori would lose their nerve. No, it had to be now. Besides, she didn’t plan on pushing her healing glamour too deep this first time. She would make herself stop after five minutes.
Seren lifted her hands and placed her fingers gently on either side of Rori’s head. He drew in a sharp breath and pulled back a fraction, but then stopped himself.
“Ready?” she breathed.
“Ready,” he echoed.
Seren let her eyes drift shut and began pulling on her bright glamour. It flowed forth eagerly, like water spilling between rocks in a creek bed. She felt more than heard Rori suck in another breath, but after that, she lost track of his movements. Instead, she focused on sending that golden stream of healing magic to the nerves and blood vessels behind and around his eyes and even into his brain. Gently, she pictured her glamour splitting into thousands of tiny, root-like tendrils as it sought out Rori’s injury.
A minute passed, then another. Rori’s breathing remained steady, and he never once complained. Seren wasn’t sure if he was being brave or if her glamour was being gentle with him. After nearly three minutes, her magic abruptly stopped its search and instead zeroed in on two spots inside the back of his skull, just above his neck. Feeling her heart rate spike, Seren had to be careful, controlling her power so it didn’t rush forth all at once. A few seconds passed, and she replenished what had been used up fixing the old wound. There was damage to his brain, she realized, damage that had never quite healed from his injury those many years ago. Seren didn’t know much about brain injuries, or why this one had never healed properly. All she knew was her magic was impatient to make it right. Without prompting it, Seren’s glamour flooded the damaged area, trying to bring new life to the nerves and tissue there.
“Seren?” Rori asked gently. “Are you okay? Your hands are very warm, and you’re shaking.”
The sound of Rori’s concerned voice jerked her out of her own head. No! She wanted to shout. No! I know what’s wrong. I can fix it! But she remembered her own promise to herself, and to Rori, that she would only spend a little time on this today. And she remembered Grandmother Peig’s words about burning out too quickly. With a great pang of regret, she called her glamour back. It, like her, was annoyed at being interrupted during its very important job.
I’ll let you try again later, she promised it. We need rest now.
The golden tendrils obeyed then, retreating back into her like tree roots growing in reverse. When all of her glamour was settled in its place, she opened her eyes. Rori’s blue gaze was huge and trained on her face. Seren’s heart began racing again as excitement replaced the rush her glamour had caused.
“Rori?” she asked harshly, reaching out to him.
He lifted his own hand, placing the mitten against her palm.
“Can, can you see me?”
She didn’t dare believe it. It couldn’t have been that easy.
“Y-yes!” he rasped. “And no. I can’t see you like I used to be able to see, but there is color, very faint and very fuzzy, and I can sort of see your shape.”
Seren couldn’t help herself. She cried out in joy and scooped the boy up in her arms, laughing and crying at the same time.
Unfortunately, her moment of celebration was cut short.
“Ah, so you are the lovely young woman the folk of Dundoire Hollow keep talking about.”
The cool, deep voice sent a chill down Seren’s spine, and she immediately got to her feet, nearly knocking Rori over in her haste. She turned to find two men standing at the top of the trail leading down to the main road, a mere ten yards away, their gazes fixed on her and Rori. The man on the left was tall and thin, wrapped from head to toe in layers of white clothing, topped off with a pale grey cloak made of wool. He looked old, too. Not as old as Grandmother Peig, but definitely wizened enough for Seren to suspect he had mortal blood in his veins. The beard falling from his chin matched his cloak and had been plaited into several intricate, interwoven braids. The much younger man beside him was built more like Brennon. He had fair hair and wasn’t as warmly dressed as his friend. Seren wasn’t sure who had spoken to her, but if she was to guess, her money would be on the younger man.
“I’m sorry,” she managed. “Can we help you?”
She felt herself moving closer to Rori, draping the lingering essence of her glamour around him the way a mother hen uses her wings to draw her chicks beneath her. Seren let her magic simmer up a little, ready to use it for ill will instead of good if need be. Diluted menace and ill-purpose poured off these two men. It was the same dark coldness that showed itself in Brenn sometimes, only this murkiness felt more fiercely imbedded. Where she had been able to banish one man’s demons for a span of nearly a week, she was almost certain that such a feat would be impossible with these strangers.
The tall, older man let the hood of his cloak fall back. Cold blue eyes raked over her, leaving their chill behind. She fought the urge to shudder. Once through with scrutinizing her, his gaze flicked to Rori. Without warning, he flung his hand forward, throwing something in Rori’s direction. Seren gasped, but she wasn’t fast enough to block the object’s trajectory. But she didn’t have to. The projectile, a dark leather drawstring bag about the size of a coin purse, fell harmlessly to the snow. Rori had stepped out of its way just in time.
Seren shot her eyes back to the two men. The younger one was slowly running his eyes up and down her body, the press of his gaze so intense she could almost feel it, like worms crawling over her skin. The man who had thrown the bag was smiling, fire welling up in his blue eyes.
Panic and fear pierced Seren’s heart as a dreadful realization poured over her. It had been a test. They had been standing there long enough to see what she had done with Rori, had probably even overheard what she had said, and now they knew her secret.
“Rori,” Seren said, drawing herself up to her full height and telling herself to be brave, “go inside and wait for me there.”
“But–” Rori began.
Seren wheeled around, her eyes blazing and her voice holding more authority than she thought possible.
“Go!” she hissed, her fists clenched at her sides.
Whether it was due to the shock of her sudden fierceness, or the realization that he would not win this argument, Rori nodded and headed back to the house.
When Seren turned back around it was to find the men studying her once again.
“A pretty thing, despite the strange skin tone,” the younger man was saying.
Bile crawled up Seren’s throat. What were they going to do to her?
“Don’t be a letch, Baird,” the older man growled, giving his friend a nasty look.
The blond shrugged and snorted. “A man can look, can’t he?”
Seren had no desire to spend any more time listening to them argue.
“What do you want?” she snapped.
The bearded man plastered on a smile that oozed false kindness, and said in a lighter tone, “Is the master of the house around? We have business with him.”
Seren opened her mouth to answer, wondering if she should tell the truth. If she said yes, they would probably demand to see him. Or, more likely, it was another test. Did they really have business with Brenn, or were they gauging whether or not she and Rori were here alone?
Weighing her options, she took a deep breath and decided on honesty.
“Brenn isn’t home right now. He left early for a hunting trip, but he should be back soon.”
There. She had told the truth, but hopefully the possibility of his impending return might discourage them from doing anything nefarious.
“Oh, Brenn is it?” the one called Baird crooned. “Are you his lover?”
Seren felt her face flush.
“No,” she ground out.
“Then what are you doing here? I’ve not seen your likes around Dundoire Hollow before. Surely there are better prospects for you there.”
Baird ran his eyes up and down her body again and made to move forward. The older man reached out a hand and captured his arm in a vice-like grip. Baird threw him a nasty look but his friend shook his head once. The younger man opened his mouth, to snarl something at his companion, Seren guessed, but something the old man did made him cry out in pain and fall back.
As casually as a neighbor strolling over for a chat, the old man moved closer, leaving Baird to curl over his arm and whimper in pain. Seren swallowed down her fear. Whatever he had done, it had been done with dark glamour. She could feel it crackling through the air like lightning.
“Forgive me for not introducing myself earlier,” the man said in a calm voice, “I am Uscias, and this is Baird.”
Although he was doing his best to exude friendliness, Seren knew better, perhaps more than most. After living with people just like him for most of her life, she could sense an impending attack from a mile away. Just like her peers back in the Weald, this man fed her pretty words and approached her with gentle steps, all a ruse to hide the fact he was simply waiting, tensing for the perfect moment to strike.
Seren moved back as he moved forward. When he realized what she was doing, Uscias stopped advancing, his smile tightening.
“You have no need to fear me,” he said.
“I believe I have every reason to fear you,” Seren answered boldly, her eyes fixed on him.
In fact, Seren had been so focused on keeping Uscias in her sights, she didn’t notice a recovered Baird until he pounced. While the older man was distracting her, his younger companion had crept past her blind spot. He now had her in a tight grip, one arm clasped around her middle, the other pressing her shoulders to his chest.
Seren gasped and reached up to claw at his arm. Unfortunately, he had leather bracers strapped on beneath his long-sleeved shirt. There was no way she was going to get free.
Baird leaned down and pressed his face into her neck. He inhaled deeply and trailed his tongue over her skin.
Revulsion poured through Seren, and she tried kicking out with her feet. It was no use. Baird clearly had experience in incapacitating people. His hold tightened, just enough to make it slightly difficult for her to breathe.
“Behave, little lass,” he murmured against her ear, “and it won’t get any worse for you, or the boy.”
Upon hearing mention of Rori, she stopped her struggle. Pride urged her to fight this bastard off, but her concern for Rori was stronger.
Uscias, who had been watching the entire exchange, stepped in now that she had stopped thrashing.
“What was it you just did with the boy?”
Seren didn’t answer, so Baird squeezed her tighter. She gasped in pain as his arm constricted her ribs and attempted to flatten her lungs.
“I know the boy is blind. Everyone in Dundoire Hollow knows it,” the man continued. “We heard you on our way up telling him something about a gift you have, and now he can see?”
Seren shook her head, her pulse pounding in her temples.
“No,” she rasped. “You misunderstand. He had a headache, and I offered to try to make it go away with my glamour. It burns hot sometimes, and I thought maybe I could ease his pain with a little heat.”
Uscias donned that cold grin again and moved in close so his face was mere inches from Seren’s. “I can smell a lie the way a vulture scents carrion, lass, and you reek of it.”
He shot an arm forward then, moving much faster than a man of his age should be able to. His long, bony fingers, as ice cold as the snow beneath their feet, grasped her chin.
“I know Roarke will be gone at least until mid-afternoon, so there is no point in trying to tell me otherwise. He left before dawn, and the area where he plans on hunting with that fool O’Seanain is a good distance away. You and the boy are here alone, helpless and vulnerable. Now,” he drew back just a little, releasing her chin and giving her some space, “I want you to listen to what I have to say. Do not interrupt, for I will not repeat myself. Do you understand?”
Seren nodded to the best of her ability, swallowing back her fear. How did they know where Brenn had gone?
Uscias continued, “I have been watching this house and this property for quite some time now. I know when Roarke leaves and when he returns. I know how his routine differs from day to day. I know where I can find the boy most afternoons, and I know where to find you as well, my dear. And you have piqued my interest. It is only now that I understand why.”
Seren shivered at that. He had been spying on them? Was this the man responsible for attacking the chicken coop?
“The mistletoe,” Seren managed, ignoring his rules regarding interruptions. “There is mistletoe placed on the perimeter of the property. Mistletoe infused with the magic of a Druid.”
Uscias laughed then and stretched to his full height.
“Do you hear that, Baird? The stupid lass thinks Solstice mistletoe will keep her safe.”
Baird made some crude remark and let the hand gripping her ribs wander too freely. Seren bit her cheek, her rage and fear boiling up once more. She struggled against him and tried kicking his knee. Baird cursed and returned his hand to where it had been before.
Uscias clucked his tongue and refocused on Seren. “If Brennon Roarke thought to use my own mistletoe against me, then he is a greater fool than I give him credit for.”
Seren felt her heart plummet. So, this Uscias was a Druid. She knew very little about the spiritual guides of Eile, but it would explain the man’s advanced age.
“Enough talking, Uscias. Are we going to take her or not?” Baird growled.
A new wave of panic threatened to buckle Seren’s knees. They meant to kidnap her? What would become of Rori? What would Brenn think when he returned? Would Rori tell him about the men? Would he come looking for her? Would he even know where to look? But if Brenn did try to help her, he might get hurt. These men clearly hated him.
“No,” Uscias snapped. “If we do, the boy will inform his uncle of our visit. He’ll know we took her.”
“Well, then let’s take the boy, too,” Baird insisted.
Uscias shook his head. “He will know for certain we are behind it,” the Druid muttered. “I wish to avoid a confrontation with Roarke if possible.”
“Then what do you propose? We can’t just leave her here after what she’s heard!” Baird complained. “She’ll tell Roarke for sure!”
“Yes, we can leave her,” Uscias snarled, rounding on the young man. Baird’s grip tightened as he leaned back slightly. Seren whimpered.
The Druid returned his frosty gaze to the Fahndi woman. “And she will tell Roarke nothing of our visit because if she does, we will make life extraordinarily miserable for him and that little bastard he loves so much.”
Seren felt the color drain from her face. There was so much malicious intent in his voice that she believed him. The darkness she had sensed earlier unfurled behind his eyes, like black thunderheads on the horizon. He was powerful, she had no doubt about that. Far more powerful than her. As angry as she was at being handled so forcefully, the fear she felt for Brenn and Rori was stronger. She would do almost anything to keep them from harm.
For the second time that morning, she asked, “What do you want?”
“Very good,” Uscias crooned with a smile. “Your cooperation makes things much easier.”
Seren said nothing more, partly because Baird’s grip had tightened again and partly because she didn’t want to give the Druid the satisfaction.
“In three days’ time, you will meet us at the crossroads, beyond the gates of Dundoire Hollow. It’s an hour’s walk from Ardun, heading northeast on the main road.”
“And what is it you plan on doing with me?” she pressed, although she feared his answer.
Uscias’ eyes gleamed. “You will be preventing the premature deaths of Brennon Roarke and Rori O’Faolain. That is all you need to know.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” she hissed, struggling against Baird once again and managing to get one arm free.
Her glamour flared beside her heart, and she wanted nothing more than to unleash its wrath on these men. But she knew she didn’t stand a chance against the Druid’s power, and she had no idea what kind of glamour Baird wielded. Instead, she curled her hand into a fist and pounded it against Baird’s chest. Grunting, he took her assault before managing to grab her once again, pinning her arms to her sides. She gave up her fight soon after that. Right now, her only chance of keeping both Brenn and Rori safe was to agree to Uscias’ terms.
“Calm yourself, lass,” Baird said, his arms becoming steel. “Don’t want Roarke to come back and develop any suspicions. We’ll be watching and listening. If we get wind of his finding out about our little arrangement before you have a chance to leave for our meeting, then the deal is off.”
“Then why give me time to consider your offer at all?” she demanded.
“I believe in fair play,” Uscias answered, with a sniff.
If she hadn’t been desperately trying not to collapse into a puddle of dread and fear, Seren would have laughed.
“Fair play!” she cried instead, struggling to breathe against Baird’s grasp. “How is blackmail and threatening to commit murder fair play?”
Uscias shrugged, as if her question had been an overly tedious one.
“I will not kill Roarke if I don’t have to, as tempting as it is. He is an outcast in Dundoire Hollow, but he still has enough friends to raise a fuss if he turns up dead. I’d rather avoid the headache. And believe it or not, I loathe the idea of murdering a child, especially a half-blind one, but I will do what I must to get what I want.”
“And what is that?” Seren demanded.
The Druid’s smile was cold and calculating this time. “You’ll find out, little lass,” he replied, “in three days’ time. Meet us at the crossroads at noon. The main road will bring you there. Head east and continue past Dundoire Hollow. If you wish to protect your precious farmer and his nephew, you’ll be there.”
The Druid and his apprentice had left hours ago, but Seren still couldn’t shake the cold that had seeped into her skin, despite her proximity to the fire. Instead, she paced, going over the events of the day in her head for what felt like the thousandth time. After evading her questions, Uscias had ordered Baird to let her go. The vile man had groped her one more time before dropping her like a sack of potatoes. If not for the fact Brenn’s and Rori’s lives hung in the balance, she would have kicked him in places that would stay sore for days. Instead, she’d scrambled through the snow until just out of his reach, glaring at both men as they wandered back to the main road like wraiths passing into the nether realm. Seren stared after them for a good fifteen minutes, just to be safe, then ran into the house to find Rori. She located the boy kneeling before the fire, his eyes fixed on the flames.
“Rori?” she called out softly.
“I can almost see the colors now, Seren,” he said with great wonder. “I can tell when one flame flickers to the right or climbs twice as high as the others.”
Despite the anxiety, rage and fear eating away at her, Seren smiled. She could not regret what she’d done for this boy. Even if she never brought his sight back completely, he would have at least this small gift to help him make his way through life.
She stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. He flinched, ever so slightly.
“They’re gone, Rori. You don’t have to worry anymore.”
“What did they want?” he asked in a small voice.
Seren took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She had decided what to tell him before returning to the house.
“Oh, some business with your uncle about planting crops in one of his fields. They said they’d come back later when he’s home.”
Rori didn’t relax as she thought he might, and something in her gut told her he didn’t fully believe her story. But he didn’t question her, and she left it at that. A few minutes later he yawned, telling her he was sleepy. Seren jumped at the chance to be left alone with her thoughts.
“You know what, spending time out in the snow will do that, and I bet what I did with my glamour drained you even more. How about you go upstairs and take a nap? I’ll wake you when Brenn returns from his hunt.”
“Aren’t you tired too, Seren?” Rori asked, regarding her with new eyes.
She nodded. “I am. But I think I’ll get something to eat before I get some sleep myself.”
Rori smiled, his eyes droopy, and stood up. He leaned in and gave Seren a hug. “I love you, Seren,” he murmured into her shirt. “Even if you hadn’t been able to heal my eyes a bit.”
The tears threatening her all morning finally rose and fell down her cheeks. She didn’t try to stop them this time. She didn’t have the energy. And Rori’s words had struck a chord deep within her heart. Only her mother had ever said those words to her. She never dreamed of hearing them from anyone else.
Now, as she wore a trench in the stone floor, those words burned brightly in her mind. She loved Rori, too. And his uncle. That thought brought her up short, and her breath caught in her throat. Did she? Love Brennon? Yes, she knew she did, on some level. But did she love him enough to give herself over to two men who planned to do gods knew what to her?
Seren stopped her pacing and took a deep breath, trying to calm her mind. She had to think this through. She couldn’t simply react on emotion alone. Turning and staring into the fire, she began to go over what she knew. The Druid and his friend had an agenda with regards to Brenn, one in which they were willing to kill him and Rori, if necessary. Due to their spying, and because of her own carelessness, they now knew she had a weakness, and they were willing to use that weakness against her. If she complied with their wishes, she would meet some cruel fate. She was certain of it. But if she refused, they would somehow hurt Brenn and Rori. She could tell Brennon, but what good would that do? Was his glamour powerful enough to fight off a Druid? She doubted it. The last thing Seren wanted to do was walk meekly into their hands like a victim. The new, reborn woman inside of her wanted to fight with tooth and nail, so much different than the young fawn she’d been the day she’d fled the Weald those many weeks ago.
For several heartbeats, she fought against the turmoil raging in her heart before a thought occurred to her. She was the central piece on this game board. Everything rested on her and her final decision. How had she become the center of all this? The pivot from which the pendulum swung? And then, the answer came to her. There was a way to avoid her unknown fate with Uscias and Baird and keep Rori and Brenn from getting hurt. If she left Ardun, simply disappeared into the woods and returned from where she had come, then there would no longer be a reason for the Druid to use Brenn and Rori as leverage against her. If the one thing he wanted was no longer in the picture, why harm those she’d left behind? He had said it himself, killing Brenn and Rori would cause too much of a headache, and he hoped to avoid it.
Leaving Ardun now, after finally facing her fears and deciding to trust Brennon, would be like tearing open a nearly-healed wound. It would break her heart, leaving this man and Rori behind, but it would be even worse to see them hurt or killed by Uscias. And becoming the Druid’s slave would kill her just the same. The only way to save herself, and those she loved, was to run away.
Look at you, she mused, not lost on the irony, running away. Again. What made you think you could ever stay and make a stand?
Batting the annoying voice away, Seren steeled herself against the impending sorrow. She turned and marched over to the table set before the bookshelf and tore a page from one of the many blank journals she’d been using to practice her letters. She was still a novice when it came to writing, but she had enough knowledge to scribble out a quick note. Before she could change her mind, she set the note down and dashed upstairs. Rori was sound asleep, something she was very grateful for. She wanted so desperately to go into his room and caress his face and brush her fingers through his hair one last time, but she knew doing so would make it even harder on herself.
Instead, she headed to her room and picked up the beautiful wood carving of the doe, then went back downstairs. She carefully set the doe on top of the paper so Brenn might see it, then slipped off the bracelet Rori had made for her. She couldn’t take it with her. It would slip from her leg the moment she took her deer form. Besides, she needed to convince them she wanted to move on. If she left these treasures behind, perhaps Brenn would think she didn’t care about them. As painful as it was to do such a thing, it was necessary. Seren held the bracelet to her lips, kissing it tenderly. A tear slipped from her eye and fell onto the note below. Cursing, she swiped it away, hoping it wouldn’t leave a stain. She wanted to stand there and cry for a good ten minutes, but it was time for her to go. The afternoon was creeping up, and Brenn would be home soon.
As she crossed the room, heading for the door, Seren began stripping her clothes away. They would just tear to pieces if she transformed with them still on. When she was free of their confines, she folded them neatly and placed them on a wooden chair beside the door before pulling it open. The winter air pierced her naked flesh with its biting teeth, and she sucked in a breath of shock. Nevertheless, she stepped out into the snow barefoot, calling upon her glamour.
It had been so long since she’d done this, but her magic obeyed her request without trouble. Her bones began to shift, and her skin rippled. Her neck and ears lengthened, her arms and legs grew thin. Her fingers and toes melded together and became the cloven hooves of a young doe. When she was finally in her wild form, Seren shook herself before becoming immediately alert. Her large ears swiveled, and her nostrils flared. Her hearing was much clearer now, and she could discern so many more scents. Fresh snow, distant wood smoke, the manure and hay from down in the barn. With one last doleful look at the great stone farmhouse, she bounded forward, careening down the hill and crossing the creek in two leaps. As soon as she hit the opposite bank, she darted into the trees, trying to leave her sorrows behind as she fled into the forest.
***
“Uncle!” Rori called out in his frantic child’s voice.
Brennon groaned and leaned against the door, shutting out the encroaching twilight.
“Not now, Rori,” he replied, his tone weary.
His hunt with Artur had proved fruitless, and Dermot had cracked his hoof on the ride home. On top of everything else, the slow, sickening return of the faeduhn magic was proving more painful than he’d thought possible. Whatever Seren had done to banish it in the first place must have made it twice as determined to regenerate itself. Like gangrene that hadn’t been completely cut away. For weeks, it had been slowly gnawing away at him, putting him in a foul mood and keeping him up most nights. In his current state, he had no time for his nephew’s exaggerated troubles.
Keeping her at a distance probably didn’t help, his inner voice commented.
Brenn only gave a mental growl in response. Keeping her at a distance was for her own good, despite the cost to him.
“But it’s important!”
Brennon tilted his head toward the open beams of the ceiling above, praying to the Celtic gods and goddesses to grant him some patience. It was always important.
“Unless there is a fire in the barn, I don’t need to hear it.”
All he wanted to hear was the cheerful crackle of the fire from the comfort of his bed. He was so very tired.
He started to head toward the stairs when Rori blurted, “Seren’s gone!”
That stopped Brenn dead in his tracks. Spirits of Eile. His overwhelming weariness evaporated, and he was suddenly wide awake.
“What do you mean she’s gone?”
Once so urgent, Rori now quailed before his uncle.
“Rori, tell me,” Brennon demanded, trying very hard not to shout.
“I-I took a nap, and when I woke up, I called out for her. I checked her room, but she wasn’t there. Then, I checked the barn and the rest of the house, but I couldn’t find her anywhere.”
Tears spilled from his nephew’s eyes, and the boy wrung his hands anxiously. Something, besides Seren’s absence, had him deeply worried.
Brenn knelt before him and placed his hands on the boy’s shoulders.
“Rori,” he said gently. “Rori, what’s wrong?”
The boy lowered his eyes, falling upon Brenn’s face as if he could see the bridge of his nose and the curve of his cheek.
“I shouldn’t have gone inside!” he rasped.
Brenn’s brow creased in confusion. “Rori, what are you talking about?”
“I should have stayed with her. I knew they were bad, I could feel it.”
Ice formed in Brennon’s heart and spiked outward, making it hard for him to breathe.
“What happened, Rori?” he demanded.
Rori babbled on, as if he hadn’t heard his uncle. “Two men. They said they were looking for you. I went inside, like Seren asked, but I heard some of what they said. Mistletoe. They were talking about the mistletoe. Seren came in after they left, but now she’s gone!”
A dagger of fear cut into Brennon’s stomach, the pain far worse than what the Morrigan’s black magic was currently doing to him.
“Who was here, Rori?”
His voice was low, almost guttural. Had he been one of the wolfhounds, Brenn would be snarling right now. He was about to repeat his question when the truth dawned upon him. Rori had mentioned mistletoe ... Gods and goddesses of Eile, no ... Brenn drew in a rattling breath as he struggled to stand back up.
“Uscias,” he whispered. “Baird.”
Rori hadn’t heard him, but as soon as Brenn removed his hands from his nephew’s shoulders, the boy began shaking so badly his teeth chattered.
“I-I’m s-s-sorry!” he stammered, wrapping his arms around his middle.
Brenn reached down and scooped him up, cradling him to his chest.
“Hush, Rori. Be still. This is not your fault, do you understand me? Not your fault. I’m going to find Seren. I’m going to find her and bring her back.”
He rocked Rori back and forth, the way he had when the boy was younger and the death of his parents and grandparents still gave him nightmares. For five minutes, Brenn crooned to his nephew, running his hand down his hair and doing his best to reassure him, all the while fighting down the panic as he imagined Seren in the clutches of Baird and Uscias. Fierce, sharp anger rose up inside of him, spurred on by his volatile glamour. He would kill them. He would rend them limb from limb.
Finally, Rori’s sobbing subsided to gentle sniffling.
“I’m okay, Uncle. You have to go get Seren.”
Nodding, Brenn set Rori down in one of the stuffed chairs and wrapped a blanket around him.
“Stay inside, Rori. Do not open the door for anyone. I’ll leave the dogs with you. I may be gone for a day or two, so don’t worry if I don’t return right away.”
As he said this, he headed for the door, pulling his heavy cloak from its place on the hook and reaching for his bow and the quiver of arrows. Having just returned from a boar hunt, most of his knives were already strapped to his person. Brenn pulled the door open, intent on returning to the barn to saddle Dermot. The crack in his hoof wasn’t serious enough that he couldn’t carry his master into town.
It was when Brennon stepped out onto the snow that he noticed it, a thin trail of deer tracks leading from the house and disappearing over the edge of the hill. He paused, bewilderment clouding his thoughts. The light was waning, so he moved closer to get a better look. One set of tracks, leading through the yard and into the creek ... No, into the woods.
Brennon stood abruptly and jogged back into the house. He needed to ask Rori if Seren had said anything else to him. Perhaps his enemies hadn’t taken her after all. Maybe she just needed to get some air after the encounter. Brenn wanted to believe that, but the anxiety and fear rearing its ugly face refused to back down.
Rori was already asleep in his chair, so Brenn did a quick check of the room, hoping to find some evidence explaining Seren’s intentions. He found it on the desk by the bookshelves. Pinned down beneath the wooden statue of the doe and a bead and twine bracelet was a note. One word, scrawled in the careful hand of someone who was just learning to write, stared back at him, black and stark and final.
Goodbye.
Brennon stood there for several minutes, staring at the word as if waiting for it to transform into something more beautiful. He thought of the hoof prints in the snow, of the way Seren had been keeping her distance from him, even cowering away when he entered the room. He recalled how, in the past few weeks, he had been sure to give her that distance, believing it was the right thing to do. Believing he would only taint her with the dark magic he simply could not shake. Seren hadn’t been kidnapped. He had driven her away, and Baird’s and Uscias’ impromptu visit had been the final push. This was all his fault.
Brenn turned his eyes from the paper and stared into the fireplace, watching the flames dance as if their movements were meant to taunt him. He had told Rori he would go after Seren, but maybe she didn’t want him to. Maybe she wanted to return home. Deep in his heart, he knew Seren didn’t really belong with him and his nephew. She had the spirit of the wild living within her. A broken, faeduhn-plagued ex-soldier and a damaged little boy could hardly be enough to tempt her to settle down. She deserved something better.
But so do you, Brennon, a voice whispered into his mind. The evil infecting you was not of your making. You, too, deserve the chance at happiness. Go after her. Go after her and tell her the truth. All of it. And when you are standing there, your soul bared to her, if she still wishes to leave, you can let her walk away. But to allow her to leave without knowing the entire story, cheats you both.
Brenn’s glamour flared up again, its heat gnawing at his senses and pressing him to follow his heart. For once, it overshadowed the darkness within him, and this time, he would do its bidding. His conscience was right. Seren was free to leave whenever she wished, but he owed it to her, and mostly, he owed it to himself, to tell her what he was and how he felt about her.
With one last glance at Rori to make sure he was well, Brenn jerked the door open and stepped out into the late afternoon light. He closed the door securely behind him and pointed his feet in the direction of the deer tracks. If it took him all night and the entirety of the next day, he would find her.