Chapter Thirty-One

Luka listened while waves of energy beat against him. A heart thumped, strong, steady. What? Not his. His was a trapped dove, wild with fear. This other beat true, with purpose, and quickened, aware of Luka’s notice. Luka tilted his head back onto Rhys’s shoulder and met the flame in his eyes. Luka’s lips parted on a breath of wonder. Rhys’s gaze was filled with love and desperation, his mind open, barriers down. His love poured into Luka, pleading with him to take what he needed from him.

“Stay with me, sweet witch,” Rhys’s thoughts urged.

“Always, my white knight.” Happiness flooded Luka, mirroring Rhys’s pleasure at his absurd endearment, a memory of happier times. He grew strangely calm; it was time. “We will put an end to this monster’s cruelty in the world. Will you yield to me?”

“In all things,” Rhys murmured in his ear, breath warm on Luka’s neck.

Luka straightened and Aethan pulled his hands off him with a cry as if burned, widening his eyes in alarm. Luka drew breath, Rhys’s arms tight around him, and called humbly on the energies of the earth. “If it is your will, lend me strength.”

Rhys’s arms convulsed around him and Rhys screamed in terror and ecstasy, the Well of Hope opening inside him where Luka had hidden it one winter’s night while he slept, knowing this day would come. Aethan took a step back, horror on his face, but Luka couldn’t stop what was to come. Power surged from Rhys, Luka’s senses igniting as it filled him, every cell afire, alive.

It swept from him into the room, knocking books and papers from the shelves. Aethan convulsed as it struck him, a scream of pain and terror bursting from his throat, and he fell to the floor, unmoving, as the wave passed him to crash against the walls with a deafening boom that smashed open the shuttered windows and broken door.

Luka blinked in the silence that followed the surge of energy, watched the last fluttering papers land on the floor in the firelight. Aethan lay crumpled in a heap at his feet. Compassion swept Luka. Had they taken his life? Please, no.

Rhys took a shuddering breath behind him, dropping his arms to his sides. Luka turned and made a soft sound of concern. Rhys’s head hung, body drooping, sweat slick on his skin, utterly spent. Luka took his arm and guided him to a nearby chair, going to his knees beside him.

“Are you well, my heart?”

“Aye,” Rhys said, voice heavy with exhaustion. “What happened, Luka? I felt…outside myself, blind, and yet powerful beyond measure.”

Luka’s heart ached, and he picked up Rhys’s limp hand, kissed the hot skin of his palm. He placed Rhys’s hand against his own face, needing the closeness as well as Rhys’s understanding. But first…

“I will explain everything, Rhys. I promise. But I must check on the others. And Aethan hasn’t moved. Will you be patient a moment?”

Rhys nodded, then leaned his tired head against the back of the chair. Sweat trickled down the side of his face though cool air swept into the room from the burst windows and broken door. The extra heat in his body would leave Rhys soon enough.

Luka turned his gaze to the room and sighed. Moonlight found its way through the clouds and flooded the space with light. But more snow massed in the coming storm. He’d have to shore up the windows and door before too long.

He pressed a kiss to Rhys’s forehead, gathered himself, and rose painfully to his feet, bones aching from the power that had raged through him. A tender smile touched his lips. His mother had warned him of the danger in opening the Well.

“I had no choice,” he told her image in his mind, and felt the comfort of her love warm in his chest. Ravan was already rousing, and he helped her sit up. An ugly welt marred the right side of her forehead. “Are you badly injured?” he asked in concern. “I would have stopped him, if I’d known—”

Ravan’s inelegant snort stopped his apology. “You can’t see the future, Papa. Don’t take the blame for everything.” She groaned and settled cross-legged on the floor, hand to her head. “This hurts.”

“Let me check on the others, then I’ll see what I can do,” Luka promised, giving her shoulder a squeeze before he turned to Tarian. The young man sprawled on the oak floor, his breathing once again even, though healthy color was slow to return to a face that had tinged blue. Luka straightened Tarian’s arms and legs, making him more comfortable. He remained unconscious but was slowly waking.

Luka stood and rounded Aethan’s crumpled form, wanting to see to Lorin who lay at an awkward angle against the wall. His heart thumped, sorrow filling him as he approached Rhys’s half brother. Lorin had set out to deceive him from the beginning, but still, he didn’t deserve this tragic death at the hand of his own father. To see his handsome face, so like Rhys’s, with blood on his lips, eyes wide and unseeing, broke his heart.

“No,” Rhys murmured at his elbow and sank to his knees, gathering Lorin’s broken body into his arms. “You never had a chance, did you?” he whispered against Lorin’s pale cheek, his voice choked.

“He never did,” Luka agreed sadly. “Aethan bound him as a child to his dark machinations. Yet he showed courage at the end, refusing to kill Ravan. For that, I owe him a debt I would gladly repay.” He brushed the shiny hair from Lorin’s face, bent to place a kiss on his forehead. “Be at peace, Lorin,” he murmured, and sighed for one whose life had been endless days of torment and despair.

He left the brothers alone and approached Aethan with care, not sure what to expect. It startled him when Aethan moved with a shuddering intake of air and sat up, knees against his chest. Luka knelt beside him, placing a hesitant hand on his hunched shoulder. “Aethan?”

The man who had been his enemy for years raised a face streaked with tears, the lost look in his eyes going straight to Luka’s heart. “Where am I?” he asked, lips trembling. “What’s going on?”

The last word caught on a sob and Luka sat cross-legged beside him, keeping a hand on his knee. “What do you remember?”

Aethan drew an unsteady breath, bewilderment and fear in his expression. “I was in the forest…searching…for something. I don’t remember…”

Murmuring words of comfort, though uncertain what he’d find, Luka touched Aethan’s sweat slicked forehead with careful fingers, and pity filled him. The Well’s energy had scorched through Aethan, hollowing him out, stealing his memories as well as the power he’d held since childhood. He blinked at Luka, an empty vessel longing for reassurance.

Luka wasn’t sure he had any comfort to offer, but perhaps he could guide him on a true path in life. They would have to remain vigilant. Would a man’s nature change without the burden of memory? Luka had no way of knowing. Only time would reveal the answer.

He cupped Aethan’s face to gather his wandering attention, hurrying to assure him at his frightened gasp, “You’re safe here. I’m a friend. No one will hurt you. But you must rest now. Come with me.” Taking Aethan’s hand, he led him to the couch, where he murmured words that sent him to sleep.

There was still much to be done, and Luka’s strength was quickly ebbing, the day catching up to him. Ravan was with Tarian, helping him sit up. Rhys had laid Lorin on the floor and sat beside him, his bare back pale in the moonlight. He stirred when Luka drew near, turning his head to look at him with such pain in his eyes, Luka trembled. He went to his knees and gathered Rhys in his arms, careful of his injured shoulder.

“Are you well, my heart?” he asked, face pressed to Rhys’s neck, lips against his strong pulse. Rhys’s embrace tightened and Luka thrilled at the strength in his arms, feeling safe. He breathed in the scent of drying sweat and Rhys’s skin.

Rhys’s lips brushed against his hair, then he tilted Luka’s chin up, making him meet his gaze. “I’m fine, though more tired than I’ve ever been. Heartsore.” He sighed and asked the question Luka had been dreading, “Tell me, Witch, how is it I have the Well of Hope inside me? How long?”

Luka withdrew with reluctance from Rhys’s arms, troubled. But he’d known the risk, known this day would come. He sat back on his heels, but kept a hand on Rhys’s knee, unable to keep from touching him.

“It was soon after I rescued you from Aethan the first time and brought you to my cottage,” he confessed, gaze intent on his hand curling into a fist on Rhys’s knee. He willed his panic to subside. The story needed telling, whatever the outcome. But merciful earth, he didn’t want to be without Rhys again.

He took a steadying breath. “I knew without a doubt Aethan would come back for you. A selfish man never lets go of what he considers his. I needed to keep you safe, at least from mortal danger, and this was all I could think of to do. Yes, Aethan could hurt you, as he did, but if he threatened your very life, the Well would rise up and stop him. It was the only reason I sent you from me later. I could not have let you go without its protection.”

“Surely, there are safer places to keep so powerful a weapon?” Rhys asked. His eyes were dark with bewilderment and Luka prayed silently for his understanding.

“The Well of Hope is not a weapon. It is an idea, powerful and life-giving. Aethan meant to deny hope to the world, dole it out in small measure to those who curried favor with him. I needed to hide the Well where he would never think to look.”

He dropped his gaze again. “And the Well would keep you safe from him. Even if he tried to wrest it from you, the power would rise up against him. As it did today.”

Rhys covered Luka’s hand on his knee with his own, a firm touch. “So, you hid the Well inside me, without my consent or knowledge, and sent me from you, heartbroken, thinking you had no use for me.”

Uttering a soft cry of pain, Luka lifted Rhys’s hand, pressing his lips to it. “Forgive me,” he whispered, throat tight and aching. “I needed you safe. And if Aethan found you in my home, and suspected what I had done… Also, if I had told you, and he read your thoughts—” Luka broke off and groaned into his hands, covering his face. “I tried—”

Rhys grabbed his shoulders, stopping his desperate rush of words. “Come here,” he urged, pulling Luka up into his lap.

“I’m so sorry,” Luka said again, voice quavering as he struggled with overwhelming emotion. He couldn’t regret what he’d done, but knowing he’d caused Rhys to doubt him was unbearable.

Rhys’s arms tightened around him. “I understand. But Luka, you must trust me.” He made Luka look at him and Luka’s heart bounded at the fondness in his gaze. “What happens to the Well of Hope now?”

Luka put a hand over Rhys’s heart, feeling its strong beat, and put his worries aside. “It remains with you, if you will. At least for the moment.” Heat touched his face. “I like knowing you’re safe from harm.”

Luka snaked an arm around Rhys’s neck, pulling him down for a kiss, glorying in the life and strength in his limbs, the passion in his hungry embrace. The power of the Well whirled between them, then gathered in Rhys’s heart, sealing closed until needed. Luka pulled away from him, the knowledge of the depth of Rhys’s love both wonderful and humbling.

He wanted to be home, all this behind them, and take Rhys to bed, prove his devotion. But he felt the utter exhaustion in his lover, the dull ache of bone and muscle in a vessel unused to expending such energy. He stood and held out his hand. “It’s bed for you, my heart, and a rest you sorely need. Don’t worry. I’ll be here in the morning when you wake.”

Rhys nodded, leaned to give his brother one last kiss good-bye, and allowed Luka to help him to his feet. His face was wane and tired in the flickering candlelight, grief covering his features when he looked down at Lorin’s porcelain face.

“I wish I could have saved him. I think, at the end, he wanted me to.”

Luka nodded, taking his hand. “I am sure of it. Come, my heart. You must sleep.” He led Rhys across the cottage to the room they had shared once before. Ravan had stirred up the fire in the main room and added wood, its bright light driving back the shadows. Tarian shivered on a chair drawn up to the hearth while Aethan slept on the couch. Luka passed a trembling hand over his face. There was much to be done before he could join Rhys under the covers. And a decision to make in the morning. But that was a worry for later.

Their room was dark when they entered, and Luka lit a candle with a thought and preoccupied word of gratitude, then pulled back the blankets on the bed, tucking them around Rhys once he’d removed his trousers and climbed in, being gentle with his shoulder.

Rhys took his hand when he straightened. “Stay with me, my witch.”

“Always, my heart. But right now, I need to board up the windows and door or we’ll have snow in the cottage by morning.”

Rhys nodded, though his eyes begged him to hurry. Luka bent and kissed him, Rhys’s lips warm and soft. His sweet tongue teased at Luka’s lips, kindling a fierce need in him, though he merely gave a low chuckle and withdrew from Rhys’s arms twining about his neck.

“Sleep, my love. I’ll return soon.”

Covering Rhys’s eyes with his hand, he sent his lover’s thoughts into pleasant dreams. After a last stolen kiss, he crossed to the cold hearth and ignited the old coals with a thought, his power still near the surface. He added several small logs, then returned to the main room, leaving the door open behind him to let in the fire’s warmth until the room heated.

“How are we doing?” he asked as he approached the crackling hearth, its warmth scarcely keeping the cold from outside at bay.

Ravan smiled faintly from where she was binding the broken shutter closed in the kitchen. “My headache has eased, but you might see to Tarian,” she suggested, and nodded meaningfully to the lad huddled at the fire.

Tarian looked up from the mug of tea in his hands. “I am well. Thank you,” he protested, though he sounded tired, voice strained. Luka went to him, ignoring how his eyes widened with uncertainty.

“Permit me,” he murmured, and placed a hand on Tarian’s red curls when he nodded. The lingering horror of his near strangulation jumped out at Luka, a black swirling mass weighting Tarian’s spirit. Luka gathered it while Tarian shuddered and gasped under his hand. When he had it all, he placed a kiss on his forehead.

“Peace,” he murmured, and sent the horror into nothingness. He drew back but Tarian startled him by clasping his hand, kissing his palm.

“Thank you, lord,” Tarian said fervently, and forced down his tears. “I’ve been lost for so long, trapped by the dark weaving of Aethan’s magic, even after you rescued me from that cabin. It was hard to fight against him.” Wonder touched his comely face. “But I am free now.” He moved, going to his knees at Luka’s feet. “I would bind myself to you, lord, if you would have my service.”

Luka looked into his passionate face and embarrassment flushed through him. “Please, stand,” he begged, helping Tarian to his feet. “You answer to no one but yourself. But if you will,” he amended, “I may have a task for you in the morning.”

“Anything, lord,” Tarian promised recklessly, eyes shining.

Luka shook his head, an embarrassed smile tugging his lips. “Finish your tea now, then sleep. We’ll speak more in the morning.”

“I could help—”

“Sleep, Tarian. You need to heal, in both body and mind.”

“Yes, lord.” Tarian gave a small bow and resumed his chair. Luka looked at his bowed head and sighed. He would need to tread carefully, not allow Tarian to exchange him with Aethan as his master. Tarian needed a friend, someone to guide him toward finding his own confidence and strength. Rhys could help him with that.

Ravan had finished with the window and Luka took up wire, hammer, and nails to help with the others. He crossed the cottage to the shattered window in the west wall while she took the east. Moonlight flooded the forest and Luka gazed out in awe, captivated by the glittering winter scene. Breathtaking. But even as he watched, clouds scurried in and covered the moon and the first, cold snowflake kissed his upraised face. A wolf howled in the distance; an owl swooped from the trees. Hope stirred in the world and in Luka’s heart at that moment. Hope slept in his bed. If he could hold on to it… But that was not the way of things, and morning would come with its own troubles.

With a last deeply drawn breath of the bracing air, he sent a silent prayer of peace into the night, then worked on closing the crooked shutters.