Epilogue
Mathi walked into my hospital room just as Lugh was leaving. The two of them—and Darby—were maintaining what amounted to a twenty-four-hour watch on me, just in case the opposition decided to make another kidnapping attempt. Sgott also had a man positioned out in the corridor.
I loved them all, but they were going a little overboard.
Whoever Carla’s boss was, I doubted he’d go down the kidnapping route again.
Not now that Carla was dead. Her kill switch had been activated just as her ambulance had reached the hospital, and it had scrambled her brain.
Not even the best surgeon or elven healer could repair the mess that remained.
Mathi rolled the tray table into place and placed coffee and chocolate on top of it. “I brought you rations, because apparently they want to keep you in for another twenty-four hours. They said your head wasn’t right. I did claim it was normal, but...”
“Idiot,” I said, swiping at him lazily. “Any news on the Carla front?”
“They’re in the process of tracing all her aliases, using the information we got from Macsen.”
“And the councilors she used the knife on?”
“With the blade out of action—”
“It’s actually not. I threw it into the storm, where it still roams.”
“But we are going to destroy it, right?”
“Ah, no. I’ve been ordered to return it to Bia. Or Liadon, so she can return it.”
“The council will not be pleased.”
“The council do not have to know. The blade wasn’t a part of the hoard.” I picked up the cup with my name on it, took a sip, and then reached for the chocolate and broke it open. “I don’t suppose they’ve indicated when our next hunt might begin, have they?”
“Probably twenty-four hours after you’re out the hospital, like they did last time.” His gaze narrowed. “Why?”
I hesitated. “Carla told me to ring someone after she’d died, because this someone would give me all the records she’d been keeping over the centuries. Apparently if we read them carefully enough, we will find our puppet master.”
“And did she give you the number of this someone?”
“No, but she did give me her name, and I have got Carla’s phone.”
“Have you now?” Amusement glimmered in his eyes. “That is evidence, you know.”
“I know, but I’ve been hanging around you too long, and the need to bend the rules has rubbed off.”
He laughed. “Then I shall ensure to impress upon them that you need more than a day’s recovery.”
“Good, because I still have to find Geitha’s Tears, remember, and time is running out.”
“There’s still nearly six months before he has to marry, depending on how long they take to make the crowning arrangements—and I rather suspect Cynwrig will push the time frame out as much as he can.”
“Even if he does, we’re talking about an object that’s been missing for centuries.”
He hesitated. “It is also an object that will ultimately shatter you. I do not wish to see that.”
I smiled and squeezed his fingers. “I’m not that fragile, Mathi.”
“Even the strongest tree has a breaking point. I fear Cynwrig might be yours.”
“He is Myrkálfar; I am not. I have always known he and I can never be.”
No matter what my heart might say to the contrary. No matter how much he might ask me to trust him, believe in him.
Mathi smiled, but the concern in his eyes sharpened. “I may never personally experience love, Bethany, but I know it when I see it. I see it in you.”
“It doesn’t matter what you see, and it doesn’t matter what I feel. It won’t break me. I can promise you that.”
He studied me for several long seconds, then nodded and pulled his hand from mine. “Whatever the future may bring, I will be here.”
“I know. Thank you.”
Bedevilment stirred through his expression. “Well, I can hardly afford to have my best—and probably only—true friend fall to pieces before she has completed the odious task of choosing me a wife.”
I laughed. “Does that mean the contract situation has been sorted?”
“It does indeed. Let the games begin.”
“May the best woman win.”
I lightly tapped my cup against his and tried to ignore the stupid part of my heart—the part I’d sworn only seconds ago would not break—that wished, when it came to Cynwrig, his best woman could be me.
But even if, by some miracle, he did find a way around the restriction of tradition and expectations, the gods had spoken, and my death was slated.
And that meant heartbreak, even if it did happen, wouldn’t last for long.
I guess that was something to look forward to.