Chapter Eleven #2
“Come on, darling.” The girl's mother kissed her cheek. “How about a hot chocolate?”
She nodded, but then she looked at me, standing at áedán's side. “Is that your husband?”
I opened my mouth. Closed it. My brain had stopped working.
áedán glanced at me. “Not yet.”
The little girl leaned closer to áedán and whispered loudly, “Maybe you should buy him a hot chocolate like my mommy is going to buy me.”
“That's a very good idea.” áedán winked at her.
She giggled as her parents exchanged amused smiles. They thanked áedán again and carried their daughter toward the town. As they walked away, everyone who'd been standing nearby, watching, cheered.
I just stood there staring at áedán. With water dripping from his hair and his clothes plastered to his skin, he looked like something out of a myth. Which was accurate.
“Not yet?” I finally managed.
He shook out his hair, water pooling at his feet, then removed his sweater to wring it out. “Was I supposed to lie to a child?”
“You were supposed to—” I stopped, distracted by the sight of his broad, muscular chest in the midday light. “That's not funny.”
“I'm not joking.” He pulled on his sweater and walked past me, back toward the village center, where a crowd of people still cheered for him.
“One thing I actually like aboot modern humans is their acceptance of a person's sexuality.
Just a few years ago, we woulda been spat on for holding hands.
Now, they ask if we're married.” He looked over his shoulder at me. “It's aboot time.”
I followed, my mind spinning as I watched people shake áedán's hand and praise him for his heroism.
I wanted to focus on how the world had changed for the better, how wonderful it was that people could love whomever they wanted to love, but I couldn't. All I could focus on was his casual declaration that he wasn't joking when he'd said “not yet.”
Not yet implied a future. It implied intention. It implied too much when we'd barely known each other for a few days.
I forced myself to stop thinking about it. That lasted approximately thirty seconds before my brain circled back to those two words and everything they might mean. I nodded and smiled at the crowd as we passed through, then settled into a walk beside áedán.
We walked in silence until we came to a small passage between two buildings.
áedán ducked into it, telling me to guard the way.
I stood at the passage mouth, arms crossed, and glanced over my shoulder.
áedán stood with his eyes closed while water ran off him in rivulets.
I spun my head to face forward and guard him from discovery.
It took only a few seconds before he stepped past me, dry.
“What was that?” I whispered.
“I'm a kelpie,” he whispered back. “What good would I be if I couldnae manipulate water?”
“Holy shit.”
“Holy water,” áedán corrected with a wink.
With him dry, we could go into a restaurant without issue. We found one that had lovely smells wafting from it and went in. Word about the child's rescue had spread fast, and the manager comped our lunch. áedán looked shocked, but he accepted the gift and thanked the man.
At last, we headed back to his cottage. When we came to the bridge, áedán stopped and cocked his head. The bridge looked old, maybe even centuries old, and one of the support stones had cracked. That's what áedán stared at.
áedán glanced around and then went to the support stone.
“What are you doing?” I followed him.
He winked at me and then placed his hand on the bridge.
I felt something shift in the air, like pressure changing before a storm.
Water flowed up the bridge from the stream, carrying sediment and small stones to the crack.
In a few seconds, the slurry had filled the crack.
When áedán removed his hand, the stone looked solid again.
“How did you do that?” I looked from the stone to áedán.
áedán gave me a look that said I was being an idiot (or rather, an eejit) and crossed the bridge.
I stared at the bridge. At the smooth stone.
áedán had old magic. The kind that didn't need words or ceremony, just intention and connection to the elements.
I'd read about such magic in the Archive.
Magic that predated modern understanding, that came from a time when the word “myth” didn't mean a cultural story that wasn't true.
Seeing that magic was different. Seeing áedán use it so casually, so naturally—to dry him in an instant and fix something that would have taken human workers days or weeks—was humbling.
The Velasca had magic too. They used it to preserve the Great Archive and maybe even more than that.
I was still too new to know everything they could do.
But I couldn't imagine that it was like this.
áedán's magic was special, and the world would lose his special magic if we lost him.
I ran across the bridge and caught up with him. “You do that often?”
“When I can.” áedán didn't look at me. “Small things. Things people wullnae notice. Mostly, they care for their constructions, but I do what I can.” He stopped walking. “I was a guardian once. I still am, I suppose. Even if no one remembers what that means.”
My chest tightened. This was what the stories had forgotten.
Not the danger, not the power, but the purpose.
Kelpies had been protectors of water and of the people who depended on it.
áedán was still doing that work centuries later, even though no one knew.
Even though no one would thank him. The image of his shocked face came to me then—the moment the restaurant manager had taken care of our meal.
Then I remembered what I hadn't noticed before—the way he had ducked his head when he passed by those cheering people.
It was probably the first time in decades, maybe even centuries, that he'd received praise for something he'd done.
“Here, let me take the bag. A hero shouldn't carry my books.” I grabbed the handles of the bags he was carrying.
áedán jerked them back at the same time.
Then we both let go, and the bag fell to the ground.
The books spilled forth. On top of the pile was a children's book with an illustration of a black horse rising from water, its eyes glowing red and its teeth bared.
The Bloodthirsty Kelpie, the title proclaimed in cheerful letters.
áedán went still, his eyes locked on the book.
I'd deliberately hidden the book from him because of that cover. At least adult books (not those kinds of adult books) didn't have cartoons of evil horses on them. Wincing, I bent and shoved the books back into the bag.
When I straightened, áedán was staring ahead, his expression blank, but I could see the tension in his jaw.
“áedán—”
“I'm fine.” His voice was flat.
He wasn't fine. I wanted to say something, wanted to tell him it didn't matter, that one book couldn't define him. But that would be a lie. Books did matter. Stories mattered. They shaped how people understood the world, what they believed was possible, and what they feared.
“We should go.” I moved all the bags to one hand and angled them behind me.
He nodded, but didn't move.
I touched his arm. “Come on.”
áedán let me guide him down the path that led to his cottage.
We walked in silence, the afternoon light turning golden around us, and I thought about everything I'd seen that day—the coffee shop, the children with the ducks, and that little girl.
And then áedán seeing his own story turned into a terrifying tale for children.
I didn't know what to do to make him feel better.
I thought about my options the entire way to his cottage and discarded each one.
Finally, I told myself to be brave and grabbed his hand.
áedán flinched, and I drew it away, but he snatched it back.
Weaving his fingers with mine, he resumed walking, a soft smile on his face.
And I smiled too. I had lifted his spirits and made a silent declaration.
That one little action had told áedán that I cared about him.
I cared as more than a Velascan, and I wanted more too.
And he had accepted that declaration.
We were both still smiling when we reached his cottage. He let go of my hand, his fingers sliding slowly free of mine, and turned to face me.
“Thank you for today,” he said.
“You're the one who suggested it.”
“I know.” He frowned at the bags of books. “I shoulda escorted you to your cottage first.”
“That's all right. I'm not as fragile as I look.”
He smirked. “I don't think you look fragile at all.”
“Thanks.”
“You could leave them here.” áedán shrugged.
“Oh.” It felt like leaving a toothbrush at a new lover's flat. As if I were creating a reason to return. Or áedán was. That made me grin. “Sure. That would be great.”
He took the bags with a matching grin. “I'll see you tomorrow?”
“Yup, bright and early.”
áedán nodded and went inside. I stood there, watching the door close, and started counting the hours until tomorrow came.