Chapter 9
Chapter
Nine
Mairwen stared down at her tarot cards, disappointed yet again.
No matter how many times she focused her magic, begged the cards for a different outcome, and redealt the spread, they refused her.
The spread showed her the same thing yet again: the matching of Lyla Ibrams to Chief Magnus MacRaith would be more difficult than expected because of the vast differences in the pair’s realities, and the gifted Ms. Ibrams still had to discover the powerful magic of her music and how to wield it.
Without warning, the seven cards arranged on the table hummed and lit up with a blinding golden glow. “Ye failed to prepare her properly. Ye should not have left the handling of one of my chosen children to yer apprentice. I am disappointed in ye, daughter.”
Mairwen bowed her head. It had been a long while since she had last spoken with one of her mothers. The goddesses never came to Seven Cairns unless the situation was dire. “Ye honor us with yer presence, my goddess. Forgive us for disappointing ye, mighty Bride.”
“And yet ye dinna address me as ‘mother’ even though ye ken what it means to me when ye do so?”
Apparently, Bride, beloved goddess over the triple fires of smithcraft, healing, and poetry, was not in a benevolent mood today.
Mairwen braced herself for a difficult visit, since she wasn’t in the best of temperaments herself, and their last encounter had been somewhat volatile.
“What do ye ask of me, Mother? The matching of Lyla to her fated mate is in the early stages. There is still great hope for the best outcome.”
“That child is one of my chosen. Ye know that.” The tarot cards glowed brighter, humming louder until they burst into crackling flames that didn’t consume them.
Seven small fires burned on the table in front of Mairwen, the tiny infernos flickering in perfect sync with the goddess’s words that echoed throughout the high-ceilinged room.
“Evil stole the voice I gave to her, but she still possesses the magic of song and poetry. Ye should have trained her. Taught her how to save my beloved dragons.” The seven blazes burned brighter still, their flames growing taller.
“And the Veil needs the love locked within her mate bond. Did ye truly think ye could cast one such as her into a kingdom as vast and complicated as the Thirteenth Realm, and all would go well with little to no effort or guidance? Why did ye not show her? Why did ye not tell her of her magic?”
“She would not have believed.” Mairwen squared her shoulders and sat taller in her throne-like chair at the head of the long council table in the center of the meeting hall.
She was the master of the Divine Weavers, a daughter of Cerridwen and Bride, and refused to cower or bow—even to her mothers.
“Ye know what this world has become. No one believes in anything.”
The burning cards dimmed, but their fires remained. “Begin the search for another apprentice. Keeva is no longer of our choosing. If this endeavor fails, if the prophecy is fouled, it will be because of her. Choose another and send Keeva to me.”
“No.” Mairwen would never agree to that, knowing that in her current mood, Bride would condemn Keeva to the Crystal Prison, the same place that Mairwen’s son Valan had his immortality stripped away and his soul shattered. “She does not deserve the same fate as my Valan.”
The seven fires dancing across the table dimmed even more. “Valan’s fate was regrettable. One we did not foresee.”
“And yet ye are willing to repeat it?”
“Dinna speak to yer mother in that tone.”
“Then dinna threaten Keeva. She is much like a daughter to me.”
“If the bond does not happen between my gifted mortal and the dragon kindred chief, if the prophecy of the Thirteenth Realm is not realized and brought to fruition to save all of dragonkind, I will take Keeva, whether ye wish it or not.” The entire room shook with the intensity of Bride’s irritation.
“Ye are powerful, my daughter, but dinna forget ye still bear a wee bit of mortal ancestry in yer veins. Ancestry that strengthens yer heart but weakens yer magic. Ye canna defy me or yer mother Cerridwen. We cherish ye, but we will never allow that.”
“All fated mate pairings are difficult. Especially when they involve such distinct and varied realities. This is not a simple matter of taking them backward or forward in time along the same plane of existence. The chief enacted the rare right of fourteen days and nights. Few have ever done that to convince their fated mate to join with them.”
“At least someone in this mess is making use of every opportunity.”
Mairwen ignored the petty insult from the mother who had always made her feel less.
Out of all the Divine Weavers that once watched over the many portals of creation, only Seven Cairns still existed to tend to the blessed tapestry of the Highland Veil.
That was because they were the strongest, the best at what they did.
She had never claimed them to be perfect at their matchmaking or the choices they made, but they were as close to perfection as the universe allowed.
“Who aids Kcirred, Mother? Is it Morrigan? Beira?”
The burning cards slowly extinguished themselves one by one, returning them to their usual state.
“That one’s evil rot needs no aid to evolve.
Both Morrigan and Beira refuse to ally with him, for he possesses no honor at all—not among his own nor among the darkness.
” The restored tarot cards fluttered across the table, flipping over as though the wind itself wished to hide their colorful images.
“He is one of the greatest dangers our fated mates have ever faced. Not only to the mates themselves, but to the Veil as well.”
“I will warn the chief as well as Lyla.”
“Be certain and handle it yerself. Dinna entrust the task to yer apprentice, ye ken?”
Irritated but determined to control her temper, Mairwen jutted her chin higher. “Farewell, Mother.”
The goddess’s amusement trickled through the room like the delicate chiming of fairy bells. “Aye, daughter. Farewell—for now.”
Magnus refused to leave Lyla alone even though he knew he should exit his quarters and face the new day, seeing to the realm.
But her condition worried him. She’d slept little, if any at all, curled on the edge of the bed as if ready to launch herself into oblivion if he made the slightest move toward her.
She’d sworn she didn’t fear him, but her actions said otherwise.
Either that, or she feared herself, feared she’d weaken to the pull of the mate bond.
Regardless, he’d not move any farther from her than a room or at the very most, two rooms.
After all, he had but a fortnight to convince her that this was where she belonged. But he would grant her the privacy of the bathing solar this morning while Martha and Albionna did their best to rid her of the ailments the portal had brought upon her.
At least he hoped it was passing through the portal that had made her feel so poorly and not him.
He scrubbed his fingertips through the bristles of his closely cropped beard as he paced all around the vast bedchamber, wrestling with the doubt of all he had said and done.
He’d intended to ease her into the lore of the Thirteenth Realm, and yet, damned if he hadn’t dumped the lot of it over her poor head, drowning her in everything he’d feared would send her running—and it damn near had.
At least she had seemed to relax a wee bit when she’d seen Martha was humankind. He flinched and slowly shook his head. His Lyla had yet to discover that Albionna was a selkie who occasionally returned to her blessed sea, donned her sleek pelt, and assumed her natural form of a seal.
“Merriweather and Percival request an audience, my chief.” Inuk, faithful and loyal steward that he was, understood the fragile nature of the situation and had chosen to communicate through thought rather than knocking on the bedchamber door and risking a misstep with the new lady of the land.
Magnus appreciated the cloud dragon’s thoughtfulness.
Expelling magic as easily as breathing, he clothed himself in his usual black tunic, supple leather trews, and boots.
Since he had no intention of leaving the fortress, armor was unnecessary.
Besides, his valet, Stoorin, the most wearisome tailor dragon that was ever hatched, had threatened to torch every stitch of clothing he had ever made if Magnus didn’t give him ample time to see to repairs and the addition of enhanced shielding and scale guards.
“Bring Merriweather and Percival to my private solar,” he thought to Inuk as he exited the bedchamber and softly closed the door behind him.
The solar, his personal sitting room and library, was already aglow with the early afternoon candles.
Since its longest wall was made entirely of windows that faced the east, as soon as the sun reached its zenith and started its descent back to the horizon, the massive vault of scrolls, weaponry, and furniture built for both humankind and dragonkind became filled with shadows.
“The Mairwen has arrived as well.” Inuk’s thought was louder since the dragon despised all Weavers.
“Have her wait until I have finished with Merriweather and Percival. Dinna let her out of yer sight.” Not that Magnus disliked all the Divine Weavers, but he nay trusted the lot of them.
They had vexed him too much of late, and with her arriving so quickly after Lyla’s crossing through the portal, the old one couldn’t possibly bear good news.
Something hit the outer door of the solar with a hard thud, then the loud commotion of several voices, increasing in both volume and pitch, filled the hall.
“What the feckin’ hell?” Magnus crossed the room, opened the door, then groaned and rolled his eyes. “What have the two of ye done now?”