Broken Veil (Shadowlands #3)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Carys Morgan pulled on the heavy pine doors, then stepped into the barn to see her father working at his bench.

Light slanted through the high window that faced the west, fine sawdust floated gently in the air, and the smell of fresh cedar hit her nose along with the scent of soap, lemon, and beeswax.

Gareth Morgan glanced up. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

She looked around, confused by the disordered workshop that surrounded her. There was a table leg sitting near the lathe in the corner and a half-finished spice rack that should be complete and hanging on the wall of the kitchen.

There was a nearly finished bookcase propped against the back wall. Her father had made it for her when she rented her first apartment. She’d put it in her childhood bedroom when she moved home after her parents’ death.

“Dad?”

Her father wore a pair of clear goggles as he sanded a dusty piece of maple on the table in front of him. He put the sanding block down and swiped his hands over his jeans. “All right, my girl?”

Carys blinked. “You’re wearing safety glasses.”

“Of course I am.”

“Even when you’re dead?”

Gareth shook his head and frowned a little bit. “That’s no reason to be careless.”

She walked over and perched on a metal stool her father had scavenged from the old high school woodshop. The seat was ancient, but it didn’t squeak or grind when she spun it around.

Of course not. Nothing squeaked in Gareth Morgan’s workshop.

He leaned forward, propping his hands on the scarred bench. “It’s good to see you.”

“I’m dreaming.”

“Course you are.” His mouth curled in a crooked smile. “Best way to spend your time when you’re asleep.”

The room around her was a construction of her subconscious, an amalgamation of childhood memories, hopes, and unfinished business. The table leg was from her bedroom desk. The spice rack was for her mother, as was the cutting board her father was sanding.

“What do you need, Carys?”

“Why did we leave Wales?”

He smirked a little bit. “You never asked that when I was alive.”

“I always meant to.”

“Better not to leave a task unfinished, my girl.” His voice grew soft. “Say what you mean to say. And if a job can be done in the moment—”

“Do it before you forget.”

Gareth nodded. “Exactly.”

She asked again, “Why did we leave Wales?”

He leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest. “I expect you understand better now than you would have when you were a girl.”

“Because Mom came from the Shadows.”

Gareth closed his eyes. “The Brightlands where I grew up was both too familiar and too foreign for your mother,” he said. “Better a place that was new to both of us. You were born in Caernarfon, as agreed—”

“Agreed by whom?”

He shook his head. “I can’t tell you that.”

“She knew,” Carys whispered. “Mom knew there would be another child.”

“We both knew.” Gareth blinked hard. “But we couldn’t cross over. That was part of the price.”

“For what? Me?”

He shook his head. “You were a gift. But we couldn’t be selfish and ask for both of you. If we did, we’d be tempting—”

“The gods.”

Gareth nodded silently.

“Was it worth it?”

Gareth’s eyes glowed. “What do you think?”

There was nothing melancholy about this dream, which felt like far more than a dream.

“Where are you, Dad?” Carys looked over her shoulder at the open door. Light poured in from the afternoon sun, and in the distance she saw the familiar outline of Gareth and Tegan’s small wooden house in the shadow of the redwood forest. “Is this heaven? Some kind of… otherworld? Is Mom here too?”

“I’m here, my girl.” Gareth smiled. “I can hear her in the house. Can’t you?”

Carys held her breath, but she heard nothing from the distant home. Not a song or the chirping of birds.

She whispered, “Do you hear her?”

“Oh yes.” He nodded. “Every moment.”

“Okay.” She let out a slow breath. “That’s what’s important.”

Her father smiled. “What’s scurrying about your brain? Such a busy mind you have.” He lifted his hand and circled his finger in the air like a wheel. “Your mother and I joked about that gear in your head. The one that never stopped turning. What are you wondering now?”

Carys looked around the shop. “Was this home to you? The house in the woods. Teaching punk teenagers. Building yet another bookcase for yet another classroom?”

“And where else would home be?” He chuckled a little. “Home is where love is. You and your mother, Carys. You were all I needed of home.”

“I miss you, Dad.”

“I’m right here, my girl.” His voice was soft. “Don’t you know? I’m just on the other side of your dreams.”

She opened her eyes as the blurry memory of a dream faded away, stared into the darkness until her eyes adjusted to the dim blue light sneaking through the shutters on the windows. She focused on a dignified navy strip draped over a dark canopy held up by four mahogany posters.

Next to her, sound asleep, was the laird of Murrayshall, her knight in blacksmith’s clothing, Duncan Murray.

“Mother, you should meet Carys. She’s a mythology professor and she’s my girlfriend, so you’ll be seeing her again.”

Right.

Duncan was her boyfriend.

Boyfriend.

Her boyfriend was a Scottish laird who wielded a dragon-steel sword.

That was so… kick-ass.

The bookish teenage nerd who lived inside her was squealing uncontrollably while the mature adult part of her tried to play it cool.

Duncan sucked in a breath, flopped over on his side, and let out a hard snort before he threw an arm over his eyes and fell back asleep.

Carys smiled. Okay, her kick-ass boyfriend was also just a man.

Glancing around the dim bedroom, she realized Duncan might be just a man to her, but that was probably not how the world saw him. And how the world saw him was going to be an issue.

“Oh dear. You’re American.”

Duncan’s mother’s disappointment couldn’t have been more clear.

Since Carys had been born in Wales, she was—strictly speaking—a dual citizen, but while Duncan was a man of money, position, and influence, Carys was an associate mythology professor at a moderately priced state university in Northern California.

Of course, if they were getting technical, she was also a nêrys ddraig, a dragon lord, and a niece of the King of Cymru in the parallel dimension that lived just on the other side of the fae gates connecting the modern world and the magical one.

But that might be a little too complicated to explain to Duncan’s mother.

She rolled onto her side and stared at the window, wishing the night away.

They had arrived in Brightlands London the night before, just as a massive earthen barrow had appeared next to Stonehenge, baffling the human world.

And in the weeks before that, she’d seen an Anglian king crowned, a fae prince declare war on the human kingdoms by stealing children, another fae prince return from exile, and nearly been in a war between human and magical armies.

And in the middle of all that, she’d not quite accidentally released an ancient war goddess into the Brightlands.

She and Duncan had returned to London because she’d sensed a trap, but nothing could have prepared her for the sight of a fae mound appearing in the human world, drones buzzing over it, and evening news presenters offering glib commentary on the supernatural activity.

“…law enforcement has been challenged by a group of neo-pagan activists who are trying to enter the site, claiming any attempt to obstruct them is a violation of their religious freedom.”

The Brightlands was not prepared for what the Morrígan was planning.

She was staring into the corner, fascinated by the play of shadows against the window from the tree outside, and drifting back to sleep.

Nêrys.

Carys smiled when she heard her dragon’s comforting, deep voice. Cadell?

I wasn’t sure you were awake.

Only a little bit. Are you okay?

She and Duncan had returned to the Brightlands with Cadell, her best friend Laura, and two other magical creatures from the Shadowlands, a wolf shifter named Godrik and a fae healer named Naida.

Naida is feeling better, Cadell said.

Good. Any change in Salisbury?

Laura was watching the news until a few hours ago. She’s sleeping now.

In your room?

None of your business.

She kept her eyes closed, but she smiled. I disagree.

Cadell had first bonded to Carys’s Shadowkin, Seren, but when Seren was murdered and Carys entered the Shadowlands through a fae gate, he’d sensed her and bonded immediately to her.

Carys was the first Brightkin in history—that they knew of—to be bonded to a dragon.

And Laura was her best friend, so any relationship between her best friend and Cadell was definitely her business.

Despite your completely unnecessary interest in Laura’s and my relationship, we have far more important things to worry about.

I know.

Carys had made a bargain with what she thought was a fae sorceress, only to find out that the old woman who bargained for passage to the Brightlands wasn’t fae at all.

She was the Morrígan, a three-natured goddess of Celtic mythology. She was also the reason for the massive fae fort that had appeared on Salisbury Plain.

Carys didn’t know what the Morrígan was planning, but she was fairly sure it wasn’t going to be peace, love, and naked dancing under the moon.

I’m not going to pretend that the barrow near Stonehenge isn’t concerning, but—

Oh no, the dragon said. We have more immediate problems than that.

Okay yes, the Morrígan was loose and their fae friend Naida was ill from being in the Brightlands, but they’d averted a fae war that threatened to tear Shadowlands Briton apart.

That was progress, right?

Carys sighed, wishing her dragon would shut up so she could go back to sleep. Leave it to you to get chatty the one time I’m super time-lagged and all I want is to—

Nêrys, I’m talking to you.

I know. And I wish you weren’t.

Nêrys.

Dragon.

I am talking to you.

And?

In. Your. Mind.

Carys’s eyes flew open, and she sat bolt upright in bed. “Shit!”