Chapter 26 Carwynn #2
The vines elongated, like branch extensions of myself. I focused on that idea. Branch extensions—extensions of me.
I closed my eyes and focused, coaxing them to retreat. A steady tingling went up my arms as they dislodged from Lochlainn, sliding back beneath my skin.
Lochlainn let out a breath of irritation. Angry lines battered his wrists where the shackles had been.
“You want to know how I unlocked your door?” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Simple. No idea!”
His brow twitched.
“I was upset and needed air. So I just—opened the door.” My hand waved in the air.
My confession shifted something in the room. From tension to an unsettling confusion. Lochlainn studied me like I were a riddle wrapped in poison ivy. He cautiously stepped around his desk, eyes not leaving my palms.
“I’ve never seen an ability like that,” he muttered.
“Floramancy,” Pogue whispered all too quickly, as if he hadn’t meant to say it at all.
“Floramancy?” Lochlainn echoed incredulously. “Some morbid Hallowborn gift, I presume. What exactly is that—death by flowers?” The derision in his voice couldn’t hide the edge behind it.
They looked at me like I was some experiment strapped to a lab table.
Lochlainn stroked his chin, the small shamrock tattoo between his thumb and forefinger shifting with the movement.
“Interesting. Very, very interesting . . .”
“It doesn’t matter right now!” I snapped, waving them off. I held up a finger. “Number one—dogs. Number two—get me in that competition.”
Lochlainn rubbed his lips together, a weak attempt to hold back the condescending smile.
“You do know what a competition is, don’t ya? Years of training, honing your abilities, going head-to-head with some of the most powerful beings in Ferie. Fighting to the death . . . Ya know, that kind of thing?”
To be honest, I hadn’t really thought that far ahead. Not like I’d had much time today to sit and strategize. But, fighting to the death? Yeah. I kind of pictured it as a colorful field day. Candy-filled scavenger hunts. Archery stations. Maybe some light-hearted bean-bag races.
Wishful fucking thinking.
My stomach knotted. Would I really be able to kill someone just to win?
Yesssssss, a sinful voice whispered deep inside.
Shhhh! I hissed back.
I pressed my fingers to my temples, drawing small relieving circles to ward off the rage.
“Yes, thank you. Well aware.” I spat. “Let me rephrase this for you. Get me into the trials, or I become the biggest pain in your ass this city’s ever seen.
Maybe I’ll go hone my own skills around town, testing out all your precious little locks!
Hell, maybe I’ll unlock your front door every night. How’s that sound?”
Lochlainn’s forearms flexed as he folded them over each other. That goddamn grin slowly returned to his face.
I lifted a hand, cutting him off before his big gob could open.
“God! Enough with the sex jokes! It’s like I can see your mind swan-diving into the gutter from here. Have fun replaying that memory over and over in your head. Savor it, really, because there’s zero fucking chance I’ll be repeating that mistake again!” I pinned him with a disgusted frown.
A deep laugh broke from Pogue. He coughed into his fist, failing to muffle it.
Lochlainn’s face fell, glowering. “Why do ya wanna to be in the trials?” he asked.
I shrugged. “That’s none of your concern.”
“Actually, it is my concern,” he shot back. “You’d be representing Luckland. Representing me. I go for gold, nothing less.” The amusement in his face burned to ash. “So if you’re entering, you’re gonna win. So I’ll ask again—why do you want in?”
The intensity of my eye roll physically hurt the muscles in my face.
“To win,” I said flatly. “I want an Ovum egg. As you know, I’ve been researching relics—looking for anything that might help David with the restoration of Loveland.
Call it a gut feeling that an Ovum would be useful.
” I paused. “Also, you still owe me access to your archives, by the way.” My eyes narrowed, sass on full display.
It wasn’t the full truth, but it was truth enough.
Over the years, I’d searched for the stone and box, but now I wanted to look for any information that might help relight Loveland’s Candela.
Anything that could potentially restore the land’s waning power.
My inkling sparked, wondering if my dream relics played a part in that too .
. . somehow. So yes, I had every intention of getting my hands on the grand prize.
Winning fairly or not, I’d figure that out along the way.
Alvar’s foretelling, my visions—I’d be keeping those to myself. Lochlainn had abused my trust enough, making me play the fool. That was not on the table for me anymore.
“Hmm,” he grunted, dragging a hand through his hair. “Fine, I’ll consider it.”
Blowing out a breath, he narrowed his eyes on me.
“The trials could be played individually, but each land enters as a team.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly already regretting this. “I’ll select your other companions.” A grunt. “This better not be a cock-up!”
“It isn’t,” I said, burying the uncertainty in my voice. “But don’t just consider it. Do it!”
I braced for impact—fully expecting Lochlainn to throttle me. But it never came.
Instead, he just looked at me. It was completely unexpected.
Something in his expression was at war. It was quieter than his usual smugness.
Was it surprise, maybe? Or something even rarer—respect?
I could see the gears turning. His calculating mind already running the odds, weighing the bet.
Perhaps he found a new underdog to bet on.
“Don’t worry about my men bothering you again,” he finally said.
He didn’t deserve my gratitude, but I nodded anyway.
Then, he turned to Pogue. “You’ll train her. You’re both from the same land, similar abilities. With the trials just over a month away, that should be enough to get the basics in.”
Pogue was silent at first. Until his foot lightly tapped, small enough that most would’ve missed it. But I knew that kind of nervous energy. I’d felt it enough times to recognize it. Something stirred under that cold mask of his.
“As you wish,” Pogue sneered. “Go ahead and add me to Team Luckland. If I’m going to invest my time training her, then I at least want a front row seat to the action.” He taunted with a cruel smile.
My ability involuntarily reached out and brushed up against his. Something that told me his soul didn’t match the gesture. Mask. Always a mask.
Behind us, liquid gently flowed down the side of a crystal glass.
Lochlainn poured himself a drink.
“Fecking gobshite,” he mumbled under his breath. “I’ll nominate ya for the Trials, but it’s ultimately up to the Luck-Blessed Well to deem ya worthy of it. You’ll toss a coin in at the Fortuna Ball to officially enter.”
“Fine,” I said, acting as though I totally knew what a Luck-Blessed Well was.
Then, a loud slam resonated down the hall, followed by violent, angry strides.
A familiar form rounded the doorframe.
Finley expelled an audible sigh of relief the moment he spotted me.
“Ah. Nice of you to join us,” Lochlainn said dryly, but the edge was unmistakable. “Shame you missed all the excitement.”
“Those fucking twats!” Finley stormed over, sights set on me. “Declan deserves his ass handed to him!” He grabbed my shoulders, inspecting for injury. “You all right?”
A sense of calm coiled around my insides. His presence was a comfort blanket I didn’t know I needed. There was genuine concern in his eyes, warm and melting right into mine.
“Declan?” I asked curiously. “Is that babyface or gray beard?”
Finley softly chuckled, unconsciously gliding his hands up and down my arms in a soothing rhythm.
“Babyface is fitting,” he said, a frown still shadowing his mouth. “Though his face will look anything but when I’m through with him.” The muscles in his arms tensed. “Seems I’ll be adding Sean to the shit-list as well.”
Across the room, Pogue’s jaw ticked as he watched us.
“I have to get back to work,” he said coldly. “I’ll see myself out.”
It wasn’t until he turned that I noticed, no gold suspenders. Just a fitted black shirt, neatly tucked. It did absolutely nothing to hide the shifting muscles of his broad back as he walked away.
My cheeks heated.
Finley seemed to notice, his gaze tracking mine.
Pogue halted in the doorway.
“Training starts tomorrow,” he said over his shoulder, not bothering to make eye contact. “I’ll come find you.” Then he turned, spearing Finley a sharp look before leaving.
Lochlainn downed another glass in one swig, then slammed it down on the desk.
“Right. Don’t bother, Finley. I’ll personally deal with Declan and Sean.”
Finley paused. His attention turned toward me.
“Training?” He uncomfortably shifted. “What’s he talking about?”
Lochlainn’s mouth curled.
“Oh, Carwynn here just signed herself up for Fecunditas!” An arm extended to me as if I were on display.
“I’ll have Faelad announce the representing team at the Fortuna Ball, once all the entering coins are accepted.
” Lochlainn stepped a foot closer. “You want to play the game? You’ll have to play to part.
” His voice went from silk to steel. “You’ll be expected at the ball.
Make sure to wear something elegant.” That toothy grin was borderline menacing.
“Have ya gone mad?” Finley barked, turning on Lochlainn. “Tell me this isn’t some punishment. You can’t be fucking serious!”
“It’s not.” I said calmly. “We already cleared the air about the door . . . accident.”
Lochlainn shot me a reprimanding look.
“I asked him to enter me into the Trials,” I continued, “because I want to compete. I’ll explain the rest later.”
Finley’s face stilled, a wariness creeping behind his eyes. The words were there, but he was clearly holding the slew of objections back.
“You’ll have to enter my name too,” he gritted out to Lochlainn, eyes not straying from mine.
“Obviously,” Lochlainn mumbled, and poured himself an additional drink. Turning, he held Finley’s stare. Words passed between them that didn’t meet the air.
Loaded words, by the looks of it.
What flaming dumpster fire did you just jump into, Carwynn? Ugh.