Chapter 50 Carwynn
CARWYNN
How strange . . .
The onyx box was smooth under the pads of my fingers. Like cold, crisp glacial water luring me in to take a sip.
I traced its edges. The strange engravings suddenly sparked to life. Radiant gold light burst, spewing out in a sparkling blaze, catching me off guard. I snapped my eyes shut, shielding them with a hand.
“Finally,” a low, compelling voice whispered. That one word enveloped me like two strong arms, encircling around, locking me in place.
An immense feeling awakened deep inside me, almost hypnotic. As if my senses had fused to the box’s power, engulfing me like a hungry flame. But I was standing too close . . . about to get burned.
A sudden heat rushed through my body, my veins, my very soul.
“Finally,” I answered, spirit possessed, echoing its words.
The black box slipped through my hands and I scrambled, desperately trying to catch it.
Smash!
I shot upright in my bed, heart jackhammering like a fire alarm in the night.
“What the—” I clutched my damp chest, unsure if I was having a minor heart attack.
The box, that voice, the heat—it was all gone in an instant. The ache still flared in the pit of my soul, but felt more like a warning . . . or worse, a promise . . .
A nightmare. It was just a nightmare.
Breena’s petite hand squeezed my ankle. A warm, steadying anchor to reality.
“Sorry! Didn’t mean to give ya a fright!” she said, too chipper to actually be sorry. “You nodded off. Figured I’d wake ya so you’d have time to wipe the drool off before Finley arrives.”
“Shit,” I groaned, rubbing palms against my eyes. “Thanks, I didn’t mean to pass out.”
Between training, packing for Fecunditas, and digging through Lochlainn’s archives for clues—I’d absolutely worn myself ragged. I’d spent half the night lost to book pages and ghosts only to wind up empty handed again. The nightmare was probably a side effect of my sleep deprivation.
“What time is it?” I stood, glancing out the bedroom window.
Radiant light spilled through the moss-rounded frame. The sun was sinking low. It looked like a golden coin being tossed into a well, striking the hem of Breena’s dress and scattering into prismatic strokes against the floor. She looked stunning all dolled up for the ball.
Breena glided to my dresser and picked up my gold choker. Next to it, a matching pair of gold pearl earrings sparkled. Her eyes briefly scanned them. She bit her lip hiding a smile.
“I see we’re beginning to have a favorite,” she said, raising a devious eyebrow. “And don’t worry, ya have an hour.”
I let out a breath. Thank the fucking Lord . . .
Ignoring her insinuation, I gave her a blank look.
For a moment, I felt like a little girl meeting a fairy for the first time.
Breena wasn’t wearing a skimpy pixie dress tonight.
No, she looked like goddamn regal princess.
The Si Princess, if there were such a thing.
A fitted, white gemstone dress hugged her slender frame.
The material flowed like streaming water, cascading down to pool at her feet where small green gemstones dotted from the bottom up, as if splashed upwards from puddle-jumping.
“Two things.” I held up my fingers. “First, don’t give me that look.
I see those excited little gears in your head grinding overtime.
Again, there’s nothing between me and Lochlainn.
He asked me to wear it tonight—something about sentimentality and representing Luckland. ” I waved a hand like a limp flag.
“Mmhmm,” Breena gave me pointed look, holding back a laugh as she passed me the choker.
Her eyes dipped to the scar on my throat for the briefest of moments.
With anyone else I’d turtle away, immediately getting a rush of self-consciousness .
. . but not with my her or Aine. Breena always looked, not with pity, but with some twisted satisfaction—like the mark was just an IOU note for when I’d payback the Skell King for what he did to me.
With Aine, it was an IOU reminding her to collect blood.
I took the choker.
“And secondly,” I said, adjusting it on top of the scar. Gold lace settled against my skin, covering the secret I wasn’t ready to face.
I gave Breena the up-down with my eyes. “You’re a knockout, girl!”
She beamed, gold freckles sparkling on her rounded cheeks. Hands bunched into the material of her dress as she did a twirl for me. Long curls swayed over her delicate shoulders.
“Awww. Thanks, Car!” she squeaked. “Oakley, ya know—cute professor who teaches Si Craft? Asked me to be his date. I’m trying to—”
Her words cut off. Aine entered the room like a storm cloud rumbling in.
“Ready,” Aine blurted loudly, all enthusiasm drained away.
Breena’s hands shot to her hips, as if pulled by an angry magnet.
“Ya wore that to the Fortuna last time!” Her nose scrunched, fury dancing on her brow. “I picked out five dresses for you!”
If Breena were the Si Princess, then Aine would be the goddamn Queen. Her strapless, floor-length dress glittered like a dark night sky, except instead of silver starlight, it was gold. The same bright hue as her locks that were pinned neatly into a braided crown on her head.
“They were too foofy,” she muttered the word like it was dirt on her tongue, then gave a shrug. “Oh, Breena, I should mention—there’s some string-bean guy outside. Been out there for ten minutes or so. Said he was your date.” Aine readjusted her bust. “I was getting ready and forgot.”
If smugness were a competition, Aine would be the champion, threading her gown from gold medallions.
“Also, our Enbarr’s here. Little early, don’t ya think?” Aine added quickly with feigned enthusiasm.
“What do ya mean our,” Breena scoffed. “Oakley wants to be at the tents before the long lines show up—extra time to get to know each other.”
Aine casually shrugged. “That’s fine, I’ll go early too. Better than being stuck with the lovebirds. Vomit clashes with the color of my dress.” She scrunched her nose, pinning me with a teasing, yet repulsed look.
Breena huffed, passing her in the doorway.
“For luck’s sake!” Breena spat under her breath, then grilled Aine with an accusatory look. “Maybe if ya did a little more smiling and a little less hissing, you’d have your own date!”
“Wait—aren’t you going with Keeffe?” I asked Aine, clamping my mouth shut to hide the devilish grin. I failed miserably.
Breena whirled around. “What?” she snapped.
Aine picked at her nails, unbothered and bored, but shot me a brief glare. “Who?” She blinked, acting as clueless as a foggy window.
“Aine,” I drawled, disapproving, like a mom coaxing a toddler to fess up. I looked at Breena. “Keeffe asked her to be his date. Three times. Even had me beg her on his behalf.”
Breena swore under her breath, grimacing at Aine.
Aine waved a nonchalant hand. “He’s not my type.”
“No one’s ya type!” Breena scowled.
“Don’t worry.” I chuckled, smile widening. “Told him Aine’d save him a dance. You know, to make up for all that rejection.”
“You didn’t!” Aine’s piercing gaze burned into me.
Breena grunted, then grabbed Aine’s hand, hauling her out the door.
“See you there!” I waggled my fingers as Breena dragged her and her irritated eyes away. “Byieeee!”
There was a heavy knock on the door.
I growled, attempting to pin my stubborn coppery hair back. It was clearly determined to go rogue.
“Just a minute!” I shouted, slightly frustrated Finley was early.
It’d taken me nearly thirty minutes to tame the lion’s mane I acquired during my nap. Everything else was all set, just needed my earrings.
“Shit!” My hands rummaged over the dresser, retracing the exact place I last saw them. “Where the hell are they?”
Then it hit me. I whipped my head around to the Brownie hidey-hole. The den of pesky thieves.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” I stomped to the other side of the room and knelt down.
Sweat started to bead at my brow, half from the gown’s weight, half from sheer aggravation. I felt around inside and . . . nothing.
Another heavy thud sounded from the front door.
“Sorry, almost ready!” I yelled again, flustered. “Just one more minute!”
A sudden burst of light filled the room, a plump Cherub appeared and sprawled out on my bed. Ginger locks swept across his face as he bit into a bulbous plum, juice dripping onto my comforter.
I closed my eyes. Then inhaled, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“Pudge.” I shot him a warning glare. “This is not the time!” His sudden appearance usually meant it was mischief-making hour.
He gave an innocent pout, then casually tossed the plum across the room. It landed with a gushy thud. Pudge raised an eyebrow, as if asking, what’s the problem, babe?
I pointed to the hole accusingly. “Those little Brownie demons stole my earrings . . . again!”
Pudge sat up, ruffling his white tunic that had rose-gold embroidery across the belt.
A deep, rumbling chuckle bubbled out of his mouth.
He fluttered down to the Brownie entrance.
Then, in one smooth movement, he spun around and squatted.
The back of his tunic lifted as he backed up, waggling his butt like he was about to serve justice.
My eyes went wide.
No. Oh my fucking god . . .
He couldn’t. No, really. He couldn’t be serious! He’d done demented things before, but this—shitting in the Brownie hole—would be a whole new level of what the actual fuck!
We’d be number one on the Brownie’s shit list. They’d probably wreck our plumbing or launch a full-scale war like angry mosquitos seeking vengeance.
“No! Pudge—don’t!” I reached forward to pull him away when—
The most revolting, floor-rumbling, cheek-flapping fart echoed through the room. I swear I heard the windowpanes vibrate.
Fucking. Hell. How could a rump so tiny and small, bellow such a thunderous bum-symphony?
Pudge snickered like an unhinged goblin. He readjusted his clothes, then flew back to the bed.