Chapter Fourteen #2
“Not if we handle it correctly.” Cian scoops me up in his arms again and winks at Hunter. “But let’s ascertain the level of damage before we set Cerf-Biche on fire.”
He walks through a secret door disguised as a wall next to the bed, accessed by a false lamp. The earl follows in our wake, grumbling all the way down through loamy earth, damp and dismal as the dungeon, and dark as Dubnos where the demons dwell.
For someone who just halved his powers, Cian seems awfully chipper.
He brushes kisses against my forehead as if he can’t bear to stop touching his lips to my skin, and frankly, I don’t want him to stop.
When he’s not kissing me, he’s trading barbs with Hunter, who marches sure-footedly behind us on the slippery stone stairs.
Stags. Power radiates from them; Cian seems just as strong as before.
But at the same time, as we draw closer to the soil, I feel the tingling within me grow.
I’ve never felt this connection before. Always, there has been a sense of grace, of rightness, when I walked the ground, but not tingles.
Not power waiting to be accessed like a key slipping into a lock and turning.
We emerge into the morning mist on the edge of the palace. Cian sets a brisk pace across the long lawn. Hunter lifts a hand to the guards as they begin to swarm upon us.
They retreat when they recognize the earl and king.
I tap Cian’s chin. “Put me down, okay? I want to walk.”
Instantly, he complies.
“She’s going to slow us down,” Hunter complains. “Look at those short legs.”
“Anxious to sit your ass on the throne?” Cian asks.
“Fuck you.”
“See how he’s not even afraid of me anymore?” Cian asks. “I hope you appreciate how much I’m giving up for you.” But his tone is... happy. He grabs my hand in his and swings it as he begins to pull me forward again.
“I didn’t ask you to give up anything,” I protest, trying and failing to pull away. “I just wanted you to try something other than vanilla.”
“And I was never afraid of you, asshole,” the earl says. Several paces later, he exclaims, “Woah. Hold up.” He runs a few steps in front of us and stops, hand extended to pause us. “You truly didn’t know he’s allergic to most spices?”
“You are?” I ask, looking up at him.
“No. It was all a lie told by the monks. They also slipped in an edict for me to sign so the court would only use vanilla spice in cakes. The allergies and the edict were both specifically designed to tempt you into livening up my dessert, which then meant I’d meet you.
Cernunnos laid out my life so I’d re-enact his story with Cerfwynn.
He expects me to make his choices again. Turns out, I’m my own man.”
The implications of his words are horrifying. “You’re defying your god?”
“Asshole,” Hunter snaps.
“Not defying. Choosing of my own free will, which he gave us, I might add, so it’s really his fault if things go awry.”
We all start walking again since there’s little to say in response to Cian’s easy words. In truth, I find it difficult to keep up with their longer strides, even though I can tell they’re both shortening their paces for me.
“But why didn’t anyone tell me you were allergic if they thought you were?
I mean, I whined often enough about the lack of variety in the kitchens.
Someone should have said, ‘Oh, hey, you know why we don’t use spices?
The king. The king will die if we do.’ Because I think I would have been a lot more careful. ”
“She has a point,” the earl huffs.
“And all of them point to Roffey Hornbeam, once devoted to Fawn Freeborn,” Cian agrees.
“I told you that, you moron,” Hunter growls. “If you’d just listen to half of what goes on in your court...”
“Your court now.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“So you keep telling me.”
The earl huffs and stalks ahead of us.
I understand what he’s feeling. I don’t understand Cian. He mated himself to the weakest doe in Cerf-Biche without anyone forcing him. He willingly lost power and prestige, made himself a laughingstock, and quite possibly signed both our death warrants. And yet, he’s happy.
The stag who’s about to obtain the throne doesn’t want it. The stag who’s losing it is ready to dance. Maybe being weak all my life and free of court intrigue isn’t the worst thing in the world.
Except, intrigue found me anyway. And if Cian were anyone other than who he is, I’d already be dead. So that means power is better. I think.
“You two are the most... the most...” But I shake my head and keep my feet moving, huffing as I go because I’m out of breath.
But I’m saved from having to come up with a term because the forest thins of a sudden, and we emerge onto a bank.
In front of us lies a waterfall, the sounds of the flow tinkling in the air.
Beauty such as I’ve never known, a tribute to the earth in all her glory, spreads before me like a punch to the gut.
Five more steps, and we’re standing on mossy earth. My bare feet scrunch in the softness. The thrum of magick seeps up through my heels. I feel it so much more strongly than I ever have before.
“Shift, love. Do it now. Close your eyes, feel the sun on your face, feel the water in your blood as it bathes the earth, feel the magick lift from your heels to your head, flooding you with power. Find your essential self. Find your doe spirit,” Cian whispers, briefly kissing my forehead before stepping back.
As he does so, he unhooks the belt on my robe.
I do as he says. The tingle grows stronger, bolder, more effervescent. Every part of me races as magick fills me. I shrug out of the robe, not caring that Hunter stands near and can see me naked. I cared before because I was more human than shifter. Now, I’m one with all that surrounds me.
I’m a doe. I’m grown from the rich soil and connected to all of buzzing life.
A moment’s pain, like daggers ripping bones, floods my body. A gasp escapes me, but already... already...
“Beautiful,” Cian murmurs, appreciation rounding his tone. His hand falls gently upon my head, stroking down my back all the way to my tail.
Tail?
I open my eyes and whip my head around. There it is.
I stand on four legs. I’m a doe, alright, down to my cloven hooves, but whereas most does are dark shades of brown, I’m so light as to be almost white.
My gaze trails to Cian, who’s smiling broadly, and then to the earl, who frowns before he sends his friend a look filled with absolute misery.
“She’s powerful, isn’t she?” Cian asks, a proud look on his face.
“Very powerful. I’d say she matches or exceeds Fawn Freeborn,” the earl agrees through gritted teeth.
“What? That’s not possible.” But the words just echo in my head because my open mouth refuses to spit out anything other than a distorted bleat.
But Cian answers as if I’ve given the words more than thin air. “He’s right, Ayala. I feel it too.”
The idea is so disturbing, I can’t stand still with it. Instead, after testing out my shaky legs to make certain they’ll hold me, I let loose a cry and chase down the grassy bank towards the lowest edge of the pool. With a flying leap, I pierce the cool water.
When my head again pops over the rim, I find Cian and Hunter in their stag forms, swimming beside me.
The rest of the day is more magickal than magick itself. The three of us, as if we’re barely older than fawns, play in the fields and forests, racing, chasing, and finally lying fallow in the sun.
But through it all, I can’t help but think: I’m powerful now. But what of Cian? In loving him, what have I done to Cerf-Biche?