77. Bea
BEA
Delivering me to her? What is she talking about?
Brennen stiffens, and a surge of protectiveness washes through me as the goddess squeezes his hand.
It's too familiar a gesture, casual, as if she's done it thousands of times before, and I find I do not like it one bit.
Lolly must sense my unease, because she lowers her head, a growl rumbling in her chest.
Do you want me to stop her? she asks directly into my mind, and I shiver, wholly unused to the intrusion.
“Dinne be foolish,” the goddess snaps, giving her a withering stare.
I open my mouth to tell her not to speak to my dragon that way, but she shifts her glare to me as if reading my intentions.
I bow my head and avert my eyes, unsure what this woman’s powers are.
With the aura of anger around her and the Epoch raging overhead, my guess is I am standing before Blàr, goddess of war and monsters.
Who knows the wicked things she could do to me if displeased.
“It’s alright, Lolly,” I whisper, and she huffs, smoke curling from her nose.
Eiridh.
What? I think the word, and am about to speak it aloud, when the voice slides into my mind again.
My name. It is not Lolly. It’s Eiridh.
My eyes stray from Brennen and the goddess for the briefest moment, only long enough to look at my dragon.
You can read my mind, too? I ask, once again speaking the words only in my mind.
Eiridh nods, remaining silent.
Are you sure I can’t call you Lolly? It suits you.
She huffs, smoke wafting from her nostrils, and I turn my focus back to Brennen.
His gaze is far away, his eyes glassy, as if his mind has gone somewhere else altogether.
I step closer, unease wrapping around my heart.
What is the goddess doing to him? I clench my hands into fists, goddess of war and monsters be damned, and am about to demand she take her hands off him when his skin begins to glow.
It starts beneath the goddess's touch, spreading up his arm into his torso and neck, a shimmering web of light that surrounds his entire body, pulsing in white translucent waves. It expands as if taking a deep breath, then snaps into place, burrowing into his skin.
It’s stunning, a type of light I have never seen before that takes my breath away, somehow warm and cool at the same time, every shade of every color you could think of. Some of them I have never even imagined, and suddenly, I cannot conceive of pulling him back.
His eyes close as his always-stern expression shifts to contentment, and the light softens.
A gasp leaves my lips as the dàn I stole reappear on his skin, along with one he hadn’t had. It stains the palm of his unscarred hand, exactly where the one that just appeared on my own body sits.
The entire After ceases to exist. I do not see the stars or the goddess, nor the silver sand beneath my feet. My vision tunnels onto the mark, one I’ve seen written in ancient texts, known throughout the entire kingdom—the judge’s sigil.
The entirety of my time with Brennen flashes through my mind. His insistence on justice over cruelty. His agonizing struggle with his feelings for me when he thought I had murdered people he loved in cold blood. The complete lack of grey in his view of morality.
“You’re Am Breitheamh,” I whisper. “You’re the judge.” I begin to drop to my knees, his presence overwhelming, but he stops me with a hand around my arm.
He meets my eyes—eyes that have morphed into the most shocking shade of green I've ever seen, more stunning than emeralds, with flecks of gold in his irises the same color as the goddesses. “You willnae kneel for me,” he says, his voice somehow deeper. Rougher. “Not now. Not ever.”
He holds my stare, refusing to look away until I give him a tentative nod, and he softens.
“We did it,” he says, his voice filled with disbelief as he turns to the goddess.
“We did,” she says, but Brennen doesn’t give her more than a second’s glance. He stands taller than before, more commanding, and the aura of power radiating off his body threatens to once again bring me to my knees.
Brennen leans down to speak into my ear. “Dinnae even think about it. If either of us will be kneeling for the other, it will be me,” he says, reaching out and cupping my face with both hands, threading his fingers through the curls at my nape.
“What’s happening?” I breathe, examining the angular planes of his face. Sharper than before. Even stronger.
He presses his forehead against mine.
“I was sent to find you,” he says. “I remember now.”
“Find me?” I ask, my mind reeling. Why would a god be sent to find a mere mortal? Why me? And why did he not remember until now? If he were a god, how could he not know it?
“Yes. You,” he says, trailing a thumb across my cheek. Sparks ignite along the line of his touch, more intense than ever. “You. Always you. I finally understand,” he says, the smile gracing his lips a gift from the gods.
My god.
The thought comes unbidden and unexpected. Could he ever be truly mine if he belongs to this world?
I shake the thought away, desperate to ask him to explain, to share his understanding with me, but the words are dead on my tongue. I can hardly speak with his power needling into me, his hands on my skin hotter than flames.
He must sense my struggle, because his eyes crinkle, and my knees nearly buckle.
“Dinnae fash, my lark. All is well now.”
Warmth fills my chest at his nickname for me.
“Poor dear looks like she might faint. Best start from the beginning,” the goddess says, folding her hands together.
Brennen slides his hands down to my shoulders. “Right. I’m sorry. Remembering it all at once. It was…overwhelming.”
“Remembering what?” I ask, finally finding my voice.
He takes a deep breath, holding onto it for a moment as if whatever he’s about to say will take effort.
“Everything,” he says. “Everything we’ve wondered.
The reason the Cutter hid you away a century ago.
The reason she couldnae kill you. The reason you're so strong.” He leans forward, his gaze boring into mine. “So brave.”
He caresses my face with his eyes, from my brow to my nose to my lips, with such pride, my heart aches. “The answer was always right there. You, mo chridhe, are fated to become the next Cutter.”