Chapter Thirty-Five #2
The image of Sylvia holding out her hand to me on the Peninsula flashed before me, and I shrank back.
More memories tore through my mind: Sylvia coaching me to master the trees, to bend them to my will.
Me laying waste to the Tree Spirits, killing them where they stood.
Aed stalking me on the Root Path. Taunting me.
Chasing me. Me feeding the bug to the spider.
Letting the mould spores grow. Using my dark magic to enter Todd’s mind and kill him. Stepping into Craos’s realm. Dying.
My magic had brought nothing but darkness to myself and those around me.
I hated it, and I never wanted to use it again.
It was dormant now, and I would keep it caged forever if it was the last thing I did.
I backed away from Freya’s outstretched hand and stepped out of the Yew’s trailing branches, my arms wrapped around my stomach.
Freya studied me before letting her hand drop. “A Druid’s power is neither good nor bad, Kira,” she said, echoing Aed’s words from that night by the river. “It just is. Like nature itself.
“But I’m not entirely Druid, am I? My dark magic comes from Craos, and it isn’t…natural.”
She acknowledged that fact with a small nod. “Perhaps it is too soon. Come. We’ll try something different.”
She left the shelter of the branches, and I reluctantly followed her to a nearby garden where gloves, spades, and trowels lay on a blanket. Freya gave an almost imperceptible nod toward the others, and Shamus, Jace, and Shae wandered away.
“Care to help me garden?” Freya asked, pulling on a pair of gloves and kneeling on the dewy grass. I felt myself relax. This I could do. Owen took a seat on a nearby bench and proceeded to ignore Freya’s frequent and pointed looks. I smiled at their silent battle of wills.
“I’ll be okay,” I assured Owen, giving him a kiss. “Why don’t you go with the others? If the spade gets out of hand, I’ll call you.”
He grumbled something about my safety being no joke, pulled me in for another long, deep kiss that had me seriously reconsidering my gardening plans, and then slowly walked back to the cottage.
“There’s no weeding in Neamh,” Freya explained with a smile as I kneeled beside her.
“All plants are welcome since they all have a purpose and work together. We might simply ask a branch to move over a little to allow the small flowers underneath it more light, or we might offer water to a thirsty sapling. Gardening here is about working with nature, not against it. It’s the same with being a Druid. ”
“I wouldn’t know about that,” I admitted, loosening the earth around some ferns. “I was never able to connect with the trees when Sylvia taught me, and on the Peninsula…well, I accessed the Root Path, but it didn’t feel right.” I shuddered at the memory of the Tree Spirits dying by my hand.
“You had a terrible first teacher,” Freya said. “Get to know the garden. Spend time in it. Don’t think about your power for now. But, Kira, don’t give up on it, either.”
We gardened together in silence for a while until Freya stood up, brushing the dirt from her dress. “I have other things that need doing, but you stay here and work as much as you can. Take your time. It’s important to enjoy nature’s beauty.”
I spent a peaceful morning digging into the earth and tending the flowers, the dirt under my nails and on my hands rooting me to the simplicity of the natural world. I wandered over stone bridges, pausing to watch the water as it babbled over and around mossy rocks.
The more I explored, the more I realized that Neamh’s season seemed to be the height of summer when every part of the garden overflowed with life—ripened fruit hung from branches and insects buzzed between the blossoms. Vines climbed trellises, bursting with fragrant blooms, and herbs released their scents at the slightest touch of my hand.
Moreover, plants and animals from all over the world seemed to exist in this magical space.
Towering redwoods shaded ancient olive trees and lotus blossoms floated beside water lilies.
But it was the variety of animals that made me truly marvel.
I spied a scarlet macaw perched on a branch beside a snowy owl while a red panda dozed above them.
Lemurs leapt effortlessly between trees while gazelles grazed below.
It was as though every forest, jungle, desert, and mountain on Earth had offered its most beautiful treasures, and Neamh had gathered them all into a single breathtaking sanctuary.
Eventually, I spread out the blanket and lay on it, watching a family of rabbits nibble on grass. By early afternoon, I was physically tired yet renewed in spirit.
Owen brought me water and sandwiches and laid beside me, propping up his head with one hand while he cupped my face with the other. I smiled in utter contentment as I traced his lips with my thumb, feeling myself getting sleepy under the midday sun.
“Gardening agrees with you,” he said, smiling fondly and tapping the end of my nose. “You have a smudge of dirt right here like you did that first evening at Granddad’s house, although you look much happier now.” His arm fell across my stomach, his fingers tracing lazy circles against my side.
“I am,” I said, breathing deeply and closing my eyes. I nestled closer to him, and he shifted so I could rest my head on his shoulder. “I never want to leave this place, Owen. Do you think we could stay here? Forever?”
Owen pressed a kiss to my forehead as I drifted to sleep. “I think this is exactly where we need to be,” he whispered. “For now.”
Gardening every day became my cherished routine.
I often found myself alone—a solitude I believe Freya orchestrated on purpose—but I didn’t mind.
It allowed me to move at my own pace and focus on the tasks of tending and nurturing.
After a while, I discovered a tranquility within me that I never knew existed.
Closing my eyes and listening to the singing of the birds and the soft buzzing of insects became a meditative experience.
My heartbeat slowed, my breathing evened, and I simply existed as a part of the garden.
Freya and Shae joined me sometimes and we talked or tended the flowers and trees in companionable silence.
We ate Shae’s freshly baked cookies and sipped Freya’s homemade lemonade while basking in the warmth of the sun and each other’s company.
In the afternoons, I napped under towering Redwoods, revelling in the feeling of safety as songbirds lulled me to sleep.
I didn’t ask what the others did all day, although I saw them coming and going through the Yew’s trunk, often with supplies.
As the days passed, their expressions grew more grim, more drawn, as they returned from the outside world.
Selfishly, I turned away, staring instead at the garden.
I didn’t want to know, and thankfully they offered no explanation.
I pushed aside the thought that my happiness was temporary, that soon I would have to face what the others already knew.
I ignored the growing feeling of unease telling me that Neamh was fragile.
A storm was brewing, but I wanted no part of it.
I felt stronger each day, and each evening I hoped Owen would stay with me in my bedroom, like he had after our shared shower, or invite me into his.
But he always kissed me good night at the threshold of my door.
His reasoning every night was the same: He didn’t trust himself to share a bed with me while I was recovering.
When I protested that I felt better, he reminded me that I still needed a nap each day. Which was true.
His other excuse made absolutely no sense.
“God, Kira, we need a room or I’m going to take you right here in the middle of the damn garden,” Owen groaned, cuddling me from behind.
We were lying on a blanket in the shade of a large maple tree.
He had wrapped one arm underneath me so he could palm my breast while his other hand inched up my bare leg, dipping under the hem of my sundress. Torture.
“We have a room,” I gasped. If he would just move his hand up a little more… I wiggled trying to get him to commit. “Two, actually. But you refuse to join me in either of them.”
We were committed to one another, I was almost fully healed, and we had already spoken about birth control—I had an implant. What was he waiting for?
“We need our own room. With more privacy.” His fingers reached the edge of my underwear and ran along the seam, making me jerk. “The things I want to do to you…”
“Nothing stopping you—” I gasped as his fingers brushed across the most sensitive part of me. “—except your obsession with a room.” I moaned as he pushed my underwear to the side and his hand cupped my heat. “Starting to think…you may not want…me.”
“Trust me, love. If I wanted you any more, I couldn’t function.” He kissed me on the cheek before rolling away. “Remember the preparation and anticipation parts of my motto? Soon, love. Soon. I promise I’ll make the wait worthwhile.”
And then he walked away.
Wait. What?
“Owen Grant!” I sat up and twisted around. “You get back here!” I yelled at his retreating back. “We don’t need our own room, damn it! I just need you!”
The infuriating man blew me a kiss before disappearing around a bend in the path.
So, yeah, apparently, we needed privacy. And no sex until then.
“Better be one hell of a room,” I muttered, scowling.