Epilogue
Two Years Later
“Itcannotbe allowed.”
The fae in my shop paces slowly back and forth. Her purple eyes are cool and serene, but the power is still there pulsing beneath the vowels and consonants. She pauses, and the sun catches the tiara nestled in her long blonde hair. I want to roll my eyes. She’s been posing like this for two hours. The fae are a vain lot.
As Sig would say, “They never met a mirror they couldn’t fall in love with.”
At the thought of my mate, I shoot a quick glance at the huge conch shell on a shelf behind my counter. You’d hardly spot it, as it’s half-concealed by a clutter of receipts, piles of books, and a photo of me and Sig. We’re sitting on the rocks on our beach, wrapped in a blanket, our heads together, so we’re either plotting or laughing. I can’t remember which, and honestly, either one could be true on any given day.
“One day the piskies will go too far,” the fae says, her voice tinged with irritation.
Shit.I force my attention back to the fae. Edwina. She’s a beautiful woman, but god, she’s wordy. I sneak a look at the king of the piskies.
Baldor is wearing a purple suit, his crown perfectly situated on his greying, curly head. His ears are pointed, and his eyes are a sharp green like newly cut grass. He also happens to be Wilfred’s uncle.
He spreads his hands. “Edwina, I cannot be made to be responsible for what the youngsters do. They are as mischievous as a bag of…” He looks to me.
“Monkeys?” I ask.
He nods. “And do these creatures regularly come in bags, Cary?”
“No, sire,” I say politely.
I’m fighting the urge to laugh, which would make the negotiations take a downward turn. So, I screw my face into an expression of suitable gravity.
“My lady,” I break gently into the fae’s monologue, after it begins again and shows all the signs of longevity. “May I perhaps be of some assistance?”
She pauses, her nose imperiously in the air. “If you can. I have heard great things about the dragon’s mate.”
She sounds rather doubtful, but I can’t blame her. I hardly look like the source of magical advice and mediation, dressed in an old pair of jeans, Vans, and a Roxy Music concert T-shirt from 1972 which I borrowed from Sig’s wardrobe this morning. Nevertheless, a negotiator is exactly what I seem to have become, so I gather my thoughts.
“The entrance to the fae lands rests on Bodmin Moor. Is that right?” I ask.
She nods.
I glance at her and then Baldor and say, “Now, I was at a council meeting a few weeks ago, and there was talk of them appropriating some land there for housing.”
Both Edwina and Baldor grunt. “Soon there will be no open spaces left,” Baldor says gloomily. “Just endless little brick boxes.” For a second, they look at each other in total accord, and then the moment passes, and they go back to glacially ignoring each other. Or at least, Edwina ignores Baldor. He’s far too entertained by winding her up.
“Yes, it’s very sad and Sig is working on it, but if his efforts fail, then the houses will come, and that puts them far too near the fae entrance to be comfortable.”
She comes to a stop, distractedly admiring herself in a mirror. “That is indeed bad news. Thank you for bringing it to my attention.”
I incline my head. “Always an honour. Anyway, it got me thinking, and I did some research.” I reach up to a shelf behind the counter and retrieve a thick leatherbound book. I open it, hearing the creak of the leather and smelling the old paper. “If you’d both be so good as to look at this.”
She moves to my side, and there’s a crack, and Baldor appears and sits regally on the back of a chair. “A map book?” he says, his clever eyes busy. He leans close. “That is Lyonesse.”
I nod, tracing a finger over the page with the beautiful drawings. I know now why Sigurd never bothered about handling his books with freshly cleaned hands—magic books cannot be damaged by time or by human hands.
“’Tis beautiful,” Edwina says. “A truly talented artist.”
I hide a smile because I sleep every night in the arms of this particular artist. “Yes, ma’am. Anyway, this is a map book that dates back to before the time of Arthur. I was looking through it, and I was astonished to find another entrance to the fae lands.”
The book actually landed at my feet and opened to the page I needed, but I don’t mention that. Sig’s library has become my right-hand man.
“What?” she says, moving closely. “What is this?”
