“What is ahot minute?” he asked, then shifted on the couch, causing her to move her arm and look at him. “And Tern has heard of both the coffee and tea ye mentioned. She is not, however, aware of a thing called afizzydrink. She is sending Martha to us with the other beverages ye mentioned.” He rose from the couch, went to the door, and hit it once with the heel of his hand. The metal portal rattled and clanked, then slowly swung open. With obvious frustration that matched hers, he turned and looked back at her. “Explain ahot minute,and I will see if that can be gotten for ye as well.”
She covered her eyes again and blew out a heavy sigh. “It’s just a saying that can mean either a really short time or a really long time. It just depends on how you use it in a sentence.”
“And how did ye mean it, lass?”
“I think it’s going to take me a while to learn everything about the Thirteenth Realm and commit it to memory.”
The couch shifted with his weight as he settled down beside her yet again. “But ye are willing to at least try to learn?”
Tucking her head into her arms, she curled into a tighter knot and wished this bad dream would go away. Well, maybe not entirely. It would be a nice surprise to wake up and discover Magnus MacRaith as a normal Highlander in Seven Cairns looking for a little music therapy. Why couldn’t they have met that way?
“Yes, I’m willing to try to learn as long as you don’t feed me to a dragon.”
“Most here would never eat ye.”
“Most?”
“I canna vouch for those trapped in Thornpitch and under the mind control of Kcirred.” His tender touch on her ankle elicited a shiver. “But I swear I will always protect ye. That ye must never doubt.”
She couldn’t help but offer him a smile, a smile she really meant. “I know I’m safe with you. Not once have I ever doubted that.”
“Good,” he said so softly she almost didn’t hear him. “That is as good a place as any to start.”
Tomorrow will be better, she promised herself as she curled back into a tight ball of misery. She’d drink her coffee or tea, go to sleep, and wake up tonormal.With a hand clapped tighter over her eyes, she really wished she could believe that lie. Deep inside, she knew her definition ofnormalwas about to get a major re-write.
Chapter
Nine
Mairwen stared down at her tarot cards, disappointed yet again. No matter how many times she focused her magic, begged the cards for a different outcome, and redealt the spread, they refused her. The spread showed her the same thing yet again: the matching of Lyla Ibrams to Chief Magnus MacRaith would be more difficult than expected because of the vast differences in the pair’s realities, and the gifted Ms. Ibrams still had to discover the powerful magic of her music and how to wield it.
Without warning, the seven cards arranged on the table hummed and lit up with a blinding golden glow. “Ye failed to prepare her properly. Ye should not have left the handling of one of my chosen children to yer apprentice. I am disappointed in ye, daughter.”
Mairwen bowed her head. It had been a long while since she had last spoken with one of her mothers. The goddesses never came to Seven Cairns unless the situation was dire. “Ye honor us with yer presence, my goddess. Forgive us for disappointing ye, mighty Bride.”
“And yet ye dinna address me as ‘mother’ even though ye ken what it means to me when ye do so?”
Apparently, Bride, beloved goddess over the triple fires of smithcraft, healing, and poetry, was not in a benevolent mood today. Mairwen braced herself for a difficult visit, since she wasn’t in the best of temperaments herself, and their last encounter had been somewhat volatile. “What do ye ask of me, Mother? The matching of Lyla to her fated mate is in the early stages. There is still great hope for the best outcome.”
“That child is one of my chosen. Ye know that.” The tarot cards glowed brighter, humming louder until they burst into crackling flames that didn’t consume them. Seven small fires burned on the table in front of Mairwen, the tiny infernos flickering in perfect sync with the goddess’s words that echoed throughout the high-ceilinged room. “Evil stole the voice I gave to her, but she still possesses the magic of song and poetry. Ye should have trained her. Taught her how to save my beloved dragons.” The seven blazes burned brighter still, their flames growing taller. “And the Veil needs the love locked within her mate bond. Did ye truly think ye could cast one such as her into a kingdom as vast and complicated as the Thirteenth Realm, and all would go well with little to no effort or guidance? Why did ye not show her? Why did ye not tell her of her magic?”
“She would not have believed.” Mairwen squared her shoulders and sat taller in her throne-like chair at the head of the long council table in the center of the meeting hall. She was the master of the Divine Weavers, a daughter of Cerridwen and Bride, and refused to cower or bow—even to her mothers. “Ye know what this world has become. No one believes in anything.”
The burning cards dimmed, but their fires remained. “Begin the search for another apprentice. Keeva is no longer of our choosing. If this endeavor fails, if the prophecy is fouled, it will be because of her. Choose another and send Keeva to me.”
“No.” Mairwen would never agree to that, knowing that in her current mood, Bride would condemn Keeva to the CrystalPrison, the same place that Mairwen’s son Valan had his immortality stripped away and his soul shattered. “She does not deserve the same fate as my Valan.”
The seven fires dancing across the table dimmed even more. “Valan’s fate was regrettable. One we did not foresee.”
“And yet ye are willing to repeat it?”
“Dinna speak to yer mother in that tone.”
“Then dinna threaten Keeva. She is much like a daughter to me.”
“If the bond does not happen between my gifted mortal and the dragon kindred chief, if the prophecy of the Thirteenth Realm is not realized and brought to fruition to save all of dragonkind, I will take Keeva, whether ye wish it or not.” The entire room shook with the intensity of Bride’s irritation. “Ye are powerful, my daughter, but dinna forget ye still bear a wee bit of mortal ancestry in yer veins. Ancestry that strengthens yer heart but weakens yer magic. Ye canna defy me or yer mother Cerridwen. We cherish ye, but we will never allow that.”
“All fated mate pairings are difficult. Especially when they involve such distinct and varied realities. This is not a simple matter of taking them backward or forward in time along the same plane of existence. The chief enacted the rare right of fourteen days and nights. Few have ever done that to convince their fated mate to join with them.”
