Magic's Muse Page 10

  “As far as I’m concerned, they were married.” Tomas reached over to take Cathal’s hand in his own, caressing it with his thumb. “They were in every way that mattered, right?” To hell with what Mrs. O’Neil and the church records said. “I know you agree with me. When you first spoke of them you said they were married. They would have been. They wanted to be.”

  “Christian is angry when it’s implied they weren’t.” Cathal rested his head on Tomas’s shoulder. “They lost so much. There is no harm in giving them that.”

  “No, there isn’t.” Tomas stroked Cathal’s hair, making soothing noises. “I’m so sorry, Cat. I wish none of this had happened. You’ve been through so much crap. It’s not fair.”

  “I have you, and what happened to them makes me cling to what we have together that much more strongly,” Cathal whispered, leaning into Tomas’s touch. “No more. What happened then cannot be allowed to again.” His voice grew stronger, his anger and heartache merging to grow a conviction stronger than either. “I know you want to keep me safe, love, but it’s too high a price to pay. If the only way to stop this is to go back to my world and overthrow the monarchy and its hierarchy of mages, so be it.”

  Tomas held him close, his fingers stilling as he struggled to make sense of the emotions churning through him. He loved Cathal with all his heart, but he knew he had to give his strong-willed, stubborn partner the chance to make things right in Naearu if he could. Bloody hell. Why couldn’t this be simple? He knew how he felt, but he also knew how strong Cathal’s feelings were on the subject.

  “I love you, and I do want to keep you safe, but I can’t ask you to give up something this important. Your people need to be able to choose their own future and have the right to fight for whom and what they want.” Tomas spoke slowly, his words measured, so there would be no misunderstanding between them. A thought struck him. Fuck, he was an idiot at times. “All this talk of protecting you, and what the hell did I write about? My characters fought a war in order to have the freedom to be able to make their own decisions rather than others making them for them. It’s no different than the very thing we’re talking about. I believe in you, Cat, and I need to show that rather than just saying the words. Otherwise they mean nothing, do they?” He kissed Cathal deeply, putting all of his love into it. “Whatever happens, I’m with you, and we fight this together. That’s all I ask.”

  “That’s all I want, Tomas.” Cathal returned the kiss. “I don’t want to do this alone. I’m tired, and I’ve had enough of it. I’d prefer to take whatever comes, with the man I love by my side.” He caressed Tomas’s cheek. “Maybe that’s our future together? I just don’t know anymore.”

  Tomas smiled a little shakily. “We’re in agreement, then.” He cleared his throat. “Now, moving on because I want some time to digest all of this, although, honestly? I don’t want to think about it at all.”

  “Neither do I, and, yes, we are.” Cathal stood, bringing Tomas with him. “I brought you up here for a reason, love. There’s something I want to show you. It’s something I hid here a very long time ago, and it’s time it was used for the future rather than just being a relic from the past.”

  “There’s nothing here, Cat.” Tomas looked around, puzzled. He’d hunted through the attic several times and found nothing, apart from the letters that Alice had left in the trunk for Christian. “Unless there’s something else in the trunk I missed before?” He shivered. “Mikey says this place feels weird. Even Christian won’t come up here. I wonder sometimes if there’s something to that.”

  “This is the last place he saw Alice. He can’t face the memories.” Cathal set the old rocking horse in motion. It stared at him with its one remaining painted eye. “Alice rode this as a child. Her father made it for her. She always said that their children would use it.”

  “Perhaps it’s those memories that haunt the inn?” Tomas suggested. “I’ve never been one for believing in ghosts, but after the past few weeks, I’m not sure where those lines between reality and fiction lie anymore.”

  Cathal glanced up from where he was looking through the hanger of clothes. Were some of them his? From the expression he wore, it did seem as though he recognized some, if not most of them. “I suspect the stories of this house being haunted are down to me, love. I have passed through the portal a few times in the past, and wasn’t as careful as I should be. It opening from your world would give the illusion that the person crossing over disappeared, as a spirit might.”

  “You did that after one of the first times we met,” Tomas remembered. “I thought I was losing my mind and I’d imagined you.”

  “I could be persuaded to convince you just how real I am later, if you’d like?” Cathal offered. He walked over to the door, as though ready to do just that.

  Tomas raised an eyebrow, amused. “Is that an invitation to do that now rather than later, or am I missing something?”

  “Sometimes I swear, my love, that a good portion of your mind is fixated on making love.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with that,” Tomas protested. After all, Cathal had suggested it in the first place. “Besides, when I am, I don’t notice you complaining. In fact I’d go as far as to say that you’re more fixated on it than I am.”

  “Umm….” Cathal blushed. Tomas couldn’t help but feel smug at the response, although he knew he shouldn’t. He loved it when Cathal blushed. It was arousing as hell.

  No, it probably wasn’t a great idea to make love up here. For one thing, it wouldn’t be that comfortable, and for another, for some weird reason, it didn’t seem right. Tomas shivered. Perhaps there were ghosts of some sort living here, despite the explanation of portals and the like.

  Cathal began walking back toward the far wall. “Seven, eight, nine,” he finished aloud. He was counting his steps. Why?

  “You hid something under the floor?” Tomas crouched down beside him when Cathal dropped to his knees and took out his knife. “That was a hell of a risk, Cat, if it’s valuable.”

  “What choice did I have? Anywhere else and there was more chance of it being found.” Cathal eased the tip of his knife into the tiny space between one floorboard and the next. “Alice knew where it was. I left her the key and a letter with instructions on how to find it. I wanted to be sure she’d be provided for if something happened.”

  “There’s probably nothing there, then. She would have found it years ago.” The way Cathal was talking made it sound like he’d hidden some kind of treasure.

  “I doubt it. She was always independent, and she had her own resources. I reminded her of it when I saw her again, but she insisted it be kept for Christian so that he could have use of it upon his return. I told her to use it for Wynne, but she said he was already taken care of.” Cathal swore under his breath when the board resisted and snapped back into place. “Bloody stupid….” He lapsed into the language he’d used in Naearu when the door he’d tried to open there had refused to cooperate.

  “Do you need some help?” Tomas pulled out his own knife. “There have probably been a few extra coats of varnish over the floor, and it’s made it more difficult to move.” If there was, it was a long time ago, as it was not obvious to the eye, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t slipped between the cracks to act as a kind of adhesive.

  “Thank you.” Cathal showed Tomas where and how to place his knife, and together they applied pressure at the same time. The board heaved in protest and then came free. Cathal felt underneath, breathing a sigh of relief when he found what he was looking for.

  “What was that language you spoke before?” Tomas peered under the floor, but it was difficult to see much without further light. “Some of the words sounded familiar, and, given Will and Christian’s reaction to them the last time you used them, I’m guessing they aren’t very polite.”

  Cathal looked somewhat sheepish. “I need to stop doing that before I get into serious trouble.” He shrugged, getting a firm grip on his prize so that he could retrieve it prope
rly. “It’s Naen, the language of the mages. They have a fantastic range of very rude words and phrases. Uncle Alden figures they’re part of curse spells, but I’m not about to test that theory.”

  “Did you learn them from him?” Tomas watched as Cathal blew dust and cobwebs off a sturdy-looking metal box.

  “Yes. We spent several afternoons competing against each other to see who could produce the worst insult.” Cathal studied the box for a moment, peering closely at the lock. “Uncle Alden and I get on well. I’m closer to him than I am to my father. I always have been.”

  “You haven’t got a key for that thing, have you?” Tomas ran his hand over it and sneezed, his finger drawing a line through layers of dust. “It’s filthy. Do you want to wipe it down first?”

  “There’s no point. As soon as it’s open I have no further need of it.” Cathal grinned. “I don’t need a key. I’ve never yet found a lock that I couldn’t open, and this one is no different.”

  “I’ll sit back and let the master work, then,” Tomas said dryly.

  Cathal was very obviously showing off and enjoying having an appreciative audience. When they’d escaped from Deryn’s dungeon, they’d been fleeing for their lives, and his hands were bleeding. It hadn’t been the time or place to discuss the extent of his skills and why someone in his position possessed them in the first place.

  Christian had passed a comment about Cathal being curious, but there had to be more to it than that. Given the world from which they’d come and the present political unrest, there’d be a story behind it, the details of which Tomas suspected he might not want to hear.

  “Watch and learn.” Cathal retrieved his knife and inserted the very tip of it into the lock, twisting it carefully a certain way in one direction and then the other. He then eased it slowly upward and then down. The lock sprung open obediently to reveal the contents of the box.

  It wasn’t empty, as Tomas had half expected, but then that made sense. If Alice had taken the contents, why return the box to its hiding place empty? He edged closer, curious as to what lay inside.

  Cathal frowned. He took out an envelope, then reached in to retrieve what appeared to be another envelope underneath it. Whatever was next to it, wrapped in a silk cloth, he left. That, apparently, was what he expected to be there.

  “Something wrong?”

  “I’m not sure.” Cathal read the message on the second envelope and sighed. “It’s addressed to Christian.” He showed Tomas, who recognized the handwriting immediately. It was Alice’s. “I’ll give it to him when he is able to read it.”

  “I found the other letters she’d left for him in the trunk over there.” Tomas indicated the large wooden box in the corner. “I wonder why this one wasn’t with them.”

  “Only Christian, Alice, and I knew this box existed. There was a chance the letters might be found in the trunk, but only one of us would look here.” He stared at the envelope. “I doubt that Christian will want to share it, and I’m not about to ask him about it either.”

  “I hope it helps,” Tomas said quietly, “although I doubt it will.” The poor guy had lost so bloody much. “I’ll collect the other letters for you to give him once the enchantment is broken. Tell him I’m sorry I read them, but it was the only way I had of finding you.” He’d hoped they’d at least confirm Cathal’s existence, which they had, but instead of giving some clues as to where to start looking for him, they’d only posed more questions.

  “He’ll appreciate having them. Thank you.” Cathal folded the envelope for Christian carefully and put it in his pocket.

  It was better to have something of her than nothing, right? Tomas shivered, not wanting to dwell on the situation, of the possibility of losing Cathal or Cathal returning years in the future to an envelope in a dusty box and nothing else.

  He cleared his throat. “What’s in the other envelope? Whatever that other thing is, it has me intrigued too.”

  Cathal handed him the silk-wrapped parcel. “Open it and see,” he said softly, watching Tomas carefully, waiting for his reaction.

  “Are you sure?” Tomas held it gingerly. By the way it was wrapped, it must hold something precious. Was it magical, left here for safekeeping?

  “Of course. Whatever is mine is yours, love, although half of what these two things will bring us belongs to Christian. That was always the agreement.” Cathal chuckled a little. “It won’t bite.” He settled back, waiting, the other envelope resting on his lap.

  Tomas pulled the cloth away slowly. It was smooth against his skin. There was a richness to it he’d never seen before, at least up close. “Is this silk?”

  “Yes. It came with it, so we’ve always kept the two together.”

  “It feels very old.” Tomas’s breath hitched as the figurine was revealed. He ran one finger over it, not sure whether he should touch it, but unable to resist doing so. “It’s a dragon,” he whispered. “A white dragon. My God, it’s beautiful.”

  The dragon was not large, but neither was it small, standing at about eight inches in height. Its color was white, almost clear, its creator a true craftsman. But it was the eyes that drew Tomas to it. They seemed to see right through him into his soul, although they were of the same material as the rest of it.

  “It was Uncle Alden’s, and one of a pair. He gave one to us and kept the other.” There was no mistaking the awe in Cathal’s voice, although he must have seen the dragon before, many times.

  “Where did he get it, Cat?” Tomas turned it over, examining it closely, his eyes widening when he read the engraving on the bottom of it. “By imperial order.” He laid it back into its bed of silk, almost reluctant to part with it. “I don’t know much about this stuff, but at a guess I’d say it was jade and very old.” He frowned. “Is it from our world or yours?”

  “Ours.” Cathal spoke the word without hesitation. He smiled, and Tomas couldn’t help but return it. He thought of this world as theirs, not just Tomas’s but theirs. No matter where their future took them, this was where they’d met, shared their first kiss, and consummated their relationship. It was theirs.

  Did that mean Cathal was finally daring to believe the future they wanted together was a possibility? God, Tomas hoped so.

  It was a few moments before Cathal spoke again. “It is jade, and was very old before it came into Uncle Alden’s possession.”

  “Into his possession?” Tomas looked up in surprise. “But how did your uncle get hold of it if it’s from our world? Did someone bring it into yours?”

  Cathal took Tomas’s hand in his. “Uncle Alden’s origins are a well-kept secret. Only a few members of our family are trusted with the truth.”

  “Thank you.” Apparently, that was about to include Tomas too.

  “I trust you, Tomas. Not just with my life and heart, but with the safety of my family.” Cathal kissed Tomas lightly. “I’m sorry if I’ve given you reason to doubt that.”

  Tomas squeezed Cathal’s hand. “If it makes you feel better, I’m not exactly one for trusting easily either. I know now why you couldn’t tell me a lot of stuff, and I do realize how hard some of this has been for you.” He glanced again at the dragon. There had to be a good reason for Cathal’s family to be so cautious about sharing this information. Hang on. If this world was out of bounds, how could Cathal and his cousin have heard of it in the first place? Or found a way through. “You’re going to tell me that your uncle is originally from this world, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I am.” Cathal seemed pleased Tomas had guessed. “You’d like him, Tomas. I hope that you get to meet one day.”

  He couldn’t be much like his son, then. Tomas mentally grimaced as the thought came unbidden into his mind, glad he hadn’t blurted it out loud. He frowned. “The dragon is very old, and with the difference in time between our worlds….” Part of this story was still missing. Cathal nodded, waiting for Tomas to figure out the rest of the puzzle, rather than filling it in for him. Despite his promise to not keep secrets, he stil
l tended to do that, and more often than not. “How long ago did he cross over?”

  “He told me that”—the way in which Cathal spoke sounded as though he was repeating a part of a story, one that he’d heard many times—“it was in the year of Our Lord 1750.”

  Chapter 8

  “NEARLY three hundred years ago?” Tomas whistled. “Bloody hell, that’s how many lifetimes ago?”

  “A few.” Cathal shrugged. “He told me once that sometimes he wishes he could return, but the thought of seeing how much everything would have changed scares him. I never really realized to what extent it could until I experienced it myself.” He picked up the dragon, running his fingers over it as he had when he was a child. “This dragon and its mate are the only link he has with this world. We didn’t want to take it, but he insisted. It should be used for the future, he said. The past doesn’t exist anymore, and it was time he stopped clinging to it.” It was impossible to miss the shadow that had fallen over his uncle’s face with those words, although he’d tried to hide it. Letting go was not easy, although he’d found a new life and family he cherished.

  “He knew you’d come here?”

  “He knew we were planning to,” Cathal corrected. “We both grew up with his stories, and when there was so much in our own world we wanted to escape from, it seemed like the ideal place to try and find.” His uncle had shaken his head at that one, but not tried to dissuade either of them. He knew how stubborn his son and nephew could be, especially when they were in agreement about something. “He wouldn’t tell us the way here, though. We had to find the portal ourselves. It took us a long time to find it.”

  Longer than it had taken the Falcons.

  “I wish I could meet your uncle one day.” Tomas watched the way in which Cathal caressed the dragon, his touch light, lingering in places. “It’s no coincidence that the code phrase used by your resistance is ‘I believe in dragons’, is it?” When he’d first heard it, he’d thought that it meant there were actual dragons in Naearu, and they worked with the resistance in some way.