Blue Keltic Moon (Children of the Keltic Triad) (35 page)

“Gowthaman, would you tell us about what happened with... Oberon’s sword?”

He took three breaths then fell into a recitation pattern long practiced by storytellers—and librarians. His telling melded the theories from both sides of the void and added Chance’s battle with Brandr Ur. Heads nodded thoughtfully as he finished and took another three breaths. These words he would record precisely in his journal at a later time.

However, there was a piece of the puzzle Gowthaman still didn’t understand. “Can you tell me anything of Oberon’s sword?”

Jayse shrugged and took Lucidea’s hand. “Not much. After Oberon passed into another world, the blade was held in stasis by Wodhan. Underwater.” He tugged on Lucidea’s hand until she looked at him. “That place, where Wodhan kept the sword, was that the same well where Brandr Ur was held?”

Drawing her brows together, she wrinkled her nose as she thought. “You know, I think I remember that. Oh.” Her eyes grew wide. “Also, Oberon forged the blade in the heat and power of that well.”

“So,” Jayse drawled. “In essence the sword was crafted using residual power from the elemental’s first captivity.”

“Ah.” Gowthaman scribbled a quick note. The intensity of waiting filled the room. He lowered the pen. “I begin to understand. The Alfar words first took the elemental’s power, then made him mortal. As a mortal being he could be wounded. Killed. However, Oberon’s sword held the same forces that both created and held Brandr Ur. Once the sword pierced his chest, the elemental captured the familiar power and was able to use it.”

“Use it how?” Lucidea asked.

Uncomfortable with even the thought of speaking of an evil such as a death chant, Gowthaman shook his head. “This is not easy to say and I will say no more than necessary at this juncture in time. Perhaps when I understand more... In regaining power Brandr Ur found the magic for a death chant. He was determined to drag Chance with him into death. I... do not know how the chant came to be for I have not studied such magic. It is dangerous and unpredictable.

“Connected to Brandr Ur through the sword, Chance was captured by the death chant. Breanna would not allow her brother to be taken. She... I... Again I am a poor resource.” How could he explain the intensity of Breanna’s pull on his magic? “I do not know what power she called upon to break the death chant. Nor pull the magic back into herself. She freed Chance then...”

Momentarily at a loss for words, Gowthaman paused. No one spoke, breathless anticipation hanging heavy in the room. In the silence, Breanna stood then remained statue-like, dry-eyed, staring into the unseen distance.

“Why didn’t you bring the sword back,” Jayse asked.

Gowthaman shook his head. “I could not. Breanna’s safety was my concern. In any event, Breanna took the sword and drove the blade through the elemental’s body, deep into the stone at his back. There it remains.”

The collective gasp drew Breanna’s attention. With her usual smooth, easy grace she crossed the room to stand before Jayse. Arms held loose at her side, she waited until he handed Lucidea a kumquat from a shallow bowl then looked up at her.

Denial reared in Gowthaman’s heart. He had no clear indication of what she was about to do, but he knew... he knew she would make a grand mistake. Hoping to stop whatever she intended, he rose but froze at the sound of her clear voice.

“My lord Jaysson. I resign as leader of the Alastriona, as well as any place I may hold within the Defenders of Mankind.”

S
ix weeks had passed since... no, she wouldn’t think of that. Think happy thoughts. Think since Morghan came home.

The house was quiet, as it should be with the rest of her family gone and only her thoughts and memories to keep her company. Her parents tried, they really did. But they didn’t know, couldn’t ever know of her part in Chance’s death. She caught back a dry sob. She was so tired of crying.

The small room, the sanctuary of her childhood, surrounded her. No one bothered her here. Although fresh pain stabbed through her, she was glad no one cared.

Berating herself, she moved to lie on the narrow bed. That wasn’t true. Her family and friends did care. And she cared about them, and because of their love, she couldn’t face them with the agony of her soul. They were giving her time to grieve. Jayse had refused to accept her resignation, insisting upon a leave of absence. She sniffed. Macaire was a better leader and should have been appointed when Granda retired. Instead of her.

And Gowthaman. Curling on her side, she clutched her pillow to her stomach and choked on his name. “Oh, Gowtham.” He’d remained near, always there when he thought she might need him. And she did. Always. But... not if he knew.

She closed her eyes remembering the questions and concerns on his face the day before when she’d asked him to send away the Faerie who had come to her for healing of a simple wound. She hadn’t healed anyone since... how could she?

The back door slammed. Light footsteps sounded, climbing the stairs. Now what? She turned her back to the door.
Go away
.

The bedroom door burst open. How dare anyone just barge in without knocking? But she didn’t care enough to turn over and send them away. Maybe they’d think she was sleeping and just go.

“Breanna.”

Even through the misery, Gowthaman’s voice, the loving way he spoke her name softened her heart. Oh, how she loved him, but she couldn’t... shouldn’t. “Please leave me alone.”

“I will not.” The mattress dipped and he slid his arms under her shoulders and knees. He lifted her and settled her into an easy hold. She opened her eyes. He wasn’t smiling.

“Put me down.”

“No. You will come with me. Now.”

Her half-hearted struggle only made him hold her tighter. He carried her down the stairs and out into the back yard. A portal stood open, waiting.

Not wanting to leave her safe haven, she squirmed and wiggled but his grasp was firm. Bree looked into his face from under her lashes. Set in a hard line, his tightly clenched jaw showed his determination, another side of Gowtham she’d not known. A flutter, somewhere around her heart, made the breath catch at the base of her throat. She would never be able to stop loving him.

“No. I don’t want to leave here.” Unable to put any strength into the action, her hands flopped useless against his chest.

“In this moment, beloved, I do not care what you want.”

“Don’t call me that.”

He gazed at her and his eyes softened to the color of rich, melted chocolate. “But you are my beloved. Why should I not say the words?” Then his gaze hardened, his eyes black as night and he stepped through the portal.

Into a place so bright she jerked her hand up to cover her eyes. Gowthaman lowered her bare feet to hot sand. When she danced on the burning grains, he slipped off his shirt and folded it on the sand then lifted her to stand on the cooler cotton.

“What are we doing here?”

“I find I am not as patient as you have been, Breanna. I do not wish to wait years for you to admit the pain you carry in your soul. For me, too many days have already passed without your love. Here, now, you will allow me to assist you, to help you heal your grief, until your pain is manageable.”

“You can’t help me. Nobody—”

“So I avowed many times. So I believed. Until you... encouraged me to put my memories into the past, enabling me to release the melancholy and pain. You opened my heart to the future. With you.”

Heat penetrated the cloth she stood on and she stepped from one foot to the other. “Why here?”

“There are no distractions.”

“Except the heat.”

He shrugged and glanced around. She followed his gaze past the golden, windswept dunes to the bright, clear azure of the sky. “Then we must not dally.”

“Take me home.”

“I will not.”

“Then I’ll do it myself.” She turned and lifted one hand to sketch the simple symbol to open a Faerie portal. But, that would use magic. Magic she no longer trusted. She closed her fingers into a fist and lowered her hand.

“I see.”

She shook her head and stared at the fine, golden sand. “You see nothing.”

“Since our return from the world between worlds, you have not used the magic residing within you. Even when faced with the pain of another, you would not draw upon your power of healing. Why, Breanna? Why do you deny that part of who you are?”

Setting her shoulders, she chewed on her lower lip until the pain focused her and she could answer in a cold, unemotional tone. “I’m not that person anymore.”

“I see.”

She whirled to face him, scattering sand over his crumpled tunic. “You don’t see anything. I don’t know what you’re thinking, or doing, or... or... Gowtham, please. Let it go. Let me be alone. I—I’m not good for you. For anyone. Not anymore.”

Gowthaman crossed his arms and took a step back, studying her. He had not realized how difficult it would be to encourage her to face her demons. Though, he thought with wry self-deprecation, who better to have known? As he also understood how much more difficult this time of realization would be if she were allowed to wallow in self-pity and anger. If she did not come to honor her emotions, such feeling would take on lives of their own. A formidable obstacle he would not allow her to construct between them.

“Don’t just look at me. Let me go home.”

“No.”

Her sad eyes were nearly his undoing. Then a rising blaze of anger flushed her cheeks and made him smile. Good.

“All right. Fine. What do you want me to say?”

“Why do you blame yourself for Chance’s death?”

Her mouth dropped open, parting her lips in a delightful, inviting manner. Gowthaman closed his eyes, willing her to answer honestly. There was more they needed to do before this day was done.

She sputtered a moment then said, “Because I was the leader of the mission. It was my duty to see that everyone was safe.”

“No.”

“What do you mean, no?” She shaded her eyes with one hand, tilted her head and glared at him.

Anger was a step in the right direction. “That is not the reason, although I will allow it plays a role in your feelings.”

“Since when do you know so much about my feelings?”

He reached to take her hand and pressed his open palm to hers. Sparkles the color of the glistening sand danced amid fine grains of crimson. He held their palms together until the whirling colors danced up their arms. Silently, he released her.

Freed from the sensual hold of their soulfire, Bree kept her hand lifted for a moment, staring at her palm. Maybe she should be honest with Gowthaman. Maybe she owed him that much. Then he would understand and leave her alone.

Alone. Her heart lurched at the word. The two syllables no longer held the appeal they had even five minutes ago. “Can we go somewhere else?”

“No. Not until this barrier between us is cleared.”

Her hand shook so she lowered it and wiped her palm against her jeans. She’d hoped never to have to say the words, but knew Gowtham wouldn’t allow her to remain silent. She ducked her head. There was no way she could look at him and say this.

“I killed Chance. I... killed my brother.”

“You did not.”

She jerked her gaze to him. His face was relaxed, his eyes once again soft chocolate. He seemed so sure of himself, of his words. A mite of hope gnawed at her doubts. “There’s no way you can know that.”

“Neither is there concrete evidence you caused Chance’s death.”

“How can you say that?”

He took her hands and she allowed him to caress the backs with his thumbs. Even though she tried to ignore the tingles and worked to push the feeling away, the languid motions played havoc with her nerve endings. “While you have hidden away, I have learned more of the... death chant. Though my knowledge has only increased infinitesimally, I believe I am now able to share my insights with you.”

“But the elemental was the one using the death chant.”

“Precisely.”

“I was trying to stop him.”

“Yes. And how was it you made your attempt?”

“I... well, I...” She paused. She’d never really examined the event, so she focused her memory on the moments she drew power to her, not on the aftermath. She furrowed her brow. That couldn’t be right. “I called on my ability to heal?”

“You do not need my affirmation.”

She added a bit of strength to her statement. “I called on my ability to heal.”

“Yes.” Gowthaman’s smile was relaxed, honest, and... oh, so kissable.

“But... there was a backlash of power. I saw it travel down the sword from the elemental to Chance. When I pushed Chance’s hands from the hilt I felt the intensity of the magic. I—”

His long, gentle fingers covered her lips. “No. What you felt was how your healing held back the death chant. I do not understand, for I have found no instances of similar battles in the archives. The death chant killed your brother, your healing prevented the intense anguish the elemental undoubtedly wished upon him.”

Shading her eyes again, she studied Gowtham’s face. His words... reinforced what she knew. What she’d been using to hide her real fear.

“I called upon my healing power.”

“Yes,” he encouraged.

“And I used that power in anger. I used it to kill.” Covering her mouth with her hands, she doubled over, collapsing to her knees in the hot sand. “I used healing to destroy a living being.”

Gowthaman knelt beside her and wrapped his arm over her shoulders. His face close to her ear, he whispered, “Yes, you did. And despite the fact that being was pure evil, had murdered your brother and sought to rain his destruction upon numerous worlds... despite the fact Brandr Ur long deserved an end to his existence... your actions brought you indescribable pain.”

She turned her head bringing her lips close to his. “But how can I ever use that ability again? How can I heal knowing I can just as easily destroy?”

“Look into your heart,
sundarii
. No evil resides there, no joy of what was done. Your self-loathing was so great, you hid your pain deep behind anguish you found more acceptable.”

“How do you know so much?”