Jan Delima - Celtic Moon

Her mug fell from her hands and hit the tiled countertop, shattering on impact. She ignored the broken porcelain and turned to stare at her brother. “Are you sure?” At Dylan’s raised brow, she asked, “How?”

“It was a gift from the man who’s been helping her hide from me since California. She calls him Matthew but he fits the description of Taliesin.”

“But Sin hasn’t involved himself in our affairs for many years. Not since we’ve come to this country.” Her perplexed expression quickly became one of concern. “Unless it involves the Guardians.”

“I didn’t realize you knew him that well.” He frowned at her casual use of Taliesin’s nickname. Only a select few called him Sin.

“I know Sin well enough.” She gave him a sad smile as she gathered the broken pieces of her mug and placed them in a trash bin under the sink. “He helped me when I was young.”

“When?”

“During the time when you left with Luc. Sin protected me from the Guardians . . . and our mother.”

As always, when he thought of her alone, left to the Guardians’ manipulations, guilt stirred in his gut. “Why have you never told me this?”

“Because I know it upsets you to speak of that time.” She walked back to the table and placed a hand on his arm. “But, as I’ve told you before, I believe there’s a reason for everything.” She let her hand drop. “I know the purpose of Sin’s weapon.”

He shrugged at the obvious. “To kill our kind.”

“Not just our kind. Not us. Not descendants. Not even Drwgddyddwg .” Blue eyes met his and held. “I believe Sin’s weapon was forged to kill Guardians.” Her voice became hushed, as if speaking of things better left untold. “I’ve seen him use it.”

“On a Guardian?”

“On an Original Guardian,” she added. “On a Gwarchodwyr Unfed .”

Apprehension tightened his spine. “Whose death do you speak of?”

“Madron’s,” she said without remorse.

Dylan closed his eyes briefly, running his hands over his face. He had heard of the execution, Madron’s head found separated from his body in a bedchamber occupied by children. It happened before Dylan had traveled across an ocean to new lands, before he had gone back for Elen.

Whispered rumors had traveled far amongst their kind, even to the camps of the outcasts, Taliesin being the only viable choice as executioner; his hatred toward the Guardians well known, even then, especially toward the men who had raised him—the Gwarchodwyr Unfed .

However, to Dylan’s knowledge, no witness had come forth to validate the suspicions. Until now. “You were there? You saw it happen?”

“Yes,” she confirmed in a quiet voice, rubbing her hands up and down her arms as if warding off a chill. “After you left, after our father died . . . our mother lived with Madron for a while.”

“I didn’t know.” Bile rose in his throat as rage clouded his vision. “You should have told me. Why have you kept this secret?”

“It was my secret to keep.”

“Even from me?”

“Yes, brother . . . even from you.”

A question he shouldn’t ask fell from his mouth. “Did Madron ever touch you?”

“No.” Her denial eased his tension somewhat, but not enough, not when her eyes remained distant and her voice haunted. “Even at fourteen years of age I was too old for his peculiar tastes. I shared a chamber with one of his favorites.”

A shattered breath fell from her lips and Dylan remained quiet, in part because he was afraid of his own voice, afraid his anger would, in some way, debase her confession.

“Her name was Leri,” Elen continued. “She was ten, not yet showing signs of womanhood. Madron would send his sister to our chamber at night to bathe Leri. And dress her in fine silks. She never told me what happened when they took her each night, but I knew . . . She made me promise not to tell anyone. She made me promise not to speak of it. And I never have . . . until now.”

When he spoke, it was only to say, “I am sorry.”

“It had naught to do with you.” She waved away his apology as if it were an annoying insect about to feed on one of her precious plants. “I’m not sharing this story to put more weight on your conscience. You do that well enough yourself. I’m sharing this because I want you to understand the importance of Sin’s weapon.”

Dylan understood full well the importance of Taliesin’s weapon. “Go on.”

“One night, when Madron sent his sister, Leri refused to go. He returned to our chamber in person . . . but this time Sin was with us, telling Leri and me a tale of evil men and courageous knights, and why some men needed to die. Sin was waiting for Madron. I realize that now.” She took a deep breath and let it out. “He told us to turn our backs, to cover our eyes. Leri obeyed . . . but I didn’t. I wanted to see. The beheading was instant. You would not believe how fast unless you saw it with your own eyes.”

A human’s spine was strong, a Guardians’ even stronger. A beheading didn’t happen in an instant, not without momentum, weight, muscle, gravity, or a device that embodied all those qualities. “He used the Serpent to do this?”

Understanding the direction of his thoughts, she added, “I don’t believe the Serpent of Cernunnos is entirely of this world.”

“I would have to agree.” Dylan had felt its power, its anger , when he had tried to take it from Sophie.

Elen started to pace. “If the Guardians knew that Sophie has possession of it . . .”

A reminder he didn’t need. “Then Taliesin will have condemned my wife.”

She stopped in front of his chair and gave him a pointed look. “Sin may be trying to protect Sophie. He obviously cared enough to get involved.”

Condemn or protect?

“Are they not one and the same?” Dylan felt as if a vise had tightened around his heart. Anyone who knew Taliesin’s history understood the frightening significance of that statement, because every person that man cared about always ended up dead.

Elen didn’t deride him with false words of solace. “Then it has finally come.” Her voice deadened with acceptance. “The time has finally come for us to face the Guardians.”

“Yes.” It was a soft answer, one he’d given before, one he didn’t enjoy giving again. She’d held on to hope, he knew, to the possibility of another explanation for the banner, but Sophie’s possession of the Serpent was a new warning too significant to deny the impending arrival of the Guardians.

He reminded her, “We are proceeding with a course of action in two days hence. I expect arrivals to begin Friday after sunset. If you’re not going to use your apartments, I’ll have them prepared for Isabeau.”

“Of course.” Elen waved her hand absently. “Sophie should be told of the gathering.”

A sound came from his pocket and for once he wasn’t annoyed by the interruption. He retrieved his cell phone and flipped it open. “What?”

Gabriel’s voice filtered through the line; he was one of the guards assigned to the woods surrounding the lake house. “Your wife is running.”

His vision blurred as he gripped the phone. Utter, immobilizing fear clawed at his spine. “How far did she get?”

He listened to the directions as Elen hovered close with a worried frown.

“What’s wrong?” she whispered.

“Sophie’s running away.”

The phone fell from his grip as he slammed out of Elen’s house, her voice a distant warning by the time he hit the forest at a full sprint.