Curse of the Celts Clara O'Connor (new reading txt) 📖

I felt his answering smile through the bond.

“And for you…” He turned his back and my eyes almost fell out of my head. He must have really missed being able to ink himself while living in the city. He certainly couldn’t be identified as anything other than a Celt now. Across his entire back was etched what, from Rhodri’s description, I knew to be a griffin. Celtic knots and swirls looped across his back in flaring wings while the watchful eyes of the eagle looked straight at me and the powerful lion’s body was poised. And there, at its heart, was a crown. Me.

He turned back to face me. This time it was Devyn who caught my face in his hands and I turned my gaze from the ink on his skin to his eyes.

“I love you,” he said and kissed me again. This time it was warm and deep as it reached into shadowed parts of my heart that had existed in darkness for so long that they barely recognised the light he brought with that kiss.

When he pulled away again, I felt an all-encompassing warm haze, as if sunshine had bathed my soul. He smiled at the state his kiss had reduced me to.

“That good, huh?”

I blinked.

“That must have taken some time?” I asked inanely, giving myself a moment, as I pushed at his bare shoulder so I could examine his back again. “How did you do it?”

He laughed at my question. So, my brain wasn’t firing on all cylinders in that moment. I was aware of this.

“Llewelyn was not so confident of the trial’s outcome that he would deny my request. It is a tradition and is unveiled when the chosen Glyndŵr takes his place at his lady’s side,” he explained. “He sent some of the best artists he could summon at short notice. They weren’t entirely happy about doing the griffin; one refused to work on me at all. But Hari knew me as a child and he said that if I had dedicated my life to serve as the Griffin despite everything, then that was a story I had a right to own.”

I exhaled in awe at the intricacy of the tattoo, at the sheer size and power of it. The eagle’s eye that seemed to capture something of Devyn’s watchful gaze that had followed me for almost half my life. The integrity and loyalty shone in every line.

I looked again at the one on his chest that signified Mercia.

“He’s angry,” I said. It wasn’t exactly news, but with Devyn’s cheek starting to swell from the punch that had landed there, it also wasn’t something we could ignore for ever.

“Yes.” Devyn was resorting to monosyllables. Never a good sign.

“Because we didn’t tell him straightaway.” In fact, we couldn’t have found a worse way to tell him what should have been good news.

“Yes.”

“And he didn’t like us holding hands.”

“No, he didn’t.” I had to restrain myself from rolling my eyes. I understood that these were painful subjects for him, but a little insight here on how we could resolve this wouldn’t go astray.

“You don’t think he will allow us to be together?”

“You heard him. He will not forgive a third betrayal.”

“Us being together would not be a betrayal.”

“In his eyes it would be.” His tone had gone flat, deadened, the words all too familiar, the start of a downward cycle that he repeated over and over.

“Enough. We’ve talked about this. Give me a chance to talk to him. I’ll make him listen.” I smiled at him.

I stood, straightening my dress and composing myself in order to hide all evidence of the recent activities that wouldn’t help our cause. Unlocking the door, I said before exiting, “Anything is possible. You found me, after all.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

The hall was busy with people decorating every available surface with holly and ivy for Yuletide, which began on the Winter Solstice less than a week away, when Gideon found me the next morning, his familiar expression of lazy arrogance something of a relief. Since the dramatic ending to the trial and the revelation that Devyn had succeeded in his quest to find me, people had been acting strangely around me. I wasn’t just risen from the dead, I was the new Lady of the Lake; people looked at me as if I was a legend come to life which, I supposed, to them I was.

I hadn’t seen Devyn since yesterday. I had tried to get in to see him again, but the guards posted at the entrance to the lower part of the castle now clearly had new instructions. And they were Mercian guards.

Gideon had come to escort me to the King of Mercia’s rooms where I had been summoned to speak to Rion.

“That was quite the scene,” he said with a smirk as I scurried to keep up with his long legs.

“Yes,” I said, my stomach churning. I was grateful to have finally upgraded from the second-hand clothing to a fantastic Oban creation. The dress was cut in the Celtic style but it had a flavour of something else to it, something unidentifiable. Like me.

We walked in silence for a few minutes.

“The High Druid, she…” he started slowly.

“Fidelma.” I frowned slightly. She had sentenced Devyn to death. I supposed she had no choice but to carry out the duties of her office. She had concealed our previous acquaintance and I could only assume that she had been overruled by the majority behind closed doors. Even though she hadn’t been able to sense who I really was, she had warned me that Devyn was not for me. Had she in some way foreseen what was to come?

“Hey,” he snapped at me.

I jumped, startled.

“What?” I put a hand to my heart, which had already had a rough few days.

“I need you to listen to me.”

“I am listening,” I said tartly. We were nearly at Rion Deverell’s room. We were finally going to meet as…