A crow.
Kyan crouched, fingers stroking over the bird. Not just one, but a few, carved as if in flight. He followed them around the ledge, to where the last perched.
Lines of ogam revealed themselves in that faint golden glow, fading again as he read them.
As gifted from the sea.
So returned.
He closed his eyes with a sigh, then stared out at the silver water sprawling out from all directions.
Somehow, Scáthach had put the Gáe Bolg back in the Atlantic. Which meant that the weapon he’d hoped could have defeated Alexander, and maybe help kill one of the gods, was gone.
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
Nicole
TWO DAYS LATER, NICOLE AND KYAN LEFTTHEIR HOTEL INSt Andrews.
The small Scottish town was home to the oldest university in the country, and as they wandered through to find a breakfast place – filled with students and views of the sea – it reminded her so much of Estwood that Nicole almost felt like she’d gone back in time. This place, though, boasted three beaches, royal students, a ruined cathedral, and a Pictish sarcophagus.
The day before, they’d driven Remi back to Edinburgh, so she could get a flight to London and return to the Siren Archives while they headed to St Andrews. If Remi could figure out the sea and sky locations of the next harp strings, then once they were all together she theorised that it would allow her to sense the harp itself.
Despite helping Nicole prepare last night for her meeting, and holding her throughout the night, Kyan had been reserved since they’d left Skye, and Nicole tried to think of not finding the Gáe Bolg as a good thing. What havoc could it wreak in the wrong hands? Maybe he could find a way to locate it, but it could take months, or the help of a very niche creature, and Kyan was sure Scáthach would have warded the weapon. Research was their last bet at dealing with Alexander.
That, and the Druid.
They’d start tracking her afterwards, then let the family know their next move so they could reconvene.
But as they were shown to their seats in the café, Kyan looked at his phone and stiffened.
‘What?’ she asked.
He held it out to her and she read one panicked text.
‘THEY’VE KICKED ME OUT. I DON’T HAVE CONTROL. TRYING AGAIN NOW.’
Luca.
If they were no longer hidden from CCTV, their risk of the Wake finding them just went up.
She met Kyan’s eyes. They still had six days, but the removal of that layer of security chilled her. He almost touched her and it broke her heart to see him hesitate, as if worried they were being watched right this minute.
She tried to soothe herself as they ordered stacks of fluffy pancakes and hot coffee; as she listened to snippets of students discussing coursework and parties. But an hour later, she still felt uneasy.
Before they left, Kyan touched her leg beneath the table. ‘I’ll find you after your meeting.’
Nicole nodded. She couldn’t take him in with her when she was posing as a prospective student, so while she met the Pictish specialist, Kyan was heading to check out the sarcophagus.
The lecturer’s office was down one of the three main cobbled streets, busy with students and bikes and the steady, somehow comforting chug of cars. The old stone and grassy quad made her wish they had longer to sit out under the sun and justbreathefor a day, listening to the steady rush of the North Sea.
Soon, she found herself being let inside a sunny, well-loved office scenting of old books, coffee and lily of the valley.
Dr Kaner had replied to the email Nicole had sent in Dublin, and the enthusiastic response perfectly matched the woman before her.
She was somewhere in her early thirties and strikingly attractive, her blonde hair styled in a slightly scrappy chignon. Her style was a mix of put-together and thoughtless ease, evidenced by the bit of blush and pink lipstick, paired with a white blouse and well-fitting tan slacks. But the slightest honey-rose tan to her pale cheeks gaveaway her air of academic busyness, as if she’d sat in the sun whilst reading for too long and forgotten the time.
Books were crammed onto a slightly sagging set of bookshelves, their worn spines giving away her speciality:Scottish History.Gaels.Q-Celtic Languages.Pictish Iconography. A vase of happy-looking yellow flowers sat in a beam of sunlight, and a window was open to allow in the warmth and chatter from the street outside. Nicole was surprised to see what looked like a real artefact in a glass box on the desk: a time-aged knife.
