Page 46 of A Legacy of the Light

Tavish smirks. “Would you like to join me then?” he suggests, gesturing to his rooms.

“Ah, it’s been a long day. I was hoping to just grab a quick bite and get some sleep.” As I say it out loud, I realize I wouldn’t even know how to do that without going down to the kitchen and demanding food, which would be rude.

Tavish’s face falls a little but he quickly recovers. “I understand, I’ll have something sent to your room.”

I smile at him softly in appreciation.

“Your father told me we’re to have dinner with him tomorrow.”

Tavish rolls his eyes.

“I assume he didn’t ask you?”

I don’t reply, not wanting to deny anything but mindful that he’s a prince, and loyal to the throne. My lack of answer is enough for him.

“Well, that’ll be a fun evening,” he says sarcastically.

We look at each other, holding our gazes for slightly longer than I would deem comfortable.

He’s nothing like his father. Yes, they share a resemblance but where King Raghnall is hard, Tavish is soft and kind. Even down to the color of their eyes. Tavish’s are a warm hazel that you want to swim in, compared to the darkness of the king’s.

Tavish takes a tentative step toward me and I take a small step back, quickly looking away. I’m not sure what he was about to do, but his father’s voice echoes in my mind.

“Well, goodnight,” I blurt out. I don’t wait for his response before entering my room, closing the door, and locking it behind me. I need some space to breathe and think.

I busy myself lighting a fire to warm the chilled room. If only Rach could see me now, she would never believe that I successfully managed to do that. I make myself a tea and sit on the soft blue sofa looking out the window. That view will never get old, I may even miss it when I eventually go home.

A tension headache forms behind my eyebrows with the weight of everything that occurred today. There has to be more behind why I’m here. From my research, I discovered that the Craobh Beatha can only be worn by those with royal blood. It can be worn by another person, but only when given with express permission for them to bear it.

I concluded that somewhere in my family line, we have interacted with Seelie and been given permission to wear it. Otherwise, the magic of the jewel in the center would drain my life. It would also explain why I felt that sensation when I considered giving it to King Raghnall yesterday.

The text I read in the library explained that the Craobh connected the royal family to the magic of the land, making them more powerful, particularly if they were light wielders. The Craobh Beatha enhances their abilities, making them lethal.

One question I’m almost certain I won’t find an answer to, is why does the king want it so much? Being stronger and connected to deeper magic might allow someone to abuse that power. I’m not convinced Raghnall would use the power of the emerald for good. I decide that I will research the royal lines and their stories to see if magic has ever been misused in the past

I haven’t been able to find much on the Dorche yet either. I’m going to speak to Finneus about it in the morning and hope he can help me understand.

I’m deep in thought, when a loud popping sounds from behind me. I jump up from the sofa, and a silver tray appears on the breakfast bar. I go over and read the note next to the covered plate:

Tavish told me you haven’t eaten yet. Leave the tray in the hall when you’re done. I’ll see you tomorrow. Thank you for today and I hope you’re doing okay.

Reyne x

I remind myself to thank Tavish for being so attuned to what I need tonight. Peace and quiet. I take the tray over to the small dining table, my mouth watering over a dish of lasagna and garlic bread. The normalcy of the food strikes me, in truth I don’t know what I expected from the food here but I’m glad it’s all things I recognize.

It doesn’t take me long to finish the meal and I wash the plate in the sink and leave the tray as Reyne told me to. I secure the door again and fit the bar stool under the handle, then settle on the sofa with the book I started the day before.

I read until my eyes grow heavy and the fire is only embers in the hearth. The room is dark and the stars in the sky beyond the window are plentiful.

Climbing into the soft sheets after brushing my hair and teeth, I release a sigh. Getting into bed is my favorite part of the day. I turn on my side, pulling the sheets over my head, and the tiredness I felt in the living room disappears.

Typical. I huff and roll onto my back, staring at the stone ceiling. The light from the moon glows silver through the window where I left the curtains open.

I lie like that for a while, willing my eyes to close and sleep to find me. Unsurprised when it doesn’t, I climb from the bed, and put my feet into the slippers I have been left, heading into the study to do something I haven’t done in a long time.

At first, I hesitate. Just after Mom died, I used to do this all the time. When my mind wouldn’t quieten, I would write to her. I would spill everything out and then burn the letter, almost as if I was sending it to wherever she is. It helped initially but, in the end, the gesture felt empty and it stopped helping. So I stopped writing to her altogether.

She only lives in my memories now, and it felt like I was letting another part of her go when I stopped. But it got too hard. And repetitive. There’s only so many times you can cry into a sheet of paper at the cruelty and unfairness of it all.