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“Like I said,” Brigid said, scooping up the cards and shuffling them back into their pouch. “Tarot is not an exact science. It’s very open to interpretation, like rune stones and tea leaves and any form of divination really.”
“What was the point of this?” I asked, frowning as Brigid pulled a small, battered notebook out of her pocket. I drained my tea, rolling my eyes and grimacing at the tea leaves in the bottom of the cup.
“I found two passages in our archives that I thought might pertain to you,” she explained, flipping through the pages in search of something. “And I thought the cards might verify them.”
“Did they?” I asked, craning my neck to look at the book. It was filled with neat, delicate handwriting that I realized must be Brigid’s.
“No,” she sighed, pursing her lips. “But that could be because I didn’t know what to look for. Ah, here it is.” She flipped open a page and read aloud, her melodious voice the only sound in the room besides our breathing and Artemis’ gentle snoring.
“A thousand years shall see them wed, the Goddess and her consort, made flesh once more and united by fortune.” She looked up, checking to see my reaction perhaps, then continued. “As they are mated, so shall their lands be, until at last what was torn asunder by the Crone shall be made whole.”
She looked up again, excitement radiating from her. It was met by Cerridwen’s skepticism and my confusion. “Don’t you see?” she asked, pointing excitedly at the text. “This prophecy was made almost exactly a thousand years ago by the Lord of Sun at the time. It must be about you and Carnon.”
“And the bit about ‘what was torn asunder’?” I asked, struggling to wrap my mind around it.
Brigid took a thoughtful sip of tea. “Maybe the Darklands and the Witchlands!” she exclaimed, looking to Cerridwen for confirmation.
Cerridwen shrugged noncommittally. “Maybe,” she said slowly, “but Carnon and Elara’s powers, while impressive, don’t exactly seem godlike.” She gave me an apologetic look, and I shrugged.
She was right. I was powerful. He was powerful. But gods? No.
“Well I’m going to ask my scholars to dig into the history,” Brigid said, flipping through a few more pages and pausing again. “Here’s another I found that may be about you, Elara.” She cleared her throat and again read aloud, “A sacrifice of blood will keep her safe until the Demon King can claim her.”
I frowned. “That sounds like it has absolutely nothing to do with me,” I argued, “except for maybe being claimed by the Demon King.”
Brigid bit her lip, looking guilty. “I have a theory that would definitely make this about you,” she said, looking between us.
I glanced at Cerridwen, who looked as perplexed as me. “What theory?”
“Well,” she said, slowly, as if choosing her words carefully. “For that necklace to reappear after being missing for so long means that a Demon King had to lose it or give it away,” she said, nodding to the stone around my neck. It gave a little thrum, as if pleased we had finally mentioned it.
“Yes,” I said, trying to decide whether or not to share Carnon’s theory along these lines too. I decided to keep it to myself for now.
“Well,” she said again, “what if it wasn’t lost, but given to a mate. A mate who had a child who has the powers of both a witch and a demon.”
“Me, you mean?” I asked, relieved that Brigid had come to this conclusion on her own. “Carnon thinks so too. He’s convinced my father was King Alaunus.”
Brigid paled, her tan skin almost white with shock. “What’s wrong?” I asked, looking behind me. No one was there, and she was staring at me like she couldn’t quite believe I was real.
“Look at the author,” she croaked out. “At the date.”
She held out the book to me, and my own face paled. King Alaunus, ten years ago.
I decided not to mention the shape of the skull that had formed in the sodden leaves of my tea.
???
Carnon didn’t come up until early afternoon, and he looked utterly exhausted as he practically fell onto the bed. I lay down beside him and he turned to me, wordlessly pulling me to him in a firm embrace.
I jolted awake, the sky darkening beyond the windows of our room, Carnon’s arms still wrapped firmly around me. We both must have dozed off, and Akela huffed as if to sayfinally you’re up,padding out of the room to the veranda beyond.
I squirmed a little so I could look up to study Carnon’s face. It was paler in sleep, his square jaw scruffier than usual after a night of wakefulness. His lashes fanned out from his closed eyes, and I admired them a little jealously.
“It’s rude to stare,” he mumbled, cracking one eye open a tiny bit and raising a brow just high enough to look condescending.
I huffed a laugh. “I’m not staring,” I said quietly, feeling like speaking loudly in the dimness of our room, the moonstone walls painted orange and pink with the setting sun, would somehow break the spell of this moment. “I’m admiring.”
“Hmm,” Carnon hummed, his face burrowing down until he was practically speaking against my lips. “I suppose I can’t fault you for that. Iamunforgivably handsome.” He kissed me, softly and tenderly, a promise of future kisses as he groggily awoke from our nap.
