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Angus was aware of his blood flowing faster, blending with the flames. “Will I ever see an end to that?”
“Aye. Once the boy is raised, ye’ll find the peace ye seek.”
“But not with Arianrhod.”
Cathbad shook his head and his hair settled around him, glinting with blue-black highlights. “I dinna say that. Truthfully, I doona know. Is there aught else? My time grows short.”
Angus sketched out the problem of the unknown dark mage who wished to become a dragon shifter.
“Let the dragons handle their own problems,” Cathbad said. “They’re good at it, and ye run the risk of them accusing you of meddling unless they’ve specifically directed you to do something.”
Angus nodded. Cathbad’s form developed shimmery edges, and Angus said, “Wait.”
“Aye, what? I’m nearly at the end of my energy.”
“Have my dreams always come from you?”
“Nay. Only today, and only because I joined my energy with yours. Our trances are Danu’s gift. Call me into your visions if ye have need.”
Cathbad’s image flickered and faded along with his words; the trance dissipated along with him.
Angus pitched to his knees and sent power to sever his connection with the fire. Blood dried on his forearms, and he summoned healing energy to mend his cuts. Now that he didn’t have to ride herd on his emotions, raw joy shot through him. How wondrous to have a child to raise. It would make whatever the Celts dealt out more palatable and shift an alien land into a home.
Arianrhod knelt behind him and cradled him in her arms.
When he could form words, he twisted to face her. “Why didn’t you tell me about our son?”
