Page 20 of Cathmoir's Sons

“I’ve never been taught that,” Luca observes.

“So many of our ways have been lost,” Caileán responds. “My blood used to sing. Now there’s barely a murmur, even here in our hearthlands. Faery is fading. The wild magic is still strong, but it’s retreated to quiet places. There’s too much noise, too much iron and steel, in the world of men. For fae who have chosen to live in that world, alongside humans, we must open new doors, find new paths to the old magic, or we’ll diminish until we’re nothing more than humans.”

I glance at Luca to see how he’s taking this. He watches Caileán with wide, wondering eyes.

If she told him the world was going to end tomorrow, I think he’d believe her and ask what she wanted him to do between now and then.

With a smile, I return my attention to our mate. “Can you show us the way, my queen?”

“To the deep magic? Of course?—”

“To open new doors, to find new paths. I love Faery, but Cait live in the human world. Our shades now rest safe in your halls, but I don’t want to withdraw here permanently. The human world is full of wonders.”

Caileán nods. “The things my unawakened self knows are wondrous, indeed. They overwhelmed me at first. Human technology.” She laughs throatily. “The internet. It is a marvel.”

“What we do with magic, they do with technology,” Luca says. “In another hundred years, we won’t be able to tell the difference. In our father’s lifetime, their world has been completely transformed. I want to see where they’ll be in a hundred years. I want to be part of it.”

“Me, too,” I say.

Caileán lifts our hands to her face and kisses our ring fingers. “Then I will be a part of it with you.” She turns her left hand under mine and tangles my pinkie and ring finger with hers. She draws Luca’s hand against mine and twines her pinkie and ring finger with his. Her claws dig into my wrist; I bite down on a curse at the unexpected pain. Blood drips onto the sheets and disappears into the snowy linen.

“Cut my hand with your claws,” she instructs. “Deep magic always requires blood. It’s best done after mingling our precious waters.”

I nearly laugh at the description but a glance at Caileán’s serious face keeps the laughter in my chest.

I scratch her gently, drawing the faintest of red lines on her skin. Caileán rolls her eyes.

“Harder, my loves.”

Gritting my teeth, I dig in with my claws, puncturing the fleshy pad below her thumb until crimson wells.

Caileán chants softly. Words I almost know. “Rundle-flee, zunder-flow, mundal-flew ... Great Mother, I implore you ...mundle-flee, runder-flow, zundal-flew ... Night Mother, we consecrate our blood to you ...”

I squeeze my eyes closed as thick heat slides up my arm, under my skin, through my veins. It burns away the tiny hurts of strain and fatigue. When it glides over my ribs, it bites, burning and sharp, ripping my breath away. I pant against the sensation and focus on my mate’s chant, which eases the pain with each word. Finally, I breathe smooth and easy. Movement against my fingers makes me open my eyes. My mate tenderly kisses my fingers, Luca’s fingers, our bleeding wrists, until we’re healed.

She licks the last smears of blood off her lips and holds her arms out to us. We tumble into the pillows together as the deep magic drains away. It leaves the sweetest exhaustion behind. I understand then why this can’t be done anywhere but a place of complete safety. None of us could defend ourselves now.

I pull Caileán to me so I can kiss her forehead. “Thank you, my queen.”

“You’re welcome, my Cait. Sleep deep now.”

Luca spoons in behind Caileán and drapes his arm over both of us. She rocks forward into me with a soft grunt. I close my eyes and smile. If my brother wants another round, or just for her to hold his cock in her softness while we sleep, I don’t begrudge him that at all.

I wake to nipping kisses.Caileán’s face hangs over mine. “Come up to the top of the tower with me,” she whispers before she turns to wake Luca.

I yawn and stretch, feeling the smooth play of muscle over bone, without the jabbing stutter of the cursed injury. I smile at my mate and let her pull me out of our warm bed.

She spreads her mantle of feathers over the three of us as we walk through the quiet corridors. I don’t need the warmth, but I like feeling so close to her. Much better with our feet on the ground. I always want to spend time with my mate, but spending time flying with her is my least favorite form of togetherness.

There’s no true dawn, not in the Twilight Lands. But today, the first day of the new year, the Mother’s eye peeks over the horizon in a red-gold flare. The Mists draw back to a ghostly breath among the pines. I sweep my eyes across the horizon. The gray towers of the fae courts poke through the mist. I think I can see Cait House’s chimneys. My eyes are drawn to the far east, where a pale stone pile gleams among larch and cypress, touched with moonlight even in the New Year’s dawn. To the south, an ember-red tower juts like a bloody tooth above mossy, twisted oaks.

And to the west . . .

“Hraena,” Caileán breathes as the mists clear enough for us to see her lands.

A gray-green haze hangs low over the blackened stumps of tree and stone. A few sad saplings poke their heads out of still-smoking embers.

Caileán squeezes our hands. I feel her pull on her Element as she leans over the parapet and blows out a long breath. Luca leans with her, rubs his cheek against hers, and blows with her.