Chapter 17

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

C arys spent the rest of the day in her own rooms, writing down everything she'd learned about Seren, about the Shadowlands, about the kings and people she'd met, about the myths that were real and the lore that was not. She was trying to organize her thoughts so she didn't feel lost. When the sky was dark and Bonnie came in to tend the fire, Carys saw Duncan waiting in the hallway by her door.

"Knock, knock." He leaned against the doorway. "How are you? You weren't at dinner."

She scrambled out of the bed, throwing a wrap over her shoulders. "It's cold. Come in and talk to me." She walked to the table. "I forgot about food."

"I noticed." Duncan stepped into the room and stood with his arms crossed, staring at her. "You can't skip meals here. It's cold and your body has to work harder. You walk more. The environment is harsher. There are no cars or elevators or bicycles."

"Oh, no way." She pointed down. "Are you saying that my e-bike isn't waiting in the garage downstairs? That's wild—I just ordered it online. "

Duncan glowered. "Very amusing."

Bonnie shook her head. "It's like you two are speaking another language entirely."

Duncan turned to the maid. "Bonnie, would you be a dear and fetch Carys a tray with some bread and cheese?"

"There are some cold pies stored in the larder as well, Lord Duncan." She nodded. "I'll make a tray, and she'll eat it." She stood, dusted off her skirts, and looked to Carys. "What would you like to drink, my lady?"

"Just water is?—"

"Wine," Duncan said. "Or beer. It'll be easier on your stomach."

Carys sighed. "Right. Wine please, Bonnie."

"I'll be back in two shakes of a duck's tale." She looked at Duncan. "And you?"

"Beer."

Bonnie rolled her eyes. "Why did I even ask?"

The maid walked out, and Duncan came to sit at the table across from Carys.

"How was your meeting with Dafydd?" he asked, his arms still crossed over his chest.

"Good. Emotional." She shrugged. "Kind of expected that."

"Did he try to take you to Caernarfon?"

She frowned. "He didn't bring it up. Why?"

"The Cymric think their country is the greatest in the world."

"Because it is. Obviously."

"Dear God, save me from Welsh pride." He rubbed his eyes. "Every person in this blasted place thinks their country is the greatest in the world. The Albans, the Cymric, the Anglian, and dear God, especially the éirens. It nearly makes me appreciate the union a bit." He held his fingers close together in a pinch. "A tiny bit."

Carys set her journal on the table. "So I've been making notes about everything and?—"

"Where'd you find that?" Duncan leaned forward. "That journal. Paper can be hard to come by here. "

Carys pointed to the wardrobe. "There was an empty journal in the back of the chest. It took me a minute to get the hang of the fountain pen at the writing desk, but I managed."

"I forgot about Seren's journals," Duncan muttered. "I wonder if Lachlan has the rest."

Carys's curiosity was piqued. "Seren kept journals?"

"Meticulously." Duncan sat back. "She was known for them. Wrote everything down, that one."

"My dad was that way." She mused. "He always had a notebook on him. Was always writing. My mother had her sketchbook, and my dad had his notebook."

"And you?"

"Nothing." She shrugged. "I'd rather have a book to read. I don't need everything written down. If I don't remember it, it probably wasn't that important." She squinted. "That may explain a good portion of my problems at work."

Duncan smirked. "Seren recorded everything. She'd write down names of people she met, how the crops were looking, what the women wore to court banquets—there's one tomorrow night, by the way. You can't forget that one, because it's the welcome dinner for Dafydd and Eamer."

Carys smiled. "I'd say I'll write it down, but I won't."

"Being aware of your negative traits doesn't excuse them." He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Bonnie will remind you; just don't leave the castle." He looked at the journal again. "What are you writing?"

"It sounds like I'm being a little like Seren, but only for organizational purposes." She folded down a corner of the book. "There's so many people and so much new information."

"I was young when I learned all of it," he said. "A sponge. It probably seems a bit overwhelming."

"Seems? No, it's very overwhelming. And I wish to hell I'd brought my old Celtic mythology textbook because I've been studying more American mythology the past five years, so I'm in way over my head."

"I'm sure there are books in the library here, but they're mostly going to be in Gaelic."

"Not superhelpful." Carys stared at the journal. "Mostly I'm trying to figure out who had a reason to kill Seren. And I'm thinking there's a lot."

Duncan sat up straight. "You're trying to figure out who… Why would you do that?"

"Because I'm going to figure out who killed my sister," Carys said. "Obviously. I already told Lachlan and?—"

"You told Lachlan about this, and he approved?" Duncan's face was a storm. "That reckless bastard?—"

"He didn't approve, but I don't care."

"Did you tell Cadell?" Duncan frowned. "Where is Cadell?"

"On the roof." She pointed up. "He just curls up there like a cat, I think."

Not at all like a cat, Nêrys.

She nodded. "He's close."

"This is ridiculous." Duncan stood and started pacing. "Lachlan was right. You're going back to the Brightlands. Tomorrow."

"Absolutely not." She crossed her arms over her chest. "You're not my boss, and neither is Lachlan."

"I took responsibility for you when I brought you to this place. You have friends, Carys. People who love you and are going to be waiting for you. You need to think of them and not the ghost of a dead woman."

Carys did think about Laura and Kiersten, but she also thought about Laura's sisters. About Lachlan's face when he talked about Seren. About Dafydd's grief.

"I know there are dangers." She uncrossed her arms and leaned forward. "And I understand why you and Lachlan want me to go." She took a deep breath so she didn't overreact. "I know you're worried. But as you correctly pointed out earlier, I have a dragon . Cadell and I have a unique opportunity to get justice for my sister. "

Duncan looked up. "I suspect Cadell wants you safe more than he wants to know who killed Seren."

I want both.

"He wants both."

I am on the roof above you and will burn down the castle, grab you, and fly you to our horde if need be, Nêrys.

"Yeah, he's got me covered." She patted the journal. "And I have you, even though we don't really… get along."

"It's not my job to be your friend—it's my job to get you back to Scotland in one piece." He looked at the door. "Where is Fiona? You need food."

"Not Fiona," Carys whispered. "Bonnie."

Duncan growled and muttered something in Gaelic.

"Cadell says I can trust you," Carys said. "He calls you the cross human, which is…"

"Accurate," Duncan growled.

"Fairly accurate, yeah." Could Lachlan and his twin be more opposite? "But I respect that grumpiness and I appreciate the honesty, okay? Cadell trusts you. That's good enough for me. I think between the two of us, we can figure out my sister's murder."

"What?" Duncan stopped pacing, walked back to the table, and sat, propping his elbows on the table and staring at her. "Why do you think we could possibly?—"

"Because we're both smart, and all English language speakers have been subjected to more true-crime entertainment than most of us ever wanted or needed," Carys said. "We probably know more about solving crimes than the police here."

"There are no police here."

"See?" She spread her arms. "We're already the best candidates to do this."

"Why?" His expression and his elbows hadn't moved. "Why should we?"

"Because she deserves justice."

He leaned forward and narrowed his eyes. " Why , Carys? "

"Because…" Carys's voice dropped to a whisper. "I love Lachlan. I do. But?—"

"Part of you wonders if he killed his wife?"

"No!" She bit her lip. "Yes?"

Duncan raised an eyebrow.

"A very tiny, teeny-tiny part." She held her fingers together. "Like… microscopic ."

"I'm not going to tell him you think that because it would crush him. Why do you think Lachlan could have?—"

"I don't think that!" That tiny, tiny part of her wondered, but only because Cadell didn't seem to trust Lachlan and Lachlan hadn't told her his wife had been murdered. He didn't even seem sure that she had been murdered.

But what husband wouldn't wonder if his previously healthy wife suddenly keeled over? Didn't police always suspect the husband first? Or was Carys watching way too much TV?

"I suspect everyone right now," she said. "If you hadn't been in a completely different dimension when Seren was killed, Cadell and I would suspect you too."

"You should. I'm a bastard." He drummed his fingers on the table. "But Lachlan is nice and charming and not me at all. And he loved Seren madly."

It stung even though Carys already knew it.

A muscle in Duncan's jaw twitched, and she could feel the irritation rolling off him, but he let out a small sigh and the determined set of his mouth softened just a little.

"Fine. I will help you solve Seren's murder, but I'm doing it for her. She was a good woman, and she deserved a long life."

He cared for her too. Cadell's voice echoed in her mind. And he cares for you.

Carys ignored the strange twist she felt in her chest. It didn't matter that Duncan cared for her. And he was right.

Seren had deserved better.

Her twin had a father who loved her. Friends who depended on her. A dragon who was tied to her very soul. Seren had deserved a long life flying through the Shadowlands with her dragon and husband at her side. One day, if Carys had children, her sister might have raised their twin in this world. Their lives were inextricably linked, and Carys felt a low, burning fire of anger when she thought about Seren's life being cut short.

"Okay then." Carys opened her journal. "Tell me everything about Seren that you remember. I want to know it all."

The next morning after Bonnie helped Carys dress, Duncan met her in the foyer of the castle where two arms of a grand staircase met like two branches of a stone river, curving around to meet a statue of a rearing unicorn.

He was holding a chicken leg wrapped in paper and shoved it at her. "Eat."

It smelled amazing, and she realized she'd forgotten to eat breakfast. "Why are you always trying to feed me?" She squinted. "And why do you look all…" She waved a hand up and down.

"What?" Duncan took a step back and looked down.

"You look… fancy."

"Fancy?" He snorted. "Hardly."

Duncan was dressed in the same wrapped leggings most of the men in the castle wore, a kilt in weathered brown and blue with red details, and a wool knit sweater on the top. His beard was freshly trimmed, and his wavy red-brown hair was slightly tamed.

He looked good. He looked… handsome.

Really handsome.

Dammit, there was that strange twist in her chest again. There was a part of her—a small part—that acknowledged that if she was attracted to Lachlan, it was natural to be attracted to Duncan as well. That made sense because she was in love with Lachlan and Duncan looked exactly like his brother, and that had to be normal .

Right?

She didn't want to think about it, so she took a bite of the chicken leg. "Thanks," she muttered around the bone. "This is good."

The corner of his mouth lifted. "My lady . Your table manners befit your lofty station."

"Shut up." She gulped down the bite and wiped her mouth with the napkin. "Okay, I guess I was hungry after all."

"You ate like a bird last night, and you need to take care of yourself."

Carys took another bite. "I don't like steak-and-kidney pie. My dad loved it, and my mother would make it, but I just never?—"

"In this place, you eat when there's food." He took an apple from his pocket. "Finish that and then eat this apple. I packed some cheese too. I know you like cheese."

"Who doesn't like cheese?" Carys scoffed. "Sociopaths, vegans, and people who hate happiness?"

Duncan stared at her. "Unicorns."

Touché.

"Okay, but they're herbivores, obviously, so that makes sense." She walked at Duncan's side as they turned right down a corridor to the left of the stairs. "Unicorns are, like, the opposite of sociopaths. Where are we going?"

"Aisling's work room. She'll know who has Seren's journals."

"Can't you ask Lachlan?"

"Couldn't find him this morning," Duncan muttered. "He's avoiding me. I think he's avoiding everyone since you arrived."

"Right." Carys frowned. "Could Aisling have them?"

"Possibly. I don't really know what happened to Seren's things after she died. I imagine some of them were taken back to the chamber you're staying in, but Lachlan probably kept most. Maybe some were sent to her father. Her journals though…"

"Journals are really personal."

"Exactly."

"The good thing is, if we can find them, they'll give us more insight to what was going on in her life than anything else. Unless they're all about crops and ladies' dresses, of course." She finished the chicken leg, wrapped it in the napkin he handed her, and took the apple Duncan held out. "So why are you all dressed up?"

He raised a single eyebrow and took the chicken leg in the cloth. "I'm not dressed up."

"For you?"

He huffed. "Elanor commanded me to clean up for the banquet tonight. I expect she'll have clothes picked out for you too. When Elanor commands you, you don't ignore her."

"Okay, but actually she seems really nice."

"She's a formidable queen," Duncan said. "Born in Briton. Fostered in France—called Gaulle here. Not within the Queens' Pact, but something similar. She's highly educated, and she's a good match for Robb. She was like another mother to me as a child, so I treat her like my own."

"And she was Seren's foster mother," Carys said. "So she knew her better than her stepmother probably."

"Not probably. Definitely." Duncan pointed them down another hallway.

Carys couldn't figure out how he knew where he was going, but she imagined it had something to do with the paintings on the walls because all the corridors looked the same. She caught a familiar image from the corner of her eye and stopped. "Hey."

He halted immediately. "What?"

Carys pointed to the painting just past the corner. "That painting…" She frowned. "It looks like my mother's work. But not."

He walked over and stared at it. "It's a landscape. I don't know enough about art to tell one style from another, but I do know this one was painted by Efa of Eryri. She was a painter in a religious cult of some kind."

"How do you know?" She couldn't stop staring at the snowy peaks of the mountains in the painting. It wasn't just like her mother's work—it was startlingly similar in brushstroke and perspective. The use of light was different, but that would be expected in a dimension without a sun.

Duncan pointed to a small gold plaque in the frame. "It says it right here. Efa of Eryri, Daughter of Epona. Eryri is the name for the Snowdonia region in North Wales. Epona is a goddess."

"She's a Celtic fertility goddess, if I'm remembering correctly." Carys leaned closer to the painting. "Efa of Eryri. Eryri is where Cadell is from."

"I'm no art expert, but I've heard her name before, so she must be fairly well known."

"She's still living?"

"I don't think so. From the date on this painting, she'd be well over a hundred by now if she was still living." He nudged her back down the hallway. "Maybe she was related to your mother's Shadowkin."

"Oh, you're right!" Something like that definitely made sense. "Very cool that she was famous though." Carys smiled. "My mother would love that."

"Was your mother well-known in America?"

"Not really. She rarely sold anything; she mostly painted for herself and for friends. She did behind-the-scenes work in Hollywood for a while. She made a lot of money doing that when they first moved. Mostly storyboards. Costume sketches. That sort of thing."

Duncan looked impressed. "Amazing. She must have been talented."

"Have you heard of Javier Torres, the film director?"

Duncan halted. "Are you serious? Of course I have. His films are some of my favorites. I loved Army of the Underworld ."

Carys smiled. "My mother did the storyboards for that. For a number of his films. Javier considered her his visual muse. I still talk with him and his wife sometimes. They always send me a very cool Christmas card."

"Fuck me," Duncan muttered. "Do all Californians know famous people?"

Carys laughed. "Hardly. "

They turned another corner, and Carys could feel a draft coming from an open outer door at the end of the hall. They were near the courtyard, and the chilly morning air gusted into the castle.

"We're closer to the working part of the place now," Duncan said. "Alchemy can be messy. Aisling works here."

Carys kept her voice low. "Cadell said that she learned alchemy because she probably wouldn't make a good arranged marriage. Is that true?"

"Oh." Duncan shrugged. "Maybe with her family, yes. But she's a brilliant woman. I think she always preferred books to politics."

They approached the end of the hall, and Carys saw a wooden door cracked open. Two voices were raised inside.

"…don't think that's appropriate, Lachlan."

"Why not? I think Seren would want you to get to know her better. After all, she's her sister."

"You're not just talking about me getting to know her. You're talking about?—"

"Company." Duncan pushed the door open, uninterested in eavesdropping the way Carys would have. "Lachlan, Aisling."

Aisling was standing in the middle of the room, her arms crossed, looking uncomfortable with Lachlan standing across from her. She was wearing a plain blue dress and a white apron that looked like it had seen burns and tears aplenty.

Lachlan was wearing clothes Carys hadn't seen before, wool leggings like Duncan, but his jacket and kilt were fitted, and his boots reached up to his knees. His hair was bound firmly at his neck, and he wore a leather vest over his chest.

His eyes landed on Carys immediately, and he turned to face her. "Carys."

God, he was so beautiful she wanted to weep. She wanted to run to him and kiss him good morning. Her body wanted to know why he wasn't waking beside her. She wanted…

She wanted him so much.

"Lachlan," she said his name quietly. " How are you?"

"Better for seeing you." His eyes spoke volumes that weren't for others to hear.

Aisling wore a stiff smile, and Duncan cleared his throat.

"Duncan." Lachlan frowned. "Why are you holding a chicken bone?"

Duncan grunted but he didn't answer.

Lachlan spoke to Carys. "I was just telling Aisling that I think it would be nice for her to spend some time with you while you're here." He glanced at Aisling, and the look they exchanged made all of Carys's antennae go up.

"After all," he continued, "she and Seren were like sisters."

"That part is true." Aisling uncrossed her arms and smiled brightly. "Good morning, Carys. I'm so glad Duncan brought you. I was hoping I could lure you into my lair."