Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

" D ragons." She stared out the window as she munched on an apple Duncan picked from the small orchard behind the house. "I might see a dragon."

"As I said, the dragons live in Cymru. They don't call it Wales here—it's Cymru." He stuffed food into a pack, adding apples and wrapped wedges of cheese. "Are you ready?"

Carys wore a pair of boots stuffed with wool, an oversized coat, and a heavy hood that covered her head. "As ready as I can be. How far is the walk?"

"Not far. Half an hour maybe."

She wore her hair down at Duncan's instruction. The long dark waves falling around her shoulders not only helped to conceal her face but also kept her neck warm.

As they walked, they passed through a small village and met a few people, all of them greeting Duncan in Gaelic. He waved back but didn't introduce her, and they didn't ask. Children ran around the village, climbing on wagons and running from house to house.

"Do you know these people?" she asked quietly. "Or know them in the other world? "

"Some but not all." He nodded at a couple who was standing outside what looked like a butcher shop. "She's a teacher at the village school. I think he's a salesman of some kind."

"But the same couple?" she asked. "Married here and there?"

"It's fairly common," Duncan said. "People seem to be drawn to each other. Families even. Humans in the Shadowlands can't birth children, but the fae usually give children to their mother's twin or another close relation." He kept his voice low as they walked. "It's not a rule. Remember, twins are different people."

"That's evident."

Duncan was harsh and grumpy and borderline rude most of the time while Lachlan had never met a stranger and made you feel special just by smiling at you.

Still, she couldn't deny that Duncan was protective, and in that moment, it was comforting.

"So Lachlan came back here," she said. "On his own?"

"No." He glanced at her. "At least I doubt it. I saw fae in the woods behind my house the day you say he disappeared," Duncan said.

"You think the fae are the ones who took him?"

"They can travel from gate to gate differently than humans can. That's why he could be in California one moment and Scotland the next." Duncan nodded at a passing man with a handcart. "So I imagine it was the fae."

"Why would they care if he was in the Brightlands?"

"They wouldn't, but they'd be doing a favor for Lachlan's father." Duncan scowled. "Our fathers were the same on both sides. Arrogant, imperious, and commanding. But while mine was an aloof business mogul who is dead, his father is the living king of Alba."

Carys whispered, "Shit."

Lachlan really was a rich prince running away from responsibilities.

"King… Chieftain." Duncan waved a hand. "They don't have government the way we do. It's not that organized. Things are much more fluid here. Robb is more like a chief of chiefs than a king, but be cause this area is closest to the other kingdoms in Briton, he's the figurehead. It's not like that in Anglia or Cymru. They're more formal in the hierarchy."

Carys nodded. "Right. Wales is Cymru here."

"Yes. They use the old names for?—"

"And Wales is independent?"

Duncan scoffed. "Independent? They have dragons , Carys. No one fights a king who commands dragons."

She felt a well of pride and satisfaction and could only imagine how her father would have felt. To the day he died, Gareth Morgan had been a staunch believer in Welsh independence.

"We have dragons," she whispered to herself. And her mother had seen them. Maybe, as Duncan had told her, only in dreams. But maybe not. Maybe she'd also wandered through a gate without knowing. Just because Duncan didn't think it was possible didn't mean it didn't happen.

A shout from a little boy had Carys looking up, and she saw that they'd turned on a road that led up to the great stone castle she'd seen from the hill. Standing below it, it seemed far more imposing and grittier than it had looked from a distance.

The road leading up to the castle quickly grew crowded with tradespeople, horses, and carts, and everything seemed to be made of wood. She glanced at Duncan. "Not much work for you here."

"What's that?"

She pointed to the wooden carts. "No metal?"

"Ah." He shook his head. "No iron . Some copper. More bronze."

"Definitely no cars."

"No buildings over three stories either." He looked around. "This place is backward, and it's mostly because of the iron. Iron and magic."

"So the iron thing is true." It had been ages since she'd actively studied Celtic mythology and British fairy tales. Most of her current classes were far more academic than practical.

In fairy lore, the fae hated iron and were burned by its touch. It made sense that in a realm they controlled, the metal would be forbidden. "That makes sense."

Duncan shot her a look.

"I mean it makes sense for fae," she muttered. "It's their biggest weakness. Right?"

"Yes. The fae control all the resources here. There's very little mining. There is nothing electric. That's why I said to leave your phone." He patted his waist. "Even blades are very limited."

"Why do they have so much power?" She looked around. "There are so many people here."

"There are people because the fae allow it."

"How—" She sucked in a breath and whispered, "The gates. Population control."

Duncan nodded grimly. "They hate anything modern that humans have made, and since they control the children, they make the rules." Duncan grumbled. "Human rulers pay tribute or their population declines swiftly."

Barbaric.

And effective. No human population was going to rebel when their hope for a future was held like a blade to their throat.

"Are there more fae than humans?"

"No," he said. "But they're more powerful."

Duncan and Carys got in the line that formed at the gate of the castle, and she saw guards checking all the people going inside. The guards were wearing thick armor of layered leather over heavy woolen clothes and carrying swords at their waists that looked like they were made of bronze.

There were archers stationed on a lower wall above them, but they seemed at ease, and Carys could hear joking and laughing as they strolled along the parapet.

"Just go along with it but keep your cloak up," Duncan said in a low voice. "Some of them will speak English." They slowly moved forward in the line. "They're used to foreigners at the castle. All the traders come through here. "

They reached the front of the line, and a male guard checked Duncan for weapons, exchanging a few words with him in Gaelic that sounded routine. A woman in lighter leathers with a bow on her back walked over to check Carys, patting her down with indifferent efficiency.

The guards tied a bright red knot around Duncan's small blade and waved them through.

"Did the guard look at your face?" Duncan's voice was soft.

"Not really. She was checking my clothes."

"Good."

"Why?"

Duncan growled under his breath, "That's for Lachlan to explain."

Through the gates of the castle there were markets and trading going on in earnest, voices going back and forth between English and Gaelic. Women and men wearing white aprons were negotiating with farmers for vegetables and livestock. Tradesmen smoked pipes and shouted out their wares as they sat on the back of wooden carts. Men and women wearing leather armor strolled through the melee, seemingly at ease with the security of the castle yard.

The people around her looked familiar despite the clothes. Faces were as diverse as those in any major city in Europe.

Carys smiled. "Doesn't look like any fantasy movie we've seen on-screen, does it?"

Duncan frowned until he noticed her watching a family of traders with light brown skin and brightly colored clothes that appeared to be Middle Eastern.

He smiled. "Well, not everyone in Scotland these days looks like me, do they?"

Carys smiled. "True."

"I think they're from the south." He nodded at the wagon selling beautifully worked copper pots lined with tin. "Many traders from Anglia will make their way north to sell their goods, and most things from the continent go into London first."

"Makes sense, I guess. "

Carys was startled to see a grubby-faced boy run past with a cartoon character on his shirt, which he quickly covered up when he saw Carys looking. His cheeky grin had her eyes going wide.

"Did he have a?—"

"Superhero shirt?" Duncan nodded. "Aye. Everyone here knows the Brightlands exist. They're not ignorant. There's a bit of a black market for anything that comes from there. I could make a fortune in millet if I wanted to import designer denim jeans I bet." He smirked. "But I have quite enough millet."

He led them through the bustling yard and toward a stone edifice with red-painted double doors and spoke to the guards in English.

"Duncan, Laird of Murrayshall, for Lachlan, son of Robb."

The guard smiled. "Laird Duncan, welcome back to Sgàin Castle. Lachlan is hearing audience in the North Hall with his father today. Would you like to be announced?"

Duncan cleared his throat. "I'd prefer to speak to him privately if that can be arranged."

The guard turned to Carys. "And your compan— Gods alive." The man's face went pale when he looked at Carys. "My lady." His face flashed through a dozen expressions in the space of a moment. Shock. Fear. Happiness. Confusion. "My lady?"

Duncan jumped in. "Sir, we need to speak to Lachlan."

Carys looked between the men, trying to keep her head down, but it was impossible to miss the look of shock on the guard's face. Was it so unusual to see someone from the regular world here? They hadn't reacted to Duncan that way.

"We need to speak to Lachlan," Duncan repeated.

"Of course." The man looked at Carys again with wide eyes, then turned and opened the door. "You know the way, Laird Duncan. If you could…" He trailed off, looking at Carys again, then back to Duncan. "They're in the North Hall."

"We'll find him." Duncan put his hand on the man's shoulder. "I appreciate it, and please be discreet."

The guard nodded. "Of course." With one last look at Carys, the man closed the door, leaving Carys and Duncan in a round stone chamber that branched into two corridors lit by glowing blue lamps.

"What is going on?"

Duncan took Carys by the hand and turned left. "We're going to find Lachlan, that's what's going on."

Her heart was racing, and despite the strangeness of the journey to get there, despite the unearthly world they were in, the castle, the guards who looked like they were a historic reenactment, all she could think about was seeing Lachlan again.

She looked at Duncan and felt grateful. Despite everything, she was grateful. "Listen, Duncan?—"

"This is the part where you start to hate me." His voice was brusque. "Just so you know."

A twisting knot of dread landed in her belly and quelled her excitement. Hate? Why would she hate him?

They walked swiftly down the corridor, Duncan dragging Carys behind him. As they walked, voices speaking in English grew louder, the sound echoing from various directions. Carys was completely turned around until Duncan abruptly turned right, walking straight through an archway guarded by four more guards who shouted at them.

"Lord Duncan?—"

"Not a fucking lord here or anywhere," Duncan growled. "I'm here to see my brother."

"Lord Robb is entertaining emissaries from the Northern Islands today and?—"

"Don't care."

The crest at the end of the hall was a giant gold shield with two brilliant unicorns rearing, their horns touching as a purple thistle grew between them.

A throne sat under the shield where a dour man sat with a simple gold circlet banded around his forehead, and to his right…

Carys couldn't stop her smile. "Lachlan."

She felt her heart leap in her chest .

He was wearing a gold circlet the same as his father's, his long hair flowing over his shoulders, longer than it had been when he left her. Their eyes met and he stood, his jaw falling open though no words came from his mouth.

Carys's heart raced, and she let out something between a laugh and a cry.

He was alive.

She blinked back tears. Carys had almost been afraid she'd imagined him, that he'd been a dream she had conjured from loneliness and grief. But he was there, the same beautiful green eyes. The same soft smile. He was staring at her, and his eyes were full of love.

Whispered voices grew in the hall, dozens of voices whispering in Gaelic as more and more people turned to her and Duncan.

A young woman with long braided hair sitting beside Lachlan turned, looked at Carys, and cried out, a hand going to her mouth to cover the sound. Her dark eyes went wide, and she shook her head back and forth.

An older woman with silver-blond braids sat on the king's left side, wearing a crown set with purple and green stones. She rose to her feet, and her head cocked to the side as she stared at Carys. She was the first person who spoke, and it was in a gentle English accent.

"Seren? Gods alive, is it really you?"