Chapter Twenty-One: Carys

This was it. She was about to meet her mate, the one she was destined to spend the rest of her life with.

At least according to fate.

She glanced at her aunt, who offered her an encouraging smile as she moved away from the window she had been peering out of. At least it seemed as if Elsbeth approved of Varn, which made her hopeful for the imminent meeting.

"Oh, do I smell coffee?" Wilhelmina's voice carried from the front door into the kitchen.

"Come in, sit down," Elsbeth welcomed her guests as they walked in through the hallway.

"Oh, am I the first?" Wilhelmina asked as she bustled into the kitchen, laden with Tupperware that no doubt contained cake.

No coven gathering was complete without copious amounts of tea and cake.

As Wilhelmina placed her Tupperware down on the counter, a tall man hesitated in the doorway, his eyes fixed on her.

Nerves fluttered in her stomach like a thousand butterflies. This was it, the first look, the first smile, the first touch…

Only it wasn't, she reminded herself.

Truth be told, she had no idea how many times they had met.

Or made love.

Her cheeks flushed pink. She wondered how much of that she couldn't remember.

"Hello." Varn stepped closer, and the room seemed to become charged with an electric energy, the air almost crackling between them. His voice was deep and smooth, like honey poured over gravel. "It's…good to see you…"

"Again…" came a familiar voice from behind Varn. The Regulars. She smiled and the awkwardness of the situation eased a little as everyone shared a quiet chuckle.

"Good to meet you, too, Varn." She stepped forward and held out her hand and immediately winced inwardly. This wasn't some formal diplomatic meeting, this was the meeting of two people who were meant to be together, to share an unbreakable bond.

But Varn seemed relieved as he slipped his hand into hers.

"Carys." His voice was a low murmur, like a soft caress on her bare skin.

She swallowed hard, trying to find her voice as his large, firm hand gently enveloped hers. "H-hello, Varn. I'm sorry, I don't really, well, at all…remember..."

He tightened his grip on her hand and a wave of recognition coursed through her. "I'm sorry, too."

"Oh, the others are here…" Marilla squeezed past the people gathered in the kitchen and headed for the front door, toward the sound of voices on the other side. "Come in. I think we need to go into the living room. It's a bit of a squeeze in the kitchen."

Elsbeth approached, placing a hand on both other arms. "Why don't you two sit in here and get to know each other while we make some tea and have a chat about how best to proceed?" Elsbeth suggested.

"Good idea," Harry said, eyeing the couple as they stood like statues, hands clasped together.

"Can we help you with anything?" Stan offered.

"Cups and saucers," Elsbeth instructed.

"Shall we sit?" Varn asked in his deep baritone and let go of her hand before pulling out a chair, not taking his eyes from her as more witches came into the house, quickly filtering through into the living room, leaving them alone.

"Thank you." Carys sat at the large oak table in Elsbeth's kitchen, the familiar scent of herbs and honey drifting through the air as the kettle whistled on the stove.

It all seemed so normal.

Yet nothing about this situation was normal. Carys felt the weight of Varn's gaze as he took the seat across from her. His eyes seemed to see straight into her soul. She fidgeted with the hem of her sweater, suddenly feeling self-conscious under his intense scrutiny.

The connection between them was palpable, like an invisible thread pulling them together, even though her memories of their time together were frustratingly absent.

"I know this must be strange for you," Varn said, his voice low and gentle. "Believe me, it's not exactly how I imagined meeting my mate, either."

Carys smiled at that. "You've imagined meeting me?"

"For so long…" His voice trailed off as Marilla set a pot of tea down on the table, her eyes darting from Carys's face to Varn's, but she said nothing.

"Thanks, Marilla." Carys poured the tea into two cups. "Milk, sugar?"

"Milk," Varn said without taking his eyes off her.

"I'm not going to disappear," she teased.

"I'm just afraid of forgetting you again," he said, his voice gruff.

"Well, if my aunt's coven has anything to do with it, they will break the spell. And then we can remember all the times we have met before." Heat crept across her skin as she imagined being in this man's bed, of his hands on her naked flesh…

"I hope they can return our memories," Varn said. "But even if all we achieve is being able to make new ones together, I'd be happy."

Carys rattled her cup against the saucer as she set it down, her hands trembling slightly. Varn's words, spoken with such sincere longing, made her heart ache in a way she couldn't quite explain. It was as if some deep, hidden part of her soul recognized him, and yearned for him, even if her mind couldn't recall their shared past.

"I'd like that, too," she said, meeting his gaze. In the warm light of the kitchen, his dark eyes seemed to sparkle with flecks of gold, drawing her in. "Making new memories…"

"We're ready for you now," Elsbeth called, and Carys gave Varn a reassuring smile.

"The Norwood witches are one of the oldest families in Wishing Moon Bay. They were part of the coven who cast the protection spell. If anyone is going to break this curse, it's them." She sounded more confident than she was. The coven was one of the most powerful she had ever met.

But she also knew the curse or spell might originate in older, more powerful magic than the witches had ever encountered. Magic from a far-off land.

However, she could not fathom why anyone would want to use such magic on her and Varn.

"After you." Varn placed his hand on the small of her back and warmth threaded through her veins as she led the way to the living room, where the coven and the Regulars were gathered.

The room was filled with the low hum of magic and the warm glow of candlelight as the witches gathered in small groups, whispering incantations and talking quietly.

"All right, everyone, settle down," Elsbeth said with a clap of her hands. The coven fell silent, each witch turning to their leader. "We have a peculiar spell to unravel, so let's get to it."

A faint smile tugged at Carys's lips as she watched her aunt take charge. Elsbeth had a way of making even the most daunting magical problems feel like a small inconvenience. Like trying to unravel a particularly tangled ball of yarn—one that required a bit of patience, some tea, and a few whispered spells.

"First, more tea," Neave declared, pouring steaming liquid into the delicate porcelain cups arranged on the table. "No witch ever solved a magical conundrum without a good brew."

Marilla went around the room refilling teacups, while Carys and Varn seated themselves on a small sofa, their thighs pressed together in the cramped space.

Carys glanced sideways at Varn. His broad frame looked slightly out of place in the cozy setting amongst the coven of witches, but his expression was open and attentive. There was a faint crease between his brows—worry, maybe, or confusion. Both emotions were understandable given the strange circumstances that had led them here.

"Are you okay?" Carys asked.

He glanced around at the faces of the witches and Regulars gathered. "It just seems surreal somehow."

"How so?" Carys whispered back, leaning closer.

Varn gestured slightly as if to encompass the entire scene. "You know…so calm. And…festive. I mean, they do know what they are doing. Don't they?"

Carys glanced up at the decorations that adorned the room. Holly and ivy woven with twinkling fairy lights framed the windows, and sprigs of mistletoe hung from the ceiling beams. The scent of cinnamon and pine mingled with the aroma of the tea, creating a cheery, festive atmosphere despite the seriousness of the situation.

She placed a measuring hand on Varn's knee, and he tensed under her touch, but she did not draw back from him. "Oh yes, they know what they are doing. Don't be deceived. They are taking this very seriously."

Elsbeth cleared her throat, drawing everyone's attention back to her. "Now that we're all settled," Elsbeth began, "let's discuss how to get our fated mate's memories back, shall we?"

"Do we have any information on the source of the spell?" Neave asked.

"No," Marilla replied.

"Hmm." Neave placed her teacup down on a small side table and stood up. As she approached Carys and Varn, she held out her hands and closed her eyes.

"Right, then," Elsbeth continued. "We know the spell affecting Carys and Varn is deeply rooted. It's old magic, likely cast by someone with considerable power. The question is…why?"

Carys shifted uncomfortably, the weight of her confusion pressing down on her again. "What do you mean?"

One of the witches, a petite woman with silver-streaked hair, leaned forward. "Spells like these usually have a purpose. Memory spells aren't just cast for fun—they're used to hide something, to control someone, or to prevent certain actions."

Varn frowned. "So, you think someone's using this spell to keep us apart?"

"Or to keep you from remembering something important," Elsbeth said thoughtfully, tapping her fingers against her teacup. "Something they don't want either of you to know. "

Carys's heart sank a little. The idea of being manipulated like that—it was infuriating. "So, how do we break it?"

"Simple, dear," Neave replied, though there was nothing simple in the intense look she gave them. "We create a spell that forces the truth to the surface, that breaks through whatever is blocking your memories. If we can just get the first memories you have of each other to come forth, the rest should follow. This is quite a powerful curse, but luckily for you two, the winter solstice fast approaches us, and we shall use that power to make this quick and easy."

"And we'll need to cast it on both of you," Wilhelmina added, pouring more tea into everyone's cups. "Simultaneously. The magic affecting you is woven together, so the unraveling needs to happen together as well."

Carys glanced at Varn, who was listening intently. "Are you ready for that?" she asked softly.

His gaze met hers, unwavering. "I am. No matter what we find out, it has to be better than this."

The conviction in his voice gave her strength. "Agreed," she whispered.

"Excellent!" Elsbeth said, clapping her hands. "But first, cake."

The tension in the room broke as plates were passed around, slices of homemade cake appearing before them, each topped with a dollop of whipped cream and a sprinkling of sugar that sparkled like stardust. Elsbeth must have made these for an upcoming Christmas party but decided that this was an important enough event for them to be eaten.

Varn stared at his slice with an amused expression. "This is the strangest tea party I have ever been to," he murmured.

"And have you been to many?" Carys asked.

"No," he admitted.

"Well, you had better get used to it," Carys teased. "Tea and cake are a long-standing tradition that goes back to the time of the protection spell."

"Are you teasing me?" Varn asked as he picked up a piece of batten burg.

"Maybe a little," Carys replied lightly, as nervous excitement threaded through her veins.

They were so close to the truth. So close to seeing their memories.

They ate in companionable silence, the sweetness of the cake and the warmth of the tea grounding them. The lighthearted atmosphere did wonders to steady Carys's nerves. Even Varn seemed more at ease, his shoulders losing some of their earlier tension.

"All right, everyone," Elsbeth said once the last crumbs were cleared away. "Time to get serious."

She motioned for Carys and Varn to move to the center of the room, where a circle of candles and crystals had been laid out. The witches formed a loose ring around them, murmuring incantations under their breaths.

Carys took a deep breath, reaching out to Varn. He didn't hesitate, his fingers intertwining with hers. The contact was electric, sending a shiver up her arm. She looked up at him, and for a moment, everything else fell away. It was just the two of them, standing on the edge of something vast and unknown.

"Hold tight to each other," Elsbeth instructed, her voice steady. "No matter what you see, no matter what you feel, do not let go. We want the spell to work completely, to not leave anything out."

Carys nodded, tightening her grip on Varn's hand. He squeezed back, his touch solid and reassuring.

Magic flared to life around them, the air shimmering with power as the members of the coven stood up and began chanting. The candles blazed brighter, the tinsel rustled, and the bells on the wreaths jingled. Carys's pulse quickened, her heartbeat echoing in her ears. She felt a pull, a strange sensation as if something deep inside her was being tugged loose.

Then, everything went white.

Memories rushed back in a torrent—snatches of conversations, moments of laughter, brief glimpses of Varn's face, the warmth of his touch…and then—pain. Confusion. Betrayal.

She saw a small, dark room. She saw a man in his twilight years, plenty of strength still in his body and his dark eyes. "Of course, I know who was responsible for that trouble in Mythia." A sly grin appeared on his face. "It was my son, Varn. I was so very proud of the way he handled everything with so much discretion."

Carys shook her head, disdain in her voice. "Well, I'm sure you're very proud of him for tearing down years of work at returning the kingdoms to peace."

"Of course…"

The subsequent memory of being unceremoniously escorted back to her ship and some sort of ‘rite of exile' being performed floated away, merging into a medley of different images and sounds, dancing in Varn's arms, a heated debate, drinking wine on the cliffs of Cairnnor.

Carys gasped, the sensations of the vivid memories hitting her like a physical blow. She staggered, but Varn's grip on her hand kept her upright.

"Carys, I…" Varn's voice was strained, his words trailing off.

Carys shook her head, tears stinging her eyes. Was this why the spell had been cast? So that she would never know the truth about Varn?

How could she trust him? How could she be his mate, when he had been the one responsible for the peace meetings in Mythia to fall through? It had been his actions that had stopped them from preventing the conflict there.

The candles flickered, the air settling. Around them, the witches fell silent, watching with solemn eyes. The spell had done its work. The truth had been revealed.

But the pain of the memories lingered, sharp and jagged between them.