36. Conor

36

CONOR

Six Months Later

C onor's boot slid in a mud puddle while his wife was greeted with a path of ferns to cushion her bare feet. The forest sprouted flowers around her path, pressing them to caress her arms, branches bending low to comb her hair. The affectionate way the Dark Wood responded to her still shocked Conor.

A bush of wild roses shot up from the side of the trail. They bloomed rapidly and sent a rush of sweetness into the air.

"Thank you. They're beautiful," Rowan murmured, bending to breathe them in, her unbound hair falling in front of her shoulders.

"Sure, give her roses while you give me mud," Conor grumbled.

Rowan giggled. "Is it roses you want, my love? I'm sure the forest will accommodate."

The branches and bushes around them shuddered before climbing vines of bloodred roses shot up the tree trunk beside Conor.

The Dark Wood might have been an extension of his magic, but it was Rowan's care that brought it to life. It was the way she'd secretly poured all of her love and hurt and hope into it. It was the magic in her heart. Of course it liked her better.

She continued walking, passing through the gates of Wolf's Keep, which were now girdled in vines of climbing florals. She walked into the Dark Garden, singing a soft lullaby, her voice floating through the flowers and shrubs, carried on a spring breeze that ruffled her hair and the hem of her pale green dress.

Conor wrapped his arms around her from behind and kissed the top of her head, and she sighed into the end of the song. Never could he have predicted being so undone by a woman.

"Don't stop on my account," he said.

Rowan sighed in satisfaction and leaned against him. She'd already lost focus as his fingers slid down her bare arms.

"You just like to distract me," she murmured as Conor's lips brushed her neck.

"It's only because you smell like dessert," he teased. "It makes me want to check if you taste as sweet as your scent suggests."

Rowan shivered, pressing her back against him harder as his hand ran down the front of her body.

"Conor! Behave yourself," she said, craning her neck to look at him. Her tone was scolding, but her eyes were bright with delight.

"Impossible when you're so tempting, lass," he said. Her hand cupped his face as he lifted her into a kiss, and she wrapped her legs around his waist.

Conor was happily lost in her, but Rowan pulled away before things became too intense.

"You have to stop seducing me in the garden. If Charlie or Cade catch us out here again, they are going to move out of the keep," she murmured.

Her resolve crumbled as Conor went on kissing her. He loved having that power over her but loved it more that she had the same power over him. His wife was a goddess, both in his mind and in the minds of the people of Ballybrine, though they argued over her true title.

Was she the goddess of death? Goddess of balance? Goddess of the woods? Goddess of rebirth?

Perhaps she was all of those things, but to Conor, she would always be the only goddess he ever wanted to worship, and her power grew as tales of her courage spread.

After Rowan and Conor fought for Ballybrine and the ships full of refugees poured in, faith was at an all-time high. The people had borne witness to a new deal between the Crone Mother and the Wolf. There would be no more spirit singers sacrificed to the god of death. It was too late for Orla and Aeoife, but they would be the last to pay too high a price for Conor's youthful foolishness. But as long as the people believed, the Wolf and his red-cloaked wife would carry the souls of their loved ones from the realm of the living to the realm of the dead.

He wasn't sure what they'd done would be enough. His dreams had not stopped, but they also hadn't become worse, so perhaps it was enough for now.

Rowan pulled away and met Conor's gaze, her verdant eyes shining. "Say it."

"I love you, Rowan Cleary," he whispered against her lips.

She loved to hear him say the name she'd feared would be forgotten long ago. Now it would be remembered forever, both by him and by all of Ballybrine.

"I recall a day when you told me quite gruffly that you were not somebody who could love me—that there was nothing but darkness where your heart should be," she said.

Conor grinned at her. "It seems I was mistaken."

"I thought you were the all-knowing god of death," she taunted, running her fingers through his hair.

"I think, at that moment, I was simply a common liar," he sighed.

"And what are you now?" Rowan asked.

"Just another poor sap helpless to a beautiful woman," Conor said.

Rowan laughed. "Perfect! I finally have you right where I want you." She kissed him again, and he lowered to his knees, laying her gently down into the soft grass.

He lay beside her, looking up at the large, fluffy clouds in the bright blue sky.

"It's a beautiful day to live in a Red Maiden-less world," Rowan sighed dreamily. She slid her hand into his.

Conor's powers were restored, and the monsters of the Dark Wood were once again banished to the Underlands and the nightmare was secure. Together, Conor and Rowan saw to the dead and spent their days playing music, walking the woods, and gardening. Conor had never imagined such a simple life could feel so full, but he was happy to have been proven wrong.