Just a little scene I was playing around with tonight. Books 3-6 need major rewrites after all, as do elements of the yet-to-be-written prequel, among other things.
——
Nestled in his bed, tucked under a mountain of furs, she held his arms a little tighter around her. This was a dream. She knew it was a dream, but the scent of him was so strong, his touch so real, the warmth of his breath against the back of her neck and the solid thumb of his heart—
But it’s all a dream.
The man who held her in his arms, the man whose bed they shared had been dead for more years than she could remember or dared to count. Her heart ached for him still, her soul sundered, bleeding from a wound that would not heal.
A hundred years. A thousand. How many centuries, how many generations since his soul had been spun out into the world? Did it even matter anymore?
The princes would know—the Taliesin would know.
He was kin to them, and even in another life, even as his soul was spun out into another, they would know. They would be able to find him.
It had been so long. So, so long.
She squeezed her eyes shut against the tears that came as he pressed a kiss to the back of her neck, drew her tighter against his chest. Even if these moments had been stolen all those centuries ago, even if her being there had been dangerous, there was nowhere she’d ever felt safer than in his arms. His love—their love—had healed the hole in her soul, at least for a time.
Her hope had all but died with him.
He had been of their blood then. He would be of their blood now—of that, she had no doubt.
They would know.
Something was stirring out in the world. She could feel it, scraping at her mind like a harpy’s claws. Something was coming. The boundaries were starting to thin already, had been for at least a decade or more, but she’d tried to ignore it. Tried to pretend that it wasn’t there, that it didn’t bother her.
Tried not to think about what it might mean.
An end. A beginning. Did it matter?
Maybe. Maybe not.
They would know. The Taliesin would know.
It had been so long since a dream of him had felt so real. It had to mean something.
But what?
Somewhere in the distance she could hear a sound from the modern world—an alert on her phone, she thought, maybe. She choked on a sob.
I don’t want to wake up.
Behind her, he made a quiet sound. “Grá mo chroí?”
“I’m fine,” she whispered. “Everything’s fine.”
She twisted in his arms, burying her face against his shoulder until the waking world claimed her for another day.
