Page 105 of First Light
“So her sister did too.” Angus’s eyes gleamed. “I knew she was an impressive human.”
“I need to read her journals.” Carys wasn’t interested in waiting anymore. “I need to find out who killed her and why.”
Angus angled his head again, examining Carys like a bug under a microscope. “You came here to find your lover.”
“And I found a sister instead. One who was murdered, and I want to know why.”
Angus shook his head. “That’s not all you want to know. And you don’t love that one. Not really.”
“What are you talking about?” She walked over to the crate of Seren’s journals. “Do you know why Seren was killed? Can you translate these or not?”
“You have three questions, Brightkin.” Angus crossed his arms. “You getone. Can I translate the journals? Do you love the king’s son? Why did someone kill your sister? Pick the one you want me to answer, and I will answer it.”
Carys felt the taste of a bargain ringing in the air. “You’ll answer truthfully?”
Angus nodded. “I will.”
“Do you know the answers to all those questions?”
“Perhaps yes. Perhaps no.”
Carys didn’t care what Angus thought about her love life, so she ignored the question about Lachlan. That left translating the journals or why Seren was killed.
Angus knew his own abilities, but she had no confidence he knew why her sister was murdered. He seemed like a hermit, and she doubted he was Seren’s confidant.
“Can you translate the journals?”
The corner of his craggy mouth turned up, and he snapped his fingers over the crate of books. “Done, Nêrys Ddraig. I’ll accept your dragon’s blood in payment.” Angus angled his body toward the forge and the massive barrel full of dragon blood. “I have work to do.”
Duncan walked over to the crate of books and lifted one. He opened it and blinked. “They’re still in Welsh.”
“Give it to me.” Would Angus lie? She didn’t think so. When she opened the journal, the words swam in front of her for a moment before they settled into familiar shapes and sorted into words she recognized.
“I can read them.” She closed one journal and took out another. The same thing happened. The handwriting was a little different, but she could read the heading at the top of the page.
Season of harvest, my fourteenth year.
Carys clasped the journals to her chest. “I can read them.”
Cadell staredinto the fire at Duncan’s cottage. “In a few moments, I will regain my strength and I can fly you back to the castle.”
“Or we could walk.” Carys hadn’t experienced the thrill of flying in the claws of a dragon, and she didn’t want the first time to be when she was cold, tired, and hungry and Cadell was recovering from blood loss. “I promise I’ll walk fast.”
Cadell didn’t roll his eyes, but his expression said he wanted to. “Fine.”
Duncan was stirring a pot that hung over the fire. “Angus said you smelled like Epona’s daughters. Do you know what that means?”
Carys racked her brain to dig out her memories of Epona. “She’s a Gallo-Roman deity. She was a fertility goddess associated with horses. A psychopomp as well.”
“Psychopomp?” Duncan asked.
“A spirit or deity associated with escorting souls after death,” Carys said. “Think Anubis, the grim reaper, the angel of death. Pan, in some of his forms. Valkyries. That type of spirit.”
“Valkyries are…” Cadell blew out a breath. “Don’t get me started.”
Carys blinked. “Okay, there’s a story there.”
“TheyrevereEpona in Kernow.” Cadell ignored Carys’s implied question. “You call it Cornwall in the Brightlands. That region is part of Cymru under Dafydd’s rule, though the lords there are given much independence. They occasionally produce nêr ddraig, so politically they’re considered the same people.”