Page 106 of First Light
“Interesting, but what does that have to do with Epona? Who are Epona’s daughters? I don’t remember reading about Epona having any daughters within the Celtic pantheon.”
“Not daughters of her blood, but there is a cult of Epona that exists among the humans of Cymru,” Cadell said. “There are women who devote themselves to her worship, but they don’t have daughters. The fae never give them children. Epona’s daughters take vows of celibacy and live in isolation.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“Maybe your mother’s Shadowkin is part of this group.” Duncan stayed hunched over, stirring their dinner. “Seren was delivered to Dafydd and not your mother’s Shadowkin. Maybe that’s why.”
“Ironic that servants of the fertility goddess aren’t given children,” Carys said.
“The fae hate Epona’s cult,” Cadell said. “They don’t revere fae power or pay tribute, but Epona’s magic protects her daughters so the fae are forced to leave them alone.”
Carys nodded. “That’s probably it then. My mother’s Shadowkin is one of Epona’s cult.” She winced. “Such a negative connotation to that word even though I know?—”
“Why is a cult bad?” Cadell frowned. “What do you call devotees to gods and goddesses in the Brightlands?”
“Religions?” Carys shrugged. “Worshippers? Faithful?”
“Then call them Epona’s faithful if it makes you more comfortable.”Cadell reached for Seren’s journal. “The important thing is Angus translated the journals for you. Now you can read about the grain harvest and Seren’s archery lessons.” He set the journal down. “Fascinating.”
“It might be.” Carys scooted closer to the table. “I won’t know until I read them.”
Duncan stared at the fire, stirring away at the stew. “Why did Angus say you don’t love Lachlan?”
Carys’s breath caught. She cleared her throat. “I don’t know. He’s an old úruisg. What does he know about my relationship with your brother?”
The cross human is jealous.
Carys looked at Cadell, but the dragon had his eyes closed, so he missed Carys’s mind-your-dragon-business look.
Duncan took a hook and pulled the stew off the fire, taking the steaming pot to the stove where three bowls were waiting. “Dinner is ready. Eat; then we should go back to the castle.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
They’d agreed to leave the journals at Duncan’s house. It was only a thirty-minute walk from the castle, and now that Carys knew the route, she felt comfortable taking it on her own even when Cadell was sleeping in dragon form like he was that morning.
The day was as bright as the Shadowlands ever were, and the sky was a pale blue washed with drifting white clouds. Overhead, birds warbled in a riot of song.
It was one of the first things she’d noticed about this alternate realm. Birds were everywhere, filling the trees and swooping across the sky in massive flocks of starlings and songbirds. Raptors perched at the edge of meadows, watching for field prey to hunt.
Had the birds in her world once been like this? How many birds was she supposed to see in the forest?
She’d been reading that morning about Seren’s training in Caernarfon, when she’d started keeping her journal in earnest.
Cadell and I flew through a flock of geese this morning, and one nearly bit my leg she was so angry. They were flying south to the warmer lands.Father says next year he and Mared will take me there. Anything to escape Eamer’s nitpicking and angry glares. I hate her. I don’t understand why Father ever married her. She’s not even pretty.
Eleven-year-old Seren was full of bravado and excitement, the complete opposite of the shy bookworm that Carys had been at that age. She relished her training with Cadell and took quickly to the martial drills that all the young dragon lords had to participate in.
There had been only two other nêr ddraig born the same year as Seren, so there were three children her age training in Caernarfon. Their days consisted of schooling, drills, and flights with their dragons.
Seren swooned over Cadell, marveling at his wisdom and his strength. The way she spoke about him made Cadell seem like a cross between a big brother, a superhero, and a best friend. She reveled in flying, her small coracle clutched in his claw, or even sitting in the safety of his claws as he swooped over the mountains of Cymru.
She wrote about smearing lanolin over her cheeks to keep them from burning in the wind and tying her hair under a heavy wool cap. She wrote about the mundane and the thrilling with equal fervor, her childish delight in the world pricking Carys’s heart.
She should have had a life.
A life with Lachlan.
She needed to talk with him. She needed to explain how confused she felt. If none of this had ever happened—if Lachlan had remained in the Brightlands—Carys would have happily grown old with him, sharing a life and building memories in Baywood, oblivious to the life he’d had here.