Page 69 of A Kiss of Flame
“Maybe you wouldn’t have been a terrible mate for my daughter after all,” Callum said before turning to his brother andthe queen. “How about we continue this discussion over ale? I need a bloody drink.”
Queen Eithne caught Barith’s eye as the others filed out, her expression severe. Jude and Flòra lingered, but Eithne waved them away. “Leave. Make sure Callum doesnae drink me out of house an’ home.”
Once they were alone, the silence hung heavy between them. Eithne regarded him, her voice even but laced with anger. “I should have ye thrown in the stocks if we still did such a thing,” she growled.
Barith said nothing, his gaze steady. He had expected her anger and braced himself for it. Now that Levian was gone, there was nothing she could say that would hurt him more than he already did.
Eithne grunted. “Ye can hate me, Barith. But you don’t know how much like your da ye are.” She sighed, her gaze softening. “He would’ve been proud of what ye’ve done.”
Barith blinked, her words catching him off guard. The shock must have shown on his face because she gave him a sad smile.
“I loved yer da,” she told him. “We werenae the best match, but he was a good mate. He only ever wanted what was best for you.” She shook her head. “I thought of what ye said about my duty as yer mother…of me driving ye away.” She straightened, her demeanor shifting into that of a queen giving judgment. “When yer da died, I didnae know how to handle my grief. We’d fought an’ were barely speakin’. Every time I saw you, I saw him. I could feel ye wanting to run, like he did. When ye left, I was happy for you to be gone—But I knew ye’d come back.”
Her words struck him like a blow. He hadn’t come back—she’d had to drag him back. “I missed the horde,” he admitted. “But I was happy with my life outside it.”
“Happy with yer half-fae woman,” she clarified sharply.
Barith's expression darkened at the mention of Levian. “Aye,” he said, unwilling to deny it.
Eithne studied him for a long moment before she spoke. “You’ll be needed here if we’re to build this new tribe,” she told him. “If we’re to make this work.”
He nodded. “I know. I’m no’ leavin’.”
“And what of her, then?” Eithne asked.
Barith felt his heart twist painfully. “She’s gone,” he said, unable to keep the sorrow from his voice.
“Do ye want her?” his mother asked plainly.
His shoulders slumped, the overwhelming grief rising inside him again. He shook his head. “It doesnae matter,” he mumbled. “She’s gone.”
The queen moved to his side, her hand resting gently on his shoulder. He looked over at her, surprised by the empathy in her gaze. “Come, son,” she said, her voice touched with a hint of warmth—a tone he hadn’t heard in centuries. “The Ceanadach horde may drink all my ale, but they’ll never get my good scotch, and I think we both need it.”
Barith stood in the doorway of his cottage, his vision blurred by hours of drinking his mother’s best scotch and participating in the revelry of the party. He should have felt proud and relieved by all he’d accomplished that day. It wouldn’t be easy to get all the dragon hordes to cast their banners under a new tribe, but today had been a significant first step.
His gaze fell to the tartan shawl Levian had left on his kitchen table, and a deep grief consumed him. His heart should’ve been light and filled with hope for the future of the horde, but therewas no joy to be found in the success of the day or in the tentative peace he’d made with his mother.
Half of his heart was gone, and no victory could change that.
Barith picked up the shawl, breathing in the lingering faint scent of Levian’s night jasmine perfume. His mother had tried to comfort him and told him there were other mates. He wanted Levian.
He’d done the right thing. He couldn’t fight for their love alone—but it didn’t make the hurt any less. It didn’t lessen the desire to hunt the mage down and beg her to give him a chance. What did it matter if he was right if it meant being miserable for the rest of his bloody life?
A shadow shifted in the corner of the room, and for a moment, his heart leaped, thinking it might be Levian. But as he turned, a blurred figure in a black mask emerged from the shadows. Barith growled, pressing his hand to his chest to draw his sword right as he was smashed in the back of the head. He roared in pain, stumbling forward. A puff of silvery powder hit his face, and he recognized it too late to hold his breath. His heart pounded, limbs growing heavy as the sleeping powder took effect. Barith glared at the masked figure, the fire inside him pulsing and waning as he tried to fight the magick powder. The figure raised her hand, lifting the black mask to reveal her face.
“I told you, you ‘d pay,” Tsuki seethed.
Barith growled, collapsing to the floor, his vision darkening. His last thought before he succumbed to unconsciousness was of Levian. If they’d found him, they could find her. His broken heart lurched with terror before the darkness claimed him, his face pressed against the tartan shawl.
Chapter Twenty-Two
When Levian arrived at her mother’s cottage in the Veil of the White Wood, she paused at the door, swallowing the lump of emotions threatening to surface. She hadn’t seen her mother in nearly three years, which was only a drop of time for immortals, but it still felt like ages to Levian. She only wished she’d come on more pleasant business.
Despite initially condemning Levian for her lack of evidence against Vane, Mage Tatiana and Fujioka had taken her findings to the Fifth House of Witches. Apparently, the witches had also been monitoring Vane, suspecting him in the suspicious death of a witch informant involved with an underground network of Dökk dealers. They’d attempted to detain him, but Vane and Tsuki had escaped and vanished without a trace.
When she entered, Levian found her mother sitting at her small kitchen table, slicing fresh carrots. The bounty of the late-winter garden lay around her, ready to be prepared. A small fire crackled in the hearth, and her mother hummed a tune as she often did when her hands were busy.
Levian’s heart squeezed when her mother’s golden eyes rose to meet hers, a smile warming her face. “My darling,” Trislana greeted her, looking Levian over, her eyes full of love beforebeing touched with worry. Despite her best efforts, Levian knew there was no hiding her despair from her mother. She could, and always would, be able to see right through her. Trislana rose from her spot at the table and glided over to her daughter.