He reached over to cover her hand with his. "I couldn't get to you. I didn't know what fear was until then, when I couldn't get to you."
"I was afraid at first that it was just another of his tricks. I was afraid that if I turned around and saw you, I'd break. Your poor hands." She lifted his hand, pressed her lips gently to the torn knuckles. "My hero. Heroes," she corrected, looking back at Moe.
She kept her hand in his as they drove through the gates at Warrior's Peak.
Rowena stepped out, her hands folded at the waist of a flame-red sweater. Malory could see the gleam of tears in her eyes as she walked across the portico to meet them.
"You're safe, and well?" She touched Malory's cheek, and the chill Malory had been unable to shake slid into blessed warmth.
"Yes, I'm fine. I have—"
"Not yet. Your hands." She laid her palms under Flynn's, lifted them. "This will scar," she said. "There, beneath the third knuckle of your left hand. A symbol, Flynn. Herald and warrior."
She opened the back door of the car herself so Moe could leap out and greet her with wags and licks. "Ah, there, the fierce and brave one." She hugged him, then leaned back on her heels, listening attentively as he barked and grumbled. "Yes, you had quite the adventure." She rose, resting a hand on Moe's head as she smiled at Dana and Zoe. "All of you did. Please come in."
Moe didn't need to be asked twice. He bounded across the stones and straight through the doorway where Pitte stood. Pitte raised an elegant eyebrow as the dog skidded over the foyer floor, then turned the look onto Rowena.
She only laughed and hooked an arm through Flynn's. "I have a gift for the loyal and courageous Moe, if you'll allow it."
"Sure. Look, we appreciate the hospitality, but Malory's pretty worn out, so—"
"I'm fine. Really."
"We won't keep you long." Pitte gestured them into what Malory thought of as the portrait room. "We're in your debt, more than can be paid. What you've done, whatever tomorrow brings, will never be forgotten." He tipped Malory's face up with one long finger and laid his lips on hers.
Zoe nudged Dana. "I think we're getting gypped in this one-for-all deal."
Pitte glanced over, and his sudden grin was alive with charm. "My woman is a jealous creature."
"No such thing," Rowena objected, then lifted a brightly woven collar from a table. "These symbols speak of valor, and a true heart. The colors are also symbolic. Red for courage, blue for friendship, black for protection."
She crouched to remove Moe's frayed and faded collar and replace it.
He sat through the business of it, Flynn thought, with the stalwart dignity of a soldier being awarded a medal.
"There. How handsome you are." Rowena kissed Moe's nose, then got to her feet. "Will you still bring him to see me, now and then?" she asked Flynn.
"Sure."
"Kane underestimated you. All of you—heart and spirit and spine."
"He's unlikely to do so again," Pitte pointed out, but Rowena shook her head.
"This is a time for joy. You are the first," she told Malory.
"I know. I wanted to get this to you right away." She started to hold out the key, then stopped. "Wait. Do you mean I'm the first? The first to ever find a key?"
Saying nothing, Rowena turned to Pitte. He walked to a carved chest beneath the window, lifted the lid. The blue light that spilled out made Malory's stomach clutch. But this was different from the mist, she realized. This was deeper, brighter.
Then he lifted from the chest a glass box alive with that light, and her throat filled with tears. "The Box of Souls."
"You are the first," Pitte repeated as he set the box on a marble pedestal. "The first mortal to turn the first key."
He turned, stood beside the box. He was the soldier now, Malory thought, the warrior at guard. Rowena stepped to the other side so they flanked the glass and the swirling blue lights inside it.
"It's for you to do," Rowena said quietly. "It was always for you to do."
Malory clutched the key tighter in her fist. Her chest was so full it hurt and still seemed incapable of containing the galloping racing of her heart. She tried to draw a calming breath, but it came out short and sharp. As she stepped closer, those lights seemed to fill her vision, then the room. Then the world.
Her fingers wanted to tremble, but she bore down. She would not do this thing with a shaking hand.
She slid the key into the first of the three locks worked into the glass. She saw the light spread up the metal and onto her fingers, bright as hope. And she turned the key in the lock.
There was a sound—she thought there was a sound. But it was no more than a quiet sigh. Even as it faded, the key dissolved in her fingers.
The first lock vanished, and there were two.
"It's gone. Just gone."
"A symbol again, for us," Rowena said and laid a hand gently on the box. "For them. Two are left."
"Do we…" They were weeping inside that glass, Dana thought. She could almost hear them, and it ripped at her heart. "Do we pick now, which one of us goes next?"
"Not today. You should rest your minds and hearts." Rowena turned to Pitte. "There should be champagne in the parlor. Would you see to our guests? I'd like a private word with Malory before we join you."
She lifted the glass box herself, carefully placed it back in the chest. When she was alone with Malory she turned. "Pitte said we owe you a debt we can never pay. That's true."
"I agreed to look for the key, and I was paid," Malory corrected. She looked at the chest, imagined the box within. "It seems wrong now to have taken the money."
"The money is nothing to us, I promise you. Others have taken it and done nothing. Others have tried and failed. And you've done something brave and interesting with the money."
She crossed over, took Malory's hands in hers. "That pleases me. But it isn't dollars and cents I speak of when I speak of debt. If not for me, there would be no Box of
Souls, no keys, no locks. You wouldn't have had to face what you faced today."
"You love them." Malory gestured toward the chest.
"As sisters. Young, sweet sisters. Well…" She walked over to look at the portrait. "I have hope to see them like this again. I can give you a gift, Malory. It's my right to do so. You refused what Kane offered you."
"It wasn't real."
"It can be." She turned back. "I can make it real. What you felt, what you knew, what you had inside you. I can give you the power you had in his illusion."
Dizzy, Malory groped for the arm of a chair, then slowly lowered herself into it. "You can give me painting."
"I understand the need—and the joys and pain of having that beauty inside you, feeling it leap out." She laughed. "Or fighting to get it out, which is every bit as brilliant. You can have it. My gift to you."
For a moment, the idea of it swarmed through Malory, intoxicating as wine, seductive as love. And she saw Rowena watching her, so calm, so steady, with a soft smile on her lips.
"You'd give me yours," Malory realized. "That's what you mean. You would give me your talent, your skill, your vision."
"It would be yours."
"No, it would never be mine. And I would always know it. I… painted them because I could see them. Just as I could see them in that first dream. As if I were there, in the painting. And I painted the key. I forged the key, was able to because I loved enough to give it up. I chose the light instead of the shadow. Isn't that right?"
"Yes."
"Having made that choice, knowing it was the right one, I can't take what's yours. But thank you," she said as she rose. "It's nice to know I can be happy doing what I do. I'm going to make a beautiful shop, and a successful business. And a damn good life," she added.
"I have no doubt. Will you take this, then?" Rowena gestured, smiling when Malory let out a shocked gasp.