Выбрать главу

At his words, hope fluttered in Brenna’s chest. “Please,” she begged. “If you bore any love for your brother, let the babe survive.”

Dagda lifted his gaze back to her face and saw Brenna for who she was, who she’d always been. The blond hair, the pale skin, and the rich, brown eyes. She was utterly stunning, an ethereal beauty who had defied all odds by being born into the realms of men. She was a powerful Druid, her will stronger than most, with plenty of courage and a heart of fire. He could have killed her on the spot. But still, she had come, knowing the risk, accepting her fate.

He could understand why Cernunnos had fallen for this mortal Druid. His brother had always had a weakness for women, and he couldn’t deny that this one was special. Special enough that Cernunnos had knowingly risked his place in the realm to spend time with her. And for the eighteen months his brother had walked among these mortals, Dagda knew he’d been blissfully happy—happier than ever before. In all the times Dagda had spied on their time together, never once did he see them waste a moment.

Brenna had loved him with everything she had, and his brother had returned that love, and more.

But now Cernunnos was gone, and this woman was left heartbroken and alone. He’d done nothing to help them when the time was nigh, nor had he sought out Brenna after his brother’s death. But he’d known what happened to her—the unspeakable punishments the other Druids had doled out for the sin she’d perpetrated in lying with a god. Yet, here she was, still standing—an unbreakable spirit, seeking a safe future for her son.

Dagda tasted it then. Regret. Like ashes in his mouth.

It surprised him, this feeling. Emotions were for mortals, not for the gods. It was another indication that he was coming to the end of his age—that his time to cross into the Other was looming. Not only were his followers diminishing, but the powers of the other gods were replacing his seat at the table. He shook his head, acknowledging that he digressed. That was for another time, for there was another issue at hand.

Dagda was well-aware that he was at a crossroads.

The actions of his brother had left a ripple of discord through the realm. Dagda knew that claiming the baby as Cernunnos’s would not be well-received. Nor would it be safe to claim the baby as his own, for his siblings and their families would declare war, and the babe killed on sight.

Dagda considered transferring the babe to the Other, wondering if that was what Brenna desired—that they all be reunited together in the adjoining world. There was never any guarantee that their paths would ever again collide for everyone started anew in the Other, unaware of their past lives. But, he had to admit, it was a chance to start over.

Dagda’s eyes snagged on the babe’s horns, evidence of his brother’s seed. Those horns were an omen of the power to come. When he reached maturity, the boy would grow into something more powerful than a Druid…but not quite a god. Dagda considered his brother’s woman, wondering if she was strong enough to nurture the boy the way he would need to be—disciplined within a hair’s breadth of his control, shaped to counter any attack.

“My lord?” Brenna prompted softly into the silence, and this time, there was no hiding the desperation that trembled in her tone. “What is your decision?”

Dagda looked down at the babe one last time. At that moment, the child opened its eyes, and he looked upon emeralds so bright they would rival a lush forest in spring. They were Cernunnos’s eyes. But it wasn’t just the color that had Dagda arrested. He noted the pure life that swirled within those eyes, saw the promise, the power, the strength, and the hope that lived within—and he could feel the shadow of the man that the boy would one day become.

It wasn’t quite the kind of power that his own sons and daughters held, but very close to it.

Could he comfortably destroy this boy? This last piece of his brother?

As he stared into the babe’s green eyes, an image rose unbidden, so vivid that he could almost see her in front of him, her ash-blond hair and silvery gaze shining brightly in his mind’s eye. Cailleach. His cherished sister, who had borne a crime she didn’t commit. A crime that he owned.

She’d covered for him, denying his wife’s claims that he had lain with Boann. He had no idea what had prompted Cailleach to deny the claims, for there were truth in them—he had laid with Boann and enjoyed every last moment of it. His wife, Morrígan, had full right to punish his misdeeds. What he couldn’t understand was why Cailleach had stepped in and granted him an alibi for that night.

Of all his siblings, Cailleach had been the quiet one, the one who stood on the outside, gentle but aloof. She’d never entangled herself in any of her sibling’s squabbles. But for some reason, she’d interfered in his. He still didn’t know why, but regardless, he owed her a debt because of it.

And because another loyal to her had witnessed his infidelity, his wife had known Cailleach was lying. In her rage, Morrígan had laid his punishment at his sister’s feet, demanding that Cailleach take upon the mantle of winter. A goddess who, though aloof, was kind and quiet of soul. The position had been open for months since Cernunnos had gone, but not one of his siblings had stepped forward to take it. Dagda had tried to talk Morrígan out of the decision, but she wouldn’t be swayed. And so, Cailleach, his poor sister, had been given the role of Goddess of Winter.

Dagda knew she would never know love. Her role as harbinger of winter would turn her into an old crone, ugly beyond measure, reigning over the winter months alone, destroying life, destroying hope. Cailleach’s mantle was heavy, the role one of death and despair, feared by all who looked upon her. It made for a lonely life, a cold life, without hope or warmth.

It was not what he wanted for his sister; she deserved more than the lot she’d been cast. But their creators, the All-Father and the All-Mother, had not stepped in. They’d been absent for eons, and Dagda knew that this event was not such a catastrophe that they would awaken from their contemplation of other worlds and return here to listen. He had thought all avenues of escape were lost, that his sister would have no choice but to live out her sentence. But, as he looked down at the babe, Dagda realized that Cailleach could have a chance at happiness because of this child who was not quite a god but would come close to one.

But would this boy be a match for his sister’s power?

He contemplated the possibilities. Would it work? Would such a union survive? And how would Cailleach accept him? In his mind’s eye, an image of another of his sisters arose. Cerridwen. His lips firmed at the significance. Of course. Cerridwen, the Goddess of Prophecy, would help; after all, she owed him a life debt.

His mind firm, Dagda finally responded to Brenna, “The babe will live.”

A cry erupted from her lips, salvation she hadn’t expected. She opened her mouth to speak, “Thank—”