Page 271 of Kingdoms of Night

“Isn’t that carnivorous?” asked Morgan, pointing at the dish.

Gwin gave her sister a shove out the door. “Enid, if you need anything, please do not hesitate to ask. I look forward to making your acquaintance better. The whole town is happy you’re here with us.”

There was something earnest in Gwin’s eyes. Something Enid wanted to trust. She’d never had a friend before in her life. She hadn’t dared.

This wasn’t her world. It was a whole new one. Perhaps Gwin meant it.

Enid gave her petals a shake. It was too much to determine right now. What she did know, what she did trust, was that none of these people would sheer her stem while she walked down the street.

They’d thought her a danger to Geraint and Gawain. The moment Geraint claimed her as his, they all dropped their defenses without question. Willingly.

Enid had never seen such a display. It was far more powerful than the allegiance her father commanded through fear. Because none of these people smelled like the foul brine of fear. The air permeating this town was a sugary cloud of faith.

And nitrogen and phosphorous and potassium. The plate before her was a brew of lentils, mushrooms, oysters, and leafy greens.

“How did you know what to make?” Enid asked.

“You’re not the first fae I’ve met, my dear,” Igraine said with a pat on her hand.

The thorns which hadn’t completely gone away from Enid’s arms flattened under Igraine’s touch. At first, Enid thought it was the witch’s magic. She didn’t feel a surge of energy coming off the elderly woman. Something inside Enid, the twine that had been pulled so tight her whole life, simply relaxed.

“I want you to know that it’s safe here. Geraint is a good man.”

Enid opened her mouth to respond, but something about that last sentence gave her pause. She couldn’t determine if people were stating that bit about her husband’s characters as a flaw about him, or a threat aimed at her to do right by him.

“You can put down roots and bloom here.” Igraine smoothed a hand down Enid’s back. The move should’ve had thorns shooting out of her, but instead, that tight feeling inside slackened under Igraine’s touch. “Why don’t you go out and stretch your legs? The garden soil would make a nice, rich dessert for you.”

Enid didn’t bother asking how the woman knew that she needed sustenance both from consumed foods as well as the ground. Enid rose from the table and headed out the back door.

The air smelled nice here. She shoveled the last bites of the stew into her mouth as she stepped out of her shoes. She tested a toe in the ground. The soil was indeed rich, almost as rich as her homeland.

She borrowed her feet in up to the ankle. Igraine was right. She could put down roots here. She did feel safe enough to bloom. In time, she might even let her guard down enough to make a friend or two.

CHAPTERSIXTEEN

“You went beyond the Veil even though you know it is expressly forbidden.”

It was a statement The Arthur made, not a question. So Geraint said nothing as his commander dressed him down.

Lord Arthur was the third knight of Camelot to bear that name, making it both his title as well as his moniker. The imposing male sat back in his chair at the far side of the fabled, rounded table. Though there was no head of the table, and each chair was evenly spaced, the place where Arthur sat commanded all deference.

His gray eyes were sharp as granite as they regarded Geraint. His massive shoulders bunched up to his ears as he steepled his fingers and rested one index finger against his lips. With his other index finger, he swiped at a dirty-blond lock that dared to fall into his eyes.

That lock of hair gave Geraint pause. Arthur usually kept his hair cut short, much like an American soldier, and not long and wild like his Celtic ancestors. In fact, the last time Geraint had seen his fearless leader, Arthur’s hair had been at least an inch shorter. Hadn’t it?

Geraint stood at attention, his head high. His hands behind his back as he took the verbal dressing down. He stood next to Gawain, who mimicked the rigid stance. The culprit who instigated the whole affair, the one who was truly to blame, was sorely missing—as per her usual.

“It’s a good thing Loren smoothed it all over,” said Percy.

Percy did look like a wild thing. His hair hung over his eyes, making him look like the wild wolves he was rumored to have been raised by. His grin was all teeth, but it was his words that cut Geraint to the quick.

“She what?” said Geraint.

“Oh, right,” said Lance from his seat to the right of Arthur. Lance’s ginger hair, usually as uniformly cut as Arthur’s, also looked as though he’d let it grow a couple of inches too long. “You two missed the apocalypse while you were away.”

Geraint, Wain, and Loren had left what seemed like a week ago. Apparently time moved differently on the other side of the Veil. What they thought were mere days had turned out to be almost two months of time away.

In that time, the Goddess of creation had returned to the surface from her place of Heaven at the core of the earth. Her angels, or Eloheem as they were called, had revolted. The original life forms were tired of the destruction humanity was reining over the surface and thought it high time a stop was put to it. That stoppage would be in the form of Armageddon.

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