Earth's Requiem(86)
“We need to talk with Dewi,” Fionn said thoughtfully.
“Aye. If nothing else, mayhap she can tell us why she is still in Taltos and not with us,” Arawn muttered, sounding annoyed by the dragon’s defection.
“Don’t we need more of a plan than that?” Aislinn demanded. The beginnings of a headache pounded behind one eye. She knew she needed sleep.
Gwydion nailed her with his sharp, blue gaze. “Humans are hasty, lass. Better to take the time to make sure of your strategy than to bludgeon your way through something and make a fatal mistake.”
She thought about the crypts and winced. “Touché. Think I’ll catch a couple of hours’ sleep before I fall on my face.”
Fionn got to his feet and placed an arm around her shoulders.
They hadn’t made it five feet down the hallway when Arawn called him back. “We need you here, Fionn, not rutting in yon bed. Bid the lass a good night, then return to us.”
Chapter Twenty
Aislinn didn’t even remember the rest of the walk to her bed. She woke once to find Rune stretched out beside her, snoring softly. Part of her thought she should go look for Fionn, but before she could force her body out of the warm nest she’d made under the covers, she fell back asleep.
Something tugged at her shoulder. She ignored it. She wanted to stay asleep. She’d been dreaming that she was riding Dewi, soaring above a medieval-looking castle while wearing tight-fitting leather breeches, lace-up boots, and a form-fitting leather jacket. The deer hide garments cut the wind so she was toasty atop her mount, gloved hands curved around spines growing out of Dewi’s shoulders. She hadn’t realized it in the dim light of the cavern, but the dragon’s scales were blood red. We make quite the pair, Aislinn laughed to herself. My hair almost matches her coloring.
“Yes, Daughter,” Dewi spoke into her mind. “We were made for one another. Never forget that.”
“Aislinn. Wake up. ’Tis important.” Fionn’s voice was insistent. He tugged harder at her shoulder. Then he bent and kissed her neck, nuzzling it.
“Go away.” She tried to sink back into her dream, but it was impossible. She rolled over and put her arms around Fionn’s neck. “I was having the best dream.” She pulled him toward her. “Lie down as long as you’re here.”
“Nay, lass. There’s not the time for that, though I dearly wish it were otherwise. Ye must be up.” He straightened and gazed fondly down at her. “Ye’ve nearly slept the clock round as ’tis.”
“You sound like my mother—in more ways than one.”
He inhaled audibly and blew out a breath. “Ye must hurry, Aislinn. We have been talking with Dewi. She wants you to come to her. Now.”
“Why didn’t you say so?” Aislinn sprang out of bed, realized she was mostly naked, and shrugged. It wasn’t anything Fionn hadn’t seen before. “I was dreaming about her.”
“Why am I not surprised?” He handed her clothes from off the floor. Warmth spilled from his eyes as he helped her dress.
Aislinn pulled the flannel shirt over her head and slithered into Marta’s pants. She hunted in the semi gloom for her boots and a pair of socks. “What did the dragon have to say?”
Fionn fired his mage light so she could find her other boot. “I think I’ll let her tell you. Ready?”
She followed him down the hallway, took a turn through the kitchen, and they went out through the back door. “Where’s Rune?”
“Right here.” The wolf ran to her. The new day yielded just enough light for her to see his eyes gleaming gold. He looked happy.
“This way.” Fionn led her around to the back of the house. Dewi lay on her belly, but Gwydion, Arawn, and Bran still had to look up to meet her whirling gaze.
“My MacLochlainn,” Dewi purred and stretched out a taloned foreleg. “I have waited long for this.” Her voice was musical and multi-toned. It reminded Aislinn a bit of the Old Ones when they spoke English.
The dragon’s words sank in, and Aislinn stopped in her tracks. “What do you mean?” Even though the men seemed to be looking right into Dewi’s eyes, Aislinn avoided them. What if they sucked her in and she couldn’t get away?
“You are the last of the Cenél nEgoghain, child. Eoghan was son to Niall Niogiallach. I brought him into his own as sacral king of Tara over a thousand years ago. The clan lived in Lochlann, a place of myth and magic far to the north—”
“Stop.” Aislinn shook her head. “Too many names. I’ll never remember, let alone be able to pronounce any of them.” She glanced at Fionn. “There’s that Irish history you wanted to force feed me.”