Rogue Angel 50: Celtic Fire (24 page)

Chapter 49

“You did this?” Geraint demanded.

He grabbed the sword from Awena’s hands. There was no flame when he held it.

“No, she didn’t,” Roux said. “I did. But in my place you would have done the same.”

“The hell I would.”

“I couldn’t let her do it.”

“Do what? What was she going to do that was so bad you had to just about kill her?”

“She was going to kill the Prince of Wales,” Roux told him flatly. His voice betrayed no emotion, no judgment.

“I don’t believe you. She wouldn’t do something that stupid...I mean...why? Why would she?”

“Because of what they did to our family,” Awena whispered. She sounded weak. She needed help and she needed it quickly.

“What are you talking about, Awena?” Geraint said.

“We are the last Llewellyns,” she said. “The heirs of the Last...we are the children of kings. You’re the true prince, Geraint, not him...I was doing it for you...for all of us. For every Llewellyn who lived without what was theirs. Rightfully. For every one of them who lived in the shadow of England.”

“You’re crazy,” he said, shaking his head. “You’ve lost your mind. You sound just like Dad.”

“It’s not her,” Roux said. “It’s the sword. It changes some people. It gets into their heads and makes them do things. Things they wouldn’t usually do.”

“This sword? It’s just a stupid piece of metal. There’s nothing magical about it. Nothing that can screw with someone’s head. It doesn’t make you a princess or me a prince. My father wasted his life looking for it.”

“Let me take it,” Annja said, holding out her hand for the sword. “Let me make it safe.”

“What will you do with it?”

“Put it in a place where no one will ever find it,” she promised.

In the distance the sound of sirens grew louder. Annja had no idea if this was an ambulance, the police or a fire engine on its way. It could well be all three responding to her call.

“Give me the sword. If the police arrive and find it, there will be more questions. A man died in St. Davids. This is the murder weapon. Let me dispose of it and all we have is a car accident.”

Geraint held the sword up and examined it for a moment, but there was no obvious sign that he was being enthralled by its glamour. It was nothing to him and he was nothing to it. He tossed it up into the air.

Annja snatched it.

“No!” screamed Awena as Annja took hold of it. There was no flame this time. She looked at Roux.

“Magnesium in the metal,” Roux said. “It reacted to something in her skin, their DNA,” he said. “It had been buried so long it had become volatile. The flame could never have lasted. It was burning itself out.”

“No,” Awena repeated. She was weeping. “It is mine...it knows me...it burns at my touch. I am worthy of it. It’s my birthright.”

“Awena,” Roux said quietly. His voice was enough to break the sword’s tentative hold on her and she fell to her knees.

It was over.

An ambulance approached. Geraint stood in the middle of the road waving frantically for it to stop. “Please,” he said to Annja. “Take the sword and get out of here. This is my problem. She is my sister. Let me look after her. I won’t let her hurt anyone, I swear.”

Annja believed him. She passed the sword to Roux and hobbled back to the car.

Roux fired up the engine and they pulled away before the police arrived.

Annja took a single glance back in the mirror and saw a brother and sister embracing, backlit by the flames from her burning car.

They looked like they’d been to hell and back.

Back. That was the important part.

Chapter 50

The square was deserted when Annja, Roux and Garin finally sat down outside the coffee shop that evening.

The cobbles were littered with the debris of the day; flags and bunting trodden underfoot looked sad and not a little tragic. The council workers were emerging to clear it all away. The police had long gone and the barriers had been stacked and removed, freeing up the roads.

Garin had arrived about an hour after the fun ended. Just in time to meet the young waitress as she finished work.

“So how did you make sure that the prince didn’t roll up in the middle of it?”

Garin grinned that raffish grin of his. “No prince wants to walk into the middle of a protest by a Welsh Nationalist group. I put an amber alert out. Easy. They simply changed the route for the prince’s car. But there’s bad news, I’m afraid,” he added. “The Porsche needs to be back in Caerleon tonight. Your hire car will be waiting for you good as new.”

“Unlike the Porsche,” Annja said.

“I don’t want to know.”

“You really don’t. But it wasn’t my fault.”

“Right, two cars wrecked in less than a week. One is an accident, two is downright careless. Still, good job you didn’t hang around waiting for the police. You might have had to answer one or two awkward questions.”

“Not much of a vacation,” Roux said.

“Oh, I don’t know—fast cars, sword fights, even a royal prince at the end of it. A girl could do worse.” She smiled.

Once they had finished their coffee she walked back to the hotel with Roux to collect his belongings, leaving Garin to deal with the waitress, who seemed far too eager to serve him.

They said their goodbyes, Roux assuring her that he was going directly home to the château in France.

Home. That sure sounded good to her.

It wasn’t until she was cutting through the gorge this side of Caerleon that Annja remembered the letter lying in the glove compartment. Sure, it would still be there when she reached the hotel, but the hotel was a long way off and with each mile that sped by, the urge to finally read it increased. Roux had been so enigmatic about its contents and wanting her forgiveness and trust. How could she not read it?

She pulled over onto the side of the road.

Annja turned the envelope over in her hands a couple of times, running a thumb over Roux’s name. Whoever had written this had expected him to find it. But had they expected anyone else to read it? She felt strange teasing the single sheet of paper out. Her heart beat a little faster than it should as she opened it and started to read.

My dearest Roux,

Yes, you still are, after all this time, after all these years and all the silences.

If you are reading this it is almost certain that you have returned to remove the treasure you have entrusted to my care, but that you have not come to see me. After so long apart, I suppose that pride has come in the way of you getting in touch, but I hope that once you find this you will come and seek me out.

Over the past few years I have seen a change in you. Every time you have come you have insisted on trying on the cloak and I have watched as you have disappeared before my eyes. Each time you kept it on a little longer, each time you emerged a little different. The mantle was turning you into something different, I am sure of it—someone I was growing to like less even if I never stopped loving you—but when I told you this you would not listen.

To begin with, it was the cloak that brought us together, but eventually it was the cloak that tore us apart.

I am sorry. I am so, so sorry.

After our argument, I knew that you would be unable to resist its call, that you would return to wear it one last time, and then spirit it away. Once that happened I knew there would be no hope of reconciliation. I still think about seeing you again. But not if you claimed the cloak. I couldn’t bear to see what it would finally turn you into, dear Roux.

So in my anger and my sorrow, I turned to my brother and told him about the miraculous treasure and what it had done to us. I do not believe that he will tell anyone about it, but I cannot dismiss the possibility. I am sorry that I have broken your trust. You deserve better than that. But no one shall find it. I know the trouble it can cause in the heart of even the best of men, so I have moved the cloak to a new hiding place where it will be safe from the world and where you will be safe from it. It is better that way.

I will always love you, believe me, always and into death, because you are the owner of my heart.

Anna Llewellyn

There was no date on the letter, no indication of how long ago it had been written, or how many years it had lain waiting to be found. What it did was cast light on a part of Roux’s life she’d never known existed and explained how he was aware that Awena was being influenced by Gerald’s sword and why he was so desperate she shouldn’t be hurt.

Annja read it again.

She didn’t think less of him.

In fact, it made him more human and she loved him for it.

That was the thing about baring your soul; people loved you for your weaknesses, not despite them. She put the letter back in the envelope and the envelope back into the glove box, then fired up the engine.

The road and her old hire car waited for her.

She cranked up the radio as an old Alarm song came on: the lead singer imploring to give him love, hope and strength. It wasn’t a bad message to take into the last few days of her vacation. She’d call Doug Morrell when she reached the hotel, not that he’d believe a word she had to say if she started trying to explain what had happened to her. Scratch that, he’d have her turn around and go looking for the mantle.

After reading Roux’s letter, that was the last thing she wanted to do.

Some secrets were best left hidden, some treasures best left lost.

* * * * *

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ISBN-13: 9781460339008

Celtic Fire

Special thanks and acknowledgment to Steven Savile for his contribution to this work.

Copyright © 2014 by Worldwide Library

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