hurt that Deirdre caused her father stabbed at her heart. This was not his doing. It didn’t matter though. She saw no way out of the situation that did not involve ruining either her life or those living in Mochdrev Reach.
“Regardless, Lord Hugo may not be seeking what rumors have brought here,” Lord Gerallt continued. “Out of respect for you, he asked to see you where you wish. I understand why you chose the Rosemere. This place…it has power for you. You came here as a little girl; you seek guidance here still. If there is a place in Mochdrev Reach that may protect you, this is it. Hopefully the respect he has shown bodes well. Or…”
“Or what, Father?”
“I would rather not think on it.”
Deirdre nodded, sadly understanding. So much depended on her. She knew it. She was Lord Gerallt’s oldest child. At twenty-three years old and unwilling to embrace the duties other women of the Reach preferred, she was unmarried—not because she wanted to be alone but because she had not met the right man. She preferred to spend her time in study, on the practice field with men twice her age, or tracking in the south plains.
It was a good life, one of her devising. Now that life was being drastically altered without her leave.
Just like when her mother died.
At that moment, a man dressed in black robes bearing the silver lion crest of Caer Llion strode into Merthyr Garden, two Templar Knights in white trailing him. Deirdre had not yet met John Lewis Hugo, but she knew him instantly. First advisor to Philip Plantagenet, the outworlder walked with a commanding arrogance that set Deirdre’s teeth on edge. The right side of his face was a ruined black mask, burned traumatically, melted like wax. People said it had happened while fighting one of the most powerful fey lords, when he and his High King had first entered Annwn centuries earlier.
Deirdre knew she hated him immediately.
With a word to his Red Crosses to remain behind, John Lewis Hugo approached like he had already won a great prize.
“Lord Gerallt, your garden is beautiful,” John Lewis Hugo greeted, smiling as best he could, the charred right side of his face making it difficult. “I trust you have had sufficient time to speak to your daughter?”
“I have, your lordship.”
“Thank you for the welcome. Your household is not lacking when it comes to pleasantries.” John Lewis Hugo bowed but he did so shallowly. He then turned his eye on Deirdre. “I would imagine that has a great deal to do with you, my lady. It has been far too long. You have grown into the beauty I knew you would.”
“We’ve met, my lord?” Deirdre asked, confused.
“When you were quite young,” John Lewis Hugo said. He turned to Lord Gerallt. “Please leave us. I will speak to Lady Deirdre alone.”
Lord Gerallt gave his daughter a quick warning look before leaving the garden, making his way back to the castle.
“You know the reason for my coming?” John Lewis Hugo asked.
“I do.”
John Lewis Hugo turned his gaze upon the Rosemere, hands behind his back. She didn’t like the way he looked at the resting place of her mother, a mixture of interest and irritation. It was a long time before he spoke.
“I understand you communicate with your mother here,” he said finally.
“I come to be near her sometimes, yes.”
“Then you don’t speak to her as we are speaking now?”
Deirdre tried to keep calm. Philip and his advisor had invaded Annwn with one intention: destroy the Tuatha de Dannan with sword and flame, and bring their one god to fill the void. To display interest in fey, magic, or anything associated with the Celtic religions of old would be a death penalty. That included speaking to witches long dead.
“Pay no mind,” he said simply, noticing her apprehension. “The High King may wish to see his father’s crusade fulfilled and his Templar Knights spread to all corners of Annwn, but I am far more pragmatic. How you choose to spend your time in worship is your affair. If that includes speaking to your mother here in this magical pool, so be it.”
Deirdre knew she could not trust him. Like a snake, he was capable of striking without a moment’s notice.
“Mochdrev Reach is a great city, an important castle,” John Lewis Hugo said, his eyes—one blue and the other milky white but alive—staring up at the tall towers. “Once, the Reach did not exist—this was just a lone hill