Page 68 of Awakening

Footsteps approached, and Trystan looked up through blurry eyes. “Myr.” His voice cracked.

“Angel.”

Trystan stood, holding Myrddin’s mournful gaze, as Emma clung to his side. “I can’t stay.”

“I know.” Myrddin tugged him into a kiss.

The soft finality of what it meant nearly broke Trystan’s heart. A part of him didn’t want to go. “Was any of this real?”

“There is much truth in what appears to be a lie.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will. One day.”

Trystan pulled a deep breath of air into his lungs and swallowed past the strain in his throat. His chest ached as he pressed his lips to Myrddin’s one last time, hoping somehow he’d forget all of this when he returned to Marc and Emrys.

Trystan backed away from Myrddin, letting his hand slowly fall from his. Myrddin grabbed Emma and held her on his hip as tears streamed down her face. He forced himself to turn around and walked away from both of them.

As he passed into the center of the stones, the mist enveloped him. He promised himself one thing as he closed his eyes. If he ever had a daughter of his own, he would name her Emma.

***

Emrys kept watching in all directions. He didn’t trust that Morgaine wouldn’t somehow find them, no matter how careful he’d been to avoid using magic. His only hope was that she nor Grønn Riddari would trace them here. It wouldn’t have been logical.

As the mid-afternoon sun filtered through the fog, warming Emrys’ back, and Marc focused on cutting into the pelt of the rabbit in his grasp, the mist around them thinned. Emrys stood and nudged Marc’s foot as he moved closer to the ring of stones. He studied the center as the fog swirled within the circle, hoping that it was Trystan returning and not the dark magic locking him in, for if what Trystan had said was true, it could be entirely possible.

Marc dropped the rabbit and clambered to his feet, casing his knife as he moved to stand beside Emrys. “What’s happening?”

“I’m hoping it’s Trystan coming back to us.”

“Could it be anything else?”

“It could be anyone who’s ever gone in, or it could be the portal to the labyrinth sealing itself, locking Trystan inside.”

Both men watched the churning mist collapse and condense in the center of the stones. Both prayed it was Trystan.

The whirlwind of fog cleared, dispersing into nothing as if it had never existed, and in its place knelt Trystan on both knees. Emrys immediately sensed a deep sorrow lodged in Trystan’s heart.

“Trystan!” Marc hurried toward him and helped him to his feet. “What’s wrong, love?”

Trystan pressed his lips into a thin line, willing the ache in his heart to leave, but it did no such thing. Through tear-strained eyes, he regarded Marc, hoping his cymara could somehow break the spell. Make him forget everything, but it didn’t. He shifted his gaze toward Emrys and the pain in his chest deepened. “Myr?” The whispered word fell from his lips.

“No, Trystan,” Marc said. “It’s Marc and Emrys.”

Trystan looked up at Marc, his voice a scarce whisper. “Marc.”

“Did you get the blood?”

“The blood… Yes,” Trystan whispered with a nod.

Emrys focused on Trystan, trying to see into his thoughts. Broken images flickered in his mind. The death of Arthur. A conversation with Noah and Owaine. A darling little girl with a pet wolf calling for Da and Papa. He and Trystan sharing intimate moments.

Emrys sucked in a sharp breath. “Marc, bring him to sit by the fire.” Emrys didn’t trust himself to do it.

Marc guided Trystan and sat down with him. “What’s wrong with him?”

“I believe what he experienced in there may have left him in shock. His emotions are strained. Whatever he went through is as real to him as you and me.”