Angus shrugged. “I have no idea. Cathbad didn’t say.”
“Just so ye’re clear your orders come from us, not him,” Arawn said with flared nostrils and a stern, chilly voice.
Angus wanted to punch him. Anything to knock the supercilious expression off his face.
Angus set the coffee on the windowsill and straightened in his chair until he faced Arawn squarely. “I won’t always be your errand boy, your lackey. Exactly how things go from here will depend on the level of respect I get.”
Gwydion narrowed his eyes. “The lad has a point. This is a game-changer, and we’d be wise to recognize it.”
Before Arawn could argue the point, Angus broke in. “Do you want to hear what happened on this last assignment or not? If not, I’d appreciate space to grab an hour’s sleep.”
“Ye’re jumping on this equality thing with both feet,” Arawn observed dryly.
“Give it a rest,” Gwydion snapped at his fellow god before turning to Angus. “Aye, we want to hear. The Morrigan’s waiting, among other things.”
“First off, you don’t have the right to offer me to anyone.” Angus looked from one Celt to the other from under hooded lids. “Second, I’ll fight you to the death before I spend any more time in her presence.”
“We werena serious about that.” Arawn gestured with one hand. “Start at the beginning and tell us everything that happened.”
Surprise took root and spread deep within Angus, but he took care to shield it. That Arawn backed off his threat about the Morrigan so easily might bode well. He tilted his chair until it rested against the wall and started talking.
“I met the dragon Eletea near the Irish Sea off Inishowen as you instructed…”
The story took longer than he imagined it would, since one or the other Celt interrupted constantly. They were particularly curious about his time with Cathbad. Neither asked anything about Arianrhod, which seemed like it might be a good thing.
Angus laced his fingers together. “After the time shaft allowed us back inside, it returned us to Inishowen. I spent a spot of time with a Selkie I’m fond of and returned here.”
“A Selkie is it?” Interest flickered in Arawn’s eyes.
Gwydion, who’d never sat, crooked a finger at Arawn. “He can tell us about his new friend later. Best be on our way afore the Morrigan hunts us down.”
“Agreed.” Arawn flowed to his feet, lithe and graceful. “Ye may rest.” He directed his words at Angus. “Once ye’re refreshed, I expect you to join us at the council chambers in Inverlochy Castle.”
Angus stood too. “Will the Morrigan be there?”
“Like as not.” Arawn met his gaze evenly. “As ye’ve pointed out, we canna foist you off onto her, no matter what she wants.”
“Thank the gods.” Angus blew out a noisy breath. “That old hag gives me the creeps.”
“Sometimes she can appear quite attractive.” Gwydion winked lewdly.
“Doesn’t matter what she looks like,” Angus replied. “She still has a putrid smell and a hungry desperation that makes me want to run the other way—or bash her skull in.”
Arawn tossed his head back and laughed. When he got himself under control, he said, “I doona suggest the latter. She loves conflict, and she’ll clean your clock.”
Angus wasn’t so certain about that, but he kept his mouth shut, waiting until the Celts were well and truly gone before cautiously letting the layers of magic he’d shielded himself with slip away. He bent to unlace his boots and toed them off before making himself comfortable on his narrow bed. He still slept on the same mattress he’d had for years, not seeing any reason to change it for something larger.
When he closed his eyes, an image of Arianrhod shimmered before him. Lost in a vision of her silvery hair and gold and silver eyes, he let sleep take him.
****
Arianrhod tramped up the steps of the ruins of Inverlochy Castle, wanting to get the next hour or two over with. She’d done what she could to drive her private thoughts to an even deeper place than usual, and she hoped she appeared her old, imperious self when she strode along vast hallways and through the twelve-foot tall carved wooden doors leading to the council chambers.
Heads snapped up at her arrival, and Arianrhod trotted briskly into the familiar chamber decorated with crystals and natural stone in every hue of the rainbow. Thick carpets covered scarred wooden floors; ever-changing scenes from Celtic battles marched across them, fueled by magic. A fire burned in the enormous hearth that took up one end of the room, and Ceridwen sat before it stirring her cauldron as usual. The goddess of the world got to her feet, but before she could say anything, the Morrigan—in crow form—planted herself firmly in front of Arianrhod.
“Ye decided to return, eh?” The crow cackled nastily. “Took your sweet time about it.”
Arianrhod rolled her eyes. “Ye’re just out of sorts because Angus dinna wish to fuck you.”