She saw his throat move with emotion, his eyes bright as he looked down at her, and then, as the door behind her opened, Tamsyn saw those same bright eyes go wide.
“Help Declan with what?” a lilting voice asked, and Tamsyn turned to see a redheaded man in evening wear standing there, amused as he took in the pair of them.
Tamsyn didn’t remember seeing him at the party the first time they’d been there, but then, she’d been so focused on Y Seren and everything else that she’d barely noticed anyone.
Confused, she looked to Bowen, who was pale now, his lips slightly parted, and then at the man, who rocked back on both his heels, hands in his trouser pockets.
“If anyone needs help, it appears to be you, mate,” the man said. “Jesus, what were the pair of you up to out there?” He glanced down at Tamsyn’s bare and grassy feet, eyebrows raised, but before Tamsyn could answer, Carys appeared at his side, and Tamsyn caught her breath.
The difference between the woman she’d last seen sobbing her heart out in the maze and the vision now standing before her was so stark it was hard to believe they were the same person. She technically looked the same—same fair hair and dark eyes, same slender frame—but there was a light to her now. She glowed, standing there at the man’s side in a deep red gown with a tartan sash, and while rubies sparkled in her ears and at her throat, Y Seren was nowhere to be seen.
“Declan, stop being cheeky and let them in, it’s freezing!” Carys said, jokingly shoving at the man, and suddenly Tamsyn understood why Bowen was so pale.
“Declan?” she echoed, and the redheaded man shot her a look of faux hurt as he slipped an arm around Carys’s waist.
“Don’t tell me you already forgot the name of yer boyfriend’s oldest, dearest, and frankly only mate, did you?” he asked, and then gestured for both of them to come into the hall.
Tamsyn felt numb from more than just the cold as she moved into the house, the stone floors chilly underneath her bare feet as she took in Declan—handsome, cheerful, and . . .
“Alive,” Bowen said, the word so soft that only Tamsyn really heard him.
“What was that?” Declan asked, but instead of answering, Bowen just threw his arms around his friend, damn near lifting him off the ground with the force of his hug.
“Whoa!” Declan exclaimed, still laughing, but he thumped Bowen on the back all the same, his grin never wavering, and suddenly Tamsyn understood just why this man’s death—or whatever it had been—had hurt Bowen as badly as it had. Like this version of Carys, there was a light around him, an innate energy, and even though Declan was currently very much alive and standing right in front of her, Tamsyn’s heart broke for Bowen all over again.
When he pulled back from the hug, Bowen’s eyes were bright again, but some of the color was returning to his face as he gave an almost disbelieving laugh. “Just . . . always good to see you, Dec,” he said, and Declan shook his head, bemused.
“Well, remind me to send you off into the maze with your lady love more often,” he said, just as Carys suddenly seemed to notice the state of them.
“Oh, you must be freezing! Let me get some towels.”
As she scurried off to do that, Tamsyn stared after her, still feeling like the ground was tilting beneath her a little bit.
“What they need is alcohol, my darling!” he called, then waved it off before saying, “Wait here.”
Tamsyn could hear people talking in the library, but she and Bowen stayed in the front hall as Declan sauntered off.
“That’s—” Tamsyn said.
“It is.”
“And he’s—”
“He is.”
“But he’s not—”
“He’s not.”
“How?”
In the silence that followed, Tamsyn could hear the ticking of the hall clock, the gentle clinking of ice in glasses, and the murmured lull of several people in low-voiced conversation, but Bowen didn’t answer her for the longest time until, finally, he just said, “I don’t know.”
“Because sometimes,” a voice said, and they both turned to see an elegantly dressed elderly woman making her way toward them,
“magic finds a way.”
Chapter 26
“Hello, you two.”
Bowen stared at the woman in front of him, blinking. She was old, but her hazel eyes were still bright, and if they hadn’t given her away, the brilliant green of her dress and the emeralds sparkling in the tiara holding back her white hair would’ve done it.
“Emerald!” Tamsyn cried, throwing her arms around Emerald, not unlike how Bowen had done so with Declan, albeit a good deal gentler. The girl they’d met at fifteen was in her eighties now, something that was almost impossible to believe, but then Bowen was getting used to believing a lot of impossible things lately.
Time travel was real.
Declan was back.
Tamsyn loved him.
Chuckling, Emerald patted Tamsyn’s back as she said, “Actually, I’m Her Grace, the Duchess of Hareford now, but my old friends can always call me Emerald.”
“A duchess?” Tamsyn asked, pulling back, her eyes wide. “Does that mean I have to bow to you?”
“No, but Madoc does, and that’s very fun,” Emerald replied before pounding on the stone floor with the elegant silver—and emerald-crusted, obviously—cane Bowen now saw she held.
“Madoc!” she called, and Bowen turned, half expecting to see that chubby little boy with the curls tearing down the hallway.
Instead, it was the older version who came, if not running, then definitely hurrying, his white tufts of hair bouncing as he made his way from the library to the front hallway.
