Celtic Fire (Rogue Angel) by Archer Alex

Author:Archer, Alex [Archer, Alex]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Worldwide Library
Published: 2014-08-31T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 24

Awena decided that it would be for the best if the sword was put away with the whetstone in her father’s study. Leaving it out would only make Geraint think she was taunting him with it, trying to rub his face in the fact they’d found not one but two of the treasures, and instead of building bridges between them it would only serve to burn them. That was the last thing she wanted.

The flame had flickered out the moment she’d put the sword down on the kitchen table, barely leaving a scorch mark on the scrubbed pine surface. The steel was cold to the touch a second later when she’d tentatively tested it with a fingertip.

It wasn’t until she lifted it by the hilt that it burst back into life, somehow responding to her touch.

She carried the sword nervously through the house, climbing the stairs slowly, and crossing the landing to the study door with the flame licking at the air with each step. It heated the air in front of her. She could feel it.

Awena opened the door.

The whetstone still lay where she’d left it, in the middle of their father’s desk.

She still wished she’d had the time to show it to him, to see his face as he realized what she’d found.

She placed the sword on top of her own prize, the flame once again flickering and failing as soon as she released her grip, but this time the sword didn’t return to its former inert state.

The steel blade crackled with electricity, blue sparks dancing and fizzing over its surface.

She reached out with a finger, not quite touching the steel. Sparks bridged the gap, tingling her skin and crackling through her body as she felt a sudden surge of energy. Awena wanted to call Geraint, to show him what had just happened, to ask him what he thought was happening...but he’d made his position abundantly clear. She was on her own in this. He wouldn’t be joining her in the family business.

She lifted the sword from the precious whetstone, resurrecting the blue fire.

She set it down again, this time on the hearth of the study’s disused fireplace. The flue was blocked somewhere up above with a bird’s nest.

The flames went out, the blade cold to the touch.

So, it was clearly the combination of the two treasures together that had caused the peculiar effect. Fascinating. And if she needed any proof that the stone really was the Whetstone of Tudwal Tudglyd this was it. Surely there had to be something in her father’s notes about the proximity effect of one treasure on the other. But where to begin looking?

Then she remembered the journal he kept in the top drawer of his desk.

Her father was a creature of habit. Whenever he came home he copied the voluminous notes he’d jotted down into a leather-bound journal, detailing where he had been, where he was planning on going next and, most importantly, why. She had her own habits, of course, one of them being that every time he left them again she’d spend ages deciphering his writing.

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