Beyond the Pale: A Thin Veil Novella (The Thin Veil Book 3) by Jodi McIsaac Page A

swallow, hoping the druid was not trying to poison her—and suspecting it would not make any difference by now. She held her starstone in a tight fist and sang the song again, wanting to see Brogan’s face one last time. But the stone stayed cold and silent, even as she sang the song over and over again in an increasingly feeble voice. Perhaps it just did not work between worlds. Perhaps he was too thick in battle to respond. Perhaps…but no, she would not think of that. He would survive. He had to—their daughter was counting on him. Soon, he would be all she had left. She brought the stone to her lips. “I could have loved you,” she whispered, kissing it.
    Then another contraction sliced through her body, and the stone dropped from her hand. “Baby…coming,” she managed to gasp. She felt the urge to push and pressed down hard, the wounds in her shoulder and thigh blazing. She couldn’t hold back the scream that burst from deep inside her, a sound of pain and sorrow and loss. And then, for a moment, she felt relief. She fell back down onto the pillows Maeve had placed behind her and closed her eyes. She could feel herself fading away. But the baby…she still had to save the baby.
    Maeve placed a warm bundle of cloth in Kier’s arms. Emanating from the bundle was a soft musical sound—the child’s Lýra, the signature of the Tuatha Dé Danann. Kier kissed the top of the fuzzy head and managed a smile through her tears. Her daughter was alive and perfect. At least one of them would still be here waiting for Brogan.
    “Maeve…” she whispered, speaking to the other woman for the first time. “Thank you. Listen to me, very carefully. I know you are a druid. I know you were…” She paused to take a ragged breath. “I bear you no ill will. I am too far gone—there is no hope of saving me, not outside Tír na nÓg. Please, I beg of you to keep this child safe, for the love you bear my husband. Do this for him.”
    “How?” Maeve asked, and Kier noticed for the first time how young she was. “Brogan said someone wanted to kill her—what if that person comes looking for her?”
    The realization of what needed to be done washed over Kier like a warm wave. “You’re a druid,” she said, understanding at last. Perhaps this had been her destiny all along. “The dyad that should not be…”
    “What?” Maeve asked, leaning in to better hear her.
    “You must help me make her human,” Kier said.
    “I don’t understand,” Maeve said, her eyes fixed on the tiny pink child in Kier’s arms. “Why would you want that?”
    “If she is human…he won’t be able to find her,” Kier said. She didn’t have the energy to tell Maeve about the prophecy. And what she had said was true—without the Lýra, Lorcan would not be able to identify Brogan’s child, even if he did manage to come to Ériu somehow. She would be perfectly hidden. And Brogan could find a way to undo the spell when he returned for her.
    “I don’t know how,” Maeve said, her eyes filling with tears.
    “I do,” Kier replied. She told Maeve what she had read in the druids’ books in Tír na nÓg about giving a Danann the gift of humanity, told her how to make the potion that would allow them to combine their power. Kier had her press a glass vial to the wound in her leg, which was still seeping blood. Maeve added it to the potion, and then drank it at Kier’s command. Now, Kier knew, it would be done, and she would die knowing her daughter was safe. Together, they chanted the incantation, and Kier watched in horror as her own wounds began to manifest on Maeve’s body. She will heal, she told herself. She will heal, and she will become mother to my daughter. She grasped Maeve’s wrist and pulled her close, letting their blood mingle, the tiny baby pressed between them. She felt the baby’s body grow warm, but the infant did not seem to mind. The baby squirmed and made tiny squeaking noises, trying to nuzzle further into her