Muriel laughed. “Well. I guess that's decided.”
“Hm. It needs something.” Brandon was already moving toward a cabinet where he stored preservation materials. “A stand, cushioning, something to?—”
“It likes silk,” Muriel said. “Deep green. The color of forest shadows.”
Brandon stopped, turned to look at her. “TheCodextold you that?”
“Sort of.” She touched the grimoire gently, reverently. “I just knew. Like I know it's content here. Happy, even.”
“Keeper andCodex,” Brandon murmured, watching them together. “The journals talked about this. The bond between them, how it deepens over time until they're almost one being.”
“Does that scare you?”
“No.” He meant it. Through the bond, he could feel her connection to theCodex—how it complementedrather than competed with their mate bond. “It's beautiful. You're becoming what you were always meant to be.”
Brandon had bolts of fabric suitable for preserving magical artifacts and together, they created a nest for theCodex. Deep green silk, soft as water, with cushioning underneath. The ancient grimoire settled into it with a sigh, like it had finally come home after centuries of wandering.
Brandon stood back, admiring their work. TheCodexlooked right there, centered on the pedestal where Merlin had once kept his greatest treasures. They’d come full circle, he thought. The text his ancestor had spent his entire life searching for, finally in the Emrys vault.
Because of Muriel.
Then theCodexdid something Brandon had never seen before.
It opened itself, and golden light spilled out. Not the visions it had shown Muriel before, but something gentler. Warmer. Text appeared on a blank page, writing itself in elegant script:
Thank you, daughter of earth. Thank you, son of sky. For giving this old soul a home worthy of the knowledge it guards.
Brandon's breath caught. “Did it just?—”
“Thank us,” Muriel finished, her voice thick with emotion. “Yes.”
“And it called me 'son of sky.'” He stared at theglowing text. “Merlin's line. The journals mentioned that—earth and sky, the old magic before the Consilium divided everything into neat categories.”
“We're completing something,” Muriel said softly. “Something that started centuries ago. Something our ancestors couldn't finish.”
TheCodex's light pulsed once more in agreement, then settled into a warm, contented glow.
For a moment, everything was still.
Then the air shimmered.
Magic swirled up from theCodexin ribbons of green and gold, illuminating the vault with soft light. The ancient pages rustled though no wind touched them. Brandon felt Muriel go rigid beside him.
“Do you see—” she breathed.
“Yes.” His voice was rough with wonder.
The light coalesced into images, like looking through a window into the past. A young woman stood in a sunlit cottage garden, her silvery blonde hair loose around her shoulders. She looked so much like Muriel it stole Brandon's breath.
Beside her stood a mage with auburn hair and kind green eyes. He was laughing at something she'd said, his whole face alight with joy. When he looked at her, there was no mistaking how he felt about her.
Love. Pure and absolute.
The scene shifted. The woman's belly was rounded with pregnancy. The mage knelt before her, his hands gentle on her stomach. He leaned in and pressed a kissthere, his eyes closing as if in prayer. When he looked up at the woman—at Siobhan—his expression held such fierce tenderness it made Brandon's chest ache.
The mage pulled something from his pocket. A small carved wooden toy—a horse, lovingly shaped. He showed it to Siobhan with boyish pride, and she laughed, pulling him up for a kiss.
“You can see it too?” Muriel's voice cracked. “The vision?”