CONGRATULATIONS, IT’S A CODEX
BRANDON
Brandon watchedMuriel leave with a mixture of relief and dread. Relief, because the pull of the mate bond was easier to resist when she wasn't in the same room. Dread, because every moment she was out of his sight itched like poison ivy on raw skin.
“She doesn't know about the bond,” Armand said once the door closed.
It wasn't a question, but Brandon answered anyway. “No.”
“Is that wise? Particularly given the circumstances.”
“She's been through enough. She doesn't need the pressure of a mate bond she didn't ask for on top of everything else.”
“Mate bonds are not bestowed upon request,” Armand said, his voice a mix of amusement andadmonishment. “They are rare, divine gifts granted independently of our wishes.”
Yes, he knew it was a rare gift. One he longed to celebrate with the woman who didn’t yet know it existed.
Brandon turned back to the table where the book sat, still humming with power. “Can you read it?”
Armand accepted the deflection with grace. “Let's find out, shall we?”
He pulled on white cotton gloves, movements careful and precise as he leaned over the book.
Brandon remained quiet as Armand studied the pages with reverence, occasionally making quiet humming sounds. The entries in the beginning of the book looked like a series of sticks with lines crossed through them, which Brandon identified as a form of primitive Irish in Ogham script. Partway through, there were passages written in insular script, similar to the script found in the Book of Kells.
The book’s power was unmistakable. Ancient, deep, fundamentally primal. Every mage child grew up hearing legends about it—the matrilineal grimoire, passed mother to daughter through an unbroken bloodline. The foundational text that predated the Magisterial Consilium, the College of Cardinals, even the Oracle of Delphi.
Until now, that was all they’d ever been. Legends. Brandon had difficulty wrapping his mind around thefact that he was looking at an artifact his ancestor Merlin had spent a lifetime searching for.
And where had it been found? Not in the archives or catacombs of some ancient, sacred site, but in Muriel's mother's root cellar.
Finally, Armand straightened. His expression was grave.
“Well?” Brandon already knew. Had known from the moment Muriel described the visions, the way the book responded to her touch alone.
“The script is Primitive Irish Ogham,” Armand confirmed, “but far older than any standardized variant. Pre-Christian, pre-druidic even.” Armand's finger hovered over symbols without touching the page. “These markings—they're not decorative. They're sigils. Protective wards woven directly into the vellum.”
Brandon peered closer, the hair on the back of his neck rising with closer proximity. “Bloodline wards. Keyed to?—”
“A matrilineal line, yes.” Armand looked up, his eyes alight. “You know what this is.”
“TheCodex.”
Armand nodded slowly. “Yes.”
Brandon's hands curled into fists. “You're certain?”
“As certain as I can be without extensive study.” Armand's voice resumed the scholarly vibe Brandon was used to. “The age is right, and the binding magic is consistent with the legends. And the content—what I can translate speaks of fundamental nature magic.Not just earth, though that's the prominent element. Water, air, fire. The cycles of seasons, moon and sun, as well as the sacred pathways that connect our world.”
“Ley lines,” Brandon said. “Sacred sites. The foundations.”
“Precisely. This isn't a collection of spells for one element. This is the source material foralldruidic practice. The original knowledge that predates our neat categorizations of magical disciplines.” Armand's expression was grim. “Earth witches, water witches, storm callers—they all derive their understanding from knowledge like this. Muriel isn't just the keeper of earth magic secrets. She holds the foundational text of nature magic itself.”
Armand turned another page carefully. “Fascinating. Look here—” He indicated cramped script filling the margins. “Centuries of keeper notes. 'This ritual works best under a waning moon.' 'Beware using oak root in combination with—' Someone's crossed that out and written 'Tried it anyway. Don't.' It's like reading a conversation across generations.”
Brandon leaned closer. Most of the marginalia was practical: observations about spells, warnings about what worked and what didn't, notes about seasonal variations and lunar cycles.
“The knowledge accumulates,” Armand said softly. “Each keeper added her wisdom to what came before. I wonder…” Armand moved to the back of the book and nodded. “Yes. A complete history of the keepers themselves.”