The Becoming

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Marco stopped along the way to call greetings to the woman pegging clothes on a line with a toddler at her feet, to the old man walking with his long-eared dog along the roadside, to a couple harvesting fall vegetables from their garden.

He, like Keegan, knew the names, matched them to faces, so she could follow his lead.

At the turn, she gestured. “We’re this way. Did you ride here with Morena?”

“Not this road. We rode down there, and through those woods and all the way to the coastline.”

“I haven’t seen the coastline. Well, I did from a spot on that mountain. It looked amazing.”

“It’s not that far, and we’ve got time if you want to see it. It slays, let me tell you.”

“I do want to see it. We can do that before we go back, stop at Nan’s.” She gestured up at the pair of dragons. “The Magee twins. Ah, Bria and …”

“Deaglan. We met them last night. They live near the Capital,” Marco remembered. “Came in yesterday.”

“Right. They’re scouting, or patrolling, I guess.”

As they crested the rise, Marco pulled up again. “Just wow. I know we saw stuff like this in Ireland, and that was wow. Here’s another. Damn, I wish I could take a picture, you know? The round tower deal, that stone circle up there on the hill, that seriously spooky stone ruin. Big-ass one, too. The graveyard, the woods, the fields. And nobody around right now but the sheep.”

From the saddle, he scanned everything. “It’s eerie, right? It’s like the sky shouldn’t be all blue and pretty over that creepy place. It should always be heavy and gray.”

“Inside, the air is.”

“You’ve been in there?”

“No.” Breen felt the tingle over her skin, like spider legs crawling. “But I can feel it. I didn’t before, not like this. It’s almost Samhain, so I think that’s why.

“The stone dance hums. I can hear it, feel it, too. It’s like a balance. Light against dark. Don’t go in the ruin, Marco, and don’t get too close to it today.”

“Trust me, I’m convinced. Is it safe to go to the graveyard?”

“Yes. It’s sanctified.” She gestured to where Bollocks already sat quietly by the spread of flowers over her father’s grave. “See, he knows. He’ll stay close today. He’s waiting by Dad’s grave.”

“He’s a good dog,” Marco managed, though his throat had already started to close with grief. “They’re really beautiful, the flowers you planted there. I hate he’s gone, Breen. I hate he’s really gone.”

“I know.” When they reached the grave, she dismounted, then took the horses to secure them across the road, where they could snack on the high grass. And to give Marco a few minutes alone.

When she walked back, Marco turned to her, pressed his face to her shoulder for comfort.

“He loved you,” she murmured. “You made him laugh. You made him proud whenever you played music.”

“He gave me music, and he gave me so much else. He was the first grown-up I came out to.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“It was right before he left that last time. I was afraid to tell him, afraid of what he’d think of me. After he took you back to your mom’s that last time, he walked me home. You know it was a couple miles after your mom moved, and I thought we’d take the bus, but he started walking. He said how much he depended on me to help look after you while he was away.”

Steadying his breath, swiping at his eyes, Marco eased back to look down at Eian’s stone. “How blessed he was to have me in your life and his.

“When he looked at me, I started to cry because I could tell he knew. He put his arm around my shoulders, and kept walking. He said he’d only be disappointed in me if I felt shame for what I was, who I was. I blurted it out, like a big announcement. ‘I’m gay!’”

She laughed a little, stroked Marco’s cheek. “What did he say?”

“He said he hoped one day, when I was grown and ready, I’d find a man worthy of me, and not to settle for less. ‘Be true to yourself, Marco,’ he said, ‘and anyone who tries to make your truth a lie or shameful isn’t worth a single one of your thoughts.’”

Now, in turn, Breen pressed her face to Marco’s shoulder as her eyes filled.

“It sounds like him. For so long I nearly forgot what he sounded like, what he was like.”

Breathing out, she drew back. “Coming here, coming back, it’s helped me remember.”

“It meant everything to me, that walk home with him.” Sitting, Marco brushed his hands over the flowers. “It meant everything to me, Eian.”

Breen sat with him. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“I couldn’t really thank him because I got all choked up. I wanted to thank him, talk to him again when he got back. But …”

“He died. We didn’t know he died, didn’t know about Talamh. But he never came back.”

“I didn’t want to tell you, baby, because you were so sad. You waited and waited, got sadder and sadder. So I get to tell you now, and thank him now. It’s beautiful here, and he’s home, right? It’s beautiful even with that place hulking over there.”

“He’s home, and it is beautiful. When it was first built,” Breen continued, as she shifted to study the ruins, “when they first lived and worked and worshipped there, it was a holy place. A place for good works, for art and prayer and healings. It was some who lived and worked and worshipped there that changed it. Corrupted it, turned it into a place to be feared. A place of intolerance and persecution and torture.”

“There’s always somebody who just has to screw up the good stuff, and find other somebodies to help them do it.”

“I can hear them,” she whispered.

“Who?” His eyes widened as he stared at the ruin. “In there?”

“They’re stirring. I can’t hear clearly, but … Wait here.”

“No way, no way. You’re not going in that place.”

“I’m not going in.” But she got to her feet. “They’d like me to. They think I’m not ready to stand against them. They’re probably right, so I’m not going in.”

“Let’s just stay away from it.” He jumped up, took her arm.

“I can’t hear clearly, not from here, and I need to. I swear I won’t go a step farther than I know is safe. Stay here. Bollocks, stay with Marco. Stay here.”

She broke away, hurried through the graveyard, dodging the stones, moving closer to the ruins. And to sounds, the thrumming coming from it.

She stopped when she felt the air change—from light and fresh to heavy and dark. And she saw movement through the slits of windows, through the wide opening that had—she knew—once held thick wooden doors carved with holy symbols.

Like thin shadows shifting and sliding.

And like an echo—dim but not distant—she heard voices, the chants, the screams, the calls to dark and damned gods.

On the fresh autumn air, she smelled warm blood and the burning of human flesh.

Bells tolled. Drums beat.

Very slowly, she lifted her hand, pressed the air. And felt the pressure of what pushed back.

She started to reach for her wand, unsure if it would be enough, if she would. Then turned at the sound of a horse coming fast. She watched Tarryn ride straight to her, eyes fierce, hair flying.

“Get back from there. Foolish child, get back!”

“They can’t reach me. They can’t get out. Yet. Can you hear it? Can you see?”

Tarryn leaped off the horse, gripped Breen’s arm. “Not another step. Aye, I can hear them, I can see them. It’s too soon, and too much. This is Yseult’s doing, by the gods, her and her twisted coven. Do you have anything with you?”

“A few things, just some stones and charms in my saddlebag. My wand, my athame.”

“Get what you have and make it quick. I would wish for five more, or Marg at least to make us three, but we’ll make do.”

She turned to her horse, opened her saddlebag. “Go now! Be quick about it. Minga, you stay there with Marco.”

“What are you doing? What are you guys doing?” Marco demanded when Breen rushed by him to get to her saddlebag. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know exactly. But I’m going to do whatever she tells me. And you stay here.”

After slinging her saddlebag over her shoulder, Breen ran back, and up the rise across from the ruin where Tarryn stood. Bollocks charged after her.

“Go back,” Breen ordered, but the dog stuck by her side and bared his teeth at the ruin.

“No, let him stay. He’s connected to you, so makes us three. We cast the circle—then he must stay in it. Nothing breaks the circle until we’re done. Cup your hands.”

Tarryn poured salt from a bag into Breen’s cupped hands. “We ring with salt. I brought no candles. Draw them in the salt, north and west, south and east, and say the words.”

They poured the salt, etched the symbols. Each spoke the words for protection from evil.

Though the sky held blue, Breen heard the rumble of thunder. She felt the wind rise, and the smell of sulfur carried on it.

Bollocks growled low in his throat.

“Protective stones, north and west, south and east, over the symbols in the salt,” Tarryn told her. “Say the words.”

Breen felt powers rise, felt the storm gathering in the perfect blue sky over the ruin. And as she joined Tarryn in the center of the circle, saw ghostly fingers grip the edge of the stone at what had been the doorway, as if struggling to hold on, pull out.

Screams slashed through the swirl of wind, some hot with rage, others iced with pain and fear.

“Hear us,” Tarryn called out. “Know us. Fear us. We hold pity for those imprisoned by the dark, and when at last the key turns in the lock, your spirits rise free to walk into the light. We hold contempt for those who embrace the dark, and you will know the torment you brought to innocents.”

A figure, insubstantial as smoke, tried to claw out of one of the slitted windows.

“Yseult and the corrupt god she worships won’t free you, not this day, not any day. Hear my name! I am Tarryn of Talamh. I am mother of the taoiseach. I am daughter of the Tuatha Dé Danann, and you will not pass into the world of life and breath.”

She gripped Breen’s hand. “Draw out what’s in you. Release it. Give your name.”

Through their joined hands, Breen felt the electric jolt of power.

“I am Breen Siobhan O’Ceallaigh. I am daughter of Eian, granddaughter of Mairghread. I am blood of man and god and Sidhe and Wise. I am daughter of the Fey, and you will not pass into the world of life and breath.”

With her hand clasped in Tarryn’s, she laid the other on Bollocks’s head as he snarled.

“A spell for a spell, a rite for a rite,” she called out as the power and the words poured through her.

“From circle cast on holy ground, we lock the dark with light. No matter Yseult’s charm or token, by our power her spell is broken.”

Lightning flashed across the sky, shooting a bolt to scorch the ground between the rise and the ruin. Smoke, black as ink, blanketed the openings, pulsed there.

“Draw the bolts, shut the locks against whatever spirit knocks.” Breen’s heart hammered as she heard the snick and thud as if physical. And with Tarryn spoke the final words of the spell.

“No spell but ours can set you free. As we will, so mote it be.”

Though the smoke thinned, the wind whirled still. “Close the circle.” Tarryn picked up the bag of salt. “And keep the dog close. Tell him he must not go inside.”

“He knows.”

“Bring your athame.”

With the circle closed, Tarryn walked down the rise toward the opening in the stone.

“She’s skilled, and she’s powerful, Yseult. And for her spell, innocent blood spilled. One day, the depths of the dark of her own power will consume her. But today, we lay one more defense against it.”

She poured a line of salt, then laid her athame over her palm. “You must do this, and also to our third. Blood of power against blood of the damned.”

Ignoring the smoke, the stench of it, the cries it couldn’t muffle, Breen crouched and took Bollocks’s paw. “It’s only for a second, and I’ll fix it. I’m sorry.”

He didn’t flinch when she drew his blood, only looked into her eyes. She drew her own, clasped hers to his paw, then rose to clasp it with Tarryn’s.

“With salt we bind, with blood we sign, this spell to wind.”

On either side of the opening, they drew signs against evil in their joined blood.

The cries died to murmurs, and the smoke to a haze.

“It’s done, and well.” Tarryn bent down to Bollocks. “What a fine one you are. As fine as ever born.”

She waited while Breen healed the cut in Bollocks’s paw, smiled as Breen lifted her hand and took that little pain away before healing herself.

“Marg’s taught you well. We’ll stop by and tell her of this, and get word to Keegan.” She walked up the rise again as she spoke to gather what she’d left there. “Odran will be displeased with Yseult when he learns her plans failed.”

“They would have come out tomorrow—on Samhain. Not like simply spirits or wraiths, but reanimated. She would have to sacrifice a fawn, a lamb, and a child—human or Fey—to work that spell. And even then …”

Tarryn nodded. “A great draw of power needed, and for one night’s work.”

“So they could attack the valley while the Pious who turned opened the doors to Odran’s followers in the south. Ambushing on two fronts, all while they believed we didn’t have a clue.”

“Good tactics,” Tarryn said simply while they walked back to Marco and Minga and the horses. “But we have a great deal more than a clue.” She paused by Eian’s grave. “He would be proud of you.”

Then she reached out her hands, one to Minga, one to Marco. “Well now, that’s more than enough excitement for one pretty afternoon, isn’t it then?”

“They were trying to get out,” Marco managed. “Minga said you had to break a spell and cast a new one to keep them inside.”

“So we did.”

“And it’s hardly a wonder you were both pulled here on this day, at this time,” Minga added. “The work you did spared lives. And you.” She leaned over to stroke Bollocks. “What a bright light you are. Do you want to send a falcon to Keegan?”

“I think we don’t risk the writing. I’ll speak to him directly through the mirror.” She mounted and sat a moment studying the ruin. “Thinking this is done, they’ll concentrate their attack on the south, but still, best to post guards here.

“Well, I’m after a strong gallop to blow that stench out of my nose,” Tarryn continued, “I’ll tell you that for certain. And we’ll hope for something stronger than tea from Marg.”

After his conversation with his mother, Keegan paced the room he currently shared with Mahon. He’d arrived before first light at the southern barracks with only a handful knowing he’d come.

“They dealt with it,” Mahon reminded him. “Do you have any reason to doubt otherwise?”

“I haven’t, no. If my mother says they have it in hand, they do. But it tells me, plainly, they intended to push for more than a southern attack, and have more followers. They would raise an army of Un-dead in the valley.”

“Where they believe you are, and your mother—the taoiseach and his strong hand. Where they might hope to find Breen during the sabbat ceremonies.”

“Would they risk cutting her down? Corporeal spirits such as this have no restraint, no strategies. They only seek blood.”

Frustration poured out of him as he paced and calculated, calculated and paced.

“They must have at least one or two of Odran’s closer than we thought. He needs her alive, Mahon. Dead she’s of no use to him, and his line through her ends. Someone close enough to lure her away or abduct her during the confusion, I’m thinking.”

“There’ll be no confusion now. But aye, you’ve the right of it. And we’ll need to root out whoever’s been planted close to home.”

“And here.”

Keegan started to sit, couldn’t. The room boasted a single window, but he couldn’t make use of it without risking being seen.

“Toric, as we both suspected, is surely the leader of this blood cult here. Ah, he speaks in a quiet voice, keeps his head bowed, wears his simple white robes, but he reeks of ambition.”

Mahon poured them both ale. “Sit, by the gods, brother, before you wear me out. I’ve spoken to him about trading with those who train here and guard the south. Very usual and diplomatic, of course, while letting it be known I leave for my son’s birthday tomorrow.”

“We’ve given him his freedom to worship as we must, as is just. And he twists that freedom to take that choice from others, and take lives with it.”

From a cautious distance, Keegan stared out the window. “He won’t know the balmy breeze from the sea for much longer.”

“What I’ve yet to tell you, as the news came from the valley before I could, he plans a ritual sacrifice to Odran on Samhain.”

Keegan whipped around. “He would dare?”

“He would. They’ve stolen a child, a little girl, have her under a sleeping spell, locked in the bowels of the round tower. They plan to offer her up to Odran once his soldiers come through. To help keep the portal open. She’s to be burned at the stake in the last hour of Samhain.”

“And this is what they deem worship.” Keegan slammed his tankard down, shoved up again. “How did you come by this?”

“Two of ours, elves, slipped in and, one with the stone walls, heard clearly. I can tell you, with confidence, Toric has no more than a score with him.”

“There’ll be others across Talamh. Others here in the south as well who don’t wear the robes. How many guard the girl?”

“None.” Mahon shook his head. “Such is their arrogance—or what they call faith. She sleeps and deep, and is locked away.”

“Let’s be sure of that. We’ll send elves back in to watch over her until tomorrow, when we’ll get her to safety. To take her out now reveals too much. Toric and those of Odran’s who live through the night will be taken to the Capital for the Judgment.”

“They pray. I heard their chanting prayers for peace and bounty when I spoke with Toric. What makes them think burning young girls and slaughtering Fey is the way to peace?”

“Their peace means power over all. They won’t have it. I need the air.”

“Keegan—”

“And I want to walk through the village, the markets, pay a visit to the Prayer House.” So saying, Keegan covered his face with his hands.

His hair went gray and sparse, his face lined, sagging at the jowls. On his chin grew a small, pointed beard.

Amused, Mahon gestured with his ale. “Your face will work right enough, but there’s the rest of you.”

“Ah, so there is.”

His body thinned to gaunt; his shoulders stooped. He wore roped sandals, a cloth cap, patched trousers, and an aged tunic. His sword became a crooked cane.

“All right, Old Father, we’ll get some air. I’ll say, should anyone trouble to ask, you’re an old friend of my family, newly arrived in the south for the sea air.”

Keegan rubbed a hand at his throat so his voice came out in a wispy croak. “Sean, it is. A holy man and hermit who’s come to spend his final days by the southern seas.”

He had to remember to slow and shorten his gait as Mahon walked with him through the village known for its pretty fruit and fresh fish. Those who bartered had a cheerful air. Many came south, he knew, for holidays.

To take to the water or sail boats over it, to watch their young ones play in the deep gold sand of the beach.

They came, he thought, without knowing a battle would rage in little more than a day.

There could be no warning, or the dark would skulk back to its hole. So he could only protect, defend. And fight to bring those who invited that dark to justice.

He studied the roll of the sea, as lovely as any he’d seen in any world. He heard children laughing, watched lovers stroll along the surf, smelled the sea and the fish and sweets fresh baked.

The world, his world, was a bright and peaceful place, full of joy and plenty. And even now a young girl slept, bespelled so she could be sacrificed to one who wanted dark and blood.

“Do you want to rest, Old Father?”

“I have a thirst, boy, but I would pay respects to the Pious before I slake it. I would add a prayer to theirs for the peace of Talamh and all the worlds.”

Keegan hobbled his way from the village proper and its markets, from the balm of the sea air, away from the near woods to where the tower and the Prayer House stood on a rise.

There, they’d pledged to devote themselves to the needs of any who came, to spend their lives in prayer and good works while they rose over the village, the sea, the farms, the boats.

Eian, and the taoiseach before him, and Marg, and the taoiseach before her, and all for more than six hundred years had honored that pledge. They’d given the Pious who had no part in the persecutions, and those after them who put on the robes, this place in the south to worship in peace.

And he, Keegan thought, would be the one to end that peace.

He climbed, windily, up the steps in the hill even as his eyes—sharp behind the clouds of great age he’d added to them—scanned robed figures who worked gardens or walked with hands clasped under the sleeves of their robes.

He thought of the girl sleeping, and the family who must even now be searching for her. He thought of the tokens and gifts of thanks left on the doorstep of the Prayer House every day.

And the deceit that lived in hearts hiding behind benevolence and piety.

When he stepped inside the nave, he felt the cold, sharp finger of dread scrape down his spine. He’d felt that, and the tightening in his chest, when he’d stepped into the ruins in the valley.

So here, too, he thought, spirits walked among the living. Here, too, blood had been spilled in secret and for dark purpose. The honored dead lay under carved stone slabs on the floor or entombed in chests. Niches held jars of sacred oils, blessed water, holy herbs. Though sunlight streamed through the stained-glass images in the arched windows, candles flickered. Some to bring the light, some for penance or blessings.

Their scent and the thin smoke of incense drifted through the air like the chanting song of the Pious who walked the colonnade in prayer.

He moved slowly, as an old man would, into the altar room where a few robed figures knelt in private, silent prayer.

The carving on the polished stone offered welcome to any in need.

And there, he heard as clearly as he heard the melodious voices chanting for peace, pledging their lives to good works, the cries of the sacrificed.

The goat, the lamb, the fawn, the child.

And through the scent of sweet oils and candles, he caught the stench of black magicks.

Inside, his blood burned as he kept his head bowed as if in reverence. The hand that gripped the cane longed to break the illusion and strike.

“I have waited too long to make this pilgrimage.”

“You’re here now, Old Father.”

Nodding, Keegan turned, started toward an archway. Through it, a passageway opened to a library where three sat at a long table busily writing histories, prayers, songs. Another, as old as Keegan’s illusion, dozed by the fire, his soft snores and the scratching of quills the only sounds in the room.

He passed other rooms where men and boys wove baskets and blankets, and others for the carving of wood, the polishing of stone.

The kitchens and eating areas, he recalled, spread on the other side, with some small chambers for those assigned to work in them.

He paused by the stone stairs circling up. Contemplation rooms and chambers, he recalled. He’d like a look at them now, to see how Toric and the other hierarchy lived since he’d visited last.

A full year, he remembered. Aye, he’d waited too long.

A boy of perhaps fourteen hurried down those steps, a basket of dirty linens in his arms. His hair had yet to be shorn close as ordained while taking full vows, and his robe stopped just past his knobby knees.

A novice, and a servant, Keegan thought.

His eyes widened in alarm.

“Blessings on you, pure of heart.”

Keegan smiled, returned the traditional Pious greeting. “And on you and yours.”

“You may not pass here, good sir. Only the Pious and those who tend their earthly needs may go up.”

“Merely resting my old bones a moment. They are many, many years beyond the spry of yours, lad.”

“Will I fetch you a chair, or a cup of water?”

“You are kind.” Keegan laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder. He didn’t have what Harken did, but trusted when he felt only innocence.

“You’re blessed by a holy man, boy, of great age and wisdom.” Mahon kept his tone stern, but not sharp. “Fetch Toric so he can give the pilgrim a proper welcome.”

“My thanks, Old Father, for the blessing.” The boy raced off without another word.

Satisfied, Keegan continued down the passageway, through a room of small altars and ancient icons, and into the sun-washed colonnade.

In the center stood a dolmen with a ring of stone around it. The grass that spread from there shined green to the stone walls and columns. Pious in their white robes, their hair cropped close to the skull, slowly circled the stone pathway while they sang.

They would do so, he knew, for two hours when the sun broke, two more at midday, and yet two more at eventide.

While archways and doors ringed the area, it spread open to the elements.

Now the sun fell kindly, but when it burned and glared, with the rains and winds swept, they would still walk and sing in prayers for peace and pure hearts.

How many, he wondered, who walked with their hands humbly tucked in their sleeves would take part in the human sacrifice, in the slaughter? How many more who knew or suspected held their silence?

The slap of sandals on stone had Keegan turning slowly.

He recognized Toric, and noted the Pious leader had added a few pounds to his round body. His head, round as well, was topped with the skullcap of his rank.

Over his pale blue eyes his gray eyebrows formed sharp vees. He wore no beard, as such things constituted the vanity the cult eschewed, and his double chins wobbled.

Keegan doubted he observed the weekly day of fasting.

“Mahon. I wasn’t informed you’d graced us with another visit. Old Father, you are both welcome. Blessings on you, pure of heart.”

“And on you and yours.” Keegan laid a hand on his heart and leaned on his cane. “My thanks, brother, for making me welcome.”

“Old Father is a friend to my family. A holy man who has made pilgrimage while spreading good works and good words across Talamh.”

“Please, please, come and sit.” Gesturing, Toric led them through another archway and to stone benches, a quiet fire. There he rang a small bell.

Another boy—females weren’t permitted inside the Prayer House, even as servants—scurried in.

“Fruit and wine for our visitors. Do you seek our refuge, Old Father?”

“How kind.” Keegan sat, let out a deep and weary breath. “Ah, the old bones do creak! The young one here”—he patted Mahon’s knee—“has offered me a cot for the night.”

“I will see you safely housed, Old Father,” Mahon promised.

“My needs are few.” Keegan held up a hand. “But I fear my days of making my home in a cave in the hills are done.”

“How many years have you, Old Father?”

“I count one hundred and sixty, and am coming to the end of this cycle. I journey here for the sea air and the nearness of those of you who live your lives in faith and prayer.”

The boy came back with a jug of water and cups, a bowl of fruit.

“Oranges!” Keegan filled his voice with pleasure. “You have Sidhe among your faithful.”

“A few. And more who bring offerings from below.” Toric studied Keegan closely as the boy poured water in the cups. “One hundred and sixty is a ripe age, but I trust you’ll have many more years.”

“It is not to be. My thanks.” Keegan accepted the cup, drank slowly. “Death is creeping close now, and I have seen my last summer. I do not fear it, as I have lived, always, in faith that what we end here only begins another plane. One of brighter light and deeper faith. I am ready when the gods call me.”

“Until that day, you are welcome here, Old Father. I know Mahon returns to his homeplace tomorrow. You would honor us by spending the time left to you on this plane in faith and prayer with us. I will arrange a chamber for you.”

Keegan bowed his head. “Your kindness to this pilgrim brings blessings on you.”

When they left, Keegan leaned on Mahon, and spoke only of the sea and the hills and the forest.

The minute they were in Mahon’s chamber, Keegan shook off the illusion. “Gods, I come to know the old fathers and mothers are the most courageous of us simply for putting their feet on the floor of a morning.”

He dropped down in a chair, stretched out his legs. And smiled. “Harken could have gotten every thought, but I found more than enough. They’ve already sacrificed, and more than once these last months, on the main altar. And Toric plans to slit my throat tomorrow, and offer the blood of a holy man near the end of this cycle of life to Odran, and to his faithful.”

“Bloody hell.”

“And that’s where he’ll spend his own cycle, for I’ve other plans.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

That evening, while Keegan laid out his plans, Breen and Marco spent an hour on Zoom with Sally and Derrick. As expected, she found them both fully geared up for Halloween.

“We’re going as Morticia and Gomez,” Sally told him.

“Cara Mia!” Derrick ran kisses up his husband’s arm to make him laugh.

“We want pictures!” Marco insisted. “And of the club. I’m a hundred percent you’ve gone wild there.”

“Right through with The Addams Family theme. Geo’s going as Uncle Fester. What about you?”

“I’m getting my cowboy on,” Marco decided on the spur of the moment.

“Witch.” Easy enough, Breen decided. “A good witch.”

“Sexy witch,” Sally added. “We want pictures, too. This is the first Halloween we haven’t had you here for—has to be close to ten years.”

How the hell were they going to get pictures? Breen wondered while Marco chattered on. She’d think of something.

“I know you have to get to the club,” she said as the hour wound up. “We want you to know we’re going on a little trip—research— and we’ll have spotty internet. Don’t worry if you don’t hear from us for a few days.”

It wasn’t exactly lying—and what choice did they have?

But she carried the guilt of it as she carefully sliced butternut squash for Marco’s roasted squash dippers.

“Shoulda known they’d want pictures,” he said as he prepped chicken breasts for the main. “Where the hell are we going to get costumes?”

“They won’t expect anything elaborate.” When he just looked at her, she laughed. “Okay, they’ll at least expect clever. We’ll put something together tonight, do a couple selfies.”

“I said ‘cowboy.’ Can’t be a cowboy without a cowboy hat.”

She considered while he chopped garlic. “You’ve got a ball cap.”

“No self-respecting cowboy wears a ball cap, girl. Every kind of wrong there.”

“I can do an illusion. I can do that. Pretty sure. Like …”

She turned to him, put the image in her head, then walked over, ran her hands over him.

He giggled. “No fair tickling. I’ve got a knife!”

“Pearl-handled six-shooter—toy,” she added quickly.

He looked down; his jaw dropped.

“I know you, and you’re the ‘Rhinestone Cowboy’ type.”

His shirt glittered with them in a rainbow of colors. She’d changed his belt to a bright red holster, added chaps to his jeans, and turned his high-tops into red cowboy boots with more rhinestones on the pointed toes.

“I gotta get a full load of me!”

“Get the ball cap,” she called after him. “And mine, too.”

She thought over her own, tried a black dress with a flowing handkerchief hem. Tall, spike-heeled boots.

“I look badass!” He rushed back in, stopped, narrowed his eyes at her. “Vee down that neckline, girl. And try one of those waist-cinchers, laces in the front. A red one. Better, better.”

He circled her as she worked. “I want to see red lips, and smoky eyes. Go over-the-top. It’s a costume.”

He ran his fingers through her hair, fussed until it met his level of witch-wild.

Then he put his ball cap on. “Ten-gallon me, partner.”

She gave him a rhinestone band to go with it before putting on her own cap and turning it into a classic witch hat.

“Smaller,” he told her, then tipped it off-center for flirty.

Into it now, Breen grabbed a dish towel, laid it over Bollocks, and turned it into a flowing cape.

“Super Bollocks!”

While Marco laughed, Morena walked in the door. “What’s all this then?”

“Trick-or-treat!” Marco struck his best cowboy pose. “I’m the Marco Kid.”

“I saw cowboys in your west. They didn’t shine so bright as you.”

“Have you met my friends, Super Bollocks and the Good Witch Breen?”

“I’ll tell you, if you wear that dress to the Welcome at the Capital, you won’t sit out a dance. Did you bring all that from Philadelphia?”

“It’s illusions. Our friends asked for pictures, and we had to think of something.”

“I can take them, as I know how to do it, then you’ll pour me some wine so I can tell you news.”

“Is anything wrong?”

“It’s not, and Mahon and Keegan are home. Brian sent his best to you, Marco.”

“Aw.”

They spent ten minutes posing, mugging, together and separately, before Breen poured wine all around.

“What’s the news— Wait.”

She broke the illusions and took off her ball cap.

“I really liked that shirt. Anyway, I’m making rosemary chicken in white wine. You in?”

“Who would say no?” Morena wondered. “I’m to remind you to pack, and sensibly. You’re to leave from the farm the day after Samhain, an hour after daybreak.”

“I wish you’d go,” Breen said.

“I’m needed here for now, but I hope you’ll take my love to my family and give it to them for me when you meet them. I’ll go for a short visit in a week or two.

“So first,” she began, “the taoiseach and Mahon bring back news they believe there’s someone—perhaps more than one—here in the valley keeping watch for Odran or the Pious, or both.”

“Like a spy?” Marco sautéed garlic in a skillet.

“So to speak. Someone we likely know as neighbor knows neighbor here. And more, they both agree it’s Toric in the south plotting and planning the attack.”

“Who’s Toric?” Breen asked.

“He’d be First Brother of the Pious. That’s what they call the one in charge—though they say the gods are and so on. They’ve taken a little girl, and have her spell sleeping, locked away in their round tower. They mean to sacrifice her tomorrow night.”

“Do what?” Stunned, Marco stared. “A kid?”

“They didn’t leave her there.”

“Wait, wait.” Morena tossed up her hands. “They know what they’re about. No harm will come to her, and they have elves watching over her.”

Since the two of them also seemed to know what they were about, Morena boosted herself to sit on the counter and watched them do it.

“Keegan did his own illusion, and walked right into the Prayer House as an old holy man. And as Mahon had already pointed fingers at Toric, Keegan read him, as best he could, while they talked. The Old Father’s invited to spend his final days with the Pious. And Toric plans for those days to end tomorrow night, along with the girl, as sacrifice.”

“But he’s here, so—”

“Oh, he’ll be going back, right enough, and as the Old Father, walking right into what Toric thinks is his death. But Toric will be in for what you’d say is a different turn of events.”

She boosted herself off the counter. “I’m not much of a one for warring. But I think of what Toric and those like him will do, have done, what those like him did all those years back, before any of us living now were born. How they tortured and killed in the name of their twisted faith. I would lift a sword to right that wrong.”

She shook her head, poured herself more wine. “The girl they have, her name is Alanis, Keegan learned, and her family is half-mad searching for her, fearing she’s lost or hurt.”

“And he couldn’t tell them,” Breen murmured. “He couldn’t because they might not hold back another day and we’d lose the advantage.”

“It weighs on him, I’ll tell you that. And I’ll tell you you’ll be seeing more than the shops and craftsmen, the crowds and the dancing at the Welcome. You’ll see justice done at the Capital when Keegan sits in the Chair of Justice and brings down his staff on the likes of Toric.”

It dragged at her mind, her heart, so Breen’s sleep came in patches. When she gave up before sunrise, she found herself unable to escape into the work. Instead, she walked down to the bay, sat, watched Bollocks’s joyful splashing while the sun rose.

It bloomed pink in the east, a shimmering line over the hills that spread, spread, spread with hints of gold, streaks of scarlet.

Thin columns of mist twined toward the light from the surface of the water, caught glints, tiny sparks of silver that turned the world into a gauzy curtain. The water shooting up from the dog’s happy swim tossed tiny jewels over the curtain.

And the rising sun breathed the night’s shadows away.

When he came out of the water, Bollocks sat beside her, and in the quiet, watched with her as the morning came into full bloom.

He tapped his tail when Marco walked down to them, coffee cups steaming in both hands.

But she didn’t hear him.

“Saw you down here, so I brought coffee. What a sight.” He held out her mug, then saw her eyes. “Hey, girl.”

“Before the sun rises again, before the light breaks as day follows night, death comes. Blood flies, and the storm of battle rips the air. As the veil thins on this Samhain, even the dead weep for innocence lost. But the dragon flies, and its fire purges clean. Innocence lost and innocence saved, and the supplicants of the fallen god will meet their fate.”

When she drew her knees up, rested her forehead on them, Marco sat beside her, rubbed her back as Bollocks leaned against her updrawn legs.

“I’ve tried pushing it away, but I know I have to see it. I have to watch it. Tonight.”

“You aren’t saying you’re going down there?”

“No, I don’t have to be there to watch. I’d just add more risk if I went. Marco, I feel like there’s something I need to find or be or have, that I just can’t see yet. Can’t reach yet. And I don’t know what it’s going to mean if I do see it, do reach it.”

She lifted her head, leaned it on Marco’s shoulder as she put an arm around the dog. “But I do know that in a few more hours people will risk their lives, and some will give them, to protect the rest of us. And I know, in Talamh, a little boy’s probably awake right now, so happy, so excited because today’s his birthday. I know that matters.”

“It all matters, Breen.” He picked up the coffee he’d set down, pushed the mug into her hand. “That’s why there’s always some son of a bitch trying to fuck it up.”

She let out a half laugh. “Truer words. Let’s sit here with this wonderful dog, drink our coffee, and look at all this beauty. It matters.”

The wind blew sharp in the valley, flattening the tall grasses this way then that and sending leaves twirling. But the sun pushed through clouds to spread widening spots of blue.

At the farm, in the paddock, Harken walked beside his nephew as Finian rode around and around on a pretty buckskin with a braided mane. His little brother sat on Keegan’s shoulders waving his arms in the air and hooting approval while his parents stood, arms around each other’s waists, and watched.

His grandmother perched on the paddock fence like a young girl, her hair blowing free in the wind.

“Look at me! Look at me!” Finian shouted when he saw the newcomers. “Harken gave me my own horse, and I named him Stoirm. Keegan had a saddle made just for me. It even has my name on it. I can ride every day.”

“In the paddock, my boy,” his mother warned him. “Until I say different.”

Kavan leaned down, arms outstretched toward Breen. Taking him, she gave him a little bounce before she set him on her hip so he could play with her hair.

“Lá breithe shona duit. And if I mangled that, happy birthday.”

“You did well enough,” Keegan told her.

“Míle buíochas!” Finian called back.

“He thanks you,” Keegan translated.

“I actually knew that one, and a little more. My father taught me some of the basics. I’d forgotten. Some’s come back to me.”

“Ma says the more tongues you speak the more places you’ll go.” Obviously in love, Finian bent forward to lay his cheek on his horse’s neck. “I’m going to learn lots of them like Keegan so I can go many places.”

His smile went coy as he spotted the little box Marco carried, the bag in Breen’s hand. “Did you bring gifts for me?”

“A gift’s best offered, not asked for.”

Finian just smiled at his father. “I just wondered.”

“I don’t think mine can compete with a horse or a saddle with your name on it.” Marco held up the box. “But I brought you something of mine I thought you might like.”

“Giving something of yours to me makes the gift very portent— important,” he corrected.

“Now, that’s well said, and as true as true can be. Off the horse now,” Aisling told him, “and come accept your important gift.”

Harken started to lift him down, but Finian shook his head. “I can do it. I can.”

He swung his leg over, shimmied down, and leaped the rest of the way.

“And who will tend this fine horse of yours?” Mahon asked him as Finian climbed through the fence.

“I will, Da. I promise I’ll take good care of him always.”

“I know you will. Let’s see what Marco’s got for you.”

Finian opened the box to a smaller box inside. The idea made him laugh as he worked out how to open the lid on the gift.

“It shines! It’s a— It has a word, but I don’t know it.”

“Harmonica. It was a gift to me from Breen’s dad when I was just a little older than you.”

Finian let out a gasp. “A gift from the taoiseach! But you have to keep it.”

“I had this strong feeling he wanted me to give it to you. It was the first instrument he taught me to play.”

“This is a grand gift indeed, Fin.” Tarryn walked over to them. “It has history and heart as well as music.”

“A thousand thanks. Will you play it so I can hear?”

Marco took it, played a quick riff. “It sounds happy.”

“It can sound happy, or sad.” He played it mournful. “Or scary!” After demonstrating, Marco handed it back. “Try it. Hold it like this.”

He coached him through the first notes that had Kavan bouncing and clapping.

Marco grinned up at Aisling. “Apologies in advance for a lot of noise.”

“Not a’tall! Music is always welcome.”

“Will you teach me to play songs on it?”

“I was hoping you’d ask. We’ll work on that. You can keep it in your pocket—that’s the handy thing about a harmonica—and play it anytime you want.”

Rising, he plucked Kavan off Breen’s hip. “Your turn.”

“I hope you like it.”

After sliding the harmonica into his pocket, Finian opened the bag, peeked in. “A book! I like stories. Ma or Da reads or tells us stories before bed every night.”

He pulled it out, puzzled over the hand-drawn (with Morena’s help) cover.

“This is my name. I can read my name, and a little more. It says Finian the something and something.”

“Finian the Brave and True.”

“This word is by, and the next has the brr sound like brave.”

“It’s my name. Breen Kelly.”

He looked up at her with stunned eyes. “You wrote a story for me?”

“For you, and about you. An adventure I imagined for you.”

“I can’t read all the words. Will you read it for me?”

“Absolutely.”

“Inside, I’m thinking, out of this wind. We’ll have some tea,” Tarryn added. “Come, my birthday lad.” She hauled him up. “We’ll have tea and cake and hear of Finian’s tale.”

Keegan touched her arm before Breen could follow the others. “That was a very fine gift. He’ll never forget it.”

“Every child deserves a bright birthday, no matter what else is happening. Morena told us what you learned, and what you plan to do. Are you sure that girl’s safe?”

“She is, and will be. It’s a blessing she’ll sleep through it, and not be frightened.” He looked south. “And in a few hours, it’s done. But for now, you’re right. The boy deserves a bright day. And I’d like to hear his story.”

She read the story, then read it again when Marg arrived with her gift and good wishes. Instead of a day of practice and training, she took a ride with Morena and Marco with the hawk circling overhead.

And Marco cringing whenever Amish landed on Morena’s arm.

“When we can,” Breen began, “I’d love to go hawking again. You’re excused,” she said to Marco.

“Damn right.”

“We’ll take Amish on a hunt when you’re back from the Capital.” Morena looked up, followed the hawk. And the glide of dragons, the sweep of faeries. “Keeping a close eye this day. I’ll be more than glad when it’s tomorrow. As will Harken. It’s hard for him to know his brothers will be in the thick, and he’s here in the valley. But he’s needed here, to keep watch on Aisling and the boys—and don’t ever tell her I said such a thing.”

“I won’t. He’s here to watch over me, too, isn’t he?”

“I never said such a thing, but of course.”

“And are you watching over me?”

Morena shifted in the saddle. “In my way. But enough of this. I’m saying you’ll pay attention to things at the Capital. I’ll want all the news—the gossip, as there’s always gossip. And I don’t mind hearing of the fashions, as I’ll have to consider them when I visit myself.”

“I’m your man on that.” Marco held up a hand. “This is Marco Olsen reporting for Capital Fashion News.”

Laughing, Morena reached over and swatted him. “You’re a one, you are.”

It was all so normal, Breen thought, or as normal as her normal had become. The day passed as days did—a quick shower in the late afternoon that only served to make the green shine. Sheep grazed on the hills, cows in the fields.

She saw children out playing, as Samhain gave them a holiday from school. Farmers worked the fields, bringing in harvest to store away for the winter to come or loaded into wagons for bartering.

They would light bonfires on the beaches that night, and she would join in for her first Samhain.

And she thought of the spirits trapped inside the stone ruin, some hungry to break free and taste blood. Some desperate to find release in the light at last.

She and Marco had the evening meal with Marg before sunset, then gathered what they needed to take to the bay.

“Some,” Marg explained as she mounted her mare, “will have their own circle, make their own offerings at their homes, in their hills. All and any are welcome to join ours. Seven are chosen to make the coven, to cast the circle, to complete the ceremony, but all are part of the whole. And there will be seven from each tribe represented.”

“How are they chosen?”

“The Sidhe choose theirs, the Weres theirs, and so on. For the Wise who will cast the circle, in most times Keegan would lead—as he is taoiseach, of the Wise, and comes from the valley.”

“But he’s already gone to the south.”

“Aye, and there will be some who wonder why he isn’t here. We will say to those who do he’s taking part at the Capital. In his place, Tarryn has chosen. She will serve, as will Harken and Aisling, as I will, as will young Declan, who’s reached his thirteenth year, and Old Padric, who has reached his century mark, as you will serve.”

“Me? But, Nan, I’ve never—”

“Nor has young Declan. All seven chosen drew their first breath in the valley.”

“If I do something wrong—”

“Why do you do that?” Marco demanded. “You’re not going to screw up, so stop it. Girl, I’ve watched you since all this started. And I’m saying you’ve got more going than you did when I first fell through the rabbit hole. Just that fun shit you did last night with the costumes. Man, you didn’t even really think about it. Just, like, abracadabra.”

“That was just …” Something she’d never done before, Breen realized.

“Marco knows his friend, and I know my granddaughter. He’s the right of it, and I’ve seen the same. Your power grows, and your memories clear. One, I think, connects to the other. This is a solemn night, mo stór, but a joyful one as well.”

She paused to gesture. “The fires are laid, the altar set, and the Fey gather. As do those from the outside who join us, and are welcome.”

And while the balefire burned, Breen thought, the battle would rage in the south. She wouldn’t make a mistake, she vowed as they walked the horses toward the beach. And she would open herself and send whatever she had, whatever she could, to those who fought back the dark.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Breen knew some of the faces, some of the names from the ceilidh. Marco, of course, knew more, so she didn’t worry about having someone explain the rite to him, walk him through it as she’d planned to do.

In this rite, in this way, her grandmother had told her, any who wished could leave an offering at the altar. A token, an image of an ancestor, food, wine, flowers. All this brought and left before the casting of the circle, before the words were spoken, before the lighting of the fire.

She saw now many had left those offerings, and more laid others. Beside the drawing Marg placed of Eian, Breen laid blooms picked from flowers she’d planted herself. And gave Marco’s hand a squeeze as he placed a small boule of bread beside them.

“It’s good,” he told her. “I didn’t know what I’d think of all this, but it’s …it’s personal and respectful. It’s good.”

He gave her a kiss on the cheek before he moved away.

Personal, Breen thought. Yes, it felt very personal. The images, the tokens, the food, the flowers, they all felt very personal.

She stepped back to wait until she was called, turned when she heard a man ask about the taoiseach.

Before she could answer, the girl beside him rolled her eyes as it seemed girls did in all worlds.

“I told you, Uncle, he’s observing Samhain in the Capital.”

“He should be here. This is his place.”

“All of Talamh is his place,” Breen heard herself say. Surprised at herself, she offered a smile to soften the sharpness that had cut through her words.

“What do you know? Who are you to say? You lived your life in the world of man.”

“Uncle! Your pardon. My uncle traveled from the north only a few weeks ago to stay with us through Samhain. He hoped to see the taoiseach lead the ritual.”

Behind his back, the girl mimed drinking with another eye roll.

Breen struggled not to laugh, tried for sympathetic. “Of course you’re disappointed. I hope—”

“You’ll know disappointment,” he muttered.

Annoyed, she reached out for his arm as he turned. “I’m sure if you—”

She felt it. It poured off him, and for an instant twisted inside her like a snake.

Such hate, such anger. And through it, such dark purpose.

Beside her, Bollocks growled.

“You would lay hands on me, you of tainted blood?”

“Yes.”

With his eyes glinting, he started to shove her. She blocked, and swept his legs out from under him in a move that shocked her as much as him.

Bollocks planted his front paws on the man’s chest. Snarled.

“Stay down,” she ordered as people began to move in. “Harken. I need Harken.”

“I’m here. I’m here. What’s all this now?” Though he moved fast, his tone came easy as a stroll. “Has someone had a few too many pints before a solemn rite? Ah well, it happens,” he added as he crouched down and patted the dog aside.

“I’m sorry! I’ll get my parents.” The girl raced off with elf speed.

“I think he’s unwell.” Breen held the man down with will, murmured into Harken’s ear, “A spy. I think—I feel. If I’m wrong—”

Harken merely smiled and laid a hand on the man’s shoulder. And because he had his other on Breen’s, she felt Harken’s quick rage. But his smile never dimmed.

“Sleep,” he murmured, and the man went limp. “Passed out, is all. Now, now, have a heart and move back so you don’t swallow all his air. We’ll just cart him out of the way, let him sleep it off.”

“Ah gods, Lordan.” The woman who raced back with the girl covered her face. “My father’s brother, and a black sheep as ever was. Sure I’m sorry for the trouble. We’ll haul him home.”

“No need,” Harken assured her. “We’ll just let him sleep.” He signaled to another man to help him carry the unconscious man well away from the altar.

“Out he goes in the morning, kin or no,” the woman said. “Your pardon, Breen Siobhan, for his rudeness. My girl said he insulted you.”

“No harm done.”

She glanced back, saw two men now stood on either side of Lordan from the north.

Harken drew her aside when he came back. “You weren’t wrong, and he may not be the only, so we’ll keep it as a drunk passed out until it’s done. And he’ll be taken to the Capital for judgment. Come now, and we’re seven.”

Before she joined him, she bent down, kissed Bollocks’s nose. “What a good dog you are. Go stay with Marco. Right over there with Finola and Seamus and the children. Stay with them.”

Her heart tripped a little as she went to stand beside Marg.

She watched others merge. Sidhe, Elfin, Were, Troll, and in the bay, seven Mers formed their ring.

Tarryn lifted her hands, palms up.

“The wheel turns, and the old year gives way. We come to welcome the new. On Samhain, we honor those who have left this world, and welcome them back.”

“Blessed be,” Breen answered with all the rest.

Each lifted their ritual sword and spoke the words as they walked around the altar three times.

“We cast this circle with sword, with power, with the energy from the Mother who is Earth.”

As they called the Quarters, the Guardians of the East, South, West, North, Breen felt it rise in her, and spread, and bloom. The light that was power, the power that was a gift.

As Marg called to the god of the underworld, the candle flames speared high and straight toward the deepening sky.

Inside herself, outside herself, Breen heard her own call to the goddess. “Great Lady, Mistress of the Moons, give us your blessing. Grant us wisdom, grant us courage to face what comes. We are your children, sons and daughters. Help us reach through the thinning veil to those loved and lost. Blessed be.”

On the altar fire sparked; smoke rose.

When she lifted her arms like the others drawing down the moons, asking for the light to shine into their spirit, she heard her father, heard him as clearly as if he stood beside her.

You’re my heart, my hope, my abiding love. You are everything to me, then, now, always. Be strong, Breen Siobhan, and face what comes, what I failed to spare you from facing.

With her father’s voice inside her, with the others beside her, Breen lit the Samhain fire. She took a candle, gave it her breath, its flame.

For you, Da, she thought as she placed it in the ground.

“Here is the fire,” Tarryn called out. “Here is the light. Here,” she said, laying a hand on Aisling, “is the promise of new life.”

“Lord and Lady, god and goddess, we bring the bread, we bring the wine to honor you and those who came before.” Aisling lifted the chalice, the bread. “Blessed be.”

In silence, in reverence, Aisling passed the bread, the wine, took her own, and left the rest for the ancestors.

“We thank the Great Mother for her blessing,” Harken said. “Ask her for strength in both darkness and light.”

“Blessed be.”

“We thank the Lord of the Sun for his blessing,” Declan said. “Ask him for strength in both darkness and light.”

“Blessed be.”

They called to the Quarters to give thanks, then closed the circle.

“Open now this circle, but broken never.” Tarryn crossed her hands over her heart. “We stand in hope, in light, in love. We hold the memories of those who have left us in hope, in light, in love. Blessings on you, children of the Fey, and all who stand with you.”

Marg laid a hand on Breen’s cheek. “You felt him, as I did.”

“I heard him, Nan.”

“As I did. Such a strong spirit, he is. Such love he has for you.” Now she kissed Breen’s cheeks, one, then the other. “We were blessed this night. Now, in Fey tradition, we share treats with the children.”

“But in the south—it’s starting, must be—in the south.”

“We have faith.”

They needed more than faith, Breen thought. Her father had said strength—to have strength to face what he died fighting.

So she would use her strength and face it. And look.

Even as the children gobbled sugar biscuits and candied fruit, she stepped to the Samhain fire.

Drawing up her power, she looked deep into the flames.

Other fires burned on the beaches in the south as they burned here. And in the hills, as here. In the fields and dooryards.

Circles cast, rings of seven.

Harken stepped beside her.

“I only see the rite, and peace. Maybe the vision was wrong. I was wrong.”

He took her hand, and the jolt of new power shot through her.

“We’ll watch. And if the vision proves true, send our light.”

Marg took her other hand, and more gathered.

“I can’t see anything but a big fire,” Marco said from behind her.

“Do you want to see?” Harken asked him.

“I … Yeah. I’ve got friends there. I don’t have anything to send, but—”

“Oh, there’s light in you, brother. As in all living things. A hand on Breen’s shoulder, and one on mine. We’ll show you what we see.”

With hope, with strength, and with faith, those gathered around the fire saw all.

Deep in the round tower, one of the Pious unlocked the door of the small cell where a child slept. As he approached the girl, three elves slid out of the stone walls.

One held a knife, and her hand trembled with the wish to use the blade. Instead, she used the hilt to knock the robed man to the floor.

“Bind him up, lock him in. He’ll face his judgment. Then take your places for the battle that comes.”

She sheathed the knife, slid her arms under the child to lift her. “I have you, bláth beag,” she whispered, and cuddling the child close, shot out of the cell in a blur.

On the rise above the beach while the elf whisked the girl to safety, Old Father stood.

“So many Samhains I have known in this life. How bright the ritual fire shines against the dark of the sky and sea.” He turned to Toric with a quiet smile. “I understand your faith doesn’t observe this night, or ask to reunite so briefly with loved ones lost.”

“We do not question the gods who ended those lives, nor wish to disturb the peace or punishment given them in the next. We thank you for honoring our faith while you stay with us.”

“All faith that lifts up good works, that harms none and accepts others should be honored.” Keegan, as Old Father, leaned heavily on his cane. “I once visited a world where its people professed their world rested on a golden plate lifted from a great sea by a giant fish who held it balanced upon his tail. Not even a starving man would feed upon a fish in this world, as they were sacred. But most there lived good lives, loved their young, had kindness toward neighbor and stranger alike.”

“You’ve traveled many places, Old Father. Will you come inside now, sit, and, over a cup of wine, tell me some of your travels?”

“With pleasure.”

Two others stood in the nave, hands inside their sleeves.

What courage, Keegan thought. Three against one old man.

“You have lighted all the candles, I see, though you don’t observe Samhain.”

“We do not, as it is an unholy night for pagans and heretics. We are the pathway for the true god, the dark god.”

Old Father took a stumbling step back. “My son—”

“Not yours, never yours. We are sons of Odran. And you are our sacrifice to him.” The hand Toric took out of his sleeve held a knife, and its blade shined keen and black in the candlelight. “We will drink your blood this night, and throw your body on the pyre.”

Old Father lifted the cane as if to defend himself. As Toric laughed at the gesture, Keegan lowered what was now his sword, and put the tip against Toric’s throat.

“Shall I slit yours as you would an old man’s? It would pleasure me to do so.”

Instead, he gripped Toric’s knife hand, twisted it so that man dropped to his knees. He punched power at one of the two who charged him, short swords gleaming, planted a boot in the belly of the other as elves slid out of the walls.

“Lock these away—take their robes, and lock them tight. Take the house and the hill. Hold this high ground.”

He looked up as a bell began to toll.

“Ah, that would be a signal to their god. Shed blood if you must. Only if you must.” He looked down at Toric. “There is judgment coming.”

He ran out, called to Cróga. He, too, had a signal.

And when the dragon flew, Fey poured out of the woods, over the hills, across the beaches.

Some served to drive villagers to safety, to help gather children. And others waited with unsheathed swords, nocked arrows, clubs, and spears, on land, in air, in sea, for what would come.

And in the west, at the curve of land and sea, on the point of the cliff, Keegan saw the faint glimmer in the dark.

“West!” he shouted, pointing his sword as Cróga flew.

They leaped out of the portal, on horseback, on foot, on wing, on hoof.

“Archers.”

Arrows flew, some tipped with flame. And with the fiery flight, the first screams of the dying ripped the night.

He met the sword of a dark faerie, slashed through wing, and sent the snarling female into the sea. As he fought another, Cróga whipped his tail to fling a flying demon after the faerie where the Mers took up the battle.

And still they came, claw and sword, fang and arrow, though Keegan had a coven of the Wise working to close the portal. When he gave the order, Cróga spewed fire to scorch half a dozen who raced toward children huddled behind rocks on the cliffside.

He felt the burn of power sear his side, spun toward it.

He spotted the wizard robes, black and flowing, and the fallen Fey around him. He flung out power in sheets of ice to strike against the vicious heat.

The air sizzled; steam spewed. Keegan flew down through it. He slapped back, power against power, until the circle of mist spread thick.

And with it, protection against the dark within to those outside its ring.

He leaped from Cróga, met his foe on the scorched sand.

“I know you.” Aye, Keegan thought, he knew that face, the wild dark eyes, the sharp cheeks, the flow of black hair and beard. “Nori the Mad.”

“And I you, Keegan the Weak. What a prize you are.” He flung out a bolt of lightning. Keegan batted it away so it dissolved in the mist.

The mad eyes laughed. “The taoiseach before you sought to banish me, and where is he now? Dead by Odran’s hand, and lost in the underworld, where he cries for mercy. As you will when you die by mine, and Odran sips your blood, when his demon dogs feast on your—”

Keegan pierced Nori’s heart with his sword and lopped the head from the body as it fell. “Too much talking.”

With a wave of his hand, he dissolved the mists.

He called out for healers to help the fallen and rushed back into battle.

At the verge of the sea, he saw Sedric battling three, his silver hair flying as he whirled. Before Keegan could lash out power to even the odds, Sedric impaled the leaping demon dog. He used its body as both shield and battering ram. He cleaved one enemy’s arm at the elbow, and in the fountain of blood, slashed the sword upward to disembowel the third.

“It’s closing,” Keegan heard someone shout over the clash of steel, the screams and cries of war. “The portal’s closing.”

Once again he called for Cróga and took to the air to help cut off escape, to cut down the enemy, combat dark magicks with light.

Even when the portal shut, when the coven worked to seal it, the battle raged. Rolls of smoke spread from burning shops and cottages, stinging the air, muffling the pleas for help.

Sweat ran down his body, blood stained his clothes, his face as he fought those trapped in Talamh, as he shouted orders to pursue any who tried to escape over the hills, over the sea, into the woods, through the fields.

He turned a gargoyle to stone as it leaped on the back of a soldier, crushed it underfoot when it fell. Slashing, hacking his way through the enemy, he called for Cróga to pluck three he saw climbing the cliffs. Cursed when he stepped in the ooze of what had been a demon, and fought on, until he found himself back-to-back with Mahon, taking on the dwindling foe.

And at last, when there was only the weeping and the moans, the stench and smoke, he lowered his sword.

He said, “It’s done. We’ll send scouts to root out any that got through. There won’t be many.”

He turned, cursed again. “That’s your own blood.” He lifted a hand toward the gash in Mahon’s arm.

“Heal yourself,” Mahon told him, and pointed to the blood seeping from Keegan’s side and through his shirt.

“Fuck me, three of the dogs at once, and one got through for a bite. You first, as I have to face my sister.”

But the pain was seeping through now as well, after the numbing blur of war. Still, he closed Mahon’s gash, hissed when he closed the punctures on his side.

“We’ll have someone with more skill than mine do the rest of it.” He swiped at his face with the back of his hand as he looked around the beach, the hills, the pretty village and saw the burning, the blood, the ruin. The death.

“We’ll heal our own, and theirs after. Bind any of theirs who live for the Judgment. We’ll burn their dead and salt the ash. We’ll carry our dead home. Gods, I want a vat of ale and a bed.”

“I’ll take the ale, a scrub, and what I wouldn’t give for my lady’s arms around me. I’ll have to settle for yours.”

Mahon laid his hands on Keegan’s shoulders, and when Keegan laughed, rested his forehead on his friend’s. “Well fought, brother.”

“Well fought. And fuck me again, and you along with me, this was nothing. A scratch, a prick of a needle to what’s coming still.”

“And so we’ll fight on, heal our wounds, honor our dead. And fight on again. For Talamh, and all the worlds.”

“For Talamh, and all the worlds.” Keegan sheathed his sword. “Gods, but the taste of the kill is foul. I will dance, I swear it, on the day I never have to drink it again. But for now.”

He looked up the hill to the Prayer House. “I will see Toric and his lot are bound and taken in for judgment.”

“Taoiseach!” One of the elves he’d positioned inside the Prayer House raced to him.

“You hold the house and all in it?”

“Aye, aye, but …” His eyes filled. “We found one in a chamber below the bell tower. And three boys, just boys. Two already dead with their throats slit. His knife with their blood dripping. And he had the third sliced open before we could stop him. They were children. Just boys.”

“Does he live?”

“I killed him. I didn’t have to, I didn’t obey. I—”

“Do you think I would find blame in you for this? It’s, ah, Colm, isn’t it?”

“Aye, sir.”

And you barely more than a boy yourself, Keegan thought.

“Know there is no blame for this, and know we will seek out the family of the murdered boys. If they have none, we will take them in honor with our dead.”

He looked up the hill again, and it burned through him. Rage and grief, grief and rage building a fire that scorched his soul.

“And know this, as I am taoiseach. This house falls. Every stone of it. There will be nothing left of it, and the evil that grew inside. We will build a monument in its place, on ground so sanctified. A monument to the fallen, to the innocent, to the brave, and all who walk in the light will be welcome.”

He let out a breath. “So I have spoken.”

He put a hand on the elf’s shoulder before he walked toward the steps leading up. “Well fought,” he said, and carried his rage and grief with him.

The first stars began to gutter out when Keegan flew toward the valley. He’d ordered Mahon and Sedric to bring the valley’s dead home, assigned others to do the same across Talamh.

And he’d stayed in the south until the pyre of enemy dead went to ash under dragon fire.

The warriors he’d left there would help rebuild what was destroyed. And would raze the Prayer House to the ground.

He wanted home, and for a few hours he’d take it.

As Cróga glided down, Keegan stretched across his neck. Words were never needed between them, but he spoke them.

“Rest well, mo dheartháir. A thousand thanks for your courage and skill this night.”

Weary to the bone, Keegan slid to the ground, then trudged toward the farmhouse, where a light beamed welcome from the window.

He might have gone straight upstairs, might have simply fallen into his bed in the clothes stained with blood and sweat and smoke, but he saw light glowed in the kitchen as well.

There he found his mother and his brother drinking tea. And from the scent of it, tea with a good dose of whiskey.

Tarryn rose, and though he would have held her off, embraced him.

“I’m filthy.”

“You’re whole and safe, as are Mahon and Sedric. We kept watch.” She drew back far enough to kiss his cheek, look into his eyes. “Well fought,” she told him.

“The portal’s closed and sealed,” he began.

“We kept watch,” Tarryn repeated. “Throughout. Breen opened the Samhain fire, and all kept watch. Sit. You’ll have a whiskey. We’ll save the tea for this round.”

He sat. “You haven’t slept.”

“Nor have you,” Harken said. “I spoke with Mahon and Sedric not two hours ago. Our dead are home. Tomorrow at sunset we’ll send them on, as you will send the dead on from the Capital. As all of Talamh will. This I’ll see to.”

Painfully grateful, Keegan nodded before he lifted the cup his mother poured. “We’ll drink to those we lost, and the light that takes them in.”

When they had, Tarryn pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “Now you’ll eat.”

When she got a skillet, Harken started to rise. “I’ll fix a meal, Ma.”

She sent him a cool stare. “Are you thinking I can’t manage some eggs and bacon for my boys?”

“I’m thinking you don’t do much cooking in the Capital.”

“Sit your arse back down. You’ll eat what I give you, and like it.”

Then she set the skillet on the stove, turned to put an arm around each of them. “My boys,” she said again, and this time kissed both of them. “And after you’ve eaten, Keegan, you’ll scrub and well. You reek.”

“As I’ve been living with myself, I’m more than aware.” As he leaned into her, he closed a hand over Harken’s. “I’m having the Prayer House razed, the ground sanctified, and a memorial to the dead built in its place. They’ve betrayed us twice,” he went on when Harken simply watched him and his mother said nothing. “I won’t give them the chance to betray us a third time.”

Tarryn turned, put slabs of bacon in the skillet to sizzle. “Some on the council will object, as will others, on the grounds of freedom and of choice.”

“Will you?”

She shook her head as she selected eggs. “The child they stole and would have sacrificed would be enough. The plotting with Odran would be enough. But Mahon told us they killed three boys who’d come to serve and study.”

“And others who’d had no part in the plot, no knowledge of the blood sacrifices done under Toric’s orders.”

“Empaths can confirm all of this,” Harken said. “If you sent three, to walk and feel and look, no argument would hold.”

“I saw the young boys myself,” Keegan began, then held up a hand. “You’ve the right of it, and I’ll have that done. And there will be no more shelter and serving and secrecy for those who would spill our blood to honor Odran, or any god.”

“I, time and again, urge you to temper your anger with diplomacy,” Tarryn commented as she cooked. “But in this, let your anger lead. Will the child they stole and her family come to the Capital for the Judgment?”

“Aye, it’s arranged.”

“Good. Let them see and be seen. Let them know and be known.”

She piled food on plates, set them on the table. “Now eat. Then we’ll rest—well, you’ll scrub off the battle stink, then rest. There’s more work to be done.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

With what she’d seen in the fire haunting her, Breen slept poorly. She’d already packed what she hoped would see her through this trip east—kept it light as ordered. But she’d included the paper and pen her grandmother had conjured for her so she could continue to write.

Should the opportunity arise.

She went down before sunrise for coffee, to let Bollocks out. And worried about the dog, afraid if she tried to leave him behind with Marg, he’d somehow follow her—scent and mind.

The alternative, as she saw it, was for him to ride with her, at least for stretches of the journey. He’d gotten so big, she thought as she watched him swim in the bay. But she’d manage.

Marco came down for coffee of his own. “You’re sure about Brian, right? He’s okay.”

“He’s fine, and already back at the Capital.” Because he’d led the transport of the dead, Breen thought, but didn’t say. “You’ll see for yourself in a few hours.”

“I’ll feel better when I do. I’m going to make us a hot breakfast. It’s a long ride.”

Five to six hours on horseback, Marg had told her, depending on the pace. A fraction of that, of course, on dragon or faerie wing.

She ate, she dressed, she added food and treats for Bollocks to her packing when she admitted to herself she wanted him with her as much as he wanted to go with her.

“Is it okay if I take my harp? I know it’s extra, but—”

“I’m taking a dog. I think you can take your harp.”

“He’s going?” Immediately, Marco brightened. “All right! I feel better about that, too, after seeing how he went for that guy who came at you last night. I know it’s still early, but—”

“Better early than late.”

She brought light to guide their way, and they crossed into Talamh, into the cool and thinning mists of dawn.

She heard voices, and the jingle of bits as travelers saddled horses, and saw the movement of those already gathering.

As they crossed the road, she saw her grandmother in her hooded cloak standing with Sedric.

She went to them, embraced them. “I saw you in the fire. I saw you fight,” she told Sedric. “I’m glad you’re on our side.” She gripped his hand an extra moment. “I’m glad you’re safe and well. Are you going to the Capital?”

“I’m needed here. But we’ll see you on your way. Stand tall, Breen Siobhan. You’re your father’s daughter.”

She looked over as Harken led Boy to her. “Safe journey,” he said.

“Thanks. Will Boy have a problem if Bollocks rides with me when he gets tired?”

“Not a bit of it, but it’ll crowd you considerable. Keegan rides Merlin, but Cróga travels as well. He’d carry our lad here.”

“Oh, I’m not sure that’s …” Even possible, she thought.

She let it go as others rode or led horses to the road, as dragons glided and circled through the wakening sky.

She watched Keegan ride out of the mists. “We’re all of us here and ready, so we’ll go.”

He leaned over to tap Harken’s shoulder, murmured something to him. Mahon embraced Aisling and his boys before he took to the air.

Sedric took Breen’s tote bag and hooked it with the saddlebags on the horse.

“I packed the scrying mirror,” she told Marg.

“I’m here when you need me.” Marg kissed her cheek. “Find the pleasure in the journey.”

“I will.” Or try, she thought. She mounted, and with Marco, fell in line, and into a brisk trot. Bollocks, already finding the pleasure, trotted along between them.

They rode toward the east, where the sun painted the sky with light and color, where the hills rolled and rose, where lakes glimmered and rivers snaked.

She saw children trudging or riding toward a building perched in a field and realized it was the school for that end of the valley.

Here and there cottages huddled closer together, then spread apart again. Stone fences ran between fields where sheep, horses, or cows grazed. Gardens burgeoned with cool weather crops; flowers splashed color wherever they willed.

When she sensed Bollocks tiring, she veered to the grass between road and wall. Before she could dismount to help him onto the horse, Cróga glided down—scattering sheep like tossed cotton balls. He folded his wings as he landed in the field.

“Come on back over here, girl.” Marco turned his horse to the other side of the road. “Maybe Mr. Big-Ass Dragon wants to take a nap. Let’s just keep going awhile.”

“As soon as I get Bollocks up with me.”

Again, she started to dismount, but Keegan circled back.

“Tell him to get on Cróga. He won’t leave you otherwise.”

“I’m not sure he should—”

“He’ll be fine, as you’ll see for yourself. It’s not the first dog he’s carried. We’ll stop to rest and water the horses in another hour, but the dog’s flagging. Show her what you’re made of,” he told Bollocks.

To Breen’s surprise and worry, Bollocks leaped over the wall, and when Cróga dipped a wing, scrambled right up it onto the dragon’s back.

“You don’t baby a warrior, and he proved himself one only last night I’m told.” He signaled to Cróga, and with the dog perched on his back, the dragon glided into the air.

“Now he’s a dragon rider.” Satisfied, Keegan galloped away.

“That dog’s getting a piggyback ride from a dragon.” Shaking his head, Marco rode over to watch with her. “That’s something you don’t see in Philadelphia.”

“He’s loving it.” Breen felt the dog’s delight in the flight, in the wind, the speed.

They rode on through the green.

The land gentled in wide, deep patchworks of that green and gold and brown. Forests rose with trees so wide it would take three with arms outstretched, hands joined, to circle their trunks.

And when she opened herself, she felt the life beating in them. The fox and the bear, sparrow and hawk, deer and rabbit, elf and Were.

They came to a river, brown as tea, and the bridge spanning it. To the north, high mountains speared through clouds so their peaks seemed to float over them.

“The Giant’s Steps,” one of the outriders told her. “And the highest there to the west is Dragon’s Nest. The peaks will go white soon, and remain covered in the snow until Lammas.”

Breen knew his face—young, ruddy, handsome—from the ceilidh, but struggled to find the name.

Marco had no problem. “Do you ever get snow down here, Hugh?”

“A sweep perhaps, frost for certain in the higher lands. But the sort a man sinks into past his boots? Only once I know of in my life span in the foothills of the Giant’s Steps. I was born there.”

“You know Brian Kelly?”

“Sure and I know Brian. We came up together, we did, as my mother and his are cousins. Northmen of Talamh we are.”

“You miss it.” Breen could feel it, that yearning. “The north.”

“I do, aye. And when peace covers all of Talamh again, home I’ll go. I’ve a wife waiting, and a son not yet two. After we honor those we lost in the south, I’m for home until called again.”

On the other side of the bridge, they walked the horses toward the trees and the lively stream that weaved through them.

Breen dismounted, then handed the reins to Marco before she rushed to where Cróga landed. Bollocks scrambled down as happily as he had scrambled up.

“Look at you, dragon-rider dog. We’ll write about that in the next one.” She gave him long strokes before letting him race to the stream for a quick splash and a drink.

As she started back, Keegan walked toward her.

Hours on horseback, and that following a night of brutal combat, didn’t appear to wear him down. He looked as ridiculously romantic now as he had when he’d ridden the black stallion out of the morning mists.

Smarter, she reminded herself, not to think about how he looked, but about what needed to be done.

“You were right. About Bollocks. I’ve lost any track of time, so I don’t know how much longer we have to ride.”

He pointed up. “Do you see the sun?”

“Yes, I see the sun.” That came in and out of the clouds that washed over it, streamed by it.

“It’s traveled three hours since we left the valley, so we’ve traveled three hours. Two and a bit more left, as we’ve made good time. We take time here for the horses, for the riders to eat. You have food in your saddlebag—my mother saw to it.”

“Oh. That was nice of her.”

“The dog …” Frowning, he trailed off. “Why do you do that? Is something wrong with your leg?”

“What?” She’d brought her left leg behind her, pulling her heel to her butt to stretch her quadriceps. “No. I’m just stretching.” She tapped a hand on her thigh as she did the same with the right. “These muscles.”

“Hm. Well then, the dog should ride with Cróga until we near the Capital. Then he should go with you. And you should ride in the front with my mother and me.”

“Why would I ride up front?”

“You are granddaughter to Mairghread, daughter of Eian. Both were taoiseach. You are … who you are. They’ll know you by your hair, by your eyes. They will expect it. Ride where you like until then. I’ll send someone for you when it’s time.”

“What do I do? Give me a break, will you? I’ve never done any of this before.”

Keegan shoved his fingers through his hair. “People will be out, or come out. They’ll know about the battle, and our victory. That brings pride. They’ll know about our dead, and those brought back to families who’ll grieve for them. This brings sorrow. Keep your back straight, and your head up. Meet eyes that need yours to see them. And it would be best if you came to the ceremony for the fallen.”

He gestured for her to follow him, then pointed at her saddlebag. “Eat.”

“What did you do with the Pious you captured? And the man— the spy—from the valley?”

“They’re secured and guarded. Those with powers, those powers have been bound, and will remain bound until the Judgment.”

She found bread and cheese wrapped in her saddlebags, along with an apple. “When is the Judgment?”

“Tomorrow. Two days if two days are needed.”

“Am I allowed to be there?”

“Aye, and it would be best if you came.” He held up a hand before she could ask another question. “Eat, stretch, or what suits you. Ten minutes more, then we ride. Someone will instruct you where you need it, answer what you need. Let the dog go with Cróga until I send for you.”

When he walked away, Breen bit into the bread.

“Weight of the world on his shoulders,” Marco commented. “I was going to say something to cheer him up, but it seemed wrong.”

“He talked about us riding into pride and sorrow. I only saw the sorrow.” She took the apple around to feed to Boy. “Before, I thought how he looked …” She searched for a safe word. “Fresh, fresh and strong, considering the last twenty-four hours. But you’re right, Marco. Over and under and through all that? The weight of the world. Or more, the worlds.”

“You’re carting some of that, my Breen.”

“Not like he does.”

When they mounted again, she watched Bollocks fly overhead on Cróga. The road rose and fell with the land, and the gentle patchworks of the midlands gave way to the rolling east.

She saw a stone circle ringed in a field with a stone column in its center. She heard its hum as they passed. A graveyard where sheep wandered through the stones near a small building that looked like a little chapel of some sort.

She felt no dark from it, only quiet and soft light.

Near her, Marco chatted with other riders. She let the voices lull her, along with the steady rhythm of the horse under her, the cool air that brought the scent of peat smoke and grass, the occasional rider or wagon that went by with a salute or a greeting.

The long night with only snatches of sleep had her half dozing.

She found herself near the waterfall, in the green light where moss grew in thick carpets on the trees, and the river reflected it.

Pixies danced there, over and through the tumble of water, white against green. All the hearts beating—so many—filled her own. Dragons, tiny zips of color, winged and dipped. Enchanted, she walked closer to the bank of the river.

In this river years before, she knew, she’d been closed in glass, held under the surface. In this place not so long ago, Yseult had bespelled her—but that was done.

She was safe here, with the pixies, the baby dragons, and the music they made.

In the river, its green clear as glass, she saw the gleam of the red pendant as she had in a dream once before. The dragon’s heart stone just beyond her reach.

She started to kneel down, to stretch her arm out and down. And a shadow passed over the river, over her.

She looked up, her own heart beating fast now. Above, circling above, the dragon. Red as the stone, gold tips as bright as the chain.

She wanted to reach up. She wanted to reach down.

The dragon circled, gold eyes watching. The pendant shimmering, waiting for her hand to bring it to the surface.

Choose and become. She heard Marg’s voice in her head. Choose to become. Take your place, and both are yours.

I can’t reach either. I can’t quite reach.

She held one hand toward the sky, the other toward the water. And feeling herself slip, pulled back.

And stood on the other side of the falls. Like a ghost she stood behind Odran. His voice boomed, made her want to press her hands to her ears.

Yseult, her hair liberally streaked with white, chanted with him.

As did the demons and the damned who gathered.

She didn’t know the language, but still she knew the words.

Run with blood, feed on death. And with the feast break this lock. Un-seal the door, by my command. I will take what is mine, what was denied me. Be this blood, be this death only the next in what will come.

She saw the child now, a young faerie whose pale pink wings frantically beat, as she screamed for her mother, as she tried to escape the chains that held her in the river shallows.

When he lifted the knife, Breen didn’t think. Only acted.

She threw power out so the knife spun from his hands, threw it so he cried out in shock and pain. Threw it out so the chains broke and sank under the water.

And the young faerie flew into the trees.

On the wrong side, the wrong side, Breen thought as Odran whirled.

For an instant their eyes—gray and gray—met.

She felt dark close in around her.

And someone said her name.

She jerked back, found Keegan gripping her arm. “Back straight,” he snapped, then saw her face.

“Where were you?”

“I—Odran. He had a child, a faerie child. The waterfall, a sacrifice. I stopped him. I don’t know how. I don’t know when. Now, before, yet. I don’t know. But she flew away, and he saw me. He saw me, and she’s on the other side.”

“Not before, or I’d know. If now, she’ll hide, and we’ll find her. We’ll find if any child from Talamh is missing. If yet, we’ll see she’s protected. Stop,” he ordered. “There isn’t time now. I’ll see to it. You ride in the front. Cróga will bring the dog to you. Ride behind my mother.”

The hand on her arm gripped tighter. “We’ll find her. We’ll look, and we’ll find.”

“Dilly—her name, the name she calls herself. She has brown hair, gold eyes, brown skin, pink wings. She was … about six, I think. No more than seven.”

“We’ll find her.”

He gave Boy a slap on the flank to send him forward before signaling to one of the faeries overhead.

He gave orders, and as he rode to the front, three veered off in different directions.

“I was talking to Hugh and Cait.” Marco edged his horse closer to Keegan. “I wasn’t watching her. I—”

“She’ll be fine. Ride up to the front with me now, and fall in beside her.”

Keegan rode ahead, took point with his mother. Other riders made way so Marco could move in beside Breen.

“I’m okay,” she said before he could ask. “She was such a little girl, and so scared. I’m going to believe they’ll find her, and I have to think about the rest. But not now. The castle or fortress or whatever it’s called—you can see it up on that hill. And there are already so many more cottages, and people.”

“It’s like the burbs.” He shot her a smile, hoping to help settle her as Bollocks now pranced between them. “Talamh’s version, with some urban sprawl. And holy shit, Breen, it is a castle. Good thing I’m all used to that, since we stayed in one in Ireland.”

“I wouldn’t count on Wi-Fi and in-room movies in this one.”

“It’s a downside.”

She’d live without them, Breen thought, and she’d think about the dream or vision or experience when she had some quiet and alone. But now she studied the cottages and outlying farms spreading over hill and field, and the people who stopped their work or spilled out of doors.

Babies on hips or shoulders, kids gawking and grinning. Young Sidhe spreading wings to fly alongside the riders and shower them with flickers of light.

She saw what she thought must be workshops, as those who stepped out wore leather or cloth aprons and some still held tools in their hands.

She watched a woman run out of a cottage, take wing, and one of the faeries fly toward her. They met in an embrace, circled in midair with the kiss.

“They pledged before we left for the valley,” Minga told her. “Keegan will pretend not to see Dalla broke ranks to greet her love. You’ll see some with a black band on their right arm. These are the mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, sons, daughters, wives, or husbands of a fallen.”

“How many fell? Do you know?”

Minga shook her head. “Keegan knows.”

She could feel her dog’s delight.

Children! People! Sheep! Cows!

She glanced down as he looked up at her. No one could mistake his expression for anything other than a grin.

“No running off to explore,” she told him. “Not until we have the lay of the land.”

Oh, he wanted to—she sensed that as well. But he kept pace with the horses and contented himself by looking everywhere.

They rode over a bridge spanning a narrow ribbon of river where gates stood wide and people lined the road. Others stood on the thatched roofs of cottages and what she saw were shops, pubs, workshops. She thought the clothes somehow more urban as she spotted some waistcoats worn by both sexes, dresses that skimmed above the ankles, or snug pants in bold patterns worn by some of the women.

Shawls—bright colors—or long coats protected against the autumn chill. She heard music streaming out of pubs, voices raised in welcome. She smelled the spice of stews on the simmer, meat in the skillet, a whiff of the flowers spilling from baskets, and another whiff of livestock.

It made her think of the visit to the folk park at Bunratty, how charmed by it she’d been, how oddly connected to it she’d felt. But then she’d been to the Capital before. She hadn’t remembered, didn’t remember still, but knew she’d come with her parents for the Judgment of those who’d helped Odran abduct her.

“There are five wells in the Capital.” Minga gestured to one where people gathered with buckets and jugs. “Schools, of course, and the fields for crops and livestock here, and on the castle grounds. Most of the wheat has been harvested, taken to the mills. We have three. Those who live on the castle grounds contribute to the whole.”

“Like a commune,” Marco said.

“If this is community, yes. We barter and trade what we grow, what we make, our skills, our service. Some will come to the taoiseach if there’s a conflict or question, and he will judge. Or the council in his place. We value peace, and train to hold it.”

“Do you sit on the council?” Breen asked.

“I do. Though I was not born in Talamh, I was given this honor, this duty. We are seven, and with the taoiseach and Tarryn as his hand, nine.”

Breen saw roads splitting off from the main as the main climbed the rise toward the castle with its many shades of gray stone, its battlements and towers and turrets.

On the topmost, the banner snapped in the wind so the red dragon seemed to fly against the white field. He carried a sword in one claw, a staff in the other.

She saw Cróga glide over the castle, and a boy—a winged boy— rode on his back. The boy’s joyful laugh spilled down like sunlight.

They came to another stone bridge, another gate. A fountain shot water clear as crystal toward the sky. It fell in rainbows. Gardens spread and speared in islands of texture, in rivers of color. More flowers flowed over walls of terraces and balconies that graced the castle. Beyond them and the roll of green stood a forest, thick and deep.

She heard the cry of a hawk, saw a stunning sweep of butterflies rise like a wave. They swirled around her, once, twice, a third time, before flying as one toward an island of blooms.

“They welcome you,” Minga said with a smile.

“That was wild.” Marco’s own smile dimmed as he studied Breen’s face. “Did they scare you, girl?”

“No, no, just surprised.”

And scratched the surface of some memory. Riding in front of her father, gulping in all the sights like water with the castle rising and spreading, the banner snapping, the fountain spewing and spilling. Those first sounds of waves slapping rock on the cliffs.

And butterflies swirling. How she’d laughed and lifted her arms so they’d land on them. Her father’s laugh as he’d kissed the top of her head.

Dragon Hearts, like your hair.

She knew Minga spoke about the falcon mews, the cliffs, the gardens as Keegan led them around to the side and back of the great stone building. She barely listened as she tried to hang on to the memory.

But it faded away as riders began to dismount around her.

Mahon walked up to take her reins. “They’ll see to the horses and have your things taken up. Minga will show you to your chambers— and anywhere else you want to go or see, as Keegan and Tarryn will be busy for a while yet. You’ve time before the Leaving to rest or wander, have some food. One of us will come fetch you, or find you if you go out and about, when it’s time.”

“I expect you’d like to walk a bit after the long ride.” Minga gestured. “We’ll go this way, and in through the doors to the entrance hall.”

“It’s big,” Marco commented as he craned his neck up. “And tall.”

“It’s all of that, but home nonetheless. I think you’ll be comfortable in the rooms Tarryn chose for you. Right next to each other, they are.”

“The gardens are beautiful. You said there was a falcon mews?”

“Aye.” Minga nodded at Breen, gestured again. “Down this path, a school for training as well—both hawks and students. Other training areas for horses and horsemanship, for archery, for combat. If you walk or ride down to the village, there are shops for trading. Fabrics and jewelry, leather goods, ironworks, tools for magicks, cobblers and tailors. Pubs for food and drink and music.”

She led the way around, winding through the garden, along stone paths, over wide terraces, and to the steps leading to massive double doors.

“The gates are only closed during times of defense. These doors are only barred at such times.”

Minga pressed her hand on the dragon image carved in the stone by the doors, and they opened.

They walked into a towering hall with stone floors polished smooth, with tapestries and bronze works gracing the walls. Archways opened up in all directions, and the sun spilled through the glass dome in the soaring ceiling.

Fabric-covered benches and high-backed chairs offered seating, flowers more beauty, and a fire, snapping in a hearth she could have stood in, warmth.

“It’s beautiful. I thought it would be more …fortified.”

“When necessary, it is. Those stairs?” She nodded toward the staircase—stone, but wide and straight rather than the curving pie shape Breen had seen in ruins and restorations in Ireland. “When the gates and doors must be locked, they … I have to find the word.”

Minga paused, closed her eyes. “Ah, they go …” She smoothed her hand in the air.

“The treads go into the stone, make a platform. A steep one.”

“This. But now, the grand stairs are convenient.”

“And pretty freaking grand,” Marco added.

As he spoke, a young woman in snug pants and a green sweater raced down. Her dark hair coiled to her shoulder blades; her dark eyes sparkled against gold-dust skin.

“Mama!”

Though she didn’t use full speed, Breen recognized elfin blood.

“You’re home! You’re home.” She threw her arms around Minga. “I was minding Gwain’s children when I heard you were riding through the village. And here you are!”

“Here we all are.” Minga hugged hard before drawing her daughter back. “My daughter, Kiara. Make your welcome to Breen Siobhan and Marco.”

“You’re most welcome! How exciting to meet you. Oh, your hair is wonderful! Both!”

“Our Kiara has a talent for hair,” Minga told them. “They’ve traveled long today, my precious. Come, help me show them their chambers.”

“They’re so pretty! I peeked when Brigid and Lo were doing the linens and flowers.”

As she chattered, they started for the stairs. And the vision glided down them.

Her silvery blond hair fell in long, loose waves to her tiny waist. Her eyes were tawny like a cat’s and sparkled with the faintest of glitter on the lids. Her lips, pink and perfectly carved, curved in a smile in a face narrow and delicate and impossibly lovely.

She wore a tawny tunic to match her eyes, belted with gold at that tiny waist, over pants that followed every curve down to tall boots.

She smelled, Breen thought, seductively of wild things that grew in the forest.

“Minga, welcome home. You’ve been missed.” She sent Marco a flirtatious flutter of long, dark lashes before turning that smile on Breen. “And is it Breen Siobhan? Your arrival has been much anticipated.”

“This is Shana,” Minga began. “Daughter of Uwin, who serves on the council as I do, and Gwen. Breen, daughter of Eian, granddaughter of Mairghread, brings her friend, Marco, from the other side.”

“I haven’t yet traveled to your world. But now I see I must.” She offered Marco a hand in a way that invited a kiss.

He shook it instead. “If you make it to Philly, I’ll show you around.”

“Sure and now I will for certain. Have you just arrived then, and I’m keeping you standing? Minga, if you wish to rest or see the rest of your family, Kiara and I can show the guests to their chambers.”

“That’s kind of you, but the taoiseach requested it of me.”

She led the way up and up, explaining various rooms as they went. A vast library, a contemplation room, a kind of nursery area for young children, a room for magicks, another for crafting.

They took, single file, the pie-shaped winding stairs to the next level. Rooms for music, for dance instruction, for art.

Another set of stairs, and Minga led the way down a corridor.

“Your room, Marco.” Minga opened the door.

The tall bed had four soaring posts, and the drape of a blanket in midnight blue. The two moons floated over a quiet sea on the chest at its feet. A tray of fruit, cheeses, bread, decanters sat on it. A wide wardrobe that gleamed from a recent polish, a winged chair and footstool, a table where flowers graced a deep blue vase all offered a strange sort of sophistication.

His harp stood on the table with the flowers.

Doors opened to a terrace with views of a pretty courtyard and, to the east, the rolling sea.

“This is a view and a half.”

“I hope you’ll play for us.” Shana walked over to the harp, trailed her finger over the strings. “I’ve heard you’re very musical.”

“I’m still learning to play the harp. Breen bought it for me.”

Shana turned. “What a fine friend.”

“And your fine friend is in the next room.” Minga took her daughter’s hand, moved back into the corridor and down. “As with Marco, if anything doesn’t suit your needs, you’ve only to say.”

She had the big bed, but this with a gauze canopy that sparkled like stars. The fire simmered; the flowers scented the air.

She had a desk as well as the wardrobe and chest—hers painted with a meadow in full flower. On the desk that faced the side of the room toward the sea, sat her paper, her pen.

Unable to resist, she opened the doors to let the sea air flood in, and saw the terrace wrapped around the corner.

“It’s beautiful, inside and out. Thank you, Minga.”

“I’m pleased, as will Tarryn be, that you like it. Now, we’ll let you refresh after the long journey. If you have a need or a wish or a question, you’ve only to ask. Come now, come, let’s leave them in peace.”

Minga pointed the others out, closed the door behind them.

“This rocks it out, back again, then out one more time.” So saying, Marco flopped on Breen’s bed. “How about we have ourselves a snack and some wine? Then I want to clean myself up, because I’m hoping to find Brian.”

Breen poured wine for both of them. And wondered why the gorgeous elf—she’d caught that—with the perfect face despised her.

She’d caught that, too.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Keegan spoke with the families of the fallen, the most miserable duty he held. When he’d finished, he went out to check on the arrangements for the Leaving. As taoiseach, he would send the fire himself and provide the families of the lost with the urns for the return of the ashes.

Once satisfied, he went down to the dungeons to be certain the bindings on those who would be judged held fast.

They slept, each and all, under the same spell they’d used on the child they’d meant to kill. The sleep would hold, he determined, until they faced him, their magicks bound, the next day.

He went up again, wishing for nothing more than an ale, a fire, and a soft bed for an hour.

Shana waited for him near the grand stairs.

“Taoiseach. If I could speak with you.”

“I’ve little time now,” he began.

“For my apology.” She looked up at him, looked deeply.

“There’s no need.”

“For me, there is need. Please, a few moments only, as I know you have important matters. In the air, Taoiseach. Grant me this.”

“A few moments,” he agreed, and thought longingly of the ale, the fire, the bed. And the quiet.

She wound her way through to the courtyard near the seawall, which to his mind ate up unnecessary time when he had so little. But they’d ended things badly, he reminded himself. And some of the fault had been his own.

She stepped out, breathed deep. “First I want to say I know you fought well and bravely, and I know you grieve for the fallen, as we all do.”

She laid a hand on his heart, the other on her own.

“My own friend Cullin O’Donahue is one who goes to the gods.”

“I’m sorry. He was a strong warrior, and true.”

“He was.” Tears sparkled in her eyes as she took Keegan’s hand. “And now I will say I’m sorry, and shamed, for what I said to you when we last met.”

“We misunderstood each other, and part of that blame is mine.”

“No, it’s mine alone. You made no promises.” She brought his hand to her cheek. “I wanted what I knew you didn’t, and I struck out at you. I was angry because I built a dream, and you never shared it. And never pretended to. Will you forgive me?”

“There’s nothing to forgive, Shana.”

She lowered her eyes because those words flashed fire into them. “I would be friends again, if you’d have it.”

“Friends we were, are, and will be.”

She took a moment more before she looked up, put the flirt back in her eyes. “Sharing a bed with you is a very fond memory, for you’re skilled. I would invite you back into mine, but—” she said quickly, because she read refusal, rejection on his face, “I’m with Loren Mac Niadh now.”

“I’m glad of it,” he said simply, and enraged her. “He cares for you, and always has.”

“He does.” She toyed with one of the baubles at her ears, which Loren had given her. “And though I haven’t pledged to him, I will, I think. In time.”

“When the time comes, he’ll be fortunate. I wish you happy, Shana, in all choices. In all ways.”

“I know you do, and always have, so I’m only the more sorry for my angry words. I wish you the same, Keegan. Are you happy?”

“I’ll know true happiness when peace holds in Talamh.”

“So speaks the taoiseach.” She used a smile with those words, though they lay bitter on her tongue. “But is Keegan happy? I’m told you’ve a taste now for red hair.”

When he looked blank, she felt a rise of hope. “The O’Ceallaigh’s daughter. The one you brought with you from the valley. She’s a quiet one, and some say the quiet ones hold the most fire.”

“She’s not always quiet, but she holds fire enough for any. She needs more time and more training, and neither of us can waste that time on …flirtations.”

“Ah well. From what I know”—she tapped a finger to his cheek— “she doesn’t suit you. But I wish you happy, Keegan, whatever and whoever brings it to you.

“A kiss to seal it,” she added before laying her lips softly on his. Sighed. “And an admission that I’ll miss finding you with me in the dark. Blessed be, Keegan.”

As she glided back inside, she flicked a quick glance upward and congratulated herself on her timing when she saw Breen standing on the terrace of her room.

She wouldn’t need to trick Kiara into gossiping about a tryst between herself and Keegan now. The woman she fully believed stood in the way of all she wanted had seen for herself.

Keegan didn’t get the ale or the fire. As a falcon arrived with reports from the south, he called a council meeting.

“Time’s short before the final preparation for the Leaving,” Tarryn told him as a few helpers scrambled to set cups and pitchers of water on the council table.

No spirits were consumed during council meetings, though by the gods, Keegan thought, that’s when he wanted them most.

“Everything is at the ready, Ma, and this won’t take long.”

“You’ve yet to wash off the travel dust and change.”

“I was detained. No more fussing now.” He gave her an absent pat on the arm before he walked to the window he’d opened so he could breathe.

“Until the council convenes, I’m just your ma, and my boy is tired.”

“So’s my ma, isn’t she? So let’s make this quick and done.”

Minga entered first, along with the representative from the Trolls. Bok wore a black band in honor of his granddaughter, who’d fallen on the beach in the south.

The others came quickly enough, talking and muttering among themselves as they entered the room with its murals and map of Talamh, its tapestries depicting all the tribes of the Fey.

Each stood behind the tall chair of their place at the long table. Keegan escorted his mother to hers at one end, then strode to his at the head.

“Greetings and blessings, and my thanks to all for their counsel.”

When he took his seat, the others followed suit. “We ask, as always, for wisdom in all choices made here, and that all choices strengthen the peace of Talamh and all who dwell within it.”

“So ask we all,” the council answered.

With that formality done, Keegan held up a hand. “I know there’s much to discuss, but the time is short before the Leaving. Tomorrow is for the Judgment, and the Welcome. Between those duties, we will meet again. But I’ve asked you to come now for only this. The battle in the south is won, but at great cost. Every life leaving us is a cost to all. More, a great many more, would have been lost through the treachery hiding behind robes and folded hands, for those who took our tolerance and forgiveness for weakness.”

“They will be judged for it,” Bok said.

“Aye, they will be judged. The Pious, as before in the dark past, used their Prayer House to hide their true purpose in false piety, and within walls deemed sacred and holy, tortured Fey, made blood sacrifice to Odran.”

He saw the flash and heat in Flynn’s eyes, and knew an ally in the friend of his father’s, and the representative of the Sidhe.

“Taoiseach.” Uwin, Shana’s elfin father, spoke up. “You cannot be certain of this.”

“I am certain of it. As the child they stole and bespelled and planned to offer to Odran will testify tomorrow. As I myself, in the guise of an old holy man, was to be offered.”

“For the stolen child, they must be judged.” Rowan of the Wise spoke up. “For bespelling her, they must be judged. But can there be judgment on what was not done, even through intervention?”

“This is for tomorrow. I say now and here, she would not have been the first. I tell you, in walking through that unholy place, I felt the deaths that came before, I heard the echoes of chants to Odran. This will not pass. This will not stand. And neither will stand the unholy place. It will be razed.”

“Taoiseach!” Uwin held up both hands. “This strikes as vengeance, and justice rarely follows vengeance. Not all, surely not all, of the Pious took part in this.”

“Not all.”

“Then we must allow them their choices, their place of contemplation and good works.”

“If I may speak.” Tarryn did so, softly, as arguments erupted around the table. “We did not destroy the Prayer House in the valley where the Pious once lived, prayed, did those good works, then turned to persecution, blood magicks, torture. This was long ago, long before any here took first breath, but the Fey remember. The Fey forgave, and gave the Pious their place in the south. And in repayment for forgiveness, they used what remains of it, near the God’s Dance, near the graveyard where Eian O’Ceallaigh’s ashes lay, and the ashes of many loved and lost, to stir the spirits trapped within. The sacrificed, and those who sacrificed them. To stir them to walk free on Samhain, through the thinning veil.”

Neo, of the Mer, with legs given when called, fisted both hands on the table. “You’re sure of this?”

“The fates decreed I go there, see, hear, feel, as did Breen Siobhan, daughter of the O’Ceallaigh. I tell you without her, I would have needed a coven to break the spell—Yseult’s spell, strong with the help of the Pious. And I tell you that on Samhain, the Undead would have swept over the valley and beyond.”

She nodded at Minga. “Minga is witness to this.”

“I am. And though I am not Fey, though I haven’t the gift, even I felt the battle of power, dark and light. Even I saw the shadows taking form, clawing to get out.”

Rowan of the Wise spoke again. “The ruins must be cleansed.”

“More,” Tarryn said. “The spirits must be sent to the dark and the light. This will take time and power, but must be done. And the cleansing, and the sanctification, all of it.”

“We can do the same with the south,” Uwin began.

“They have twice turned on us.” Flynn’s voice whipped out. “Betrayed us, sacrificed innocents. Would we give them leave to do so again?”

“We will not. The walls come down, every stone. Vengeance, you say?” As his mother advised, Keegan let his anger free. “So be it, as it is justice as well. See!”

He rose, lifted his hands, spread his fingers, and threw his memory, the images of it, onto the wall. And there the young boys lay, throats slit, blood spilling, pooling.

“Children, children sent to serve and learn and begin a life of good works, murdered by the hand of the Pious. Murdered in hopes their blood would strengthen the attack against us. More!”

He threw another image, one of men sprawled in their own blood. “Those who wore the robes and knew nothing, or pretended to know nothing of the evil inside those walls, the true purpose inside those walls. Murdered. Not by our hands, but their brothers so they could not speak against them.”

He looked at every face around the table. “It will not stand, and every stone torn down will be a sign of strength, of justice, of our purpose. I sent three empaths to walk inside that evil, and the falcon has brought their report. You are free to read it, as I did. And I’ll tell you all three were sickened by what they saw, heard, felt.

“It will not stand,” he repeated. “The ground will be cleansed and sanctified. And in its place on the rise, we will build a memorial to those who gave their lives for us yesterday, and for those whose lives were taken by those who vowed to heal and help and honor. I am taoiseach, and this is my word. I will not be swayed on this, whatever your counsel. I swear by all I am, I will tear it down with my own hands if need be.”

With both pride and rage on his face, Flynn rose. “I stand with you, for this is justice. This is right, and honorable.”

Rowan got to her feet. “I stand with you. Let the light rise from the dark. Let honor grow from the blood of the innocent and the brave.”

“I stand with you.” Neo rose. “Let this tribute rise high to be seen from the sea, from the land.”

One by one, they stood.

Uwin got to his feet. “I’m one for caution, for tolerance, for forgiveness, in hopes that all of this will hold peace. But there are times, I know, all of this gives a path to the evil in some hearts to walk. Children, the most precious of all gifts, murdered. I stand with the taoiseach.”

“Then we are one. My thanks for your counsel. I will ask for more of it tomorrow on other matters. Blessed be.”

It was dismissal, and though some might have lingered, Tarryn nudged them along in her easy, inarguable way.

“Well fought,” she told Keegan from the doorway. “Rest a bit now. There’ll be more battles to come.”

Breen gave the scene in the courtyard the consideration she thought it deserved.

Very little.

Instead, she took a long soak in the copper tub, let herself drift awhile. Then, because packing light had meant—to her—the bare minimum of makeup, she used what she had.

Then boosted it a little with a glamour.

Maybe she’d given that scene in the courtyard a medium amount of consideration.

She’d yet to develop a real talent for hair, but since they’d be outside, the wind would make hay of any attempt anyway.

She should’ve bartered for a shawl somewhere, she thought, but she’d make do with her jacket. With the blue dress—that seemed right for a kind of funeral—and her boots, she’d be warm enough.

Maybe.

“All I’ve got anyway,” she said to Bollocks, then opened her wardrobe to find a hooded cape, the same shade as the dress, and another note from Marg.

She smiled down at Bollocks. “Aren’t we lucky to have her?”

Though it was early, she dressed, not only to see how it all looked, but maybe—now appropriately dressed—to see if Marco wanted to wander around.

She gave the cape a couple of swirls, laughed at herself. “I don’t know why, exactly, but wearing this makes me feel like the heroine in a novel. And I like it! Let’s go see what Marco thinks.”

She started to turn to the door; Bollocks went on alert.

And someone knocked.

“Probably Marco thinking what I’m thinking.”

She opened the door to Shana.

“Ah! I thought to come help you get ready for the Leaving, but I see you are.”

“Yeah.”

As you are, Breen thought, in a forest-green dress cut square at the bodice, and cut just low enough so the fat citrine pendant she wore nestled between the rounded tops of her breasts.

“What a …” Just the slightest hesitation as Shana let her gaze travel down, then up. “Sweet dress. Did you bring it from the other side?”

“No. My grandmother gave it to me.”

“Ah.” Smiling, Shana strolled in without invitation. “Grandmothers will be old-fashioned, won’t they? Are you comfortable in your room then? And happy with the view?”

“Yes, to both. Thanks.” And since her visitor made no move to leave but wandered over to the desk, Breen laid the cloak on the bed. “Can I offer you something?”

“So kind! I would love a cup of wine. You’re a scribe, I’m told. Myself, I could never sit still long enough to write words on paper. And sitting can …” She spread her hands to indicate wide hips.

She took the wine Breen offered, then dropped into a chair, very much at home. “It must be so strange for you to be here.”

Oh, I know your type, Breen thought, and sat on the chest. I’ve dealt with you before.

Not well then, she admitted. But this was now.

“Why?”

“Ah well, a strange land, strange people.”

“I find the land beautiful, and the people wonderful. I was born here.”

“Were you? I think I heard that somewhere. And, of course, that’s part of the problem altogether, isn’t it? You being what you are, your father breeding with a human, it’s what has Odran waging war. Not that it’s your fault, not at all. And still we’ll have a Leaving tonight for those who died because he wants you. It must weigh on you.”

Very deliberately Breen poured herself a cup of wine. “It does. It weighs that he wants to use what I am to lay waste to Talamh, and other worlds. That he wants to make slaves of someone like you.” Breen sipped her wine, and thought of all the times she’d stepped back, lowered her head, taken the nasty little flicks.

No more of that.

“Because it weighs, I’m learning how to fight back. With magicks.” She circled a finger and set the candles alight on the mantel. “And with fists, with sword, with whatever it takes.”

“Mmm.” Shana leaned back in the chair, held the cup in both hands as she studied Shana over the rim. “It’s said that Keegan trains you, and you often end with your face in the dirt. Not a patient one, is Keegan.”

“How are you with a sword?”

Shana laughed. “Not all are trained for combat—not in the Capital. Elves, as you may know, have other skills. Speed, concealment. And I’m considered a fine archer.”

She twirled a finger through the curl at her ear. The rest of her hair she’d braided back into a coil at the base of her neck.

“I’m told you shared a bed with Keegan a time or two.” Her smile just before she sipped more wine edged toward a smirk. “I hope you haven’t set your sights so high.”

“My sights?”

“I say this to you, woman to woman, and in friendship. He is not for one such as you.”

Breen tried the most innocent of smiles. “Such as me?”

“Much is expected of the mate of the taoiseach, and the duties are many. Too many, I’m sure you agree, for one not raised to know them, perform them.”

For the hell of it, Breen smiled again, and not so innocently. “I’m a fast learner.”

The mask slipped just a little as Shana leaned forward. “Then learn this. The taoiseach and I have what you would call an understanding.”

“Would I call it that?”

“Sure we both enjoy a dalliance here and there, and why not, as his duties often separate us. Now of course, he flies back to my bed as often as he can, but when he can’t, we’ve both agreed to take our pleasures, such as they are, where we find them. And when this business around you is finished, and you’re back in your own world, we’ll pledge and wed, make our life together here in the Capital.”

She smiled her pretty smile. “I’m more than happy, of course, to make you acquainted with others who would dally with you during your—I imagine—brief stay in the Capital.”

Rather than return the smile, Breen angled her head and studied that unquestionably stunning face. “I find it so interesting, and flattering, that someone like you feels threatened by someone like me.”

“What a foolish thing to say. You’re no threat to me.”

“You’re here because you think I am. And oddly, that makes me feel …” She rolled her shoulders, gave them a little shake. “Competitive. I’m not usually a competitive sort, and Keegan isn’t a trophy or prize, but there you go.

“More wine?”

Shana set down the cup, got to her feet. “I warn you, I can be friend, or I can be foe.”

Surprised at herself, Breen got to hers, as did Bollocks beside her. Breen laid a hand on his head to keep him still.

“You’ve already chosen, so take a warning yourself. You don’t scare me. You don’t even intimidate me, because all I’m seeing is a desperate and poorly disguised attempt to make me feel less, feel unwanted and unworthy. And I’ve got more important things to fight over than a man.”

For a humming moment, they faced off.

The knock came, and Marco poked his head. “Hey, Breen, get a load— Oh, hey. Ah, Sharla, right?”

“Shana,” she said, and instantly switched to the friendly flirt. “And how handsome you look.”

“Thanks. You look nice.”

“Charming and handsome. I’ll take my leave. So pleased to have had time to know you better, Breen Siobhan.”

“Likewise.”

“You mustn’t be late for the Leaving,” she said as she sailed out. “It’s considered rude.”

When Marco closed the door behind her, Breen grinned. “You never forget a name, and when Marco Olsen tells someone they look ‘nice’ in that tone, it’s a roast.”

“She looked awesome, but I don’t like her. Strikes me as a bad kitty. She’s got Mean Girl all over her.”

Breen walked right up to him, grabbed his face, kissed him loudly on the mouth. “That’s one of the many reasons I love you. She is totally Mean Girl.”

“What did she want?”

“I’ll tell you, but first! That is some excellent coat.”

“Right?” He did a turn in the rich brown, just-past-knee-length leather. “Nan sent it. Top nan in the history of nans.”

“She really is.” To prove it, Breen picked up her cape, swirled it on with plenty of drama.

“Look at you! Look at us!” He grabbed her, lowered her into a dip. “We’re like the cover of a romance novel.”

“I feel like a heroine, especially after that little scene with Shana.”

“Dish it.”

“Let’s walk and talk—head down and outside. I could use some cool air after all that blowhard hot.”

“And listen to you.” Delighted, Marco added a little elbow jab. “Breen the ass-kicker.”

“I was ready to kick her perfect elfin ass, let me tell you. And, more? It gave me a nice big thrill to anticipate it. What’s happened to me?”

“Whatever it is, I like it. Now tell me a story.”

She told him in snippets on the way down, careful to break off if they passed someone, or saw someone close enough to hear.

Because she really did want the air, and she’d worked out the direction from her terrace, she led the way to the courtyard they could see from their rooms.

“She got dumped.” Marco said it firmly. “I’m telling you, Keegan kicked her to the curb, and she’s pissed. And she figures you’re why.”

“Since I’ve been dumped, I recognize the signs. I’d say the reason was more he recognized naked ambition and that core of mean than anything to do with me.”

“Don’t underestimate the power of Breen.”

“I’m not, I’m really not. But I believe her about them not being monogamous. So I’m saying it’s not about me. It’s about her. I saw them out here earlier, and—”

She broke off because stars popped into Marco’s eyes. Bollocks’s tail wagged as she turned and saw Brian striding across the courtyard.

“To be continued,” she murmured.

She stood back as they walked to each other.

“Breen said you were okay. Everyone said—and I saw—but I needed to see you.”

“I only have a few moments, as I’ve duties at the Leaving. But I needed to see you, and here you are.”

Breen felt her heart just roll over and sigh as they embraced, as they kissed.

Then she patted a hand on her dog. “Come on, Bollocks, let’s go somewhere else, and give them that few minutes.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Of all the memories she’d banked during her time in Talamh, Breen knew, almost from the beginning of the ceremony, the Leaving would be the most heartrending.

She stood, as did so many others, in the whip of wind between the castle and the seawall. Below, waves crashed against the rocks like drum-beats. Overhead, dragons and their riders flew in formation across a sky going moody with twilight.

Others who had fought with the fallen stood at the wall, swords or spears or bows raised.

Across from them stood the families of those lost in the battle in the south. And while a piper played mournfully, one from each family stepped forward and said the name of their fallen.

The rest gathered repeated the name. One by one.

While the raft carrying the dead crested the first wave, the second, and began its journey on the sea, Keegan strode out to stand between the warriors and the families.

He wore black, unrelieved, the sword at his side, the staff in his left hand.

“We send to the gods the brave and the true. Even as we’re lessened by their loss, we are strengthened by their valor. Heroes of Talamh, father, mother, son, daughter, brother, sister, friend, never to be forgot, always to be honored, we give you to the light.”

He turned toward the sea, unsheathing his sword, lifting it up.

When the shine of silver turned to flame, he sent the fire out like an arching arrow. Then lifted his voice, clear and strong, in song.

Other voices joined, all joined, and though the words were in Talamhish, the old tongue, Breen heard the grieving in them, and the faith, the pride. Beside her, Marco reached for her hand, gripped it tight.

His tears fell, as hers did. When Bollocks lifted his head, let loose a long howl, Breen knew he wept, too.

And in the deepening sky with only the dying shimmer of sunlight, the dragons sent out a roar and blew flame.

Drummers joined the piper now, with beats like the waves that rose and rose and rose.

And in those dying shimmers of the light, in the flashing dragon fire, streams lifted from the raft. The one who’d spoken the name of their fallen held an urn, held it high. So one by one, those streams, soaring over the sea, came home.

Keegan extinguished his sword, sheathed it. Turning back, he lifted the staff. “From the earth, on the water, by the fire, through the air. Into the light, into the arms of the gods, go the brave and true.”

The mourners and witnesses echoed the words. At their end, Keegan brought his staff down. He turned to the families, fisted his sword hand over his heart.

“So it is done.”

Some remained, murmuring among themselves as Keegan walked to the families. Others, Breen noted, slipped away. She saw Shana, a green cloak trimmed in gold, with a man in black and silver, deep brown hair a sweep around a narrow, handsome face.

He lifted her hand and kissed it, and she leaned into him to whisper something in his ear that made him smile. Together they wound through the crowd and away.

Breen wondered if the man noticed Shana looked back once, fixed her gaze on Keegan.

“Man, that was beautiful. Tore me up.” Marco knuckled a tear away. “You told me how they did all this, but seeing it …wrecked me.”

She leaned her head on his shoulder. “Right there with you.” She took his hand again as they started back in. “Where are you meeting Brian?”

“Oh, right about here. He just needs to, you know, land, then he’s, like, off duty. We talked about maybe getting dinner or something. You should come with us.”

“Oh yeah, that’s just what I’ll do.” She drilled a finger in his side. “Idiot.”

“I’m not leaving you on your own.”

“Truth? I’m actually ready for some on my own—with my dog. Maybe write a little, then turn in early.”

“You gotta eat something, girl, and Brian said something about a pub. The Cackling Chicken or Ugly Duck or like that.”

“Honest to God, besides refusing to be a third wheel on your romantic reunion, I don’t have a pub meal in me tonight. I want some quiet time, Marco.”

“Let me see your face.” He gripped it, turned it, studied it. “Okay, that’s the truth, so I’ll let you off. But you need to eat something.”

“Minga said just to ask, so when I’m hungry, I’ll ask. Stop worrying about me. Especially since I see your hot new boyfriend coming this way.”

When Marco turned, and the stars popped back into his eyes, Breen signaled to the dog and escaped.

Marco just stood, heart tripping, then extended a hand as Brian reached for it.

“I need to say that was the most moving ceremony or ritual or whatever it’s called I’ve ever seen.”

“You wept,” Brian said, and traced a finger under one of Marco’s damp eyes.

“I was just telling Breen—” He broke off when he realized she’d gone inside.

“Is she coming back then? Isn’t she going with us?”

“She said she wanted some quiet, and since I could see she meant it, I let her off.” Then he looked back at Brian, and couldn’t think of anything else. “Do you want to go to the pub right now?”

“I don’t, no. I was thinking later for that. Later.”

“Later’s good.” Stepping in, Marco put a hand on Brian’s cheek. “So for now, your place or mine?”

With a grin, Brian gave him a light kiss that promised more. “Yours is closer.”

Kiara caught Breen just before she reached her room.

“I was after finding you!” She wore red—not bright but deep and dark with her hair tied back with a black ribbon. “My mother wanted me— Oh, first, I have to say I love your cloak.”

She reached out to touch it. “So soft! Simple beauty and it looks so well on you, and with the dress. Simple often looks dull on me, but it shines on you.”

A genuine compliment, Breen judged. “Thanks. I didn’t see you outside. There were so many people. It was all so beautiful.”

“A Leaving is sad and lovely all at once.”

“Did you know any of the fallen?”

“Aye. All.” Her voice wavered. “I knew all.”

“I’m so sorry, Kiara.” Instinctively, Breen took her hands. “I’m so sorry.”

“As I am. But it’s a comfort to know they walk in the light now. It helps thinking of them in the light. My mother would like to say you’re welcome to sup with her and my father, as Tarryn and the taoiseach have duties. Or if you and Marco and this sweet dog want the more lively, some of us are going to the village, and you’re welcome to join us.”

“I appreciate that, but—”

“She said as well you might be weary after such a long day, and want a meal in your room. And not to pester you if you did. I pester,” she admitted without shame. “I like talking, and I’ve so many questions, as I’ve never been to your part of the other side.”

Breen had to laugh. “I’m going with my room for tonight, but I’d love to talk another time, and try to answer your questions.”

“Well, that’s perfect then. I could do your hair in the morning. I can’t do it for you before the Welcome, as I’m already promised, but I would love to do your hair. It’s glorious.”

“That would …yes. Great. Thank you.”

“Oh, it’s my pleasure, and that’s the truth of it. So I’ll find you in the morning, before the Judgment. And I’ll see a meal’s brought for you. And Marco?”

“He’s going out with a friend.”

“Ah.” Her eyes danced. “Well, a meal for you, and your fine boy here.” She bent down to rub an enchanted Bollocks. “In the morning then, and if you change your mind, we’ll be at the Spotted Duck.”

She dashed away, leaving Breen smiling as she went into her room.

The fire still simmered, but she gave it a boost, lit the candles and lamps. She wanted to change into pajamas, but since she’d have to walk Bollocks outside before bed, she decided to stay in the dress.

With Bollocks already curled up in front of the fire, she sat at the desk. She would, at another point in her story, incorporate a Leaving, but for now, her characters needed a little quiet, too. And some happy, maybe a hint of romance.

Because the dark there would creep in before much longer.

After she’d written a little, and while she and Bollocks sat down to the meal a couple of cheerful teenagers brought them, Marco and Brian lay tangled together in the bed in the next room.

With his eyes closed, Brian stroked Marco’s back. “I’ve thought of this almost since the moment I first saw you, standing on the road, your eyes full of wonder. Now I find my thoughts were small and thin compared to the having of you.”

“Maybe we could just stay here, like this, for—I don’t know—ever.”

With a laugh, Brian shifted a bit so they lay nose to nose. “We could wander our way to the village for food and music, then find our way back. Right here again. I would stay with you tonight if you’ll have me.”

“I’ll have you tonight, tomorrow, any night you want. I know that’s moving fast, but—”

“No. Not for me, no, not with you.”

“It’s all just racing through me, you know? Everything.” He pressed his lips to Brian’s, then drew the warrior’s braid through his fingers. “I was so scared, watching what was happening in the fire. Breen made it so I could see, because I needed to see. You. All the smoke, the blood—”

“Don’t think of it now, mo chroí.”

“No, I want to say, I saw you. I saw you fighting. Flying and fighting, tearing through the smoke. And I saw why, and I always … War sucks, Brian. It just sucks, but I saw why you had to. Most of this, for me, it’s been like a fairy tale, right? Some weird parts, sure. Some jump scares, but mostly the seriously cool. I knew I’d stick with Breen no matter what, for the duration, but—”

“Because loyalty is who you are.” Brian trailed a finger down Marco’s cheek, down his throat, then up again. “It’s your great gift. I love this gift.”

“She’s my girl. Thick and thin. But I saw you, and the others. What you were fighting and why. And tonight, I saw all this, and what it meant. A hell of a long way from the Gayborhood.”

Brian smiled. “This is your place on the other side?”

“Yeah, and I really want to show it to you sometime. Show you off to Sally and Derrick and the gang. But right now? I’m here, and I’m in all the way. For Breen, for you, for, ah, the light. I’m crap at fighting, but—”

Brian touched a finger to Marco’s lips. “You have other skills and strengths and gifts.” He ran a hand down Marco’s flank—smooth skin, slim build, toned muscle. “You’re beautiful. Body, heart, spirit.”

“So are you.” Levering up, Marco ran his lips over those broad shoulders. “I want you again. God, I want you again.”

“I’m yours for the taking.”

Breen woke early, and throwing the cloak over her pajamas, shoving on her boots, took Bollocks outside. She dreamed of coffee, or at least some strong tea, as she let him race and wander and sniff, and do what he had to do.

She wasn’t the only early riser, as she’d heard activity and movement inside before she’d taken Bollocks out the door closest to the stables.

And she heard laughter behind the high walls of the falcon mews. When they walked on, she saw people already working in gardens, others drawing water from a wide stone well. Another carrying pails— milk?—away from what she took for a barn.

She saw a couple of cats slink out of it—and so did Bollocks.

“Oh no, not today. No chasing cats or squirrels or anything until we know our way around.”

To make up for it, she walked him down to the bridge so he could jump in the river for a swim.

From there she watched what she took as young recruits—or whatever they were called here—drilling in a field. Swords, spears, archery, hand-to-hand.

Overhead, a handful of faeries sparred in midair.

She recognized Keegan, his leather duster flapping as he gave the woman beside him a friendly punch on the shoulder. When he turned her way, she called to the dog.

“Okay, let’s go now. That water has to be cold. Let’s dry off, go inside.”

He came out, but reluctantly, and stalling. Then he spotted Keegan, and with a happy bark, raced to him instead of her.

“Great. Perfect,” she muttered. No caffeine, pajamas, and bed head.

And, of course, he looked exactly that. Great and perfect as the dog leaped around him, as he laughed and gave Bollocks a good rub.

Stuck, she waited as Keegan walked to her, and the dog trotted beside him as if bringing her a present.

“Good morning. I trust you slept well.”

“I did, thanks.” She gathered the cloak close as the wind snapped at it. “He needed to go out, and he wanted a swim.”

“We’ve dogs around if he wants their company. A pair of wolf-hounds, some spaniels and mutts as well.”

“Oh. I haven’t seen any.”

“You will. Are you walking on?”

“No, I was going back.”

“As am I.”

“The Leaving was beautiful,” she said as they started back. “Heart-breakingly beautiful. I didn’t know you sang.”

He shrugged. “I enjoy it more with a pint or two in me.”

“Who doesn’t? I don’t know when or where I’m supposed to go later.”

“In two hours, we’ll have the Judgment. Someone will fetch you.”

“Is there a dress code—what I should wear? It may sound silly to you, but I don’t want to be disrespectful.”

He gave her a glance. “I’m thinking you might change what you’re wearing presently.”

“Funny. I packed light, as instructed, so I don’t have a lot of choices.”

“It’s not a fancy matter, so what you usually wear, what I’ve seen of it, will do very well. I’m sorry I haven’t had time to show you and Marco around—and I’ve kept my mother busy as well. Or haven’t yet introduced you to those who live and work here.”

“I’ve met a few. Brigid and Lo—they brought me up dinner last night.”

He stopped, hissed. “You ate in your rooms? So again, I’m sorry.”

“You’re off the hook. I wanted the quiet, and Marco was with Brian. Kiara, who I already like a lot, brought me invitations—to eat with her parents, or go with her and some friends into the village. I really just wanted to write some and have the quiet.”

“All right then. Kiara’s a likable sort. She’ll talk both your ears off your head, but she’s entertaining and good-natured about it.”

“She’s determined to do my hair this morning.”

He took a longer look and reached out, twisted one of her curls around his finger. “I like your hair as it is, but she’s a skill for it.”

“I also met Shana.”

“Hmm. Not surprising, as she and Kiara are tight as ticks.”

“Are they? I’d say that surprises me, because they strike me as opposite types. One being friendly and charming, and the other being …what’s the term. Oh yeah. A stone-cold bitch.”

He stopped again, spoke carefully—and she assumed as taoiseach. “Sure it’s a pity you found her so, but it should be a simple matter to avoid her company while you’re here.”

“You think?” She couldn’t help herself—in fact, she enjoyed herself by shooting him a big smile. “Harder to do that when she waltzes into my room uninvited.”

His face went blank, but she saw annoyance clearly under the shield. “I’ll speak to her about that, as we prize good manners here.”

“I spoke to her myself, thanks all the same. She made a point of coming to my room shortly after you were with her in the courtyard— the one my room looks over.”

“Plead the gods! If this is some female drama, I haven’t the time or—”

She punched him, solid, in the gut.

Rather than flinch, he nodded. “You’ve improved there.”

“Consider yourself lucky I aimed above the belt. The drama was all hers. She flounced her way in to subtly insult my looks, my clothes— that I’m used to. And she topped it by warning me off you.”

“Sure that’s nonsense, and I—”

“Shut up. She made it clear you and she were together, not that either of you minded a little dalliance—such as me. And whoever she dallies with when you’re not around. But poor, unworthy me shouldn’t get my hopes up where you’re concerned. Added to it, people are dead because of me. If I hadn’t been born—”

Now he gripped Breen’s arm. “Stop. Stop now. She had no right to say such a thing to you. A lie, and a cruel one. I’m ashamed of her and for her. I will speak with her.”

She’d been angrier than she’d realized, Breen admitted, and had bottled it up.

Well, she’d uncorked it now.

“I don’t care if you speak to her or not. I know I’m not to blame for any of this. And I don’t care—why should I?—that you slept with her.”

“Sleeping wasn’t much of it. I don’t have time for this, but I’ll take this time, as it’s wrong what she said, what she did. And that business in the courtyard was nothing.”

“It was something,” she corrected, and felt considerably calmer now that she’d popped the cork. “Since she staged it hoping I’d see—or someone would and it would get back to me.”

“You can’t—”

“I’ve spent most of my life watching people, Keegan,” she interrupted, “because I had such a hard time interacting with them. I’d sit on the bus and watch them, and from their faces, their gestures, and so on, I’d decide who they were, what they were feeling.

“I saw your body language out there with her.”

“My body speaks now, does it?”

“The way you stood, the way you made certain not to touch her when she insisted on touching you. Polite and cool, that’s what you were. You dumped her—I know the signs there, too, as I’ve been dumped. And she didn’t want to be. Broke things off with her,” she explained when he frowned at her.

“As I was trying to say before you went off on your speech there. I ended it, as I began to see she wanted what I couldn’t and wouldn’t give. I never went to her bed after I went to yours.”

And that mattered, Breen thought, for the simple respect.

“I don’t want to make this about you and me.”

“Well, we’re in it, aren’t we?” he countered. “I never wanted her the way I wanted you, and that was unfair to her. I don’t have time to want you now, and still I do.”

And that, though she might wish otherwise, mattered, too.

“I didn’t tell you all this because I wanted you to be angry with her, or make me feel wanted. Or only partly there, because I can be as petty and needy as anyone. But I felt such rage in her, and desperation and … ambition.”

“I’m aware it’s more the taoiseach she’s wanted than myself. I’ve always been, but what did it matter? Now it does. I’ll speak with her.”

“I’d be careful there if I were you.”

“Well, you’re not me, are you?” he said simply. “Now I have work, and you need to change out of your nightclothes.”

When he walked away, she looked down at Bollocks. “Did that go well? I’m not sure it did. But I got it out of my system, so there’s that. Let’s go make ourselves presentable and find some breakfast.”

When she walked back into her room, she found Marco waiting, Bollocks’s bowls filled, the table ready for breakfast for two, and her bed tidily made.

“Well, hi, and …” She looked around as Bollocks made a beeline for his breakfast. “Who did all this?”

“Brigid and Lo. They’re assigned to look after us. Somebody spotted you out walking, and they came in like—what’s that thing?— dervishes. I don’t know what that is except it moves fast. I said how maybe you and me could have breakfast together, and bam.”

She went straight for the pot of tea. “Where’s Brian?”

“Back on duty.”

“Sit,” she ordered, and did so herself. “Tell all.” Then she lifted the lid off a pot. “I think this is porridge. We’ll give it a shot. All,” she repeated.

“We spent a lot of time next door.”

“No! Let me find my shocked face.”

Laughing, Marco spooned up some porridge of his own. “We talked a lot, too. And we did finally walk down to the village—cool place— had a pub meal, listened to music. Kiara was there with some other people, so we hung out for a little while. But we wanted to come back, and he stayed until he had to report in this morning.”

“You look so happy, Marco.”

“Girl, I’m stupid with the happy. I think I love him. I think he loves me.”

Those big brown eyes of his looked into hers, implored. “Can you just fall in love—the real deal—just like that? Because I’ve fallen in the lusties, and the guy is hot or fun or interesting—all that real fast. But nothing like this, not for me.”

“I don’t think love has a time clock. Fast or slow or anywhere in between, it just is. And you look happy.”

“When we’re together, everything else goes away. I gave him the bracelet. He said it would be like carrying me with him wherever he went.”

“I may fall for him myself.” She slathered a slice of brown bread with butter and jam, passed it to him. “Eat, Happy Boy.”

“So. What did you do last night?”

“Well, I wasn’t busy falling in love, taking romantic walks, or having a lot of sex, but I did exactly what I wanted. I wrote, had the quiet, and got a good night’s sleep. Oh, I also ran into Kiara again, and she wants to do my hair this morning.”

“I really like her.”

“Me, too! And I can’t figure out why she’s best pals with the Mean Girl. I ran into Keegan this morning, and that was interesting.”

Marco grinned. “Tell all.”

She told him all so they dished the dirt over breakfast. Then she kicked him out so she could dress.

“Wear the leather pants with the white shirt and the heathery V-neck black sweater,” Marco suggested. “Leave the shirt out so the bottom shows under the sweater.”

“I didn’t bring the leather pants—which I wouldn’t have bought in the first place if you hadn’t worn me down.”

“Which is why I put them in your bag when you weren’t looking. Wear the leather. You look fine in them. Kick-ass. Tuck the legs into the boots. Brian says the Judgment’s serious business.”

He shot a finger at her, then hurried out.

Mostly because it meant she didn’t have to think or second-guess, she put on what he told her to put on, then did what she hoped was serious-business makeup.

She’d barely finished when Brigid and Lo scurried in to take away breakfast, and Kiara came in with them.

“Ah!” Kiara pressed her palms together. “You look lovely and strong. It would be a mannish look, but you have such a fine form it isn’t.”

“Thanks. It’s hard to know what’s appropriate.”

“You’ve done very well indeed. Now, I’ll give you hair, for certain, that complements the rest.”

“I love what you’ve done with yours.”

Kiara flipped at her high, curly ponytail. “Very simple, as I’ll be helping to mind the littles.”

“You’re not going to the Judgment?”

“For some of it, aye.” She gestured for Breen to sit, then opened a case full of brushes and combs, pins and jars, bands and ribbons. “Some will bring their children, of course—it’s good for children to see justice done. But the littles go fussy, after all.”

She ran her hands through Breen’s hair as she spoke. “Ah, sure and there’s so much of it! And healthy. What a fine color. I saw your father when he came to the Capital. He was very handsome.”

“He was.”

“Oh, and I met with Marco and Brian, speaking of handsome. We had some good craic at the pub.”

She chattered away as she worked, about the music, the man she’d decided to fall in love with, about people Breen didn’t know and who flirted with whom, who was angry about what.

“Have you been to your mother’s home world?”

“I have, aye. It’s beautiful, all gold and blue—sand and sea—and the cities have great colorful towers. And the sun bakes so you forget what cold and rain are. But Talamh is home, and we protect it, and so protect all.”

She stepped back, gave Breen a critical study. “I’m after simple for this again, and I think it’s working very well indeed. If I can find even a tiny bit of time before the Welcome, I’d love to fancy it up for you.”

Kiara took two mirrors out of her case, held the first up to Breen’s face, the other behind.

“If you don’t like it, I’ll change it.”

Breen saw her face framed by a few wispy curls, and the rest worked back into a long, loose fishtail braid.

“I don’t like it, I love it. You made it seem so easy. I could’ve struggled for an hour and not managed this. I wore it straight for so long, and Marco’s been trying to teach me how to style it, but I barely fumble through.”

“He’s the gods’ own hair, doesn’t he now? And such a voice, and … But wait.”

Kiara stopped, frowned. “You said— You’re meaning you took out the curls? Now why would you do such a thing when they’re so beautiful, and look so well on you?”

“Long story.”

“Sure that’s one I’d like to hear when we’ve time for it. I love stories.”

“Thank you for this, Kiara,” Breen said as Kiara packed away her tools. “Is there something I can trade?”

“Another time, but this is a welcome gift.”

“Prettiest one I’ve ever had,” she said, and made Kiara beam. “Can I ask—about Bollocks. Am I allowed to take him to the Judgment?”

Kiara glanced down at him where he sat—as he had throughout the hairstyling. “Of course, and why not, as he’s so well-behaved. Look at that sweet face.” She made kissy noises as she rubbed it, and Bollocks thumped his tail. “But I’m thinking he’s a young one as well, and like the young ones might rather be playing than sitting and behaving. Would he come with me?”

Breen looked at the way Bollocks looked at Kiara. Adoringly.

“Clearly.”

“Why don’t I take him along with me when I leave the Judgment? Then he can come play with the littles, and some of the other dogs, romp about outside.”

She smiled at Breen. “You have the gift for living things, as I do. I’ll know when he knows you call him back to you. Until then I’d enjoy him. And so would the littles.”

“You’re making all this very easy for me.”

“And sure why wouldn’t I?” Kiara’s hair gave a cheerful bounce as she turned. “I’ll let you know when I need to leave, and Bollocks and I will go have a fine time. And if I don’t see you before, I’ll see you at the Welcome.”

When she left, Bollocks laid his head on Breen’s knee. “I think we’ve made a friend at the Capital.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Kiara hurried back to her own room. She needed to put her case away, then make full certain she looked her best. Aiden O’Brian would be at the Judgment, and she wanted to add a bit of scent before she went down to take her seat—beside him.

Still, she called out greetings to any she saw on her way, and even stopped to gossip a bit with a friend over a mutual friend’s recent public row with a lover.

She laughed to herself as she stepped into her room.

Shana rose from Kiara’s reading chair.

“Well, so there you are. I haven’t seen a sign of you since yesterday— when I saw you and Loren slip away together. So were you—”

“How could you?” Fury snapped and sizzled in the words. “How dare you?”

“What—what! What is it?” Horrified, Kiara dropped her case to rush to the closest friend of her lifetime. But as she tried to embrace her, Shana shoved her away.

“You did her hair? Did you think I wouldn’t find out? Doing her hair, inviting her to the pub, chattering with that one from away she brought with her.”

“I—well, why shouldn’t I do her hair, or give her an invitation?”

“She was rude to me! She was cruel.”

“No!” Sincerely shocked, Kiara pressed her hand to her throat. “Oh, Shana, I’m so sorry. I’m more than sorry. I … She seems so pleasant, does Breen, I can’t imagine— What did she say to you? What did she do?”

This time when Kiara reached out, Shana let herself be hugged. “She thinks to steal Keegan from me, to put herself above me.”

Slowly, stroking Shana’s lovely waves in comfort, Kiara drew back. “But, Shana, you told me you’d put Keegan off, that you preferred Loren, as Keegan thought more of his duties than of you. That when he wished to pledge to you the last he was here, you realized he wasn’t for you.”

If the lies she’d told her friend bit back at her, Shana shrugged them off and viewed them as truth. “I’ve changed my mind, and why shouldn’t I? She’s no right to him, and no right to speak to me as she did. And you, doing up her hair? How can you say you’re my friend?”

“I didn’t know, did I? And … But, Shana, what of Loren? You’ve been with him and no other since … before,” she said carefully. “You told me he’s said he loves only you, and has asked for your pledge twice now.”

“Loren isn’t taoiseach, is he?”

“No.” Sorrow filled Kiara’s heart. “No, he isn’t. Here now, let’s sit.”

“I don’t want to sit!”

“I do.” Because she needed a moment. She knew how to soothe or joke Shana out of a temper or mood, but this felt different.

“You know how long I’ve wanted Keegan, and how I gave myself to him anytime he flicked a finger. That he would brush me aside for such as her? I will not have it.”

“But you refused him.” Even as she said it, Kiara found the lie, and the sorrow grew. “I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t want your sorry.” Hands fisted tight at her sides, Shana whipped around.

And Kiara knew the signs. Her friend was caught in one of her rages, and little could be done until it burned itself out.

“What you’ll do is whisper in ears, you’re good at it and have many ears eager to listen. You’ll say how ugly she is inside her smiles and quiet manner. How she looks down her nose at the Fey and uses her powers to hide it.”

“Shana, I could not. These are terrible lies.”

“They are truth! They are my truth! You will say how she insulted me, and the taoiseach.” Pacing now, skirt swirling, Shana built the lies. “She wants to rule over the Fey, and will bewitch Keegan to get her way. And having her way, will offer Talamh to Odran. He is her blood.”

“Stop!” Appalled, and fearful with it, Kiara leaped up. “This is your anger talking, and you must stop. To say such things against another? Shana, this is wicked.”

Shana strode away to the window, stared out. Then her shoulders slumped, and she began to weep. “Not anger, hurt. Oh, I hurt so, Kiara. When I saw Keegan again, I understood I’d made such a terrible mistake. I only want to right it. And she said such hard things to me.”

“There now, there.” Moving to her, Shana held her, stroked her. “We’ll make it better, we will. I know it. A misunderstanding, that’s all it is. Keegan declared his love for you, and that won’t have changed, not a bit. His pride may be stung a bit, but you’ll fix that right enough. And you’ll be gentle with Loren when you tell him.”

“She’s in the way, don’t you see?” Shana lifted her tear-streaked face to Kiara’s. “Keegan thinks he needs her, for Talamh.”

“She is needed. And if you had hard words with her, we’ll fix that as well, won’t we? I’ll help you fix it. There’s a kindness in her, Shana.”

Shana jerked away. “I’ve seen the truth. If you are my friend, you will shun her, and tell others to do the same.”

Yes, she thought, she knew how to soothe Shana when her moods whipped so fast and hard, but this was different.

“I am your friend. You are a sister to me. But my parents have asked me to make both Breen and Marco welcome, to be a friend to them while they’re in the Capital. You can’t ask me to go against my parents’ wishes.”

“Do as you like then,” Shana said in a tone so cold it might have frosted the glass.

“Shana—”

“You’ve shown me who you are.” Shana stormed to the door. “I won’t forget it.” And slammed it behind her.

Minga came to escort Breen and Marco to the Judgment. Though she smiled, Breen felt hints of worry.

“Kiara’s needed with the children,” she began. “But Brigid would be happy to take our fine boy here to her if that’s all right.”

“Oh, sure. Thank you, Brigid. You go on with Brigid now, and you can play with the kids. I’ll call you when we’re all done.”

He went off happily as Minga led them in the other direction.

“It will be crowded, as this Judgment is very important, but there are seats for you. If at any time you wish to leave, this is permitted. Any may witness the Judgment, any may choose not to.” They walked to the main floor, where people crowded the entrance hall and voices buzzed. She continued on until they reached a wide archway with its doors opened.

More people crowded there, and inside a windowless room lit by torches and candles.

A huge room, Breen noted, with rows of benches almost like church pews. Portraits lined the walls, and with some shock she saw her father, her grandmother. Keegan.

“The taoisigh, all who have sat in the Chair of Justice, who have delivered the Judgment.”

Minga worked her way through the crowd of people to the second set of benches on the left. “The council and their families sit there,” she explained, and gestured to the right. “These first seats are for witnesses. You may be called to bear witness, as you watched the battle, and it was your vision that warned us of what was to come.”

“Oh.” Anxiety had her reaching over to grip Marco’s hand. “I didn’t realize.”

“Only speak truth if the taoiseach asks of you. You may refuse to speak. You may leave.” Minga set a hand on Breen’s shoulder. “I hope you won’t.”

She walked over to sit with the council.

“Don’t be nervous,” Marco whispered.

“Easy for you to say.”

“Hey, I saw it, too. He could ask me.”

Not much comfort there, Breen thought, so focused on the chair. The Chair of Justice.

She wouldn’t have called it a throne, though there were faint hints of one, as its back speared high in front of the dragon banner.

Deeply carved, its wood dark and gleaming, it looked ancient and impressive. But, she admitted, not royal.

More …sober.

She imagined her grandmother sitting there, her father.

Her father, she thought again, bringing justice to and judgment on the men who’d helped Odran abduct her.

She looked back at the portraits and felt a new shock as she saw her grandmother—young, vibrant in white. And the pendant, the dragon’s heart stone, the gold chain. The pendant she’d seen in dreams and visions glowed around Marg’s neck in the portrait.

“The pendant,” she began, only to break off when Keegan strode in.

All in black again, with a vest—or maybe it was a doublet—over his shirt. He, too, wore a dragon’s heart stone, on a black cord around his neck.

It gleamed there as the room fell silent, and he walked to, sat in the Chair of Justice.

Catching movement out of the corner of her eye, Breen shot a glance over and saw Shana, dressed in ruby red, take a seat beside a man with silvery hair who patted her hand, then nodded—though his brows drew together when the brown-haired man in black sat on Shana’s other side.

Others came now, down the aisle between the benches.

Breen recognized the little girl—she’d seen her sleeping on a pallet in a dark, locked cell when she’d looked into the balefire on Samhain.

Her hair, walnut brown, fell down her back. She gripped the hands of the man and woman who walked with her.

Her parents, Breen decided. And the elf who’d carried her out of that cell walked behind them.

They took their seats on the first bench. Others followed to fill in the witness area.

Still no one spoke.

Brian came through a door in the front, and Marco squeezed Breen’s hand. Behind him came other men—prisoners, she thought, as their hands were bound, their eyes downcast.

Eleven, she counted—with the spy from the valley among them— led to benches on the side of the room where Brian flanked one side, a woman the other, and Mahon with two more stood behind.

She jolted when Keegan brought down the staff.

“This is the Judgment. I am taoiseach, and I sit in the Chair of Justice. These eleven are accused of crimes against the Fey, against Talamh, against the rules of law so written. I ask the hand of the taoiseach to speak these crimes.”

Tarryn rose, walked out to stand and face the prisoners. She, too, wore black, slim pants, tall boots, a long open coat.

“You who await judgment are accused of the abduction of children. You are accused of blood sacrifice of children and of other Fey. You are accused of the murder of innocents. You are accused of treachery against Talamh in the name of Odran, the damned god.”

Murmurs spread through the benches. Tarryn merely held up a hand to silence them.

“You will, one and all, have the choice to speak to these accusations, to explain, to deny, to rebuke. You will hear the account of witnesses to the accusations brought against you. Before the taoiseach renders his judgment, you will be given the right to speak to your innocence or to plead for mercy.”

She stepped back, turned to her son. “This is the law of Talamh. This is the law of the Fey.”

“This is the law,” he said, and waited until his mother took her seat again.

“Alanis Doyle.” He looked at the little girl, smiled at her. “You are safe here. Will you stand? Your ma and da can stand with you.”

They stood together, hands clutched tight.

“I only ask you to tell your story, and speak it true.”

When she pressed her lips together, her mother leaned down, murmured to her, kissed her cheek.

“Taoiseach, I was gathering the last of the autumn berries, for my ma and sister would bake a pie. And the man came.”

“Is the man here?”

The girl pointed to the second prisoner on the left. “He’s there, and he came and he said there was a puppy, and the puppy was hurt, and would I help. I heard the puppy—I heard it crying, so I went with the man to help. I’m not supposed to go beyond the berry bushes, but …”

“You only wanted to help,” Keegan finished.

“Aye, aye, to help. And then … I don’t know. I was somewhere else, and I had bad dreams. I couldn’t wake.”

“Can you tell about the dreams?”

“The men in the robes would come, and it was dark and cold. The man there with the puppy, and this one there.”

She gestured to Toric.

“They made chants, and I felt sick when they did. And they said, or the one there—not the one with the puppy, the other—said—he said—” She pressed her face to her father’s leg.

“Taoiseach, may I speak for her?” Her father crouched down to stroke her hair. “May I speak the truth she spoke to us? Please.”

Before Keegan could agree, the girl shook her head. Tears spilled, but she turned back to Keegan. “He said on Samhain, we will wake her after she is bound to the stake on the pyre. And then her … her screams will rise as she burns. And the crackle of young flesh and bones will honor Odran.”

She swiped her face with her hands. “I was so afraid. Taoiseach, I wanted my ma to come. I wanted my da. But I couldn’t call out.”

“Anyone would have been afraid, little sister.”

“You wouldn’t. You’re taoiseach.”

“I would’ve been afraid. And can only hope as brave as you are now to speak these words. How did you get back to your family?”

“She came.” Alanis turned, pointed at, smiled at the elf sitting on the bench. “I could see a little, like a dream, and she came and picked me up, and carried me. She ran fast, fast. She’s an elf, you see, is Nila, and talked to me all the while, saying I was safe, and all was well, and saying my name.”

She knuckled more tears away, but continued her story.

“And I wasn’t so afraid, and started to wake. Truly wake. And then I was home, and everyone was crying and hugging me, and hugging Nila, who said she couldn’t stay for ale, thank you, because she was needed, but she’d come back when she could.”

“You’ve done well, Alanis. You may stay, of course, through to judgment, but if you like, there are other children you may wish to meet, and as your parents have agreed …”

Brigid came through another door, a wriggling spotted puppy in her arms.

“This bit of a girl here needs someone to look after her and give her a home.”

Tears vanished in joy as the girl reached for the puppy. “I can keep her as my own?”

“Sure she’s been waiting for you. Show them where they can run around a bit, won’t you, Brigid?”

“A thousand thanks.” As Alanis left with giggles, her father’s hand on her shoulder, her mother turned to Keegan, laid a hand on her heart.

“Bright blessings on you, Taoiseach.”

“And on you.”

He waited until the door closed behind them.

“Nila, will you speak?”

“I will, and gladly.”

She was tall, slender, young, but her voice carried strong.

When the elf finished her story, she sat, and Keegan called on another.

The man rose, twisting his cap in his hands as the woman beside him wept silently.

“They killed our boy, sir, our youngest boy. Toric himself came to us and said he’d heard our boy had a calling. In truth he’d spoken about joining the order, living a life of prayer, doing good works. And Toric said he would take the boy as an initiate, and he would begin service, continue his education. We thought it an honor, and he would be close, you see. He could come home once every week. He said—he said—they worked hard, the initiates, and slept rough, but it was good for the soul. And they ate well, and learned much.”

The man choked back a sob. “The last time or two he came home, he was so quiet, and seemed troubled. But he said he needed to pray on it, and was sad, as two of the other boys had run off.”

The man gathered himself. “And on Samhain, after the attack, and we couldn’t get through to try to get to our youngest, but thought him safe in those walls, you came yourself, to tell us he was dead.”

Keegan called on the Fey who’d seen the boys murdered, on the parents of the other boys. On others.

Then he looked at Breen, and even as dread at having to stand and speak filled her, he turned to the accused.

“What do you say to these words, these crimes of abduction and murder and sacrifice?”

All of them kept silent, refused to speak, until one of them fell forward, prostrated himself, bound hands outstretched. “I was misled. I ask for mercy. I was only a boy when I entered the order, and I believed all they taught. All Toric preached. I was misled, and never did I shed blood myself.”

“Only watched it shed?” Keegan said.

“Had I spoken out, my life would be forfeit.”

“Coward,” Toric sneered from his seat.

“Let him speak,” Keegan ordered as Brian turned to him.

“A coward and a liar, and a traitor to the true faith. He shed blood, drank it, offered it as is demanded by Odran, and now he whimpers like a child.”

“You do not deny the accusations, the words spoken here?”

“I deny nothing, and I defy the weak laws, the thin faith of the Fey to stop the rise of the god. And with his rise, we crush your bones to dust. With his rise.”

He stood now, aimed his gaze at Breen. “He will drink you dry, abomination, and give us your husk to burn in his name.

“In his name!” Toric shouted, and as his bindings fell, as Lordan, the spy from the valley, collapsed, he shot power at Breen.

Even as Keegan surged from the chair, she pushed her hand out, met power with power. As the furnace of power in her ignited, she lifted her other hand high, rose.

She heard herself speak, but the words, the knowledge, the light burning in her came from so deep.

“You would test me here, in this place, at this time? You, murderer of children, slayer of the innocents, defiler of true faith, traitor to the Fey, to Talamh and all the worlds?”

As the air stirred around her, she stepped forward, pushing, pushing against what he threw at her, watching, watching the fear grow in his eyes.

“I am granddaughter of Mairghread, daughter of Eian. I am child of the Fey. I am of the Wise, of the Sidhe, of man, and of the gods. Hear my words and know truth. See me. See me and tremble at what will come for you and your dark god.”

Her power whirled. It spun around him, locked him inside a cage of light.

Moving toward him, moving closer, she angled her head, left, right, as he cowered inside the bars.

“I see your death, your blood on the stones, your eyes staring without life in the dark. Be glad, Toric, murderer of children, you don’t face my judgment this day, but that of the taoiseach, that of the rule of law. But know, the time may come when you will.”

She brought down her lifted arm, and he fell to the ground.

It emptied out of her as quickly as it had filled. The room spun, and she waited to just slide down like water from a jar.

An arm came around her, took her weight. Tarryn’s voice murmured in her ear.

“You’ll not faint and be spoiling such a moment as this.”

“Okay.”

“I want you to walk back on your own now, look straight in front of you, head high. And sit.”

She did as she was told, though the murmurs and confusion in the room got through finally. She sat, and even with his hand shaking, Marco took hers.

“Put the accused back where they belong, would you, Mahon, Brian.”

Mahon started to lift the one who’d collapsed, then knelt. “This one’s dead, Taoiseach, and cold with it.”

Keegan held up a hand as the room threatened to fall into chaos.

“That’s how you broke your bindings,” he said to Toric. “You found the weakest, drained him, left him only enough to walk in here. Strengthened yourself, and took the rest of his light and life to attack. And now, we are all of us witnesses. We have all of us heard your own words damning you. You have each of you been accused, had testimony given against you. You have each of you broken sacred trusts, sacred laws. And you will each of you pay for this. You are, one and all, banished to the Dark World. You will, one and all, be taken there immediately, and sealed there for all time.”

“He will free us!” Toric shouted, but fear cracked through the words. “He will free his faithful.”

“I think he will not,” Keegan said easily. “I think he will see what you are, cowards and weaklings. But should I be wrong, you should hope that I meet you on the field, and not Breen Siobhan O’Ceallaigh.

“Banishment, for all time,” he repeated, and brought down the staff. “This is the Judgment. Take them out, and to the dolmen in the woods. I will open and seal the portal myself.”

He brought down the staff again, then rose. “So it is done.”

“I really want some air,” Breen managed.

“Okay, honey, let’s just sit here until the place clears out a little.”

“Best leave now.” Tarryn walked up, took one of Breen’s hands. “Others will want to speak to you. So come with me now, and I’ll take you out this way.”

She led them out a side door, down a corridor, around a turn, and into the library.

“You’ll have quiet here, and some wine. Open the doors there, Marco darling, so she can have some air as well.”

“I don’t know how that happened.”

“If you don’t, you will.” Speaking easily, Tarryn poured from a decanter. “I’d take you up to my rooms and mix a potion for you, but this will do. You’re stronger than you think, and showed that well and fine this day. Marg will be so proud.”

“I was so angry, and so twisted up listening to those parents—those boys—and then it was so fast.”

“Your gift, your power comes from your heart and your belly as much as your mind. Your belly holds the anger, your heart the compassion. Your mind the will.”

She patted Breen into a chair before pouring wine for Marco. “Drink some wine now, Marco. What a good friend you are. He stood beside you, Breen, did you know? The whole time. He stood with you, for you.”

“No, I didn’t know. But of course he would.”

“You’d do the same for me.”

“I have to leave you now, as Keegan needs me for the rest. But you stay here as long as you wish. No one will disturb you.”

“Tarryn, thank you. Thanks for giving me a hand when I might’ve— probably would’ve—passed out and spoiled the moment.”

“Can’t have that now, can we? It was such a bloody thrilling one.”

When she left by the open doors, Marco dropped down with Breen.

“All but shit my pants, girl. It was a damn close thing. You were— It was more than the other night. More than anything. You were practically on fire. You were that bright, that fierce. And the air’s spinning around, and the light’s pulsing, and … Whew. I’m gonna need more wine.”

“I don’t know where the words came from, Marco, but I knew them. I meant them. And what was in me? It was so strong, but it didn’t scare me. Because it was mine. Right after, I felt shaky, sort of like I did the first time I came through the portal. But that’s going now.”

“What do you feel like now?”

“Steady,” she realized, and held out a hand, nodded when it didn’t tremble. “Steady.”

“That’s my girl. Told you to wear that outfit, didn’t I? Kick-ass. And that’s what you did.”

She laughed, gulped some wine. “Yeah, the pants did the job.”

Deep in the woods, Keegan stood. Only his mother and Mahon remained now. He’d looked at the dark, listened to the howling wind through the portal he’d opened. As only the taoiseach had the power and the words to unlock it and seal it again. He’d seen that maw swallow the judged and the banished, and knew this was justice.

They could live in that dark world, but without magicks, without joy, without the peace and freedom Talamh offered all.

That, he thought, was the keen, cruel edge of justice.

They could live.

He held the staff, pulsing still from the energy called, but it had already begun to quiet. His mind, Keegan knew, would take longer to quiet.

He turned to Mahon. “Go home to your wife and children.”

“I go when the taoiseach goes.”

Keegan shook his head. “There’s no need for you to stay. What needed to be done is done. The rest, gods spare me, is bloody politics and formalities. The Welcome tonight, a full council meeting, and the open Judgment tomorrow. Take this time, brother, as I’ll want you with me when I go south to see to the razing.”

“Fly home.” Tarryn cupped Mahon’s face. “My daughter is strong, but a woman creating life welcomes a steadying hand. Take this time, as Keegan says, for we can’t know how much we have before Odran strikes again.”

“All right then. I can do some scouting on the way home. I can detour to the south and see how it’s holding.”

“We left Mallo and Rory overseeing the cleanup and rebuilding. That’s enough for the now. But you could take a swing to the north so we’re certain all’s well.”

“And so I will, and I’ll round back again if there’s anything you need to know. Well then, you’ll feast well tonight, that’s certain, but I’ve the better bargain by far, as I’ll be at my own table without having to put on the fancy.”

“Push my face into that, I’ll have you stay in my stead while I go home.”

“Too late for that. I follow the orders of the taoiseach. Blessed be.” He kissed Tarryn, gripped Keegan’s shoulder. Then, spreading his wings, he rose up and flew north.

“You asked him to scout north so he’d go willingly and without argument. This,” Tarryn said, tapping a finger on her son’s chest, “is politics and diplomacy.”

“I spared myself the headache, as I’ve one coming soon enough.”

“And what is this?”

“Let’s leave this place, walk in brighter air.”

As they did, he told her of his conversation with Breen that morning.

“Ah gods, the girl’s sly and selfish and has always been so.”

Keegan’s eyebrows shot up as he stopped short. “So, is it politics and diplomacy that had you holding that opinion back before this?”

“You visited her bed often enough in the last year or more, and as you’re a man grown, I held my tongue. And I’m fond, very fond, of her parents. It’s a pity, I think, they weren’t blessed with more children so they wouldn’t have had all this time and inclination to thoroughly spoil their only young.”

“I mean to speak with her about this.”

“Aye, you must. Have a care with this one, Keegan. Beautiful girls who grow into beautiful women who grow too used to having their own way can be vicious when denied. And as I’m done holding my tongue, that one has the vicious in her.”

“She’s no threat to me. And as all there saw clearly, by the gods, Breen Siobhan O’Ceallaigh can hold her own and more.”

“Have a care,” Tarryn repeated. “Revenge doesn’t always come at the end of a blade, it doesn’t always come hot. Sly and selfish finds ways to wound.” Then she sighed. “Ah, Uwin and Gwen would be humiliated by her behavior to Breen.”

“There’s no need for them to know of this. I’ll speak to her as, aye, that must be done. Then it’s done.”

Men, Tarryn thought, were so often naive when it came to women. But he was a man grown, and must learn such things for himself.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Because she had a plan, one she’d toyed with in the past then shut away, Shana went with Loren to his cottage after the Judgment.

They went on horseback, over the fields, and into the south edge of the woods near the village. And along the way, it seemed to her, Loren could speak of nothing else but Breen, and the sudden, unexpected power she’d displayed at the Judgment.

And why, she wondered, by all the gods why was she hampered by men who looked upon the redheaded slag as some sort of goddess?

“Perhaps you’d rather be riding with her,” Shana said, voice dripping sugar. “Sure I can turn around and go back, see if I can find her for you.”

Because he knew that tone, far too well, Loren turned to her. He let his heart come into his eyes. “There’s no one but you for me, Shana. No one my heart, my mind, my body and spirit crave but you. For the power I saw in Breen Siobhan, I’m grateful knowing she’ll be helping keep Talamh safe. And you. Most of all, you.”

And because he knew her, because he loved her, he said nothing more about Breen—or anyone but Shana.

“What will you wear tonight to enchant me and everyone who sees you?”

“If I told you, you might not be as enchanted.”

“You enchant me every day, every hour, every moment. No one in all the worlds is as fortunate as I, as you’ll sit with me tonight, and dance with me tonight, and be with me tonight.”

She smiled at him now, and meant it, as she knew he meant those words. He loved her, and that love was his weakness.

If only he’d been taoiseach, all would be perfect.

But he wasn’t, and as he had no ambitions to lead, never would be. How could she settle for the weakness of love without the power and standing she craved?

In some ways, he was more handsome than Keegan. Smoother, for certain, in looks and in manner. His clothes were fine and fashionable always.

She knew whether they walked, rode, or danced together, they made a striking pair.

And Loren enjoyed giving her pretty gifts, creating glittering jewels and rich fabrics for her with his alchemy. And he never tired, it seemed, of paying her pretty little compliments, giving her the whole of his attention.

But.

He lived in a quiet cottage in the woods, and didn’t possess the tower rooms of the taoiseach. He would never sit at the head of the council or have the people cheer for him.

Never would he sit in the Chair of Justice and punish her enemies.

And with him, she would never become the hand of the taoiseach, never have that power and sway.

Have it she would. One way or the other.

When they reached his cottage, she let him lift her from the horse, then linked her arms around his neck.

She knew genuine want when his mouth took hers. A skilled lover, he knew how to meet all her needs and stir more. When she and Keegan pledged, when they wed, she would keep Loren Mac Niadh with his soft, skilled hands as her lover. He’d fill her nights when the taoiseach had duties away from the Capital.

Though she intended to make certain Keegan spent most of his time with her and not in the west. His mother would go back there, as she would not be needed here.

Oh aye, Shana thought, she would see Tarryn sent back to the valley. She wouldn’t tolerate vying for attention with Keegan’s hawkeyed mother.

“I have a thirst for you.” She murmured it as she pressed against him. “And wine.” She laughed when she said it. “A cup of wine, then you. And you can enchant me, Loren of the Wise.”

He waved his arm, turned his hand—right, then left.

The door—always locked by his spell, as was all the cottage— opened.

“Pour the wine, mo chroí, and I’ll settle the horses. I want nothing more in my life than to enchant you.”

She walked inside, then moved elf fast to pour the wine, to add two drops—only two—of the sleeping potion she had in her pocket to his.

He would sleep minutes only, but she only needed minutes.

She glanced up at the loft that was his workshop, imagined it in her head from the memories of times he’d spun spells for her, or made her a pretty bauble.

Harmless things, of course, small things. Though he had considerable powers. And for the larger things, the less harmless, he kept a cupboard locked with another spell.

Only his hand could open it—and since she’d professed to love him, had pouted prettily that he didn’t love her enough to allow her to open the cupboard, her hand could do so now as well.

Taking love, to her mind, forged the keenest of weapons.

When he came in, she sent a beckoning look over her shoulder and strolled, with the wine, to his bedchamber.

She gave a little shiver. “Would you light the fire, mo leannán?”

He flicked his fingers, set the fire blazing. As he continued toward her, she shook her head. “Oh no, my golden god, I would have you disrobe.” She sipped from the cup in her right hand. “I would see what’s mine.”

When he simply snapped his fingers to send his clothes to the floor, she laughed. “I like what I see. Into the bed with you, as I will have you do my bidding.”

He stretched on the bed, one with posts tipped in gold, one she knew was thick and soft, as he liked fine things as she did.

“I’m your slave, now and always,” he told her.

She sipped more wine as she walked to the side of the bed. She set down her wine, handed him his. “Would you battle all my foes?” she asked as she took down her hair.

“Battle and defeat them, first to last.”

“And drape me in silks and satins and jewels?”

“All you want, and more.”

“Drink your wine, my slave, so I can soon taste it on your lips, your tongue.”

As he did, she unhooked her dress, let it fall so he could see she wore nothing but herself under it.

“Shana. You are a vision, a dream. And so wicked.”

She laughed, tossed back her hair. “You will lie still now, so I can have my way, so I can take my pleasure first while you wait.”

She crawled onto the bed, slid up him very slowly. With her eyes on him she used her tongue, her teeth, felt him ripple, pulse, strain for control.

“Wait and see.” She trailed her fingers up his sides. “See there is so much more we can do in a bed than …” She paused, her lips a breath from his. “Sleep.”

And with that word, and the two drops of potion, he slept.

She lifted the chain with the key from around his neck, raced from the room, up to the loft in a blur. Heart hammering, she laid her hand on the first of a trio of stars carved into the cupboard. Then to the first of the two moons, and last to smallest of a group of seven planets.

And when she fit the key in the lock, the doors opened for her.

She knew what she needed—she’d wheedled the spell out of him once when he’d been pliable from sex.

She gathered everything quickly—quickly, quickly. Such small amounts, she held certain he wouldn’t notice the difference.

She closed and locked the cupboard again, sped down to put everything in the bag waiting in the pocket of her discarded skirt.

Thrilled, excited now at the thought of what she would do, what she would gain, she lay over him again.

“Wake,” she whispered, and as he did, crushed her mouth to his.

His head spun, his mind clouded. His limbs felt oddly weak.

Then she rose up, straddled him, took him into her.

And nothing else existed for him.

More than an hour later, pleased, utterly relaxed, Shana rode back to the castle. Oh aye, she would absolutely keep Loren for her lover once she had her rightful place in Talamh.

And at the Welcoming, she’d give him all her attention so Keegan would suffer—surely suffer—believing he meant nothing to her any longer.

And when all was done, the taoiseach would kneel at her feet and beg her to belong to him. He would give her everything she wanted; she would take everything she deserved.

She gazed at the busy village, at the gardens, the castle, and her heart swelled with the knowledge all would soon belong to her.

In the happiest of moods, she rode to the stables, and though she’d been taught to tend to her own horse, she passed him off to one of the boys there. After all, she needed all the time she had left to ready herself for the evening.

She tossed her hood back as she went inside and, fingering the bag in her pocket, crossed the grand entryway.

“Good lady!” One of the men who did—whatever they did— around the castle called out to her. “The taoiseach sent for you. Wishes to speak to you on your return.”

“Does he then? And where is he?”

“He’s in the Map Room, but—”

She just waved a hand, walked on. Beyond the Justice Hall, beyond the library, near the council room—where she would one day sit—the Map Room stood two stories high, with its maps of every known world, even the cities in them, or the jungles, the villages, and the seas, rolled on tall cases.

In the center of the room stood a large round table where those maps could be studied. Smaller tables lined walls where scholars and travelers could sit to update maps as needed.

Worlds, she thought, still riding on her happy mood, surely possessed of pretty things. When she was in charge, travelers would, by law, bring her some pretty thing for the privilege of using a portal.

Keegan stood at the large table now with several others. Shana recognized the elf who’d spoken at the Judgment, she knew Brian— Sidhe, dragon rider—the twins who were scouts, one of Morena’s brothers, and Tarryn, of course, who in Shana’s opinion held far too much power for a mere mother.

Keegan rolled up a map as she came to the archway.

“Thanks to you all,” he said. “I’ll see you all at the Welcome.”

As they left, he walked over, poured himself a half tankard of ale. “If you’d close the door, Shana.”

“Of course.” Her pulse jumped. Maybe he’d come to his senses, and she wouldn’t have to use what she held in her pocket.

“I speak to you now, first as taoiseach, and must tell you of my great disappointment in your behavior.”

“Mine?” Her chin snapped up.

“And I speak to you second as one who thought of you as a friend, and must tell you of my anger you would use that friendship against another.”

She looked him straight in the eye, and the distress in her own was genuine. It masked a rage rising into her throat, but was genuine. “I don’t know what you mean, what you think I’ve done, but you hurt me.” That rage, barely suppressed, made her voice quiver. “You hurt me, Keegan, and insult me by scolding me like a schoolmaster.”

He took a slow drink, and because she knew him, she saw he held in his own temper. And that added the first licks of fear.

“Tell me this, did you seek out Breen yesterday?”

“Breen? Well, of course, as Minga asked me, and Kiara as well, to show her and her friend warmth and welcome. Why would you slap at me so for it?”

“You sought her out to tell her you and I continue to share a bed, and when I shared one with her it was of no matter. I don’t take kindly to being used in a lie to hurt another.”

“This is nonsense. Nonsense! Oh, sure and I should’ve known better than to offer her a bit of kindness.” She swirled around the room as Keegan stood, quiet and still. “I should’ve known better than to hold my tongue when she raged at me and called me foul names.”

“Did she now?” Keegan responded before setting the tankard aside.

“I told her plain that what had been between us was in the past, and that I loved another, but she wouldn’t relent, so jealous, so furious she was. Now she’s twisted it all around, hasn’t she? Running to you to speak these lies.”

“So these are lies?”

“Of course!” Eyes wide, she put a little tremble in her bottom lip. “How could you think … Didn’t I apologize to you only yesterday? Though you’d hurt me, I gave you my regret for how I behaved. And though, even upon our first meeting, she gave me a look that chilled me, I went to offer her friendship and whatever help or companionship she might want or need while she’s in the Capital.”

Again, Shana pressed a hand to her heart. “And she flew at me, with such fury I thought she might strike me.”

“And did she fly at you before or after you told her she held responsibility for the fallen?”

She dropped her hand to her side. It burned, Shana discovered, the anger. But more scalding, the realization she’d misjudged her quarry. “Why would I say such a horrible thing?”

“Why indeed, Shana?”

“I tell you I did not, would not. But I see, oh aye, I see you take her word over mine, this woman from the outside, this woman you’ve known only months. You take her word over that of one of your own.”

She snatched up his tankard, drank to wash the bitter taste from her mouth. “She’s bespelled you, that has to be the truth of this. All saw the anger of her power this day.”

She heaved the tankard at the wall. “You are bewitched, and how can any trust you as taoiseach when one from outside, one with the blood of Odran, grips your will in her hand?”

When he let the silence hold a moment, another, she felt another lick of fear. When Keegan took time to hold his temper, when he chose his words deliberately, they could bite.

“Have a care, Shana, with what you say to me here. Have a care before you make accusations unfounded and untrue. As if you say them to others, make them to others outside this room, you won’t like the consequences.”

His words shocked her, but no more than the cold look on his face, the hard ice in his eyes. “You—you threaten me?”

“I warn you. I am taoiseach, and your taoiseach tells you now to guard your words. I tell you to keep good space between yourself and Breen Siobhan O’Ceallaigh. I release you from the courtesy of offering her welcome.”

At her sides, Shana’s hands fisted until her nails dug into her palms. “You would bar me from the Welcome tonight?”

“I won’t, no, as it would bring shame on your parents. But I warn you, for their sakes and your own, keep clear of her. She’ll only be in the Capital for a short time. I trust—must trust—that whenever she returns, you’ll have settled yourself.”

“I am settled, Taoiseach.” She spoke coldly now, her face like stone. “I am well settled. And I tell you in turn, you’ll regret your alliance with such as her.”

When she turned away, he let her storm out.

Twice now, he thought, Shana had clearly shown him what she was. So he regretted, very much, his alliance with such as her.

But considered the matter closed.

He walked over to pick up the dented tankard, and holding it, studied the map of Talamh on the wall.

And there were so many things, so many far more important things to worry about than a former lover’s ire.

With Brian on duty, Marco insisted on taking Breen down to the village. The long walk pleased Bollocks—and gave him another chance to jump in the river.

And it gave Breen a chance to see life in the Capital outside the castle.

She decided people gathering around the well equaled Talamh’s version of the office watercooler. Men and women chatted away while they filled jugs and buckets. Others leaned on the well, taking their ease while they talked.

Clothes flapped on lines behind cottages; sheep and cows grazed in pastures.

She watched a man and woman unloading bricks of peat from a wagon, and a woman—ripely pregnant—carrying a basket of fall vegetables into a pub where the music of a flute piped out like laughter.

Though the air blew brisk, the sun beamed, and that combined to create an ideal autumn day. Shopkeepers brought wares out into stalls to tempt passersby with more vegetables as colorful as a carnival, baked goods and leather goods, wooden toys and bowls and spoons, trinkets and jewelry, ribbons and buttons.

Shawls and scarves, caps and sweaters hung from pegs while in the next stall a cobbler hummed as he hammered the sole of a boot into place.

“Brian says it stays pretty busy,” Marco told her. “People come in to trade or set up a stall, maybe visit the castle grounds or some of the local sights.”

“It’s all bigger than I imagined.”

And full of life, she thought. Energy, movement.

“If we have a chance to come down again, we should bring something to trade. I made a few bracelets, but I didn’t think to bring them today. I’ve got a charm bag in my pocket, and a little bag of crystals. I’ll put something more together for next time. I’d like to find something to give Nan.”

As she thought of it, she saw a woman sitting in a rocking chair. Raven-black hair piled in a loose knot on top of her head, and a pumpkin-colored shawl wrapped around her shoulders.

As she rocked, she worked snow-white wool with knitting needles and tapped one booted foot to some internal rhythm.

The sign over her head read OF THE WISE.

She paused her knitting only to crook a finger at Breen.

As Breen stepped closer, she saw the red dragon flying over the field of white wool.

“It’s beautiful.”

“It’s for my great-grandchild who’ll come into the world by Yule. My twelfth she’ll be, and for each I make such a blanket so wherever they go through their life they know the dragon flies over Talamh.”

“A wonderful gift.”

“I know you,” she added, and set the knitting in the basket beside her chair. “You’ve the look of those who came before you. I, carrying in me my last child of seven, stood on the road right there when first Mairghread rode to the Capital as taoiseach. And so I stood when your father made that ride.”

She rose. “Come inside, Breen Siobhan. You and your friend and your fine dog there are welcome.”

“I don’t have anything to trade today,” Breen began as they followed the woman inside. Then she stopped, simply looked.

“You like what you see?”

“It’s wonderful. It’s a wonderful shop.” Though smaller by far, it made Breen think of the Troll cave.

“Wow.” Marco turned a circle. “It smells amazing in here.”

As he spoke, a black cat—who’d sat so still on a table Breen had taken it for a statue—leaped down. Instead of giving chase, Bollocks sat while the cat circled him.

“My Sira won’t harm your boy there. She’s only showing him who’s in charge.” With a laugh in her voice, the woman spoke to the cat in the old tongue.

The cat made one more circle before jumping back on the table. And sitting, began to wash.

“Here now.” The woman went to a shelf holding a variety of crystals in wedges and squares and rounds. She lifted down a perfect square of deep purple amethyst.

“It’s beautiful,” Breen began when the woman held it out to her. “But I … Oh, for a candle.” Intrigued, she took it, studied the round hole in the center.

And heard the voice of the stone.

“For peace and calm of mind in these turbulent times. You’re after taking a gift back to your nan, aren’t you now?”

“Yes, and this is perfect. But I didn’t bring anything to trade.”

“No, no, you’ve come to Talamh, and in trade for that, I give you this to give to Mairghread. My man, the father of my seven, he fell at the Battle of the Black Castle.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“He stood for the light. For you, for me, our children, and all who come after. A good man, he was a good man, and I see him in our children, and theirs, and theirs. As I see your father, his mother in you. So, as they stood for the light, you will stand, and the child I’ll wrap in the blanket I made will know peace.

“Will you tell her Ninia Colconnan from the Capital sends blessings? She may remember me.”

“I will. And I’ll remember you, Mother.”

When Breen offered her hand, Ninia took it, then gripped it. Her eyes went from soft blue to deep. “Have a care, child. Look behind and beneath. Someone wishes you harm.”

“Odran and his followers.”

“Him and them, always, but on this side, and close. Have a care, for you’re precious to us. Have a care,” she said a third time. “This will fail, this time, this way, but it won’t be the end of it.”

She closed her other hand over Breen’s. “I can’t see more, but I hear the hard thoughts sent toward you, and thoughts so hard and sharp can cut as true as a blade.”

“I’ll be careful.”

With a nod, she stepped back. “You wear protection, I see,” she said to Marco. “So take this.” She walked over, chose a small white candle. “The scent comes from the blossom of the jasmine flower that blooms at night. As the pleasures of love often do. You love and are loved, and when you take those pleasures, this scent and light will … enhance. And you, do you think I’d be forgetting you?”

She gave Bollocks a pat as the cat looked on from her superior height. She chose a trio of tiny stones from little jars, then placed them on Bollocks’s collar.

“This true heart this charm protect, as this is my wish and my intent. Shield him on land and air and sea. As I will, so mote it be.”

With a faint shimmer of light, the stones fixed into the collar.

“You’ve been so kind,” Breen began.

“You’ve had trials and face more to come. This is thanks. Kindness? This costs nothing.”

Marco leaned down to kiss her cheek. “I’m awfully glad we met you, um, Mother.”

“Ah, what woman doesn’t like a kiss from a handsome young man.” She kissed his in turn. “We’ll see each other again. Now you need to be off, to make yourselves lovely for the Welcome.”

She took Breen’s hand one last time. “And have a care, Daughter.”

“She was great,” Marco said as they walked back. “A little spooky with the someone wants to hurt you bit, but great.”

“I think I know who she sensed, and it’s nothing. Hard thoughts don’t worry me.”

“Who? So I can give them the hard eye.”

“Shana. She embarrassed herself—and women everywhere—trying to get me into a fight over Keegan.”

“Oh, that.” Since she’d already told him the story, he shrugged it off as she did. “But I’m giving her the Marco Olsen Terrifying Hard Eye anyway. Nobody snipes at my girl.”

“That’ll teach her.” She gave him a body bump. “But on to more important things. Is it dumb if I changed the color on the blue dress— it’s all I’ve got—just for tonight?”

“You can do that?”

“I can. Maybe to purple or something bronzy.”

“Not dumb, but totally on. How about after we get all done up, I come over and you can try out different colors on me? And what else you should do? Hunt up Kiara, see if she’s got any sparkly pins or whatever for your hair. Just fancy it up a little.”

“She said she’d promised to do someone else’s, so wouldn’t have time. But … maybe I could hit her up for a loan, and you could help me fancy it.”

“Something sparkly,” he said again. “Or, you know, if you can’t find her, we could maybe work some flowers into the braid.”

Now she hooked an arm through his. “I’m almost, sort of, nearly looking forward to this thing tonight.”

“Almost, sort of, nearly? Come on, girl. Party in the castle! Can’t nothing be more lit than that. We had the sad and solemn last night, and man, I’m never going to forget that. We had the drama and your I’m-a-kick-ass-witch turn this morning. Now it’s party time. Welcome to the Capital, Breen Siobhan Kelly.”

“Yeah, it’s— Wait, what? You think this is about me tonight?”

“Don’t think, know. Girl, what’d you think? Besides, Brian told me for sure. Welcoming you—and I get a piece of that as the BFF of the star.”

She lost three shades of color on the spot. “Oh God, Marco, I don’t want to be the star.”

“It’s not like you have to get up and sing. Though you could. And no speeches required or anything, Brian said. I asked because I know you. You just talk to people, and there’s a big-ass feast, lots of drinking, and there’s dancing. A party, Breen.”

He laughed when Bollocks leaped off the bridge into the river. “That dog can’t pass up a puddle, much less a stream. Oh, and he gets to come, too. Toss away the nervous face, girlfriend. Everybody said tonight’s nothing but fun.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

In her room, blood boiling, mind burning, Shana set out the crystals and herbs, the oils and essences she’d taken from Loren’s cottage. From a box hidden in her wardrobe, she retrieved the strands of hair she’d taken and secreted away months before when she’d playfully insisted on brushing Keegan’s hair.

In her heart she knew she’d always planned to do this, just this, even when she’d believed Keegan would pledge to her. Because to attain all she wanted, she needed him to look at her and no other. To want her and no other.

Love her, and no other. Even his mother. How could she take Tarryn’s place as the hand of the taoiseach if he took love that should be hers and gave even drops of it to his mother?

She used a bowl of rose quartz Keegan had given her and, with that anger and ambition fueling her intention, lit a red candle.

“Red for passion and for the heart, light his love for me alone.” Her own pounded as she poured the oils into the bowl. “Oils of cinnamon and poppy cloud his mind to all save me, and to this I add the stone. A weight on his heart when we must part.”

Carefully, she tapped in powdered herbs. “Rosemary, valerian, remember and sigh till nothing I ask of him will he deny.” One by one, she added three strands of hair.

“This part of him, three, two, one, and so the spell is nearly done.” She picked up a small knife, ran a shallow slice across the heart line of her left palm. “Now add my heart blood and my tears …”

She let the blood drip into the bowl and, as she’d had the talent since childhood, willed tears to her eyes. Leaning over, she let them fall into the mix. “So when he drinks, he drinks of me, and his love is mine for all my years.

“Stir and seal and bubble and blend.” Circling the candle over the bowl, she watched three drops of red wax slide in, and with it, the mix simmered and smoked. “And so his love will never end. When this potion he drinks, his heart with mine links. It will forever belong to me. As I will, so mote it be.”

With a little shiver, Shana blew the candle out.

She’d done a few spells before—coaxing Loren to show her. But she’d never done anything this complex, or anything on her own.

Now she smiled at the clear, quiet liquid in the bowl. She would learn more, she decided. She had a few drops of Wise in her, after all, from her mother’s mother’s mother.

She poured the potion from the bowl into a small vial, closed it with a stopper.

She would dress, aye, she would be sure to look her very best, then go up to Keegan’s chambers before the Welcome.

She knew just what to do, what to say.

And before the moons rose, she would have all she’d ever wanted.

Breen Kelly would be sent back to her own world, Tarryn back to the valley.

And she would take her place at the council table. She’d share Keegan’s handsome chambers in the tower—and make a few changes there, of course. And she’d plan a lavish wedding, one suited for a queen.

Imagining it, she opened her wardrobe to select which gown she should wear when Keegan pronounced his love.

Even as she reached for one, someone tap-tapped on her door. Before she could call out, it opened.

With a hesitant smile, her styling case in hand, Kiara poked her head in. “I’ve come to do your hair. Are you still angry with me? Oh, Shana, I don’t want you to be angry with me. I can’t bear it!”

As she hadn’t given Kiara a thought all day, it took Shana a moment. Remembering, she put on a pout. She wanted her hair styled, of course, but wanted a bit of groveling first.

“Ah, so you’ve done your new friend’s hair already, have you then? And now have a bit of time for me?”

“Oh, Shana, no!” Hurrying in, Kiara closed the door behind her. “I’ve come straight to you after minding some of the littles. Never would I want to hurt your feelings so, and I’ve been half-sick on it all day. I won’t do her hair again, I promise you. So come and sit, won’t you? I’ve a style in mind for you that will turn heads.”

Kiara started for the dressing table, and stopped when she saw the red candle, the bowl, the remainder of the ingredients used in the spell.

“What are you doing here, Shana?”

Cursing herself, Shana waved a hand as she strolled over to gather up herbs and oils. “I thought to try making a scent for myself, but I couldn’t get it right.”

Kiara laid a hand on Shana’s arm. “No, that’s not what you were about, no, it isn’t. You mustn’t do this, Shana, you mustn’t do such a bad thing as this.”

“I don’t know what you could be talking about.” Furious all over again, Shana yanked open a drawer, intending to shove everything inside to deal with later.

“You’ve already done it, I can see it on your face.” Heartsick, fearful with it, Kiara tightened her grip. “I can see the candle’s already been lit and put out again. Oh, Shana, why would you do such a thing? It’s against our laws, and you know full well. A love spell takes choice away, and can cause the one bespelled to do things he’d never do, do them out of jealousy or despair.”

“Now you lecture me? Go, just go. I’ll do my own hair.”

Truly shocked, Kiara took a step back. “Oh, gods help us, Shana, you mean to bespell Keegan. The taoiseach! Shana, you would be banned from the Capital, and your family disgraced! Worse, you could be banished altogether, for you’d break one of the First Laws.”

“I’ll not be banned or banished or anything of the sort, as he’ll be devoted to me, as I’ll take my place as his wife and his hand. And I’ve earned that, right enough.

“And you’ll be quiet about this,” Shana added, giving Kiara a shove. “You’ll say nothing, do you hear me, or you’ll be the one sent from the Capital.”

“You’re angry now, and hurt more than I knew, and I’m so sorry for it. You’re just not thinking clear, that’s what this is.” Even as her eyes pleaded, Kiara kept her tone gentle. “Give me the potion, and I’ll destroy it. We’ll never speak of it. I’ll tell no one of it.”

“You’d best be telling no one, or you’ll pay for it, I promise you that.” Snarling it, she shoved Kiara back another full step. “Now take your bloody case and go. You’re a false friend, I see that clear enough.”

“I’m as true a friend as you’ve ever had, and so I’ll save you from yourself.” She didn’t pick up the case, but turned to the door. “You won’t give me the potion, but you’ll give it to my mother right enough.”

“You’d betray me?”

Eyes full of tears, Kiara looked back. “I would save you.”

She’d nearly reached the door when Shana grabbed the vase, rushed after her. Brought it down on her.

When Kiara fell, when Shana saw the blood, she thought she’d struck harder than perhaps she’d meant.

“Can’t be helped,” she mumbled. “You turned on me, and would have ruined everything. The fault’s your own.”

No time now to put on her dress, to style her hair. When Kiara woke—if she woke—she’d go running to her ma.

But when Keegan drank the potion, when she had his heart, he’d deal with them.

With all of them.

She stepped around Kiara, closed and locked the door, and began to make her way to the tower rooms of the taoiseach.

In her room, Breen put away the gift for Marg. She filled Bollocks’s water bowl, brought the fire up to a satisfying snap, then poured herself a glass of wine.

“The Capital’s interesting,” she told the dog. “But I’ll be ready to get back to the valley. And to our cottage. But right now, I have to work myself up to a party mood.”

She opened the wardrobe to lay out the blue dress, and instead pulled out the one hanging beside it, and read the note from her grandmother.

“Nan.” Breen sighed it as she took out a dress the color of moonlight mists.

It felt just as soft, she thought as she held it up, turned to the mirror. The thin layers of the skirt floated down to just above her ankles with the faintest of sparkles, like faerie lights through that mist. The long sleeves came to points, and the square bodice dipped considerably lower than the more modest neckline of the blue.

“Well, it’s gorgeous, and it deserves some sparkly pins in the hair, like Marco said. Let’s go find Kiara, Bollocks, and see about a loan.”

The dog went out with her, and she realized she had no idea where Kiara’s room might be. She started to tap on Marco’s door to see if he did, and saw Brigid.

“Is there something you’re needing?”

“I was hoping to ask Kiara for something, but I don’t know where her room is.”

“Well now, I’m happy to show you. It’s down in the other wing.”

“I appreciate it.”

“And so did you enjoy your afternoon in the village?” Brigid asked as she led the way.

“I did. So much to see.”

“Yes, and a fine day to see it. And tonight should be fine as well. Here’s Kiara’s room. Will she be doing your hair? She’s brilliant with hair.”

“I just wanted to see if she had some pins I could use tonight.” Breen knocked. “She told me she already promised to do someone else’s.”

Brigid slid her gaze to the door one down from Kiara’s. “Likely that one. Shana, that is. She’s likely in Shana’s room now, fixing it up for her.”

“Oh. Well, I won’t bother her.”

“I’ll wager I can find what you want. What sort of pins are you after?”

“That’s all right. It’s not important. I was just …”

She trailed off because Bollocks had gone to the other door, and now began to whine.

“Come on, Bollocks, come away from there. Let’s go back and—”

But because he felt distress, she did. Because he scented blood, she did.

“Something’s wrong.” Stepping over, Breen didn’t bother to knock, but tried to turn the handle. “It’s locked, but something’s wrong,” she repeated as Bollocks let out a howl.

“Are you sure?” Brigid clasped her hands tight. “I can fetch a key from Tarryn if you’re sure. It’s just—”

“No time.” Using power, Breen turned the lock, then opened the door.

Kiara sprawled just inside, and Breen dropped down beside her.

“She’s hurt!” Brigid spun on her heel. “I’ll get help.”

“Wait.”

Slow, Breen reminded herself. Easy. She pulled back everything Aisling had taught her, then laid her hands on the wound seeping blood at the back of Kiara’s head.

“I can see it. I can feel it.”

Slow, easy, she brought the light.

“It’s not deep,” she murmured. “But there’ll be pain. So gently.” She breathed in, breathed out, closing the wound that ran long but shallow. Soothing, shrinking the ugly knot, and the bruising.

When Kiara moaned, stirred, Breen spoke softly. “Lie still a minute. I know it pounds, I feel it. You feel sick, but lie still, let me finish.”

“I can fetch a potion from one of the healers,” Brigid began.

Kiara moaned again, stirred again. “Shana.”

“It’s all right. Another minute.”

But eyes wheeling now, Kiara shoved up to her hands and knees. “Shana. The taoiseach!”

“What happened? Was it Odran or—”

“Oh gods.” Kiara grabbed Brigid’s arm, dragged on it so she could stand. “Where is the taoiseach?”

“In his chamber. I—”

“Get help. His mother, mine, send them to him. Hurry, hurry.”

As Brigid raced off, Kiara swayed.

“You’re dizzy, come sit. Let me finish.”

“There’s no time. We have to stop her. Help me. I can’t run.”

“All right. Lean on me. What happened?”

“She struck me.”

“Shana? She hit you?”

“She’s so angry, and I think she’s lost her mind. Oh gods. She’s brewed a love potion and means him to drink it. I have to stop her. Oh, she’s damned herself, my dearest friend, and I must be the one to accuse her.”

While Kiara had lain unconscious, Shana climbed the tower steps. She put on her most contrite expression and knocked on Keegan’s door.

“Come.”

She kept her expression in place even when irritation rose on seeing he wasn’t alone. And clearly didn’t look pleased to see her.

“I’m interrupting,” she said, and smiled at Flynn.

“A pretty woman is always a welcome interruption, and we were just finished. Aye, Keegan?”

“Aye. I’ll see you at the Welcome, and we’ll speak again tomorrow.”

“Save a dance for me, won’t you?” Flynn said to Shana.

She gave him a smile, a flutter of lashes. “I will, of course.”

When he went out, Shana put the sorrowful look in her eyes, folded her hands at her waist. “And again I must apologize. I don’t like making it a habit, I can tell you, so hope this is the last I must.”

“It’s not to me you owe one.”

She nodded, moved to the fire in the generous sitting room—one she intended to make her own. “I know you believe that, and so I will, as when I cooled my temper, I realized how what I said to Breen could be misunderstood. I never meant to insult her, Keegan, but I see now I did, and I was only joking, as women often do, about you—and us. She was so upset by it, and said hard things, so I said hard things.”

Shaking her head, she turned back to him and saw—on that face she knew so well—he’d had more than enough of the entire matter.

“Women can be foolish about men, and I confess I felt a bit of jealousy myself, as a woman does when she meets the lover of one she’s bedded herself. Silly and foolish, and I’ll apologize to her. When I leave, I’ll go straight to her chamber and do so. But I owe you one for how I spoke to you. I was embarrassed.”

She smiled again, lifted her hands. “As you know well, my pride runs wide and runs deep. Will you, again, forgive me?”

“I will, of course.”

But she heard, clearly, the stiffness in his voice. Saw, clearly, the coolness in his eyes.

“Will you have a cup of wine with me—a bit of courage for me before I face Breen—and so we put the matter behind us?”

“I’ve other matters to see to before—”

“One cup of wine,” she said as she walked to the table holding the decanter. “And behind us it goes for well and good.”

With her back to him, she poured the potion from vial to cup.

She handed him a cup, tapped hers to it. When she sipped and he didn’t, she tried again.

“And you can drink to me on my pledging with Loren, and wish me happy.”

He looked into her eyes. “I would drink to such news as that, and wish you happy.”

As he lifted the cup, Kiara stumbled in the door. “No, Taoiseach, no. Don’t drink it.”

When her knees buckled, Breen lowered her into a chair.

“She made a love potion,” Breen told him. “What terrible lie is this!

What have you done to Kiara, my friend? Why, there’s blood! Keegan, she’s—”

“Silence!” He set the cup down and, waving his hand over it, sealed the potion inside. “Did you think I wouldn’t sense it, couldn’t smell it? What do you take me for?”

He grabbed Shana’s arm before she could move, and, thrusting his hand into the pocket of her skirt, pulled out the vial.

“That you would do such a thing to another. Someone with all you have would do this to take more. You would break a sacred law, betray my trust, harm a friend, all for your pride.”

Her fury snapped so strong she couldn’t call the tears.

“I gave you what you asked for, what you wanted, and you spurned me.”

“We gave each other what we wanted, for a time, then it wasn’t enough, it seems, for either of us.”

“You would take her over me?”

He looked into her eyes, spoke the cruel truth. “I would never have taken you.”

“Bloody bastard, you’ll pay.” She jerked her arm free. “I swear you’ll pay. Your mongrel whore will know my wrath, as will you.”

With Kiara weeping, Shana blurred from the room.

“She won’t get far.” After pressing his fingers to his eyes, he walked over to crouch in front of Kiara. “There now, darling, where are you hurt?”

“She hit me. I think she hit me.”

As Kiara started to lift her hand to the back of her head, Breen took it, laid her other on Kiara’s head. “I know it hurts. Let me finish.”

“I saw—I saw on her dressing table, and I said no, she couldn’t. I said she had to give the potion to me, and I’d destroy it. I wouldn’t tell anyone. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. She’s my friend, and I wouldn’t have told anyone even though it’s law.”

“It’s all right now.” He shot a glance up at Breen, saw the flickers of pain, the concentrated focus as she worked. “Who wouldn’t do the same for a friend?”

Weeping, Kiara clung to Keegan’s hand. “But I think … After all, I think she was never my friend.”

“No, darling, but you were hers.”

Minga flew into the room with Tarryn right behind her. “Oh, my baby!”

“Let Breen finish, let her finish, Minga. Kiara’s doing fine now, just fine. Aren’t you, darling?”

Tears continued to fall in a flood, but she nodded as Minga dropped down beside Keegan and took Kiara’s hand.

“She hit me. I think. I said if she wouldn’t listen to me, she would listen to my mother. I was going to get you, Ma, bring you, but she hit me, I think, because my head—a terrible pain, and then Breen was there, and Brigid with her. It doesn’t hurt so much now, truly it doesn’t.”

“Feel a bit unsettled in your belly, don’t you?” Tarryn got another cup, poured some of what she carried in a bottle into it.

“I do, aye, but not as much now. What will happen to Shana? She wasn’t thinking right, she couldn’t have been. It was more than one of her tempers. If she—”

“Ah now, that’s not for you to worry about.” Soothing, gentle, Tarryn stroked Kiara’s face. “You drink this now, my good girl. That’s the way, every drop.”

When Breen stepped back, Tarryn ran her hands over Kiara’s head, her neck, her shoulders. Then, with a smile, nodded at Breen.

“Now, you’ll go with your ma, have a bit of a lie down, and you’ll be fine.” She stepped over to lay a hand on Minga’s shoulder. “She’ll be fine, I promise you.”

“Aye, she will, with a head as hard as my girl’s. Come, my love, you can rest in my bed as you did when you were a little.”

“Tell me this if you can, Kiara.” Keegan helped her stand. “Do you know where she would’ve gotten what she needed? Where she would have learned the words?”

“Not for certain, and if I’d known she was even thinking of such a thing, I’d have found a way to stop her, for her own sake. I swear it.”

“The fault’s not yours.” He kissed her forehead. “You did all that was right. Go and rest.”

Minga put an arm around her waist to lead her out, and as she did, she reached out to grip Breen’s hand. “I’ll never forget.”

Rubbing the back of his neck as they went out, Keegan turned to Breen. “Sit.”

“I’d really just like to go get some air.”

He swiped a free hand to his window so it flew up. “Now you have it. Sit. You’re pale as the moons.”

“And of course the way to fix that is barking at her. Get her some wine, boy, and three drops—three’s enough—of a restorative,” Tarryn said.

“I have to … She needs to be found. I have to send a few, quiet as I can, to do that.”

“Gods. Aye, go on then. I’ll see to Breen.”

“Stay,” Keegan ordered Breen before he strode out.

“He’s angry.” Tarryn walked to a cabinet, and opening it chose a small bottle. “My boy’s patience runs thin at the best of times, but it vanishes like mist in the sun when he’s angry.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed that.” Because she didn’t want to sit, and did want the air, Breen stepped over to the window. It looked out, she saw, on the gardens, the fountain, the river, the village, and the hills and fields beyond.

“Drink this, just a few drops of restorative in some lovely wine from our own vineyards. He’ll be less angry when you’ve color back in your cheeks. I’m after some wine myself with all this.”

She poured her own. “How bad was she hurt, our Kiara?”

“I’m not really sure. I’m still learning, and I’ve never healed a head wound like that. I had to try. She was on the floor, in Shana’s room. Bollocks sensed it first.”

His tail thumped as he sat by the fire.

“And I sensed it through him. A lot of blood—head wounds bleed so much. I’m guessing a concussion because her vision was blurry when she started to come out of it, and she felt queasy, dizzy. There was a vase—crystal, I think—on the floor, and the water from it, and the flowers strewn. The door was locked. She’d locked the door and left Kiara bleeding.”

“It would have been worse for her if you hadn’t found her. I blame myself for some of this.”

Now Breen turned. “How? Why?”

“Because I knew some of what she was, the ambition so raw, so deep. The slyness in her. But I’m fond of her mother, and her father, and they love her so. Indulge her far too much, but from love.”

“She had a choice; she made it. That’s not on you, or Kiara, or her parents or anyone but her.”

Tarryn studied her as she drank some wine. “So Keegan would say, and just as firm—even as he holds some of the blame inside himself.”

“Then he’s stupid.”

Tarryn threw back her head and laughed. “Oh, I like you. I do like you.”

“What happens when they find Shana?”

“Judgment,” Tarryn said simply. “And there I worry about my boy, as whatever he does will weigh heavy on him.” She walked over to pour a third cup of wine as Keegan came back.

“I’ve three elves combing the castle itself, as it’s dead easy for an elf to hide—though she couldn’t for long. A couple of faeries will take the grounds, the woods, the village. I’ve had to send for Loren—and they’ll look in his cottage and the woods there as well. She might go to him for help. She might have gotten the spell from him, and I need to know.”

He drank, looked at Breen. “Tell me what you know.”

Precious little, she thought, but told him.

“You weren’t going to drink it,” she added. “When we came in to warn you, you already knew.”

“I did. What did you call it once? Body language. The way she turned to pour wine, insisting we had to have it to seal her apology to me. And I thought, why, she’s putting something in the wine, and wondered if she meant to sicken me before the Welcome, as her apology rang as false as a cracked bell.”

He picked up the cup he’d sealed. “But then she used a bit too much oil of cinnamon, and I caught that scent, and the rest as well, as she’s no hand with mixing potions.”

He sat, looked as weary as Breen had ever seen him. “I’d have sent her away. Her father has family in the north, and I’d have sent her there for a year, I think. If it had been just between her and me, I would have felt that enough. But I didn’t know about Kiara. So now there’ll be a Judgment, and her parents shamed.”

“Let me speak to them. Let me tell them.”

“Ma, I’ll grant you that, and gladly. And please the gods, we find her quickly.”

“It was never about you.” Tarryn went over, sat on the arm of his chair. “Or only a little—the little that’s her vanity and pride sore because a man didn’t want her. But it was always about the staff and sword.”

“I know it, and fortunate for me neither my vanity nor pride is harmed by it.”

“I’d be disappointed in you if they were. I’ll be going now to tell her parents, and after, I’ll check on Kiara. Her heart’s broken by this. You did more than well in this, Breen. Kiara’s all but one of my own. And now I must tell friends what their only child has done.” She rose. “I’ll see you then at the Welcome.”

“I—I thought you’d call that off,” Breen said to Keegan when his mother left them.

“No, best to go forward than to have everyone and their brother besides nattering about why we didn’t.”

“Wow, won’t this be fun?”

He met her sour look with one of his own. “It’s duty, yours as well as mine, though I wish it all to the devil myself. But it matters that people welcome you and meet you.”

He closed his eyes, just for a moment. “It matters we don’t let this, all of this, take from that.”

“Okay. All right. Keegan, all of this? It was more than temper or hurt feelings. She’s not …I don’t think she’s stable.”

“I know it. I saw it. We’ll find her.”

The man she’d seen with Shana came to the open door. This would be Loren, she thought, and set her cup aside. “Then I should go get ready.”

“Taoiseach.” Loren nodded to Keegan, then beamed at Breen. “Breen Siobhan O’Ceallaigh, it’s a great pleasure to meet you at last.”

“Loren Mac Niadh,” Keegan said as Loren took Breen’s hand, lifted it to his lips.

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m just leaving.”

“I’ll see you again at your Welcome. I hope I can claim a dance.”

Because she couldn’t think what to say, she just smiled and got out. Since it seemed right, she closed the door behind her.

Loren took a seat. “I’m told you wanted to see me, and urgently. Is there trouble? Odran and his demons?”

“Trouble there is, but not, at the moment, from him.” Rising, Keegan retrieved the sealed cup, and unsealing it, offered it to Loren. “Don’t drink. Do you know what this is?”

Obviously puzzled, Loren frowned into the cup. “Well, it’s wine, isn’t it? A bit of a cloud in it, and …” He lifted it to sniff, then his gaze shot up to Keegan’s.

“Why would you brew this? Why does the taoiseach break one of the First Laws with a love potion?”

“I didn’t. It was meant for me to drink, but like you, I knew it for what it was.”

“You’re not telling me the O’Ceallaigh’s daughter would—”

“Not Breen, no.” Keegan took back the cup, sealed it again before setting it aside. “Shana.”

“That’s wild talk, and I don’t know who would have told you such a lie, but—”

“It’s not a lie.” Now he picked up the vial. “She brought it with her in this, slipped it into wine she poured. And before she came to me, Kiara went to her room, saw what Shana was about. When Kiara tried to stop her, to save her friend from harsh judgment, Shana struck her down. She left Kiara stunned and bleeding on the floor, locked her in, and came here.”

“There’s a mistake, surely.” He pushed up. “Some misunderstanding, confusion. Kiara, is she badly hurt?”

“Breen found her, and we’ll thank the gods for it. She healed her wound enough that Kiara could come to me, afraid I’d drink. And I’ll tell you, she had blood on her face, in her hair, on her clothes. Blood spilled by a friend. I’m asking you, did you give her what she needed for the spell?”

“Gods, no, and I’m not convinced of any of this. I’ll say I know we’re not fast friends, you and I, but never would I use my magicks for such a purpose, or help another to do so. A rape of the heart and mind? And the danger that may …”

Loren fell silent; his eyes went dull.

“You’ve remembered.”

“No, nothing, no. A game, a lover’s lark. Where is she? Where is Shana?”

“We’re looking for her. What game?”

“It was just a pretending, and well back in the summer. A pretending to mix the potion, but only pretending. But, gods, I gave her the words, I told her how it’s done, so she could pretend to enslave my heart to hers.

“I knew she didn’t love me full, but I thought she was coming to it. Let me take her away.”

“There must be a Judgment.”

“I’ll take her away.” Desperate, Loren gripped Keegan’s arm. “Wherever you say, out of Talamh if that’s your wish. I beg you not to banish her to that place. Ban her, a lifetime, and I’ll take her away.”

“Knowing all this, you’d want her?”

“I love her.”

“Then you’ll speak at the Judgment, make your offer. If she’ll go with you, and you’re willing, I would grant that. In truth, it would relieve me to grant that. But first we have to find her.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

Marco sat on the chest at the foot of his bed while Breen paced and told him everything. “Holy freaking shit monkeys!”

He’d said that or equivalents throughout her monologue, then just stared at her when she dropped down in a chair.

“She was going to vamp him with a love potion. Who the hell wants somebody you have to drug into thinking they want you?”

“Apparently, she does, or the upshot I got was she wanted the status—Keegan just came with it.”

“That’s way over the Mean Girl line. You’re sure Kiara’s okay?”

“Yeah, but I don’t know how she gets over it, Marco. It would be like me doing that to you, or you to me. At least from Kiara’s side.”

The sad filled his eyes. “Shana broke her heart as much as her head.”

“She did. I guess I don’t believe now that Shana’s capable of real friendship, or love, or loyalty, but Kiara is. Anyway, I had to vent it out. I can’t believe we’re going to a damn party after all this.”

“It’s going to be just what you need. And if Kiara’s feeling up to coming, we’re going to make sure she has some fun, take her mind off all this.”

“We can try.”

He knew his girl, and switched tacks to lighten it all up. “We’re gonna do it, and we’re gonna look extreme doing it. Nan sent me a ’fit, and I’m betting she sent one for you.”

“She did.”

He jumped up to open his wardrobe. “Gander this.”

She walked over to see pants—and damned if they weren’t leather— in a bronzy shade, a cream-colored tunic, and a long velvet vest in deep green to go over it.

“You’ll look great, and I’d better go get started on putting myself together. Let’s go put our party on, Bollocks.”

When she’d dressed, indulged herself with a couple of turns in front of the mirror, someone knocked on the door. Assuming Marco, she called out.

“Come on and gander this!”

And flushed a little when Minga came in.

“Sorry, I thought it was Marco. How’s Kiara?”

“Much better, thanks to you, and the boy—man, I have to remind myself she’s a woman grown—the man she’s busy falling in love with came with flowers and has coaxed her into going tonight. It’s good for her to go, and not sit and mope over Shana.

“And I’ve brought you these.” She held out jeweled hairpins. “Brigid tells me this is what you were after, and if you hadn’t been, my baby would have lain there for who knows how long. I think they go well with your dress, which I had a peek at when Marg gave it to me to bring to surprise you.”

“They’re perfect, thank you. I just have to figure out where to put them in.”

“I’m happy to do that for you. Kiara may have gotten her elfin gifts from her father, but her skill with hair ran through me.”

“Yours is …” Half swept up, half floating down in coils. “Fabulous.”

“Thank you. Here now, turn around. Oh, aye, here’s how it should be.

“They’ve not yet found Shana,” she said as she placed pins in and along the braid. “Her parents are crushed, Tarryn tells me.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“As am I. I’m told as well that when she’s found, when there’s a Judgment, Loren will offer to take her away, to make a life with her, if she’s willing. This would be best for all. She’s never had to fend for herself, you see, and though being sent from the Capital, and perhaps from Talamh altogether, will be hard for her, she’s earned that right enough. And she can make a good life with Loren.”

“He must really love her.”

“I think he does. Aye, he does, though I think he mistakes he can, with love and indulgence, temper the edges of her. There, they set your hair off, they do, and go very well indeed with the dress.”

“Thanks. I’d never have figured out how to do it myself. I lean on Marco for this sort of thing.”

“Do you think he’s ready? I’ll take you both down to the banquet hall.”

“We’ll find out. And it’s really okay if Bollocks comes?”

“He’s an honored guest, and another love in my life.” In her dress of shimmering copper, Minga bent down to him. “You knew my Kiara needed help, and saw she got it. You are a hero to me.” Minga smiled as they started out. “I would so like to read the book you wrote about him.”

“Sure. It’s not going to be published until next summer, but I’ll send you a copy.”

Marco opened the door before the knock. “I was just coming over to see if you were ready. And, girl, are you ever! That dress is snatched. Minga, you look fierce!”

“That’s a compliment,” Breen explained.

“And so I took it. You are fierce as well, Marco.”

“Look here, Bollocks, we got ourselves two gorgeous women. I got two arms, ladies.”

He cocked them both out.

Music piped and poured from the balcony above the banquet hall. Candles blazed in tall iron stands and from iron wheels hung by chains from the soaring ceiling. Their light added a sheen to the long tables and benches arranged on either side of the room to face another at its head. Behind it, the dragon banner flew over a huge roaring fire.

Voices echoed, bouncing off the wide-planked floors, off the walls where colorful tapestries hung between arched windows of leaded glass.

People milled about or gathered in groups. Some already sat, drinking wine or ale while they talked.

“Ah, I see some I know are waiting to see you again.”

Minga led the way to a table where three men and three women talked, nearly all at once and with elaborate gestures.

One of the men, older than the other two, glanced over. And his eyes fixed on Breen’s face.

She thought she’d seen him sitting with the council at the Judgment, but there’d been so many people.

He rose, a tall man with hair the color of roasted chestnuts, a warrior’s braid tucked behind his ear, a trim beard.

A fist squeezed Breen’s heart as he looked at her. He hadn’t had the beard before, but she knew him. She recognized him as one of the three with her father in the photograph taken when they’d played in a pub in Doolin. On the other side.

As he watched her come, he laid a hand on the shoulder of the woman who sat beside him and waved her hand in the air as she talked to the others.

Still talking, she glanced up, then over. Breen saw her eyes fill as she scrambled to her feet. And not stopping there, rushed over to fold Breen into a hug.

“Ah, sweet Mother of all, here she is. There’s the girl.” She drew back, tears sliding out of eyes of soft, dreamy green. “Would you look at her, Flynn, a woman grown, and so lovely! Have you forgotten me, darling? Well, that’s no matter, no matter at all, for I’ve not forgotten you.”

“You’re …Morena’s mother. You’re …” It was all swimming up to the surface of her memory. “You’re Sinead, and you used to make us sugar biscuits shaped like flowers.”

“That’s right, that’s right, so I did. And you liked the cornflowers best of all.”

“I— Morena said to tell you she’d come visit soon.”

“I hope she will, as we miss her, but we know she’s no liking for the Capital.” She brushed a tear from Breen’s cheek. “Would you look at the two of us. Why, we’ll have splotchy faces if we don’t stop. Isn’t she a sight to see, Flynn?”

“She is, aye, she’s all of that. And how are you then, little red rabbit?”

With a half laugh, half sob, she went into his arms. “You called me that because I was always running, and you’d sneak us all gumdrops when our mothers weren’t looking.”

“And here, after all these years, she’s telling on me.”

“I have a picture of you with my father and Keegan’s and another— Brian—taken in a pub in Doolin.”

“So my mother’s told me. Those were days, fine days indeed.” He cupped her face in his big hands to kiss her. “Your da was my brother in all but blood, and as dear a friend as ever I’ve had.”

“I know. I’m sorry, this is Marco, as dear a friend as I’ve ever had.”

“And sure we’ve heard all about Marco.” Sinead pulled him into a hug. “And I see Finola had the right of it as usual. Handsome as they come. Come, come, meet the family. You may not remember my boys, Breen, and you’ve never met their wives. Here’s our Seamus, named for Flynn’s da, and our Phelin, named for my own, and—”

“I set the frogs on you,” Breen said to Phelin. “You— Morena and I were having a tea party in the garden, and you made it rain on us, and we were so mad. I called the frogs and toads, and they chased you away.”

“Wouldn’t she remember that of all things?” A near carbon copy of his father from the photo, he laughed as he hugged Breen. “And here’s my wife, Noreen.”

“Don’t get up,” Breen said to the pretty and very pregnant woman with a crown of sunny braids. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“And you, and I hope for more stories on my man’s disreputable youth.”

“It’s coming back to me. I remember you,” she said to Seamus. “You had a cat named Maeve, and she had a litter of kittens. You promised me one when they were weaned. But …we left before they were.”

“We kept one, and named her for you, and a fierce mouser she was. A thousand welcomes.”

He had his mother’s eyes, his father’s build, and bent to kiss her. “And here’s my Maura.”

“We named our youngest for your father,” she told Breen. “He was a great man, and a good one. My parents both fought beside him. I train others to fight beside our taoiseach.”

Bold green eyes gleamed against her dark skin. A warrior’s braid fell beyond Maura’s shoulder while she wore the rest of her hair short and sleek.

“He’d thank you for the honor, and wish bright blessings on your son.”

“I know you have much to say to each other,” Minga said. “But I see the taoiseach has come, and I need to take Breen and Marco to the table, or we’ll all starve.”

“I’ll come back,” Breen promised, and took Sinead’s hands. “I didn’t know how much I missed you until now.”

“My sweet girl.” Sinead moved in for another hug, murmured in Breen’s ear, “I loved you like my own, and do still.”

“I know. I’ll come back.”

“And well done,” Minga said as she led Breen and Marco away. “What you said to Maura was just the right thing. And you lifted Sinead’s heart.”

So many more had come in since she’d stopped by that table, Breen saw. So many more voices. And she hadn’t noticed because the memories had all come so fast and strong. And with them the feelings.

She’d loved them, loved them all, as only a child could love. Absolutely and purely.

She cried for them when she’d gone away.

Now there was Keegan standing with his mother at the head table. Him in black with a dull silver waistcoat, Tarryn in a dress of white flowers over blue.

“You’ll sit on Keegan’s left,” Minga told Breen, “and Marco beside you. Don’t sit until he does. There’ll be a goblet of wine, but don’t lift it until after he speaks.”

“Okay.” Nerves jittered straight up from her toes. “Am I supposed to say something? Please say no!”

“Only if you wish. Tonight is for welcome and joy.”

“I haven’t seen Brian,” Marco began.

“He’ll come soon, I’m sure, and as Keegan thought you would wish it, he sits beside you tonight.”

She led them around the table to their places, then took hers on Tarryn’s other side. A man with dark blond hair and quiet blue eyes stood on Minga’s other side, and took Minga’s hand to kiss it.

Og, Breen thought, who’d traveled to a world of gold sands and blue seas to find love.

“These are your people,” Keegan whispered to Breen. “You’ve no reason to fear them.”

“I don’t.” Exactly, she thought.

He waited a moment as the voices turned to mutters, and the mutters died away.

“We have known battle and blood, joy and sorrow, and we will know more as nights pass and days dawn. And we will know peace, as we vowed, as those before us vowed, a thousand years and more to take it, keep it, hold it. What each knows, so all know. We are one. We are Talamh.”

They cheered him; he waited.

“This night, we are here, in this place. We are in the hills and the valleys, the forests and the fields. We are in the caves, the cliffs, the shore, and the sea. We are one. We are Talamh. And as one we welcome Breen Siobhan O’Ceallaigh, granddaughter of Mairghread, daughter of Eian, child of the Fey, of men, of gods.”

He lifted his tankard, turned to her. “Pick yours up now,” he murmured.

He spoke first in Talamhish, then translated. “As you are ours, we are yours, you are home. And so a thousand welcomes, Breen Siobhan O’Ceallaigh, daughter of the Fey.”

He tapped his tankard to her goblet. “Sláinte. Drink,” he added under the calls of “Sláinte!” from the rest.

They cheered again when she did. As she stood, her throat closed, but not with nerves. With gratitude.

“I—”

Marco took her free hand. “You can do it.”

“Okay.” She breathed out. “Thank you.” The room quieted on her words, so she repeated them. “Thank you for your welcome, and your kindness, and your patience …” She glanced at Keegan. “Well, patience from most.”

It surprised her to hear the shouts and laughter. Maybe it shouldn’t have, she realized.

“I’ve come back to Talamh, and though I have family on the other side, I have my brother with me.” She lifted her hand joined with Marco’s. “I have family among the Fey, and with them, through them, I found myself. I’ve come back to Talamh. I’ve come home.”

“Well done,” Keegan told her under the cheers. “Now sit, or they’ll only want more.”

Relieved, she sat, laid a hand on Bollocks’s head when he rested it on her knee. “What now?”

“We eat,” Keegan said simply.

They ate. Platters of meats, boards of breads, tureens of soups, and more. Music and voices rang out again, and Breen used them to keep her words only for Keegan’s ear.

“Shana? Have you found her?”

“Not as yet. She has few resources,” he said almost to himself. “And as she’s rarely gone beyond the village, she doesn’t know the land, the people well. She can’t hide long.”

“When I was teaching, I’d always have a handful of students who’d been overindulged at home, and who thought rules and consequences for breaking them didn’t really apply to them. And a few of that handful would always find a way to slide away from consequences or strike out, enraged, when they couldn’t.”

“You taught children. She’s not a child.” Then he shook his head. “But you’ve the right on this. In many ways, a child is just what she is.”

“And that’s why you’re worried.”

As she spoke, she saw Kiara slip into the room, a man with ginger hair beside her. He led her to a table where those sitting immediately stood to embrace her.

So many good hearts, Breen thought, so the cold one chilled more deeply.

She started to turn to Marco, so saw Brian come in through a side door before he did. Brian touched a hand—one with Marco’s gift on his wrist—to Marco’s shoulder, and moved on to Keegan.

He bent over, spoke quietly.

Keegan nodded. “Sit. Eat.” Absently, he tossed a bite of beef to Bollocks. “No one’s seen her as yet,” he said to Breen. “Everything that can be done is being done, so put it aside for now.”

He leaned toward his mother when she spoke to him, then took a long drink of wine.

“I’m to start the dancing.” When he rose, held out a hand to Breen, she just stared at him. “With you.” Rather than wait, he just took her hand.

A heart could sink into the belly and freeze there, Breen discovered, as he pulled her around the table and into the wide, clear space.

“What kind of dance? I don’t know how—”

“Left palm to my right, and your right on your hip, then switch when I do, three times. You know how to dance. I’ve seen you. Eyes on mine.”

It helped to look at him, only him, and not think about anything else. She heard the music, heard hands clapping and feet stomping to keep the beat, but if she looked at only him, she didn’t think about how many eyes watched her.

He talked her through the steps, even when the tempo quickened. A turn, a touch, and with that quickening tempo a turn became a spin, a touch an embrace. And with her blood beating in time, she wished for more.

The wishing made her breathless when, his hands firm on her waist, he lifted her up, into a half circle, brought her down so their bodies pressed together for just one aching moment.

He stepped back, but brought her hand to his lips as he did so. He kept her hand as he led her back to the table. Others flooded out to dance when the music picked up again.

“I need to dance with my mother, Minga, others. I would rather with you. This is a problem for me.”

“A problem for you?”

“Aye.” He pulled out her chair. “You should sit, as you won’t be given many chances to be off your feet now.”

“I don’t know all the dances.”

“You’ll figure it out.” He hesitated, then leaned down, spoke quietly. “You’ll dance with others, as you should, and you’ll enjoy. But I’ll ask you don’t look at any of them as you looked at me. I want that for mine.”

He straightened, turned to his mother, held out a hand.

Marco leaned over to Breen. “Sexy dance!”

“Stop.”

“I see what I see, know what I know.”

“Go dance with Brian.”

She’d barely said the words when Morena’s brother Phelin came up to her. “Let’s dance, shall we, to spots of rain and leaping frogs.”

“You weren’t always annoying.” She smiled at him as she rose. “I remember you made up games when you lowered yourself to play with—you called us girl babies.”

“Well now, I was, I think, all of six at the time, so far superior.”

Her big brother. That’s how she’d thought of him then, and how, she realized, she felt now. “I don’t know the dance.”

He winked at her. “I’ll talk you through it then. Girl baby.”

Shana watched Breen dance. She watched those who’d professed to be her friends fawn over the witch from outside. The despair she’d begun to feel as she’d found Keegan’s lackies guarding Loren’s house, keeping her from seeking shelter and help against this horrible betrayal, had hardened, had heated into a burning rage.

They searched for her in the forest, from the skies, in the village. As if she’d broken laws instead of defending herself, her place, her rights.

And when she’d come back, so tired from hiding herself in trees and stones and high grasses among the sheep, she’d had to sneak into the castle like a thief in the night only to find the door of her own room barred to her.

The door to her parents’ room guarded against her.

And with her own kind searching the castle, the grounds, with empaths searching for even a whisper of her thoughts, her feelings, she would soon find herself unsafe in her own home.

And all because the one from the other side, the one who didn’t belong, had somehow turned the taoiseach against her.

Had turned so many so now they feted her like a goddess.

But Shana would break that spell, she would retake her rightful place. When the other from the other lay cold in her own blood, they would thank her for ridding them of that false goddess. Keegan would pay, just as the usurper paid.

Then she wouldn’t be wife of the taoiseach.

She would be taoiseach. And everyone, anyone who turned from her, like Kiara, would live in misery in the Dark World.

Let her dance. In a blur of speed, Shana plucked a knife from a tray. More than one head turned in her direction, but as she slid along the stone wall, she saw puzzlement, then dismissal.

Let them all dance, she thought as she worked her way slowly to the wall behind the head table.

The night should have been a celebration of Keegan’s pledge to her. Instead, the night would end with blood when she slit Breen’s throat.

Breen wondered if she could get back to the table and off her feet for two minutes. Clearly, the Fey could dance all night.

When Marco grabbed her hand, she remembered he could, too.

“Come on, girl. Let’s show them how they dance in Philly.”

The table wouldn’t do it, she thought, as she’d still be in plain sight.

“Air. I need five minutes outside in the air. I’m not sneaking off,” she promised. “Bollocks and I are going to step out—as I imagine he needs to for different reasons than mine. And we’ll be back.”

Marco looked down at the dog. “You make sure she comes back.”

She slipped out, and Bollocks made a beeline for the gardens, where a few couples wandered.

She just lifted her face to the sky, to the shine of the moons, and breathed in.

Maybe her feet ached some, but the rest of her felt buoyant. Music pumped against the doors and windows behind her, and voices raised in song joined it. Wine flowed, and laughter swam on it.

She felt the beat of that joy in the air, in the countless hearts surrounding her. If she could have chosen a night to lock in so she could return to it whenever she liked, it would be this one.

Then she felt another heart, and the fury pounding in it. Snarling, snapping, Bollocks tore through the gardens back to her.

Breen whirled as Shana blurred from the castle walls, knife raised. On instinct Breen lashed out.

The knife in Shana’s hand blazed. She shrieked, utter shock, as it fell from her hand, flaming still, to the stones. Even as Bollocks leaped, she shot away.

“No, no.” Breen grabbed the dog before he could give chase. “You won’t catch her, and God knows what she’d do if you did.”

Trembling, she sank down to her knees and hugged the dog.

Not just spoiled, no, Breen thought as she fought to slow her heartbeat. Not just unstable. Twisted. What she’d seen, what she’d felt had been twisted.

“Breen.” Kiara hurried from the garden to the terrace with the man with ginger hair. “Are you all right? We thought we heard you cry out.”

“No, no, I’m fine.” She rose, shifted to block the knife, blackened by the fire.

“I’m Aiden.” He held out a hand to take hers. “I know you helped Kiara today, and she’s dear to me. So you are dear to me as well.”

“I’m so glad to meet you, and to see you looking happy, Kiara. I wonder if you’d do me a favor.”

“You’ve only to ask,” Aiden assured her.

“Would you mind finding Keegan?” Her voice wanted to tremble like her legs, but she fought to keep it steady and light. “There was something I meant to tell him, and it’s so loud in there, it’s hard to talk. If he wouldn’t mind coming out for just a minute.”

“Sure we’ll get him for you. Though it may be for more than just a minute he wants to stay out here with you.” Kiara embraced her, whispered, “I am forever obliged to you. I am forever your friend.”

When they went in, Breen cooled the knife, picked it up. “She would’ve killed me. She meant to.”

Because her legs felt weak, she walked to a bench, sat, with Bollocks all but glued to her side. “Best dog in the world. In all the worlds. A part of me felt sorry for her. She didn’t kill me, but she killed the part of me that felt sorry for her.”

She stayed where she was when Keegan stepped out. “I’d as soon you not wander about by yourself until we’ve settled things.”

Saying nothing, she held out the knife.

“Shana tried to settle them just now. I burned her—I—”

“Are you hurt?” Gripping her shoulders, he lifted her off the bench.

“No. She is. I burned her. Her hand, where she held the knife. The same way—you and the sword. I didn’t think. She came at me, so fast, and—”

“Wait for all that. Where did she go?”

“She ran that way. Something’s snapped in her, Keegan. I saw, I felt …You need to know—”

“We’ll get to all that.” Cróga circled above, glided down. “Up, the both of you,” he said, and all but threw her on the dragon’s back before he leaped on.

“Are we going after her?”

He flew up to the topmost tower, and as Cróga hovered, leaped onto the balcony. He plucked Breen off, patted a leg so the dog jumped after her.

Turning to the doors, he held a hand to them so they opened into his room. “You’re safe here.”

“Keegan—”

“I need you safe. I need to leave you safe and start the search for her. She didn’t hurt you,” he continued when she would’ve argued. “Because you stopped her. She may hurt someone else before they can.”

“Yes, you’re right.”

“Stay here. I’ll be back when I can.”

He went through the door. “Close them behind me. I think it’s not something snapped, as you said.” He leaped onto Cróga. “I think it’s something broke free.”

She watched him fly down, leap off again as the dragon hovered. He’d gathered those he needed for the search, she thought. A search for something lost that even if found, wouldn’t be saved.