The Becoming

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Shana ran, far and fast. Without any sense of direction, with her hand screaming in an agony she’d never known, she ran through the forest, over fields, beyond the village. With her dress in tatters, her heart tearing through her chest, she ran and ran and ran.

When the blind panic faded into trembling fear, she stumbled onto a stream. Plunging her hand in the cold water, she wept, wept tears so bitter they burned into her soul like acid.

Desperate for relief, she dug at roots with her hands, gnawed them with her teeth to make a poultice. Even when it cooled enough to stop her from gasping, her hand throbbed.

Shaking with shock, she ripped strips from her skirts.

She sobbed, muttered, sobbed as she wrapped her hand. With her good hand, she scooped water from the stream into her mouth to ease her throat.

And she heard them. Elfin ears caught the sound of riders. Hunting her. She damned them, damned them all as she gathered herself.

So she ran, and now as she ran, she plotted vengeance.

Deep, endless, bloody vengeance.

While Shana fled, Breen paced.

She lit the fires—in what she realized was Keegan’s bedroom, in the sitting room. She lit the candles, the lamps, but couldn’t find any real comfort. She paced to window, to doors, to window, and finally, though she knew it would irritate Keegan, opened the doors to the terrace and stepped out.

In the sky she could see dragon and riders, faeries on the wing. There would be others, she knew—and even now spotted a trio of riders on horseback. Combing the roads, the hills, she thought. And there would be elves and Weres on foot surely, searching through the forests and over the fields.

The knock on the door made her jump, but as Bollocks just wagged, she had to assume friend not foe. She went back in, closing the terrace doors behind her.

“It’s Tarryn.”

Relieved, Breen hurried to unlock and open the main door. Tarryn stepped in, then simply folded Breen into a hug.

“I came to see for myself you’re not harmed.”

“No, I’m not. Jittery—shaken up a little—that’s all.”

“Sure and who wouldn’t be—jittery. I like the word.” She closed the door, drew Breen to a chair.

“Marco?”

“I told him I’d check on you myself, and report back to him. Not all know, but as Brian’s been called into the search … We’ll have some wine. You had little, as we kept you busy dancing.”

She poured two cups, then sat. “And to speak truth, I’m bolstering myself, as when I leave you I have to go to Shana’s parents. They need to know of this before the rest. And this will break their hearts so they’ll never again, never again be mended.”

“It’s so hard for you.”

“Duty often is. And I’ll tell you now, as I’m sick in my heart, I’m asking myself if I could have done or said something at the right time, in the right way, to stop all of this.”

“She made her choice. Isn’t choice the core of Talamh?”

“It is, aye, it is. I’m so fond of her parents, but I never had fondness for their child. She used her beauty, she used their love, used the loyalty of a dear heart like Kiara’s, the love of Loren, and so many others. In small ways, in small, selfish ways. And when she caught Keegan’s eye as well—she has beauty and charm and wit—I worried. Not that his heart was in danger.”

She sat back, sipped wine. “I worried because I could see what she wanted—not him, I could have softened toward her if she’d loved him. But it was what he is, not who, she wanted. And I worried what she would do when she understood, at last, he would never give her what she wanted.”

Tarryn squeezed her eyes shut. “But even then I never thought this. I thought of tantrums and hard words, some scheming to gain some power on the council. I thought of that, but never this. And I think I never thought of it because I disliked her, and saw myself with that bias.”

“I don’t know her, but I don’t think … The love potion, I can see her holding that as a kind of last resort. But the rest—what she did to Kiara, what she tried to do tonight? That came from rage, impulse, fury, not planning.”

“She would have taken your life tonight. And so there’s no coming back for her, as the judgment’s clear. There was hope before. Loren, and she deceived him, stole from him, used him to try to bind Keegan to her—he asked Keegan to allow him to take Shana away. To ban her from the Capital, and let him take her away.”

“Yes, Minga told me.”

“Keegan agreed to that, and would have persuaded the council. She could have had a life with a man who loved her. A different life, aye, than she wanted, but a life where in time she might have been content. And now, when she’s found, she’ll be cast from Talamh to the Dark World. And my son will carry that weight.”

Now Tarryn leaned forward, reached out to take one of Breen’s hands. “You’re the key in the lock, Breen Siobhan. The bridge, the shield. She would have cut you down. Taking a life, any life, would have damned her. But taking yours, if she’d succeeded, could have damned us all. There is no one in Talamh who would give her shelter.”

“Where would she go? I was trying to think where I’d go in her place. The Welcoming Tree?”

Tarryn nodded. “It’ll be guarded and well. And the falls.”

“The falls? That leads to …”

“Aye, to Odran. We take no chances. I can only hope they find her quickly, and before she harms another.” She set the cup aside. “Should I send someone to keep you company?”

“Thanks, no. We’re fine.”

Tarryn smiled down at Bollocks, stroked the head he’d propped on her knee to comfort her. “You are well guarded, no doubt, by such a brave heart, and you’re safer here than anywhere in Talamh. That helps keep Keegan’s mind clear while he deals with this.”

She rose. “Try to rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Alone, Breen sat by the fire and began to search the flames. Maybe she’d see, though as yet she’d been unable to call a vision, only see what came when it came.

But she sat, as Bollocks curled loyally at her feet, and tried to look through the smoke and flames to the heart. Nothing cleared for her, and she wished she had her globe, that she’d thought to send for it.

And remembered how once Keegan had shown her how to transport something as simple as a glass of water.

So she visualized the globe sitting now beside her bed. The size of it, the shape, the weight, the colors. How smooth it was in her hand, how worlds shifted inside it.

She imagined its path to her, through stone and wood and air.

And cupping her hands, she called it to her, let the power inside her rise, spread, reach.

“I am Breen Siobhan O’Ceallaigh,” she heard herself say. “I am child of Fey and man and god. I am my gift, and my gift is I. Now I use it for the light.”

She felt it burst, so strong, so hot, so bright.

A violence in it, as something turned in her, as for a moment, just a moment, she no longer sat in the chair, in the tower, in the castle.

A fury and a purpose, a striking out.

For an instant she stood somewhere else, with water drumming onto water, with chants and screams pounding in her ears.

For an instant her eyes met Odran’s.

Then she stood in front of the fire, in the tower, in the castle with the aftershocks of power coursing through her.

And in the firelight, with the candles flickering, she held the globe in her cupped hands.

“Was that the same as before? Was it then or now or not yet? God, my blood’s on fire. And it feels … right.”

She looked down at the globe, saw her hands held steady. “What does it mean that I can do this, and feel I’ve crossed some bridge or boundary, scaled some wall?”

It left her breathless and thrilled and triumphant.

She lifted the globe, watched the firelight play over it, watched the glow from the candles, from the lamps swirl into it.

“Show me what I need to see.”

And she saw, in those depths, a figure running through shadows, through forest shadows that shifted and swirled like water.

Shana.

But that shifted, changed, and the figure she saw running was a child. A faerie, for she saw wings, just the blur of them fluttering.

Very deliberately, Breen focused, looked deeper.

A child, a girl. Of the Sidhe. Naked.

The child from the waterfall. The sacrifice. Odran’s side—where, somehow, she herself had just been.

She wanted to push herself into the globe, push herself into that world again, to the child. The child, she saw now, shivering with cold and shock as she ran, as her wings lifted her up a few inches off the path.

Dilly. Her name was Dilly. She was only six.

“This is happening now. It’s all happening now.” She was as certain of it as anything she’d ever known. “And I was there, even though I was standing right here, I was there to stop the knife, to break the chains holding the girl. How did I do it, and why can’t I get back and help her?”

As she tried to clear her mind again, bring back what had flooded into her, she saw the cat.

The silver cat streaked across the child’s path, so she stumbled to a halt, breath heaving, eyes glassy with fear. Then he became a man, and Sedric brought a finger to his lips. He laid the other on his heart as he crouched down.

When he opened his arms, the girl fell into them, and holding her close, laying a kiss on her tangled hair, he slid into the shadows.

Only seconds later, only seconds it seemed, a pack of demon dogs charged down the path. One paused to throw up its head, scent the air. But they ran on.

In the shadows, Breen saw a glimmer of light flash—here, then gone.

“She’s safe now. It’s now, and she’s safe. She’s in Talamh again. Sedric and Nan have her.”

Exhausted, Breen let her head fall back, let it all drain. She dropped down into the chair again, with the globe in her lap, the dog at her feet. And slept.

Keegan found her there an hour before dawn. Bollocks gave a couple of taps of his skinny tail, then went back to sleep.

“And why would she sleep in a chair when there’s a perfectly good bed in the next room?”

Baffled by her, annoyed with her for no reason he cared to name, he rubbed at the stiffness in his neck.

He should wake her, send her to her own bed. If she wanted to take out the dog or go for one of her walks, he’d have someone go with her.

Or he could just carry her into his bed, take the chair for himself, as he didn’t expect sleep to come to him for a while yet.

In any case, he wanted a drink and time to sit, just sit and think.

He started to lift her up, and the moment he touched her, she shot awake.

“Keegan.” She laid a hand on his chest. “You’re back. What time is it? Did you find her?”

He straightened, decided on whiskey. “Plain to see I’m back,” he said as he poured three fingers into a cup. “What difference is the time? And we didn’t find her.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No more than I. I never thought her clever enough to hide more than a few hours at best. Not in the dark and the cold when she’s used to soft beds and warm fires.”

Because it grated, he sat with his whiskey and said what had circled in his mind throughout the search. “It’s a lowering thing to understand I never knew her, not as I thought. I knew the flaws and faults, but they seemed shallow things and nothing I couldn’t overlook for my own pleasures.”

“Stop. She doesn’t deserve to have you blaming yourself.”

He shrugged at that, drank. “I see the shallow things she had no qualms in letting me, or anyone, see hid deeper flaws. Darker ones. And for all her love of soft beds and good wine and shiny things, she’s evaded more than two dozen who search for her through the night.”

“She’s desperate, and desperation gives her an edge.”

“When the light comes, the word will go out, and more will search. Who might she hurt in her desperation before we find her? And when we do, the law allows only one end.”

He turned the cup in his hands, stared into the whiskey. “She’ll never know a soft bed again. You’ll have to speak at the Judgment, and I’m sorry for that. And so will Kiara, and I’m sorrier yet for that.”

It tore at him, she thought. All of it tore at him.

“She never understood you, or that the power you have carries such weight. Shiny things like these gorgeous rooms don’t balance that scale.”

He sat back, watching her as he drank. “Are they gorgeous then?” He glanced around. “I’d rather be home, in the valley. In the quiet.”

“So would I.”

He looked back at her, smiled. “Would you now?”

“The Capital’s beautiful and exciting, the views are stunning. The people are lovely. But there are so many of them.”

“Aye, by the gods.” He closed his eyes, just for a moment, then half toasted her with his whiskey. “Well then, you could’ve kept your mouth shut all those years ago, and not floated around in the lake with your hair all swirling like fire in the water, and telling me the sword was meant for me.”

“You’d have taken it anyway. It’s who you are. Wait. What did I look like, when you saw me on the day you became taoiseach?”

“As you do.”

“No, I mean, as I am—not a kid? You were, what, like fourteen, so I’d have been around twelve. Did I look twelve?”

“You weren’t a child. I saw a woman.”

“Right. Right.” She rose to pace, running the globe through her hands. “So I was closer to now than then. I might not have done it yet.”

“If you hadn’t done it, I wouldn’t have seen you, so you’re babbling.”

“I’m not. Whether it’s lucid dreams or time travel or astral projection, I was years older than I would’ve been. So I went back—one way or the other. Maybe this.”

She held up the globe. “Or it’s a tool, a vehicle, a boost. How the hell do I know? But I did it again last night.”

“You went back to the day at the lake?”

“No.” She sat again, leaned toward him. “Not there, not then. God, I’d give a year of my life for a Coke. No, I tried to see in the fire, to see if I could help find Shana, but I haven’t mastered that yet. I get close, but not quite. And I remembered the globe, and how you’d shown me—well, not shown, but challenged me—to get a glass of water from the kitchen while I was still in my bedroom.”

“You didn’t quite manage that either.”

“No, but I wanted the globe. I wanted to see, to help, to do something. So I focused on it—where I’d put it, what it looked like, felt like. I started to call for it, but I felt something else, said something else. And for a minute—less—I was back at the waterfall, Odran’s side. The little girl, the chanting. All of it, and it was now, Keegan. I was there now, and standing here now. It was like a hot wire in my blood, a white-hot fury and a surge of power, like all the switches came on at once.”

She took the glass from his hand. She didn’t like whiskey, but wanted something. After one sip, she shoved it back at him. “Oh no, bad choice. So, then I was back here, standing right here. And I had the globe.”

He kept watching her, eyes intense, body still. “What then?”

“In the globe, I saw the girl—I thought Shana at first—but it was the little girl, her wings fluttering as she ran. Just terrified, and running. Now—well, I mean last night when I saw. I knew I was seeing it while it happened, and I wanted so much to be there again, to help her. I started to try to pull out the same … whatever the hell it was, then Sedric was there. His cat form first, then him, and he got her away. I knew—I felt—when he brought her back to Talamh. I saw the light flash in the shadows, and they were back here.”

“I don’t ask if you’re sure, as I see you are.”

“You sent him to find her.”

“I sent a falcon to him when we arrived at the Capital. He’s the only one I know who can create a portal almost at will, and a cat is a clever thing. He’d watch and wait. Word might have come while I was out. I haven’t checked. You’ve given me good news. More than you know,” he said.

He set the cup aside. “I’ll take you to your room. Until we find Shana, it’s best you don’t go anywhere alone.”

“She’s not in the Capital.”

“I think not as well, but—”

“I know she’s not. I … I wanted to see her—where she was—so I brought the globe. And I was focused on that, on her, when I asked it to show me what I needed to see. I think, the first few seconds, I think it was Shana. But what I needed to see was the girl—that was more immediate. So that’s what it showed me.”

“You may be right, but we’ll take no chances.”

He rose, so she did the same.

She looked heavy-eyed and pale with weariness, but not, he realized, fragile. Not a bit of that.

“You dressed in stars.”

“Sorry?”

“It’s what I thought when I saw you in the banquet hall. You’d dressed in stars. I’ve a yearning for you, and it annoys me I can’t shake it away. My life would be easier without this wanting. I’ve enough to concern me without you being in the middle of my thoughts.”

“It’s good to be honest,” she said coolly. “You’ve got a case of lust and it’s inconvenient.”

“Lust is rarely inconvenient, and if only that, I’d have had you in bed every night since you returned to Talamh.”

“That assumes I’d want to be there.”

“Aye, it does. It’s not lust alone, though there’s plenty of it to go around. I’m weary of telling myself it’s best if I don’t touch you. You distract, you crowd my thoughts. If that’s the way of it, why shouldn’t I have you, as that’s not changing, is it?”

Clearly, she thought—nearly amused—he was talking himself into sleeping with her.

“Is this your idea of a seduction?”

“It’s not, no. I can do much better than this in that area. It’s truth I’m giving you, because we both value it.”

He reached out to touch her hair, just the tips of his fingers. “And the bloody, buggering truth is I need sleep, but sleep won’t come if I don’t have you. So you could give yourself to the taoiseach for the good of the world.”

And there was just enough humor in his eyes now that she crossed the line fully into amused. “I could.” She waited a beat. “Or?”

“You could lie with me, Breen, because I’m a man who wants you, and I see the want mirrored in your eyes.”

Now she smiled at him, held out a hand. “Why not both?”

He took her hand, then, as he’d done the first time, in another world, swept her up.

“You dressed in stars,” he said again as he carried her to his bed. “And I was lost in them.”

“I missed you,” she told him. Truth, she decided, deserved truth. “When I was away, and when I came back. I missed you.”

He laid her on the bed, put a hand on her cheek as he covered her. “I’m here. Stay with me.”

When he lowered his mouth to hers, he let go of all the worries. She brought him peace, and he no longer questioned why. The feel of her under him, soft and yielding, and still stronger than she knew, brought him hope. And he could hold on to that as he held on to her.

Her arms came around him, her hands sliding up his back, into his hair as her lips heated against his. So the slow, quiet kiss grew more avid, more needy with quick bites, seeking tongues, with bodies shifting to find more.

The line of her neck, the curve of her jaw, the pulse in her throat that beat like hummingbird wings—all those flavors enveloped him, enticed him.

Why it should be her, why it had to be her, he would think on later. But now, it could only be her.

His lips sought the curve of her breasts above the starry fog of her dress, then his hands slid up the filmy layers of it and whisked it away with a wish.

Naked, she shivered once, sighed once, then arched to him. With hands and mouth he took her breasts, feasted, and his hunger only grew.

She’d wanted this, had tried to close those wants away, and had sometimes succeeded. Or nearly. Now the craving to be touched by him, to taste him, to have the weight and shape of him pressed against her were met at last, so the joy, the pleasure, the passion braided together like a rope of fine silk.

As the light began to shimmer awake with night fading off for the coming sun, she ran her hands down him to spin his clothes away as he had hers.

She felt his laugh against her skin. “You missed a boot.”

His hands roamed; his mouth ravaged. She shifted, turning over him so hers could do the same.

“It’s hard to focus.”

“Aye.” He brought his mouth back to hers. “But I’ve got it.” Shifting back, he gripped her hands, then drew her arms up over her head.

In the first strikes of sun she saw his eyes, amber flecks swimming over green. “Next time we’ll take time, but I need you now. Take me in now.”

“Yes.” She linked her fingers tight with his.

When he drove inside her, deep, strong, and held, just held, her body bowed, her heart leaped, and everything in her burst into wild bloom.

He thrust again, held again, with his eyes locked on hers. “I want to watch what I do to you. Once more.”

On the next thrust she cried out in shock and release, quivering, quaking as the orgasm tore through her. In her vision, lights flashed and danced, bright as pixies.

“Breen Siobhan.” He covered her mouth with his to taste those hot, helpless cries as he drove her, drove them both hard and fast.

The soft light from the new day spread over them, and birdsong lifted in the air. She let herself fly, just fly, a dragon rider into the whirl of wind. And when the wind swept over her, when she fell into it, through it, she fell with him.

She couldn’t catch her breath, and decided it wasn’t worth chasing. She’d just lie there gasping until it found her. He still held her arms over her head, but loosely now as he lay, limp as a dead man, on top of her.

Slowly, her heart still banging, her ears still ringing, she focused on the ceiling.

The hills and valleys of Talamh rose and fell, browns and gold and so many shades of green. Seas rolled toward beaches of silver shale or golden sand. From the seas Mers leaped. Others sat on rocks. On the high cliffs stood trolls with their clubs or axes or picks. In the fields farmers plowed, and over the forests and meadows faeries flew. Elves and Weres walked among the trees, horses carried riders or carts along the road. A coven of the Wise cast a circle.

And in the sky blue as the seas, dragons flew.

“It’s beautiful. The ceiling.”

He made some sound, then rolled to lie on his back beside her. “It was painted long ago, and reminds the taoiseach that when he sleeps, Talamh should be his last thought, when he wakes, his first.”

“Well, that’s a lot.”

“The first night I spent here, I studied it.”

“You were just a boy.”

“I was taoiseach. And a boy, so I thought: How am I to do this? There’s so much, there are so many. I wanted the farm and the valley, and I’ll confess it, I wanted my ma. But I slept, and slept with Talamh over me. In the morning, I went, as is written, to the council. I was terrified.”

He turned, narrowed his eyes at her. “I’ll deny that for a vicious lie if you should speak that out loud to any.”

“I’m a vault.”

“And keep it locked. So before all had come in and settled, one of the council came to me. He told me to stand tall, ignore the sickness in my stomach. To remember I chose and was chosen. And if any tried to intimidate me, well, bugger them. It was Shana’s father who said that to me, and stiffened my spine that day.”

She turned, laid a hand on his heart. “He knew you chose, and though it must hurt him more than anything I can imagine, he knows she chose. And I think, when she was here with you, she didn’t look up and see Talamh as you do.”

“I never brought her to this bed. Or anyone before you.” He sat up, scooping a hand through his hair and wondering if lack of sleep had loosened his tongue. Before he worked out what to say next, Bollocks walked to the side of the bed, sent out an imploring look.

“Oh, right! He hasn’t been out in hours. Sorry, sorry, what a good boy.” Breen crooned it as she started to roll out of bed. “Where’s my dress?”

“Somewhere.” Keegan looked around, gestured. “There.”

“Looks like I’m taking the walk of shame,” she said as she went to get it.

“You’re ashamed? Of this?”

“What? No, no. It’s an expression. When a woman—and it’s always a woman—comes home in the morning in the same thing she was wearing the night before, it’s called the walk of shame. Stupid, but since it’s my first time, sort of satisfying in a weird way.”

“I’ll take him. I’ve things to check on, and he can go with me.”

In the act of shaking the dress out, she turned. Keegan already wore trousers, a shirt, and was pulling on his second boot. “How did you get dressed so fast?”

“I’ve been dressing myself for some time now, so I’ve got the hang of it. Straight to your room when you’ve got the hang of your own, and don’t go out without Marco at the least. Not yet.”

He smiled at her as she stood holding the dress in front of her. “You look all rumpled, and it makes me want to toss you back in bed and rumple you more, but needs must.”

He gave Bollocks a pat on the head. “If you don’t see us when you come out, call for him.”

“All right, and thanks, but—”

He just strode over, gripped her shoulders, kissed her until the thoughts drained out of her head.

“Let’s go, lad,” he said, and Bollocks happily trotted out with him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

She didn’t really sneak down to her room, but she made a concerted effort to avoid any who hustled up stairs or down corridors. Still, she couldn’t go into her room until she’d let Marco know she was back.

He yanked open his door seconds after she knocked, and an instant later, he yanked her into his arms.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t—”

He just squeezed tighter. “I wasn’t so worried because Tarryn came and told me you were safe. You and Bollocks both tucked up in Keegan’s place in the tower, but, girl, it sure feels good to see for myself.”

He drew her back, then his smile flashed to a grin. “And tucked up’s what we can call it. You got that all-the-knots-untied look going.”

“They’re going to tie up again if I stand out here in last night’s dress much longer.”

Still holding on to her, he walked her to her door and in. “You can change your loose self in the bathroom or WC or whatever you call it. I’m not leaving. Hey, where’s Bollocks?”

“Keegan took him.” She grabbed clothes out of the wardrobe. “I want a shower, and I think I can conjure a rain of warm water while I’m in the tub.”

“I’m talking through the door,” he said as she closed it behind her. “Did that bitch really try to knife you in the back?”

“I stopped her.”

She did her best to fill him in while she got out of the dress, took the pins out of her hair, and finally managed to call a shower of water.

It felt like glory.

When she came out, Marco was still talking. “Brian came back a few hours ago, and had to take off again right before you came back. He says they’ll find her, that no one in Talamh will help her after this. But—”

“He’s worried she’ll hurt someone before they do find her.”

“It’ll be harder since you hurt her, and good. Wish I’d seen it. Let’s go dig up some breakfast, and find out what’s going on.”

It shouldn’t have surprised her Marco knew his way to the kitchen, or that those manning it called him by name.

She ate bacon and eggs in the big, warm room while a gray cat slept on a wide stone windowsill and a man and woman argued, as they scrubbed pots, over whether the rain would come by midday or wait until nightfall.

When she and Marco strolled out into the pretty sunlight, she wondered why either thought it would rain at all.

As they walked down to the bridge, she started to call for Bollocks, but saw him—and Keegan—in the training field.

Since she wanted the walk, she kept going. “I’m not sure what we’re supposed to do with all this going on. I’d like to explore the woods, but I’m pretty sure they’d want half an army to go with me, and that sort of kills the point. I think I’ll try to write for a couple of hours. If I can manage it, it would take my mind off all this.”

“I might catch a nap. I didn’t sleep real easy last night. It’s a pisser, you know, because that was a hell of a party.”

As they approached the field, Bollocks spotted them and raced to Breen as if they’d been separated for weeks.

Keegan gestured them over to where he stood with a handful of others.

“Good, I was about to send someone to find you, as I’ve got to leave. So, Hugh, work with Breen. Archery for her, and I’ll warn you, keep everyone back from twenty feet either side of the target, for she’s pitiful at it.”

“Well now, we’ll fix that, won’t we?” Hugh spoke cheerfully, gave Breen a quick pat.

“And you, Cyril, you’ll have Marco for hand-to-hand. An hour, then switch, and another hour.”

“What? Why?” Breen demanded.

“Training,” Keegan told her. “You’ve had enough of a holiday from it. You there, Bran, why aren’t you in school?”

“It’s not started yet, has it? And I thought to speak to my ma a minute. She’s in the next field.”

“Did you? This is Bran, Morena’s nephew. Seamus and Maura’s oldest.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” About ten, Breen judged, with clever eyes. “Your school’s nearby?”

“Oh, it’s just over that way a bit. I was thinking,” he said to Keegan, “I could miss the day there and train instead. With my ma. She’ll be fine with it.”

“I expect you think to tell her I’m fine with it to try to sway her on it.”

With a grin set to charm, Bran lifted his shoulders up to his ears.

“School before training, boy. Warriors need good brains as well as sharp swords. Be off with you, and learn something.”

His shoulders slumped, and his feet dragged as he walked away. “Learn something, and impress me with it,” Keegan called out, “and you’ll have a ride on Cróga.”

Like magic, the boy turned, all grins. “I will, be sure of it, Taoiseach.” He raced a few feet before wings fluttered out and he flew.

“Someone else has a good brain as well as a sharp sword,” Breen commented.

“Someone else remembers being a boy wishing school away. Train them hard,” he added, and glanced at the sky. “With two hours of it, you’ll likely be done before the rain that’s coming midday.”

Cróga glided down out of what looked to Breen like a clear sky. Keegan walked to him, mounted, and without another word, soared up and flew west.

“So.” Hugh, as cheerful as ever, gestured to the targets on the far side of the field. “We’ll get you a bow and quiver.”

Breen mustered up a smile for Marco. “I guess we found out what we’re supposed to do today. See you in an hour.”

And knowing exactly how Bran felt with his heels dragging, she followed Hugh over the field.

It did rain at midday, but by then Marco was taking his nap, and Breen sat at her writing desk. She knew the minute Bollocks decided to try the bed for his own nap rather than his spot by the fire.

She let that go, and watched the rain fall.

Finally, she picked up the pen and tried to close herself in another world—the world she’d built with words.

After a while, after some fits and starts, she pushed everything away and succeeded.

Shana huddled under a lean-to outside a stable. She’d stolen a dress off a line early that morning. An ugly dress, and one she deemed far too big for her own fine form. But hers had been in ruins after the long night.

She knew, when the sun came up, she’d headed west, and though she tried, she couldn’t remember enough of her geography or map lessons to be sure exactly where she was.

She’d slept, what little sleep she’d had, inside rocks, and that burned humiliation into her. She wanted a bath in scented oils, her kidskin boots, and the feel of soft, combed wool against her skin.

Instead, she wore some farmer’s hideous homespun dress. She was filthy, her hair in tangles, and she’d had to crouch with a horse under a lean-to while the rain poured down.

Her hand ached and throbbed despite the poultice. Her throat burned from thirst, and her head pounded from hunger.

They would pay for it. And the way to that payment, she saw clearly, lay west.

Vengeance required power, and an ally with it. She knew Odran likely had spies scattered here and there—or so her father said when she persuaded him to speak of council business.

But rooting out spies would take more time than she believed she had.

Far too many looked for her now.

She heard whistling, and though it hurt to move, she clutched a rock with her good hand before merging herself with the stable wall.

She watched the boy come, pail in hand, and the tethered horse turn her head in anticipation.

“It’s a downpour for certain, isn’t it now, Mags? But you’re tucked up dry in here.” He poured the grain into her trough, stroked a hand down her as she buried her head in it.

“Hungry, are you? I’ve got a treat in my pocket, so you’ll have a carrot, since I’m in charge today. And wouldn’t you know it would rain buckets and more when I’m minding my brothers instead of in school while Ma and Da are off helping to find some loony woman.”

Shana’s teeth bared at the insult. She leaped forward, striking with the rock, striking again as the boy fell and the horse shied. Snarling, she reared back for a third blow, but calculation replaced blind fury.

He was near to her size, and he had a cap. It had fallen off so there wasn’t too much blood on it. And the jacket looked warm.

Tossing the rock aside, she yanked the fat carrot out of the jacket pocket. The first greedy bites woke more hunger, so she gobbled it all before she dragged off his boots, his trousers.

She’d be a boy, she thought as she discarded the dress, pulled on the trousers—a bit snug, but they’d do. And she’d take the horse. She could run faster, but she tired of running, so she’d ride for now, her hair under a cap.

Just a boy, riding in the rain. Riding west.

Breen blocked out the world and wrote until someone knocked on the door.

“It’s Brigid with some tea for a wet day if you’d like.”

“I would.” She got up to answer as Bollocks trotted over, tail wagging.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you, but I thought you’d welcome some tea and a bite to eat. I brought enough for two, as I thought Marco might be with you.”

“He’s napping—I think. I’ve lost track of time.”

“We’ve two hours or so before sunset. Oh, I see you were writing,” Brigid added as she set the tray on the little table by the fire. “So I’m disturbing you after all.”

“You’re not, and I do welcome the tea. Would you like some? Do you have time to sit?”

“It’s kind of you to ask, but I don’t want to be in the way.”

“You’re not.” To solve the issue, Breen poured two cups, then sat. “Is there any news?”

“Only they’re looking for her. There’s talk around the castle, in the village, and so on. This one thinks they saw her here, another thinks there, but in truth no one’s seen her since yesterday. I was so shocked when we found Kiara. Not shocked that Shana would hurt someone, but that she’d hurt such a friend.”

“You didn’t like her. Shana.”

“Ah, well …”

“It’s all right. Neither did I.”

“I can say she’d never be one to say sit yourself down a bit and have some tea. She was more: I don’t want red roses by my bed. Take them out and get pink, or, I need my riding boots cleaned by noon. She treated us who give our work to the castle like servants, and we’re not.”

“No, you’re not. You give your work here because you enjoy it, and you have a gift for it. If she didn’t appreciate that, it’s her lack.”

“My heart hurts for her parents, for Kiara, and for Loren, as it’s clear he loved her. Loves her still, I’m thinking. So, well, Hugh says you did well with the bow today.”

“He did?”

“He did, aye. He’s in the way of family, as I have cousins in the north and he’s good friends with one of them. He says you’ll improve with more practice.”

“I can’t get much worse. He gave me a leather guard for my arm, and it saved me from a world of bruises.”

Marco gave a tap-tap before poking his head in. “Hey, Brigid. Hey, cookies!”

He made a beeline for them as Brigid rose.

“I should get back to doing. Thanks for sharing the tea. Rain’s letting up a bit,” she commented with a nod to the windows. “We’ll have a clear evening after all.”

“Did I run her off?” Marco asked when Brigid went out.

“She strikes me as someone who doesn’t sit still for long. Good nap?”

“Solid, baby. I was hoping Brian would be back when I woke up, and the elf from hell would be in, like, the dungeon or wherever. Guess not.” He sat, grabbed another cookie. “Did you write?”

“Solid, baby. I’m going to get out of this chair in a minute—or two—and take my very good dog for a walk in the rain.”

“I’m in on that.” He switched to bread and cheese. “They’ll find her, and that’ll be that. Then we can concentrate on taking out the Big Bad.”

They walked through what was more a fine mist than rain while spots of blue cracked through the gray. The sun dipped west.

Dragons flew through the mist, through the gray and the blue. She spotted Cróga, but Bran, the boy Keegan promised, rode him.

So he was back, she thought, or had gone out again on a horse. But since they still searched, Shana continued to elude them.

They walked to the village and back as the mists faded, as dusk lowered. As they started back in, Brigid ran out.

“Girl, you’re everywhere,” Marco commented, and she laughed.

“Do you think? Well, I’m here to tell you the taoiseach sends for you. He’s in his tower workshop. I’ll take you.”

She led them to the tower, up the winding steps to the floor below Keegan’s bedchamber.

Brigid knocked, opened the heavy door at Keegan’s “Come.”

Breen saw a room as large as his bedroom and sitting rooms combined. Fires snapping on either side, worktables, shelves holding cauldrons and bowls, candles and jars.

And she saw Marg.

“Nan!”

She all but flew across the room, but Bollocks still beat her to wag and rub his body against Marg’s legs.

“Ah, there you are.” Marg returned the hard embrace. “Mo stór, what a time you’ve had.”

“I’m so glad you’re here. How are you here? Why are you here?”

“We’ll get to that. Marco. Let’s have a kiss.”

When he’d obliged, she gave the dog the attention he begged for, and topped it off by pulling a biscuit from her pocket.

“There now, take that and sit by the fire awhile. Keegan came to fetch me, and so we traveled back on dragons. And I’m here, I hope, to help find this lost and wicked girl.”

Keegan, the sleeves of his black sweater shoved to his elbows, stopped his work with mortar and pestle. His face, Breen realized, looked both weary and grim.

“We have others coming, and we’ll see if we can make it work.”

“Make what work?” Breen asked.

“A finding spell,” Marg told her. “Not near as simple as it may sound. We are, the Fey, born to block and resist such spells. They take away choice, and no spells for finding, but for lost objects, are written.”

“You’ll have wine. I’ve not given you a moment to catch your breath since we arrived. Sit and catch it now.”

“Well then, I will, and give you time to explain what we know now, and why you came for me.”

“She’s done something.” Breen’s stomach clenched. “She’s hurt someone.”

“A boy, barely twelve. Sit, sit. I want some of this myself,” he added as he poured wine. “A little farm in the midlands near the banks of the River Shein. He stayed home from school to mind his two young brothers—not yet school-age—as his parents joined the search.”

Saying nothing, Marco took two glasses to Breen and Marg.

“Smashed his head with a rock she did, and took his clothes. Left him bleeding and naked in the cold. Took the horse he’d gone out to feed.”

“Is he— How bad?” Breen asked, and Keegan shook his head.

“Healers are doing what they can. He was an hour, they think, before the littles—only four years, twin boys—went to look for him. They had the wit to cover him with blankets, and were running to the nearest cottage when one of the Sidhe scouting the area saw them and flew down.

“They have him in spell sleep, as the damage is great, and will take hours if not days to heal. If it can be healed. She’s going west, that’s clear.”

“The valley, your home, your family.” Breen looked at Marg. “Mine.”

“They’re forewarned,” Marg assured her, “and more than able to deal with her. This is not a turn, not a twist. This is who she is. She masked it, and well, and it may be she didn’t know, not fully, what she had in her. But it was there. Three times now she’s tried to take life.”

“She had an hour or more on horseback, and in the advantage of rain. She rides well, and she’d ride hard.” Keegan sat with his wine but didn’t drink. “And as she’s proved more canny—or bloody lucky— than I’d imagined, I’m thinking she’ll go on foot once the horse is played out.”

“But cold and wet, right?” Marco put in. “Hungry, tired. Gotta be some scared in there, too.”

“It won’t matter,” Breen added. “It won’t, because Nan’s right. This is who she is. The control might have snapped, but this is who she is. What would we need for a finding spell? Something of hers.”

“We have hair from her brushes and combs,” Keegan began. “Clothes and jewelry she wore, and she left a few drops of blood on the dressing table from her own spell-casting. We’ll use it.”

“We write the spell, wind the spell,” Marg said. “And find her.”

Breen looked around, the twin fires blazing, the tools of magicks, and with her, three of the Wise ready to work under a ceiling painted with stars and the two moons of Talamh.

This she could do. Here, she could help.

“Where do we start?”

Breen sat with Tarryn when she joined them to work on crafting the words and intent. Marg and Keegan worked on ingredients, mixing fresh potions, distilling oils.

Engrossed, frustrated, fascinated, Breen didn’t realize Marco had gone out until he came back in.

“Dinner break,” he announced as he came in carrying a pot, and the man and woman who’d argued about the rain followed him with bread on a board, bowls.

Brigid came in behind with food and water for Bollocks.

“I know you gotta work,” Marco said, “but witches gotta eat like the rest of us.”

“He’s right,” Tarryn said before Keegan could object. “We’ll do better work with food in us. What have we here, Marco?”

“What we’ve got is what I call kitchen sink stew. I went down to the kitchen and Maggie and Teag let me have at it.”

“He’s a brilliant cook,” Maggie put in as she and Teag set up a table. “We sampled the results, and you’re in for a good hearty meal. Gods’ blessings on you all for the work you’re doing, and our candles are lit for the young boy in the midlands.”

“Thank you, Maggie, thank you, Teag, and you as well, Brigid. Come now, let’s sit.” Tarryn gestured to the table. “And see what the kitchen sink has to offer.”

“It smells like it offers well.” Pushing back impatience, Keegan turned. “And I’m hoping he left you all more than a sample.”

“That he did, Taoiseach.” Teag grinned. “And we’ll go make quick work of it. The kitchen’s yours, Marco, whenever you please.”

Tarryn ladled up the stew. “We thank you for the meal, Marco.”

“Just want to do my part. Bollocks and I, we’ll take a walk after we eat so you can get back to it. Did I hear right? You have to do this outside? Teag said it’s going to be pretty raw out.”

“Outside’s best.” Keegan took a spoonful. “All right then, it is brilliant. A coven of seven,” he continued. “And seven from each tribe.”

“Like on Samhain.”

“Aye. I would ask you to be part of it.”

Marco blinked. “Me?”

“We would have seven that are not Fey, seven who come from outside. I would have you as one of them if you choose.”

“Yeah, sure. Wow. What do I do?”

“Be with us,” Tarryn said simply.

“That’s simple. I already am.”

Deep in the woods stood a dolmen that served as an altar for high rituals and spells of great import. Around this, in the last hour, the seven who stood for the Wise cast the circle.

Though the air held raw, and the wind snapped at her cloak, Breen felt a heat inside as she and six others performed the rite.

It surprised her to find Loren as part of the coven, then she realized that was Keegan’s way. An acknowledgment of innocence and faith.

So they called to the Quarters as other circles formed around them. The Sidhe, the Were, the Troll, the Elfin, the Mer in the sea, and the seven from other worlds.

Candles and torches sprang to life, spreading light into shadows.

“For justice, for peace, we seek to find she who hides from judgment.” As he spoke, Keegan poured water gathered from the day’s rain into the cauldron. “In breaking First Laws, she must face punishment.”

“So potions for clear eyes, clear hearts swim into water mixed by son and daughter.” Marg drained two bottles into the cauldron.

Tarryn moved forward. “Now herbs and crystals for power, for light, into this brew bring knowledge, bring sight.”

Eyes grieving, voice thick, Loren held his hand over the cauldron. “This pin I gave her. I would I could save her.”

The next added a glove, and the next a jeweled brush and comb.

“It is Shana O’Loinsigh we seek to find with this spell we seven wind. Now as the altar goes to flame, seven by seven, we speak the name.”

Beneath the cauldron, flames rose up to encase the dolmen. And from the dolmen, smoke spiraled up, white as the moons.

“Hear her crimes one by one, and grant us sight so justice is done. With this blood she sought to bind me, from my own will she sought to blind me.” Keegan added the blood.

Tarryn poured in pieces of crystal from her cupped hands. “With this vase now broken, she struck a friend to keep truth unspoken.”

Breen heard the dolmen hum under the flames as she lifted the blackened knife over the cauldron. “With this knife she tried to end my life. In her attack, this blade aimed at my back.”

Marg brought the bloodstained rock. “She struck a child with this stone, and left him lying all alone. By her malice, his life hangs in the balance.”

Keegan’s voice rose like the smoke. “At this hour, with joined power, for Talamh and its laws we stand as one. Show us now in flame and smoke so justice can be done.”

And in the smoke, and in the flame, Breen saw.

In the woods of the west where the moss grew thick and the river ran fast and green, Shana slipped through shadows, into trees, out again.

Miles back, she’d let the horse go. It had served its purpose, and even with vicious kicks had no longer managed even a trot. But she’d found her way, a way she’d remembered from a ride with Keegan on her single trip to the valley.

There would be a waterfall up ahead, and in it, the portal to Odran. It would be guarded, no question, and she’d yet to work out how to deal with that, or how to open the bloody portal.

But she’d come this far.

She’d avoided the search—riders, dragons, other elves (traitors!)—so wouldn’t be stopped here. She’d wanted, so badly, to find a torch and set fire to the farm Keegan so loved. But she’d resisted, slipped by even when she spotted his ridiculous brother keeping watch, and the winged whore Morena doing the same by the Welcoming Tree.

She’d outfoxed them, all of them.

Still, she needed to rest again, to settle and think clear. And gods, she wanted something hot and flavorful to eat rather than the raw vegetables she’d pulled from gardens.

Once again she unwrapped her wounded hand, wept a little at the raw blisters, the red shooting up her fingers, fingers she couldn’t completely uncurl without agony.

Stretching out, she lowered her hand into the river, bit back a moan that was both relief and pain.

“Ah, poor thing! Such a mean burn on such soft skin.”

Shana rolled over, prepared to run, but the woman who stood over her simply held out her hands. “Be still.”

And she couldn’t move.

“I haven’t watched and waited for you to have you run off so I have to watch and wait again. You’re a clever one, Shana, more, I confess, than I believed.”

She had bloodred hair in long, perfect waves beyond the shoulders of a gorgeous dress the color of ripe plums with a cloak of gold over it. She smiled from eyes so dark and deep they looked nearly black. Jewels glittered from her ears, around her throat, on her wrists, her fingers.

Even in her fear, Shana envied them.

“Who are you?”

“I’m someone who’s about to become a very dear friend to you. Now then, would you like me to heal that hand for you? Stand and be still, and I will. Run, and I’ll see the ones hunting you find you—as I’ve helped keep them from doing so thus far.”

The woman’s smile went fierce. “You don’t think you managed this journey without some help, do you now?”

“Why would you help me?”

“I’m of a mind we’ll be of help to each other. Stand, girl, and hold out your hand.”

She found her legs worked again, so obeyed.

“Ah, that’s nasty, isn’t it now?” The woman began sliding her own hand just above Shana’s. Layer by layer, Shana felt the pain ease, the throbbing lessen.

The bliss of it had her closing her eyes.

When she opened them again, the blisters were gone, as was the horrible red, the crackles of black. But scars, welts of them, ran over the palm in the shape of a knife hilt.

“There’s scars.”

“I can see that for myself.” The woman snapped it out as she stared at the palm with her eyes glinting with temper. “It’s been too long since it happened, so you’ll live with the scars. Wear a glove if it worries you.

“Now you’ll come with me.”

“Where? Who are you?”

“Where you want to go. I’m Yseult, and I’ve had my eye on you for quite a long time. I’d hoped you’d snare the taoiseach, but since you haven’t, well, you can still be useful.”

“I know the name of Yseult. Odran’s witch. How are you here when the portals are sealed and guarded?”

“I have my ways, and those ways narrow while we stand here. Do you wish to join Odran, do you wish to punish those who betrayed you? You must wish it for me to get you through, and know until the seal is fully broken, I can’t get you back.”

She stood in a boy’s rough clothes, scars marring her hand, her belly aching with hunger.

“I want them to pay. I want to make them pay.”

“Then come with me and hurry. We have only moments left.”

Lifting her skirts, Yseult ran toward the waterfall. Racing with her, Shana saw four guards.

“They sleep,” Yseult told her. “And only for a moment more.”

“Why didn’t you strike them down? Why didn’t you kill them?”

“Death leaves a trail. As long as they don’t know I can go in, go out, even if Odran and the rest can’t as yet, they’ll do nothing more than they’ve done.

“Now.”

She whirled the cloak around Shana, and wrapping her in it, leaped into the river.

Light shimmered on its surface, bright, then dark.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Breen heard wailing behind her. More than weeping, the sound was grief ripped from a beating heart.

She didn’t need to turn to know it came from Shana’s mother because she felt it in her own.

Beside her, Tarryn gripped Loren’s arm. “We have to close the circle, Loren. You can’t break it. And you can’t help Shana now.”

“Wait. I can see. Can you see? Not a door,” Breen continued. “Not a window. A … breach. So narrow, jagged. Under the falls. Not through, under. Can you see?”

“No.” Marg took her hand. “What can you see?”

“The water’s swirling, the breach closing. It nearly catches the end of the cloak—so close. And the other side, they have to fight for the surface. The spell’s fading. Two faeries, no, four, four go into the water to drag them up. Into the air, gasping. There’s blood in the water. Not theirs. She needs blood to open the breach. Under the falls, deep under. Not through. Not yet. Not yet enough.

“It’s gone. It’s gone.”

“We’ll close the circle.”

When they had, Keegan went to Shana’s parents. “Your sorrow is my sorrow.” Then turned to Loren. “Your grief is my grief. There’s no comfort I can give. She made her choice.” He looked to his mother, who nodded.

“Come with me,” she soothed, and put an arm around the weeping woman. “Come with me now, Gwen darling, and you, Uwin. And you as well, Loren. Come away from here, out of the cold.”

“They’ll never heal from this,” Keegan said quietly. He gestured Brian over. “Send falcons. Call off the search. Let my brother know I come west, now, and need him to help seal this breach. And you, Marg, I’d ask you to go back with me only hours after you traveled here.”

“I will, of course. Keegan, she was lost before she went with Yseult. She went because she was lost.”

“I know it, and too well.”

“I’m coming with you,” Breen insisted. “I can help. I saw where they went through.”

“Aye, you’re coming. Pack quickly, and tonight take only what you need. Marco, I’ll ask you to bring the rest when you ride back tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? Ah …Sure, no problem.”

“I have much to do, and little time. Be ready,” he told Breen. “Half an hour.”

He strode off, signaling others, snapping out orders.

“That taoiseach stuff,” Marco commented, then huffed out a breath. “Man, she went totally to the dark side.”

“He has her now. Odran has her. I don’t know if she really understands what that means. If she really knows what she’s done.”

“She chose,” Marg said flatly. “Come, I’ll help you pack your things, as I brought little of my own.”

She took the pages she’d written and her notes, her globe and other tools, and packed the rest for Marco.

“I got this for you.” She offered Marg the amethyst candleholder.

“Ah, why, it’s lovely, and clever with it. And full of calm and peace. What a sweet gift. Where did you come by it?”

“A shop in the village here. The woman—she wouldn’t take anything for it, so it’s as much from her. She said to give you her best, and you might remember her. Ninia Colconnan.”

Marg’s smile beamed out. “And sure I remember her very well indeed. How did you find her? Is she well?”

“Yes, and her shop’s wonderful. She was knitting a blanket for a great-grandchild coming soon. Her twelfth, she said.”

“What a fine, full life that is. I’m glad to hear it, and hope to come back and visit her. But now …”

“We have to go.”

When they went outside, where the wind whipped at them and Keegan, Bollocks, and the dragons waited, Breen held on tight to Marco.

“You’ll be all right?”

“I’ve got this. You be careful. I mean it, Breen. You take care of my best girl.”

“I will. Promise. Let’s go, Bollocks. Tomorrow,” she called as she hurried to Keegan. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

At Marg’s call, Bollocks scrambled up to ride with her. Marco watched Keegan lift Breen onto Cróga. And with a thunder of wings, they shot up to fly into the night.

Brian put an arm around his shoulders. “Don’t worry too much now.”

“A year ago she was too nervous to call an Uber, and now she’s riding a dragon.”

“Uber?”

Marco let out a short laugh. “It’s a car thing. I used to push her some to step out of her box, now there’s no box that can hold her.”

“Then be proud.”

“I am. Scared for her, too. Same goes for you.”

Brian turned Marco’s face to his, kissed him. “No worries now. I wear your protection. Come out of the wind and be with me. In a few hours, we ride west.”

They flew through the night, in and out of clouds, along snapping winds. Below, the world slept even while its rivers wound, its grasses fluttered. She saw the dark silhouettes of mountains rising, the wide, rolling sea, and once an owl, ghost white, its wings spread as it soared into the thick dark of a forest.

Beside her and Keegan, Marg rode, her hooded cloak swirling while Bollocks sat in front of her, his eyes closed in bliss as the wind flapped his ears.

An adventure for him, Breen thought. For her? A mission, and one too vital for her to waste time on nerves.

Instead, she scanned the land, tried to gauge where they were. But it was so different riding on a dragon at night than making the journey on horseback in the sunlight.

“How much damage can she do?” Breen pitched her voice above the roar of wind and wings. “Shana, how much damage can she do against you, against Talamh, now that she’s with Odran?”

“She knows the Capital, the castle, its grounds. She knows the business of the council, as her father discussed such things with her he surely shouldn’t have. If she paid attention, and I trust now she did, she’d know the names of scouts and spies, know their routes and routines. She would know a great deal. And she’s shown herself to be wilier and more ruthless than ever I knew.”

“You’ll fix that. You’ll change routes and routines and strategies.”

“Aye, and that’s begun, but she spent her life in the politics and plannings that brew in the Capital. I can see how she’d be valuable to Odran. And I’m sorry to say I can see clear why she chose him over her family, her friends, her world as, for betraying them, he’ll give her what she wants more.”

“Power. Standing. And the freedom to do what she wants no matter who it hurts.”

“All of that, and the hopes of your blood and mine. My family’s, and I think now all of Talamh, as they refused her.”

“She’s too narcissistic to understand if she doesn’t give him all he wants, or he thinks she’s no longer of use, he’ll kill her without a second thought. I don’t know if …”

She felt a pull, in her heart, her belly, her mind. Heartbeats, so many, deep and slow. Sleeping as the world slept. But one waking now, waking to beat as hers did.

In hers. Of hers.

Waking. Waiting.

In the dark, she saw the mountain silhouette, rising high so it pierced the clouds that floated around it.

She yearned, and that heartbeat merged with hers yearned.

“What is that?” She pointed toward the mountain. “What is that place?”

“Nead na Dragain. It’s the highest peak in Talamh. Dragon’s Nest.”

“Hugh—yes, it was Hugh—pointed it out to me on the ride to the Capital. But it didn’t seem so …It seems different now.”

“It’s night,” Keegan said simply. “It’s written the first of them became there, and waited for her mate. And when he came, there they flourished before even the first Fey walked the lands or swam the seas.”

As one, Cróga and Dilis sent out a roar.

“They speak to their brothers and sisters who bide there,” Keegan told her. “Some to rest, some to mate, some to wait. You would have seen Nead na Dragain from the valley on a clear day, looking to the northeast. And as you said, on the ride to the Capital.”

“I can’t remember seeing it before Hugh pointed it out. It looks different from up here.” As they flew on, the pull lessened, and the beat within her beat quieted. “But then everything does. I can’t make out where we are.”

“Near to the valley now, and there Harken will join us, as will Sedric and Mahon. Aisling as well, as someone will tend the children for her.”

Even as he spoke, Breen saw the dragon gliding toward them, great wings spread. Moonslight struck its scales, a glimmer of silver over the blue.

With a swish of tail, it turned to ride in tandem with Keegan and Marg, with Harken and Aisling on its back.

“You made good time,” Harken called out.

“The winds were with us.”

“Mahon’s gone ahead, and Morena with him, as she was with me and wouldn’t be denied. They’ve already been to the portal and back, and all’s quiet there. They were to take Sedric on this second trip.”

“Well then, let’s not keep them waiting.”

He veered slightly south, and before long, Breen recognized—or thought she did—the hills, the fields, the forests. And when pixies sparkled light over Finola and Seamus’s lush and expansive gardens, she knew exactly where she was.

Nerves fluttered now, but she accepted them. Some nerves, even some self-doubt was probably better than overconfidence.

Especially since she had no idea what she’d be expected to do.

She heard the waterfall before she saw it, and the dragons, nimble as hawks, threaded their way down, through the forest.

Keegan leaped off, said: “Jump.” Added, “Now!” when she hesitated.

Holding her breath, Breen swung off and into the air. He caught her, and with no fanfare set her on her feet.

“Aisling’s too pregnant to— Oh,” she managed when Mahon flew up, lifted Aisling into his arms.

Riderless now, the dragons flew up to circle in the dark sky above the trees.

A deer walked out of the woods, became a man. “All’s clear, Taoiseach.”

“Keep watch, Dak. We’ll want no interference.”

Thrilled, Bollocks raced in circles.

“How do we do this?” Breen lengthened her stride to keep up as Keegan walked ahead. “What do I do?”

“Power, light, intent, twined and merged. You know where to find the breach?”

“Yes. Under the falls, close to the far edge. I can’t see from up here, but—”

“You won’t be up here,” he began, and Morena landed lightly in front of them, folded her wings.

“All’s clear. An interesting trip you’ve had,” she said to Breen.

“I’ll say.” She saw Sedric take Marg’s hands, kiss her lightly.

“Sure I want to hear all about it, but for now, where do you want me, Keegan?”

“The other bank. You and Mahon flanking Aisling and Marg. Sedric at the falls. I’ll speak to you when there’s time, Sedric, about the child—thank you for your good work.”

“She’s a bright one, little Dilly, and the work’s not done.”

“We’ll seal this breach, and the next time Yseult tries to use it to take one of ours, may she drown in her own disappointment.” Keegan gripped Sedric’s hand. “Our light, one light.”

“One light.”

“Our gift, one gift,” he said as Mahon set Aisling, and Morena set Marg, on the opposite bank.

“One gift.”

The one he’d called Dak and others came out of the woods to stand near the falls.

“Our purpose, one purpose.”

“One purpose.”

Mahon flew over the river, put an arm around Sedric. He flew him straight into the falls. As Mahon flew back to the bank, Sedric stood in the thundering water like a statue.

“He holds the portal,” Harken explained as he yanked off his boots. “And holding it there, would know if any try to come through.”

It had to be freezing, Breen thought, and pounding on him. Yet he stood as a man might in a pleasant meadow, his palms cupped up to catch sunlight.

“What should I do first?”

Keegan glanced at her. “Strip.”

“I’m sorry. What?”

“Boots and clothes will weigh you down in the river.” As Harken had, he pulled off his boots, tossed his duster aside, then unhooked his trousers. “Take them off. You’ll go in between Harken and me, show us the breach. With one light, one gift, one purpose, we close it, seal it.”

He tossed aside his tunic, stood naked and impatient. “Hurry up with it.”

“It’s a matter of practicality.” Harken, obviously perfectly comfortable standing naked in front of more than a dozen others, spoke more gently. “And safety as well.”

“Ah, balls.” With a flick of his hand, Keegan had her clothes scattered around her.

“Jesus!” Mortified, Breen used hands and arms. “You can’t just—”

“The water’ll cover you modestly enough, even though it be cold as winter’s bitch.”

Keegan dealt with it by scooping her up and leaping in.

She’d have screamed if the icy shock of the water had left her any breath.

Harken closed a hand around her arm. “Catch your breath now, and catch it well, as you’ll need it. As we need you to show us what we don’t see.”

“Don’t think, don’t question,” Keegan told her. “Feel and take. One light, one gift, one purpose. Now hold your breath. We go together.”

Since he pulled her under, she had little choice. But she could see clearly through the eerie green. He had her hand, and Harken the other, so with them, she kicked down, and forward toward the thunder of the falls.

As her heartbeat steadied, she lost the panicked urge to kick up toward the air.

What she felt inside was stronger. Sedric’s quiet courage, her grandmother’s unbreakable faith, the light from all who stood on the banks.

The united purpose of the men who held her hands.

She saw the rocks and silt below, the wild churning of the water ahead. In her mind she saw Yseult dragging Shana to the chink—black against the churn of green and white. Black with the red of blood threaded through it.

She tugged her hands free to swim forward to the crack, ink black, thread thin in the water. As she held her hands out to it, the light, the gift, the purpose joined.

The force of the water wanted to shove her back. She fought it as Keegan and Harken pushed with her.

The light, the one light, bathed the water in warmth, glowed like the sun as, white and pure, it covered the crack.

She felt it closing, inch by laborious inch, felt the dark that had breached it struggle to open like a maw. She thought of the child who’d been dragged through the maw to face death, and let the fury come.

For an instant, the heat sizzled and snapped, then with a bare whisper of sound, the breach sealed.

She kicked and clawed her way to the surface to gulp in air. Keegan would have put an arm around her to support her, but she had enough fury left in her that her fist swung out before she thought about it.

And landed handily on his jaw.

“Don’t ever do that again.”

Harken scrambled up the bank, and grabbing her cloak, helped her out of the water, draped the cloak over her shoulders. “There you are now, Breen darling.”

She mustered the tattered shreds of her dignity. “Thank you.”

“It’s done.” Keegan leaped onto the bank. “Thanks to you all. We’ll keep watch as we have, here and across Talamh.”

He dragged on his trousers as Breen struggled to keep the cloak around her and pull on her own. While he issued orders, she managed to dress. She reached Sedric first when Mahon brought him back.

And she wrapped her arms around him to greet him, and to warm and dry him. “I saw you, with the girl, on Odran’s side. How you found her, saved her. They were so close behind, so close. I couldn’t see them, but I felt them. So did you.”

“She was a brave young thing, and asked about you. The goddess with the red hair who broke her chains.”

“I don’t know how I did it.”

“And yet you did. How proud your da would be.”

“I saw you fight in the south. How proud your son would be.”

Emotion swirled into his eyes before he leaned down to kiss her cheek. “That is the world to me. The world to me you’d say it. Rest now, and there’ll be lemon biscuits for you tomorrow. And something for you,” he added, and rubbed Bollocks. “He jumped right in after you,” Sedric told her. “Not to play, but to guard.”

He smiled over her head. “Come now, Marg, call your fierce dragon and let’s put these old bones to bed.”

“That I will.” She hugged Breen first. “Don’t be too hard on him,” she said. “He carries such weight. A little hard, of course.” She smiled as she drew back. “For he earned it.”

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” Morena told her. “And Aisling as well, as she had as fierce a dislike for Shana as I—and we’re proven right, which is no small satisfaction. Mahon needs to get her home, but we’ll hear all there is to hear tomorrow. It was a fine punch,” she added, then strolled to Harken as he called his dragon.

When Keegan walked back to her, the faint bruise on his jaw more than made up for her throbbing hand. For a moment, he just looked at her—straight and deep and silent.

“I’ll take you to the farm or to Marg’s or—”

“My cottage. I want my own bed, and I want the quiet.”

“As you like.”

When Cróga glided down, she climbed on before he could help her. A delighted Bollocks scrambled up behind her.

After he mounted, they flew over the trees, over the fields. She saw her grandmother’s dragon and Harken’s, both riderless now, soaring north.

They shot through the portal at the Welcoming Tree, into Ireland, and a gentle rain.

At the cottage, Bollocks leaped down, then surprised her by sitting, waiting, rather than streaking straight for the bay. She slid off, then felt surprise again as Keegan dismounted rather than flying away.

“I’d speak to you a moment. Out of the rain,” he added when she said nothing. “If it’s the same to you.”

She wanted a warm drink, a blazing fire, and time alone to brood, but she turned and walked into the cottage.

Keegan brought in the bag she’d forgotten, set it on the table.

“I’ll not apologize to you, as I’ve apologized to you more in these past months than to all and any in the whole of my life.”

Breen hung up her cloak, then walked into the kitchen to make herself tea.

“There wasn’t time to waste with you being delicate about the matter.”

“Delicate.” She’d worked hard on the cool and aloof, but felt the ice crack. “Is that what you call my reaction to being stripped naked, without my permission, against my will, in front of a dozen?”

“They weren’t there to gawk at you, and what needed doing needed doing quickly. Bugger it.” He strode away, slapped a hand toward the fire to start it, strode back. “It’s a body, for gods’ sake. Everyone’s got one.”

Since Bollocks stood beside her, head ticking back and forth from her to Keegan, she got a biscuit out of the jar for him.

Rather than gobble it down, he just stood with it clamped in his mouth.

“Really?”

“Aye, for these purposes. You’d have sunk like a stone in all of that, and until we were in the water, at the breach, how could I know how bad it was? How much it would take to seal it? All the time it took to get there, Yseult had that time to gather herself. She might have tried coming back through, and then we’d need to take her on with Marg and Sedric already weary, with my sister carrying.”

She wished it didn’t make sense, but still.

“In the time it took to get there, you could have explained things to me, what I’d need to do.”

“I didn’t think of it. There’s a woman I once bedded who tried to murder the one I’m bedding now who’s gone to Odran. Her father, a good man, a wise one in the ways needed, has resigned from the council, and I can’t find the words to change his mind on it. Her mother will mourn the rest of her days. The man who loves her is no good to me now, and won’t be until he can draw himself back, if he ever can.”

He paced as he spoke, like a man caged.

“She meant something to me once. Meant enough for me to be with her. And in being with her, I played a part in all of this. I don’t take blame for it,” he said before she could object. “But that’s the fact of it. So I didn’t think to tell you that if you went into the water fully dressed you’d sink like a shagging stone, as I thought you had the sense to know it yourself.”

“I might have figured that out if you’d told me we had to go into the water in the first place.”

“Well, how the buggering hell did you think we’d make the seal if not there at the breach?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you want me to apologize for giving you credit for more logic than you seem to have on it?”

She poured her tea, very slowly. “In the world where we stand now, and where I’ve lived most of my life, we’re more private about nudity. Should I apologize for giving you more credit for knowing that than you apparently have?”

“I was in this place once on this side where the women on the stage took off …” He saw the hole he was about to fall into. “Well, never mind that. It’s war, Breen. I can wish for peace, and for the time and skill to give you the room you need, but I don’t have it. What we did tonight we couldn’t have done without you. I needed you. We needed you.”

She softened enough to get another mug. “You expect me to train and to learn how to fight in this war with my fists, with a sword, with a bow, with my gifts. And I’m trying.”

She poured tea into the mug, handed it to him. “I expect you to learn how to explain things to me instead of making decisions for me. I’ve told you enough about my life here so you should understand what it’s like for me when decisions are made for me.”

“That’s fair. That’s fair,” he repeated. “I’m likely to be as poor at it as you are with a bow, but I’ll work on it.”

Satisfied the crisis had passed, Bollocks took his biscuit and went to stretch out by the fire.

After he sampled the tea, Keegan sighed. “I appreciate the tea, but I’m wondering if you’ve some whiskey to go into it.”

She went to a cupboard, took out a bottle. When he held out the mug, she poured some in. And when he made a come-ahead gesture, poured more.

“Thanks for that.” He took a drink, then another. “I don’t see how there’d be trouble over here tonight—or what’s left of the night—but I can’t risk it. I can’t leave you alone. I’m not asking to share your bed.”

He drank again as she watched him over the rim of her mug.

“In truth I’m too bloody tired so I don’t think either of us would enjoy that much in any case. I can take Marco’s bed, or the divan in there. I’d know you’re safe. I need to sleep, and I won’t unless I know you’re safe.”

He looked exhausted, and she realized she hadn’t really factored that in. And not just physically, she thought, but in every way exhausted.

“You can share my bed. To sleep,” she added.

She set down her mug of tea, opened her bag to take her pages out and lay them on the table. She started to shoulder the bag, but he took it.

“I’ll carry it up.”

With a nod, she started toward the stairs. “Come on, Bollocks. Bedtime.”

He bolted up ahead of her, was already curled in his bed when she came in. She lit the fire before taking her toiletry case out of the bag Keegan carried in.

She went into the bathroom, shut the door.

When she came out, Keegan, like her dog, was already in bed— and both of them asleep.

She changed into flannel pants, a T-shirt, lowered the fire to a simmer. Thinking what a complicated, often difficult man she’d ended up involved with, she slid into bed beside him.

And dropped into sleep the moment she shut her eyes.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

She woke alone, and to the shimmer of sunlight. A glance at the clock showed it was after eight—long past her usual get-up-andget-going time.

Then again, she honestly didn’t know what time she’d dropped into bed.

She got up, grabbed a hoodie, and went down to find her dog.

From the back door she spotted him in the bay, and Keegan on the shore throwing the ball. Time after time Bollocks swam after it or leaped up to snatch it from the air.

She had good reason to know he’d do that for hours.

Leaving them to it, she made coffee and—muttering at herself for being stupid and vain—did a light glamour before she carried the coffee outside.

“Your arm will fall off before he gets tired of that game,” she called out.

Keegan heaved the ball again before he turned. “So I’ve come to know. I fed him, as that’s easy enough, but I didn’t know for certain how to work the machine for coffee.”

“Fortunately, I do.” She offered him one of the mugs.

“Thanks. It’s good. I’ve thought of having Seamus try growing the beans, as he’s a wizard with such things, but tea’s the tradition. I might ease it in after things are settled and done.”

“I’ve never asked you what you plan to do once things are settled and done. I mean what else you plan.”

“Ah well, handling the business of peace still needs doing. Seeing the laws are held, the roads kept clean and clear, help’s given where it’s needed, keeping trades running in our world and with the ones beyond.”

He shrugged. “And the bloody politics of it all never goes away. I read your pages.”

“What?”

“You shouldn’t have left them sitting right there if you didn’t want eyes on them. I liked them.”

“I barely wrote anything when I was at the Capital.”

“What you did, I liked. The words roll. You used the castle and the village, how they feel and look, how they smell. It seems to me people will see it who never go there.”

“Thank you. That’s the hope.”

“You’re not so angry this morning.” He picked up the ball a soaking Bollocks dropped at his feet, and obliged the dog by throwing it again.

“Maybe not.”

“And myself, I’m not so tired. So I can wish I had the time to persuade you back to bed, but I have to go back to the Capital.”

“Maybe not so angry doesn’t mean I’m ready to have sex with you.”

“That’s where the persuasion would come into it.” He reached out to wind her hair around his finger. “But I have to go and deal with the mess of things there, then come back and shore up what’s left of the mess here. If I’m back with enough time for it, I’d like you to go somewhere with me on Cróga.”

“Where?”

“We’ll talk about it if there’s time.” Once again he picked up the ball. “You’re a demon dog for certain,” he said, and threw the ball. “You’ll come to Talamh later today. You’ll want to write first, have the quiet awhile, but you’ll come.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll see you there if I’m able. Marco should be back before dusk. Earlier by far if he flies with Brian.”

“I think dusk.”

“The last time this is,” Keegan told Bollocks as he again picked up the ball. “So make it good.”

He feinted a throw so Bollocks dashed toward the water, then back again. Feinted again and sent the dog into leaping, dancing, barking delight.

Watching them made Breen wonder what Keegan had been like as a boy, just a boy, before he’d lifted the sword from the lake. Before he’d shouldered the responsibility for worlds.

“I have to go,” he told her. “I need to speak to Harken before I fly east, and see that all’s well at the falls. I’m …explaining things.”

It took effort, but she suppressed the smile and nodded. “I can see that.”

“All right then.” He put an arm around her waist, tugged her to him. “Kiss me, would you, as it took powerful restraint not to wake you when you lay soft and warm beside me at dawn.”

“I might not have minded.”

“Now she says it. I’ll keep that in mind the next time. Now kiss me, Breen, for the ride east will be cold.”

She put an arm around his neck, tangled her fingers in his hair. And took her time about it. Testing her power, she brushed her lips lightly on his, watched his eyes as he watched hers.

Then changed the angle, brushed again.

Smiled.

“You leave me wanting,” he told her.

“I could.” And that, she thought, was a power she hadn’t known she had. “But …” She gave his bottom lip a little tug with her teeth. “I won’t. Kiss me back, Keegan,” she whispered, and took his mouth.

What he felt poured into her, the mad heat of need. It left her staggered, aching, thrilled.

“It wouldn’t have taken much persuasion.”

“Gods spare me.” He dropped his brow to hers a moment, then straightened, stepped back. Handed her the mug. “I have to go.”

Cróga landed on the beach behind him.

He turned, mounted, gave her one last look. Then was gone.

She wrote a blog, then tested her skills with magicks, creating images for it from memory. The hillsides, the bridges over the river, and Bollocks leaping into the water, Marco on horseback.

Satisfied, she wrote an email to Sally and Derrick before she treated herself to a Coke and settled in to work.

The words didn’t always roll, but it felt good, really good, to be back at her desk, back at her laptop, back in the quiet.

And tomorrow, she promised herself, back into her preferred routine.

She wrote into the afternoon, then pushed herself away. Time for a real shower, she decided, and clothes that weren’t pajamas.

Time for Talamh.

As Breen and the dog walked into the woods, Shana stirred awake.

She remembered, vaguely, bathing …being bathed?

Warm, scented water.

It seemed like a dream, and what did it matter when everything felt so soft and lovely?

She found herself in a bed that cradled her like clouds, with sheets of white satin against her skin. On the ceiling, painted gods and faeries, elves and strange beasts danced and fornicated while clovenhoofed demons played pan flutes and sly-eyed creatures feasted on the breasts of laughing Fey.

It was all so gay!

The room with its white silk draperies, its gilt furnishings was easily twice the size of the one she’d left behind. And so much more opulent, with its marble floors and crystal lamps.

She’d dreamed of creating a room just like this when she’d taken her rightful place in the chambers of the taoiseach.

She slipped out of the bed with its towering gold posts and swirled the thin white silk that draped her. The fire, of wood, not peasant peat, simmered in a housing of more white marble with a mantel drenched in fresh flowers.

She drew back the drapes, lifted her face to the stream of the sun, her gaze to the view of a thundering sea.

No tiny balcony here where she could barely stand, but a wide terrace with flowered vines tangled around the railings. She started to step out, but the wind blew fierce so she shut the glass door again.

It pleased her to see her favored scents and creams and paints arranged in pretty bottles on a dressing table with soft gold-backed brushes for her hair, jeweled combs, a gold-framed mirror that reflected her beauty, a chair in the palest of pink velvet where she could sit and admire herself.

Opening the first door of the four-door wardrobe she found gowns, jeweled bodices, flowing skirts, rich fabrics. Squealing with delight, she opened more to find riding clothes, shawls, scarves, furs, an entire section of shoes and boots.

Lush, alluring underpinnings, nightwear, robes of silks and satins.

In velvet-lined drawers she found jewels, the ornate, the elegant, the stunning.

This, so much this, was worth every terrible moment of her flight from Talamh. Damn them all!

To amuse herself, she plucked sapphire stars with a teardrop of diamonds and put them on her ears, slid rings that caught her fancy on her fingers.

As she turned her hands to admire, she saw the scars, the shape of a knife hilt, scored into her right palm. It no longer burned her skin, but it burned, hot and strong, in her heart.

Payment. One day there would be payment.

But today, she wanted only delights, and found more when she wandered into a generous sitting room. She’d barely begun to explore when a knock sounded—almost a scratching—on the door.

Shana lifted her chin, said, “Come.”

The girl had straw-colored hair pulled tight into a knot at the base of her neck. She wore a shapeless gray dress, kept her eyes downcast as she carried in a tray.

“To break your fast, mistress.”

Shana gestured to the table near the sitting room’s terrace doors. The girl scurried over, began to set out the teapot, the cup, pastries, a domed plate.

“Should I pour your tea, mistress?”

“Of course.”

“I am Beryl, and will serve you as long as it pleases you.”

“Where is Yseult?”

“I cannot say, mistress.”

“I wish to meet with Odran.”

“I am told Odran, our lord, our master, will send for you.”

“When?”

“I cannot say, mistress.”

“So far, your service isn’t pleasing.”

The girl glanced up, just an instant, but Shana saw raw fear. That did please her.

“Go tidy the bed and lay out the blue velvet with the jeweled cuffs and hem, the blue kid boots with gold heels, and the proper under-garments. Then go away. Come back in one hour.”

Satisfied, Shana sat at the table, removed the dome to find a pretty omelet and a rasher of bacon.

She thought how painful her hunger had been in Talamh, how she’d lowered herself to eat carrots and turnips yanked out of the dirt.

She ate slowly, savoring each bite, and with each bite imagined her glorious revenge.

When Breen climbed over the wall to the road in Talamh, Morena, Amish on her arm, hailed her from the farm.

“At last!”

“Late start. I’m going down to Nan’s.”

“We’ll meet you there then. I’ll get Aisling. My own nan’s already there.”

With the hawk still on her arm, Morena spread her wings and flew toward the cottage.

Amused, Breen continued on. She’d missed this—only a few days, but she’d missed this walk down the road, past the farm and the sheep. Had missed seeing Harken out in the field with the horses as he was now. She’d missed the quiet low of cattle, the smell of green grass and peat smoke on a brisk fall breeze.

The way Bollocks trotted beside her, she knew he was as happy to be back as she.

“We’re not really castle types, are we?”

She veered to the side when a wagon rumbled up, and noted the trio of kids in the back.

“No school today?” she wondered aloud. “What day is it? I’ve lost track.”

She saw the group she thought of as the Gang of Six playing a game with a red ball and flat sticks in a near field, so called out.

“No school today?”

Mina, the de facto leader, waved. “Well, it’s Saturday, isn’t it? And welcome back to the valley.”

“It’s good to be back.”

One of the boys transformed into a young horse, snatched the ball in his mouth, and raced off with it.

“Foul!” Mina cried, and went elf speed in pursuit. “There’s a foul!” Fantastic as it was, Breen thought as she continued on, it was blissfully simple. Children playing on a Saturday afternoon as children did everywhere.

Or should.

She made the turn toward Marg’s cottage, marveled at the flowers still blooming despite the chill. And saw the blue door open. Because she was expected. And she was welcome.

Inside, the fire snapped in the hearth and the air smelled of fresh bread and sweet things.

She heard Finola’s quick laugh.

They stood together at the counter, her grandmother and Marg’s closest friend. Faerie and witch, laughing together as Marg set a boule of crusty bread on a rack to cool.

“So I said to him, Seamus, if your arse wasn’t so warm, it wouldn’t invite my cold feet to rest on it. And what does he do but roll right over and …Ah, and look here, it’s Breen.”

Breen walked into the hug. “Don’t I get to hear what happened next?”

“What happened next is what you’d expect when a man rolls on top of you in the night.” She laughed again, blue eyes sparkling.

“And so it is Fi’s feeling chipper today,” Marg finished.

“Sure I am. And how are you, darling?” She brushed a hand over Breen’s hair. “It’s good to have you back in the valley, safe and well. Such a brave one you’ve been.”

“I don’t know about brave, but I’m glad to be back. Morena and Aisling are coming.”

“I expected they would, so Sedric brought me some fresh buttermilk from the farm for the soda bread. And there’s jam he made himself, and lemon biscuits. And,” Marg added, going into her jar, “we wouldn’t be forgetting such a good dog.”

“Where is Sedric?”

“He took himself off, leaving the kitchen to the women as a wise man would.”

“What he did last night? It was amazing. I can’t imagine what it took out of him.”

“He’s a lot in him, but I can tell you he slept like the dead, and there was no rolling over.”

Finola let out another laugh. “Well now, there’s always tonight. We’ll have wine, won’t we, Marg, for our girl talk?”

“We will indeed. I’ve a bottle of the sparkling sort I’ve been saving for such a day.”

“I wasn’t gone very long.”

Marg only smiled. “You traveled farther than you might think. Let’s have the fancy plates and such, Finola.”

“I’ll help with that. I met your son, Finola. Or I met him again, and his wife, their sons, their wives. I remembered them, Flynn and Sinead and Seamus and Phelin. As soon as I saw them again, I remembered.”

“Sinead sent a falcon to tell me. It meant that much to her. She loved you so.”

“I remember. I remember how Flynn would toss me in the air so it felt like flying, and how Sinead tied ribbons in my hair. I remember the night Odran took me, and you brought me back …”

Breen folded the colorful cloths into fans.

“What do you remember?” Marg asked.

“I remember my mother crying and shaking. It scared me. It’s not her fault, I don’t mean that, but it scared me. And you, Finola, you gathered her up, held her, rocked her, and Sinead took me and Morena into her lap.”

She paused as it came back, all so clear. “She must have been frightened. Her husband was fighting a war, but all I felt was her calm. The boys were there, too. They were just kids. And she told us a story about a young dragon and a young girl and a great treasure. I don’t remember exactly, but I remember her voice. So soothing. And Keegan—I’d forgotten. Keegan sitting nearby, watching me. Just watching. I fell asleep holding Morena’s hand, with Sinead holding me.”

“She was born to be a mother,” Finola said. “Some are.”

“And mine wasn’t. I’m not blaming her,” Breen said. “It was a terrible night for her. I think it broke what was already starting to crack. She loves me in her way, but her way is limited. I have you, both of you, and Sinead, and Sally in Philadelphia. That’s a lot of mothers for one person.”

Aisling and Morena came in, and Morena eyed Finola.

“Now, what would bring a tear to your eye today?”

“A sentimental tear. And where are those boys of yours, Aisling?”

“Napping, thank the gods, and I’ve young Liam O’Malley minding them, as he can keep up with their energies once they wake again. And how pretty it all looks, Marg.”

“We’ve sparkling wine to go with the rest. A few sips for you won’t hurt that baby,” Marg added.

“The way she kicks—and I’ll keep saying she until I get me a girl— she could handle a whole bottle and not slow down.”

They sat with bread and jam, biscuits and tarts, and Marg poured the wine.

“Sláinte.” Morena lifted hers. “One and all. And now I want to hear it. Tell us the story, Breen.”

“I’ve only had bits of it,” Aisling added. “And from Mahon, who’s a man—as most are—stingy with details even if he remembers them. But tell me first: Is it true Shana tried to put a knife in your back?”

“She did.”

“Ah, the devil’s whore. We never liked her, did we, Morena?”

“Not a bit. She always looked at me as if I was something unpleasant on the bottom of her shoe.”

“She did.” Aisling gestured in agreement. “She did indeed. And to me it was a superior sort of smirk, queen to farmwife. And still, I want to know some of what she wore, as she had brilliant clothes.”

“There was a green dress, deep green with a sheen and a square neckline, and she didn’t quite hide the look that said I was considerably less than expected.”

She started the story at her approach to the Capital, her impression of it, and the village, and found as she went on—the scene staged in the courtyard, Shana’s visit to her room—their outrage equaled support. She could laugh, enjoy the wine and biscuits, and feel part of something.

A circle of women.

“I like Brian, what I know of him.” Morena slathered bread with butter and jam. “I can approve of him for Marco.”

“They’ll be relieved to hear it, as they really seem to be in love. And Marco looked very handsome for the Welcome, and he’ll thank you, Nan, for sending the outfit. As I do for the dress. I’ve never had anything so beautiful. Keegan said …”

Every one of them leaned forward.

“What?” Morena demanded. “Don’t leave us hanging on the hook.”

“He said I’d dressed in stars, and that’s how it felt.”

“That’s poetic coming from him.” Aisling nibbled on a biscuit. “I’ll have to see this dress for myself. It must’ve dazzled.”

“I was so nervous. It’s so different there. The grandeur of it, even though everyone—except you-know-who—was so warm. The banquet room, all the lights, the ceremony of it all. So lush after the strict protocol of the Judgment, and the heartbreaking beauty of the Leaving.”

She put her hand over Marg’s. “I missed here, even in that short time, but I got to see why Keegan is taoiseach, why and how the laws work, how the Capital and that community work.”

She told them of stepping outside, for the air, for Bollocks, and Shana’s attack.

“I know her parents a bit.” Finola spoke carefully. “Not well, of course, but I know them from visits to my son, grandsons, their ladies, and their littles. I’ve watched the girl Shana was, the woman she is. And the darkness in her—I thought, well, it’s just from some spoiling. But it’s far more than that.”

“I can see her using— It’s Loren, you say?” Morena shook her head. “I don’t know him, as her circle was never mine when I spent time there. I know Kiara, of course, as everyone does. I mean to say I can see her using someone as she used them. I can even see her breaking a First Law by trying the love potion. But I would never have seen her ready to take a life. I think my dislike of her blinded me to the worst of her.”

“How bad did you burn her?”

Breen shook her head at Aisling. “I’m not sure—she ran. But the way she screamed …”

“Good, and I’m not sorry to say it. I hope it burned to the bone. The boy she struck and left, they brought him out of sleep, but they’re still not altogether sure he’ll be all right again.”

“Only evil can do that to another.” Finola poured more wine. “And whatever she believes she’ll have with Odran, in the end, more than her hand will burn.”

Then she smiled. “But our Breen’s back with us, and we’ve yet to hear her version of sealing the portal.”

“Punched Keegan good,” Aisling added.

“It was a fine punch, delivered with feeling.” Morena bit into another lemon biscuit. “And earned, I agree, though I have to give Keegan a bit of the slack, as it was an urgent matter, and moving quickly could have made the difference.”

“Which he explained to me after. If he’d told me all that before, I’d have …figured out something.”

“Men.” Morena cupped her chin in her hand. “So often a pain in the arse. Too often so bloody sure they know the best of things, so we have to take the time and trouble to show them they don’t.”

She cut her gaze to Marg. “You wouldn’t have another bottle of that bubbly wine, would you, darling?”

“I would. Let’s open it.”

Shana had the girl—she wouldn’t bother with the name—help her dress. It felt good, it felt right, to have someone wait on her, do her bidding without any need to placate and pretend.

She didn’t trust the girl with her hair, so she did it herself, leaving it long and loose, tucked up just a little over the ears to show off the jewels.

She chose a necklace, circles of diamonds close around her throat with a fat sapphire, another teardrop, she felt went well with the earrings.

She wanted to go out, to see more, but when she’d stepped onto her terrace, she’d seen dogs—demon dogs—stalking the rocky island below, the jagged cliffs across the water.

So she waited, and waiting, grew bored. After boredom came irritation. She started for the door—she’d stay inside, surely the dogs weren’t allowed to roam at will inside—when the knock came.

She squared her shoulders. “Come.”

Not the girl this time, but two males. Sidhe, she sensed, with hard eyes in hard faces.

“Come with us.”

She didn’t like the tone. “Where?”

“Odran sends for you. You will not keep him waiting.”

She angled her head, inclined it, and walked to them.

In the corridor they flanked her, but she didn’t mind. The black glass walls intrigued her, and she admired the way the torch- and candlelight played off them.

So much more impressive than the dull stone of the castle in the Capital.

She followed them down wide stairs that turned from black to gold as she stepped on them. Delighted, she tried to look everywhere.

Jewels sparkled in the black glass; grand windows let in the sun and the roar of the sea.

Statues of satyrs and centaurs and sirens stood on pedestals. She gasped when a gargoyle hissed from its perch, and scrambled away.

They descended to a great entrance hall, where the mosaic floor depicted Odran—she’d seen likenesses in books—in black robes with a globe—no, she realized, a world—held in each hand.

And under his feet, the littered, bloodied bodies of those he’d conquered.

It frightened and thrilled her all at once.

Two others stood in black breastplates by closed doors. Elves, like her, they held spears with keen points.

The doors opened as she approached, and her escort stopped just inside.

A throne room, she thought, and as grand as any could imagine, with those black glass walls glinting with crystals and gems, the floor gleaming gold. Light streamed in to sparkle on the throne, gold like the floors, and the one who sat upon it.

His hair, gold as well, spilled over his shoulders and framed a face so handsome it all but stole her breath. His eyes, smoke gray, watched her approach.

Beneath her skirts her knees trembled.

But his lips curved, and he beckoned.

He wore black, pants fitted to his long legs, a tunic belted with jewels that caught the light.

He sat at his ease and waited.

Yseult stood at his side. She wore deep green flowing skirts, with a snug bodice threaded with gold.

A beauty, Shana thought, but old. And past time to be replaced.

She would not stand at Odran’s side when it was done, but sit in a throne beside his.

Shana looked him in the eye, smiled in return. And lowered into a deep curtsy.

“My lord Odran.”

“Shana of Talamh,” Yseult announced. “Brought to you, my king, my liege, my all, as promised.”

No, Shana thought, she would not begin this way. She remained in the curtsy, but lifted her head.

“Come to you, my lord, by my choice. With gratitude to Yseult for her help.”

“And why do you come?”

His voice was music, and her heart danced. “To serve you how I can, and by serving you take my vengeance on all who betrayed me.”

“So you come for your own purpose?”

“I am your guest or your prisoner, as you will. I have hope that my purpose and yours, my lord, are one.”

He gestured, languidly. “And what is my purpose?”

“To take Talamh, or destroy it. And rule the worlds beyond it.”

“You are of Talamh, are you not?”

“No longer.”

“You have family in Talamh.”

“What are they to me now? Nothing.” And indeed, she felt nothing for them. Odran’s eyes mesmerized. “I am with you.”

“And what do you bring to me?” Long fingers tapped, tapped, tapped on the wide arms of the throne. “Have you no tribute for a god?”

“I bring you all I am. All I know. And all the power of my hate for what is behind me.”

He gestured, and a woman hurried to him with a goblet. He drank lazily as she bowed and hurried away.

“Hate can cool in time.”

“Mine will not cool.” She held out her scarred hand. “She did this to me, your granddaughter, the one you seek to have. She marked me, and my hate burns as my flesh burned. I wish what you wish, for you to drain her of power. All that I have I give for that purpose.”

He gestured for her to stand.

“We will see. We will see if you bring more than beauty and a dark heart. Those are easily come by. We will see if you prove useful, and if you do, you’ll have what you seek. If not?” He smiled and drank again. “You’ll find the judgment here is not so soft as in Talamh.”

“I will be useful. In any way you wish, in all ways you demand.”

“We will see. I’ll send for you. Go and wait until I do.”

She curtsied again, and with trembling heart left. The guards flanked her once again.

The doors shut.

Odran drank again. “We will see,” he repeated, and looked at Yseult. “She may be useful, or merely an amusement. But her hate, it’s real.”

“She wishes to rule with you, not under you.”

Now he laughed. “She will have whatever I give her. But for now, Yseult, I’m pleased with what you’ve brought me. See that she’s brought to me tonight.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

In tune with the world, herself, her friends, Breen walked back toward the farm with Morena and Aisling. “That was the best time! It’s so great, sitting around with girls, drinking wine, eating cookies, trashing a psychopathic elf. And did I tell you? When I walked in, Finola was telling Nan about having sex with your grandda last night.”

“You didn’t, no,” Morena said as she cringed and Aisling laughed. “And I can say with truth I wish you hadn’t.”

“It was adorable. They’re girlfriends! I’ve got girlfriends. Is it going to be weird if I keep sleeping with your brother?”

“I’ve no objections in that area.”

“Good. Great. Because I’d really like to have sex with him again. And if Odran gets his hands on me and sucks me dry, at least I’d’ve had really good sex first.”

“Don’t be saying such things.” Aisling gave Breen a quick shake. “We’re none of us going to let that happen.”

“Because we’re girlfriends. And we’re going to kick his ass.”

“We are,” Morena confirmed. “And that slag Shana’s for good measure.”

“I really want to do that. It’s all so violent, and I don’t even mind it. We have to save the worlds, right?”

“That we do.” Aisling rubbed a hand on the side of her belly.

“Is she kicking? Could I …”

“Well, of course.” Aisling took Breen’s hand, pressed it against the movement.

Life. Light. Energy. Promise.

“Oh wow! Oh, that’s amazing.”

“Most of the time, not counting the middle of the night when you only want sleep. Have you never felt the kicks and bumps before?”

“No. I mean, I knew women, pregnant women, but I never felt comfortable asking. Hey, it’s Marco! Marco’s back.”

She waved her hands in the air, and got a shout-out from Marco as he and Brian stood in the paddock rubbing down their horses. “Who’d’ve thought a gay Black guy from Philly would slide right into life in Talamh, and fall for a dragon-riding Sidhe? I so wish Sally could see him.”

“Maybe one day Marco will take Brian to meet Sally.”

Breen gave Morena and the idea a huge grin. “That would be fantastic.”

Bollocks bounded ahead to greet the new arrivals, then dashed over to dance around Mab, a teenage boy, and Aisling’s two children. The boys immediately wrestled Bollocks to the ground and fell on him.

“Did those two ruffians behave for you then, Liam?”

“Ah, it was a battle, but I won. Nah, in truth we had a fine time, and I’ll confess, we ate the last of the ginger biscuits and left not a crumb behind.”

“They’re made to be eaten, after all.”

“Don’t go!” Finian wrapped his arms around Liam’s legs. “Stay and play with us some more.”

“I’ll be back another time, but I’ve got to be off. And you mind your ma, ya pirates, or you’ll be walking the plank.”

“Yo ho!” Kavan shouted.

With a laugh, Liam changed from teenage boy to young stag and ran over the field toward the woods.

The boys immediately raced to Aisling to tell her about playing pirates and plundering the seas.

“I have my glove.” Finian tugged on it from where it hung in his belt. “Could I practice with Amish?”

Morena glanced back to where the hawk perched on the wall. “He seems agreeable. Where’s Harken?”

“He went off with Keegan and Da. They came back but went off again. They said they’d be back before supper. Can I practice now?”

“Put the glove on. I’ve got them for a while here, Aisling.”

“Sure if you do, I’ll use the farm kitchen and cook for the lot of them. You and Marco and Brian are welcome, Breen.”

“Thanks, but we should get back before much longer.”

“You’re free to change your mind. Send them in when you’ve had enough of them, Morena.”

“Be sure I will.”

With Morena entertaining the children, Breen met Marco halfway as he walked from the paddock. “How was the ride back? You wouldn’t believe the night I had! But I had the best day!”

He angled his head, smiling as he gave her a long look. “Been day drinking, girl?”

“Yes, and it was fabulous. I have so much to tell you. Is Brian staying or does he have to go back?”

“He’s staying. They’re putting more troops in the valley, for the waterfall portal thing. So I want to ask if it’s okay if he stays at the cottage at night, you know, with me, when he’s not on duty.”

“Well, duh!” She gave him a big hug, then snuggled right in. “It’s your cottage, too. Roomies!”

“Some serious day drinking.”

“I should probably take a nap, but I don’t want to. I feel so good. I feel like everything’s going to be okay because, damn it, we’re the freaking good guys. Or maybe because I’ve been drinking champagne made by faeries. One of those.”

“I’m going to have to get me some of that. Breen’s been drinking champagne,” he told Brian when he joined them.

“Sidhe or Elfin?”

“Sidhe.”

“Best there is. And no matter how much you drink, it won’t give you a head to regret it in the morning.”

“It’s wonderful. I punched Keegan.”

“What?” Marco yanked her back. “When? Why?”

“He took my clothes off in front of everybody and threw me in the river. We sealed the breach, but I punched him. It’s a long story, but I’m mostly okay with it now since he explained.”

“We know you’ve closed the breach,” Brian began, “as we met them briefly on the journey back. Sure I’d like to hear the rest of the story, but I should go see if I’m needed at the portal.”

“I’ll take your things over,” Marco told him.

“It’s all right then if I spend time at the cottage?”

“Absolutely, a hundred percent.” Breen wrapped him in a hug, sighed out happiness. Then murmured in Brian’s ear, “Hurt him, and I’ll turn you into a pig and roast you for dinner.”

His laugh rumbled against her. “I believe you would.” His eyes twinkled at Marco. “You have a fierce and frightening friend in Breen Siobhan.”

“Like Sidhe champagne, best there is. Why don’t I take you home, girlfriend?”

“I guess. Oh, look. Dragons.” She pointed up as Cróga streamed through the sky alongside Harken’s dragon, and Mahon beside them.

Mahon swooped down, snatched a son in each arm, and with their squeals soared up to spin them.

Harken swung off, landed lightly beside Morena.

“I was about to come up and have a ride,” Breen heard her say.

“I’ve the milking yet. Give me a hand with it, and we’ll have one at sunset.”

“Fair trade.” She took his hand. “Tomorrow then,” she said with a wave to Breen.

When Keegan dropped down, he nodded at Brian. “You made good time.”

“We did. Do you want me at the portal?”

“Not tonight, as we’re well set, but tomorrow, you’ll relieve Dak an hour past dawn. You’ll hold there until I send word or come myself. I’ll want you patrolling the far west down to the south and back. You’ve the night free.”

“Thanks for that.”

“I’ll get cooking.” Marco rubbed his hands together. “Want in on that, Keegan? I’ve got a taste for chicken and dumplings.”

“It’s kind of you to ask, but …”

When Keegan looked at Breen, she shrugged. “I’m okay with it. Marco makes the world’s best chicken and dumplings.”

“Then I’ll come and gladly. First I need to take Breen for a bit.”

“Then I’ll get started, and get Brian settled in. How about we take Bollocks?”

“Yeah, okay.” Breen bent down, gave him a rub. “You go home with Marco and Brian. I’ll be there soon. He’s going to want a swim.”

“No problem. See you on the other side!”

“Where am I going?” Breen asked as the men went to get their bags and walk across the road with the dog leading the way. “Why am I going?”

“I told you I needed to take you if there was time today, and there is.”

“Brian rode Boy back, and it’s a really long trip.”

“We’re not going by horse,” he began, then took a good look at her. “Are you drunk then, Breen?”

“Maybe a little. Slightly.”

“Well, the flight should clear your head.”

“We’re going by dragon?” She perked right up. “This has been an excellent day! Now I get a dragon ride and chicken and dumplings.” She cocked her head. “And maybe, if I’m in the mood, I’ll let you have sex with me.”

He took her hand as he called Cróga. “What were you drinking, so I can see about getting more of it?”

“Sidhe champagne.”

“That might have to wait a day or two.” He gave her a boost onto Cróga, swung on behind her.

“You didn’t say where we’re going.”

“You’ll see for yourself, as you must and should.”

Too relaxed to object, she looked down as they rose up. “It’s so beautiful. The valley, yes, but the farm. Whenever I see it, I know why my father loved it. I know why you do. It says everything about the peace you work so hard to hold. Where did you live before? I don’t think I ever asked.”

“The cottage where Aisling and Mahon and the boys make their home.”

“Of course. That’s why it has the same feel.”

As they flew west, she picked out other spots she knew. Nan’s cottage, of course, and the one where Mina and her family lived, where clothes snapped on the line and smoke puffed from the chimney. And to the south, the ruins, the dance, her father’s grave.

Then they soared up, higher, over towering trees, and on a gasp, she reached back to grip Keegan’s hand.

The cliffs, sheer as glass, rose over a tumbling sea. The water beat at their base, spewed up over rock and shale and sand to fold back into itself. Then rushed in to pound again.

On the clifftops, she saw trees bent and twisted from the wind, and high grasses swept down at each blow.

“It’s breathtaking. It was from the mountain, but even more now.”

“The Far West.”

“Marco and I saw the Cliffs of Moher in Ireland. It’s like that, only wilder. There are boats coming in.”

“The sea’s there to be fished.”

Her breath caught again as they flew over the sea, and below a whale white as chalk sounded.

Dolphins leaped, and Mers with them.

On the clifftops she saw another stone circle, larger than the other, a few stone buildings, a handful of cottages.

“We have what you’d call a base here, a training ground. Eyes of the Far West they are. My father and yours trained there.”

“Did they? Did you?”

“My father and yours trained us in the valley. The stones there are Fin’s Dance, the largest and they say oldest in all of Talamh. At sunrise on the summer solstice, the rising sun strikes the king stone— the tallest—and the light spreads from it, white and bright, stone by stone. And they sing. You hear them sing to every dance in the world, and every dance in the world answers.”

He circled once more. “And so their song and the light of the longest day touches every corner of Talamh.”

“It must be magnificent.”

“It is. And the winter solstice gives the moons; their light is softer and restful for the longest night. But still it spreads, and the stones sing.”

She leaned against him as he flew back. “I loved seeing that. Thanks.”

“Ah, that was to clear your head. We’ve a journey yet to take.”

She assumed a short one, as the sun eased toward those peaks in the west. But long or short, she didn’t mind. Cróga cleaved through clouds like a boat through the sea, and the wind on her face tasted fresh, crisp. The world below rolled green and gold with rivers and road winding through. They soared over the Troll mines, the dales below them, the forest where the shadows deepened.

And, she saw now, they flew toward that towering peak.

“To see the dragons?” Beyond thrilled, she shoved her hair as it blew in her face when she turned to him. “Oh, what a day! Are there many? Can you feel them? I can feel them. There’s such power, such pull.”

Even as she spoke, Cróga let out a roar. In response, dragons, every color in the world, rose into the air and answered.

A flood, a flood of bold gems against the sky, and the power, the sheer power of them beat like a thousand drums.

“Oh God! I can hardly breathe. It’s so amazing. It’s so beautiful.” She jumped, then laughed at herself when a dragon, amethyst with eyes of emerald, swung beside them. Cróga turned his head, rubbed it to hers.

“His mate,” Keegan said. “They live long, but take only one.”

“She’s beautiful. Does she have a name?”

“Banrion. It means queen, as she’s regal. Her rider is Magda, who lives in the Far West.”

“There are so many,” she said. “They all have riders?”

“No. Some will have lost their rider, as we don’t live as long. And like a mate, they take only one, as a rider takes only one. Others will not have chosen or been chosen, found or have been found. And won’t until their rider becomes, and makes the choice. Until, they wait.”

She saw caves in the mountain, some huge, and ledges, steps, a wide plateau. Clouds swirled around them like smoke as Cróga glided down.

“Babies! Or young ones. Smaller.”

“A year, a full turn, the mother carries the egg. One to three eggs, though three is rare. And then when laid, she nests a quarter turn— only rising when her mate or another takes her place for a brief time.”

The young, big as horses, scrambled, squawked, as Cróga landed on the plateau. And, like children, Breen thought, raced back again to flutter around them. One, shining silver, flew up to stare at her from bright blue eyes, then zipped away.

“They’re gorgeous. Am I allowed to touch?”

“They wouldn’t come to you otherwise.”

And because they did, when she slid down, she held out her hands, touched as they darted toward her, did turns and circles and dips.

“They’re showing off,” she realized. “Playing. Are any Cróga’s?”

Keegan gestured, and she watched a youth, emerald and blue, sliding up Cróga’s tail. “His youngest. Watch.”

Cróga flicked his tail, sent the youth flying. The sound he made could only be called giddy joy. Cróga soared up after to fly with his mate.

“They have three. Two sons, a daughter. One from each nesting. She carries two now, and please the gods will lay them safe next summer.”

“Of all the wonders I’ve seen here, this is the most—I don’t know— compelling. I’ve always had a thing for dragons. I guess it came from the childhood I couldn’t remember. And seeing them like this, free and flying. Full grown, children.”

Again she held out her hands. One, the size of a large cat, landed on her arm.

“Heavy!” Laughing, she cradled it.

“No more than a few days old, that one. Fresh from the nesting cave.” Keegan gestured to the large opening. “There we don’t go unless invited.”

“Understood.” She stroked the amber scales. “I had a dream, right before we left for Ireland last summer. I was walking by the river, this side of the waterfall, and I saw what I thought were little birds, so colorful and quick and bright. They were baby dragons, like butterflies, circling and darting. One landed in the palm of my hand. But they don’t come that small.”

“No. But dreams aren’t always literal, are they?”

“No, but it felt real. As if we knew each other, the one I held. I even named him.”

“What name did you give him?”

“Lonrach. That’s strange.” The baby in her arms uncurled, soared away. “How would I know that word?”

“Do you know the meaning?”

“Yes. It means—”

Her heart began to pound, and in the beat another beat. Merging to pulse as one. In her mind, another mind, waiting.

Yearning.

The dragon, red tipped in gold, landed on the top of the cave. And watched her while others circled around and around, a ring of jewels.

Love burst into her, a flood, a force, a gift. And her heart wept from the joy of it.

“It means brilliant, because you are.” Tears blurred her eyes as she stepped closer, and Keegan stepped back. “And here you are. Lonrach. You’re mine. I’m yours.”

He flew down to her while the other dragons circled overhead. In his eyes she saw herself, and knew he saw himself in hers.

“I’m sorry you had to wait so long.” She touched his cheek, then just pressed her own against it. “You’re mine. I’m yours. We’re one. How did you know?” she asked Keegan.

“I’ve known of Lonrach all my life. The dragon who waits for the child of the Fey to come home. To awaken. To become. On the day of the Judgment, you stood, you spoke, you became.”

“I don’t understand, not really.”

“You didn’t see yourself, the light in you, the power of you. When we flew back, and you saw this place, you felt him as you hadn’t before. So the wait was over.”

Overwhelmed, she pressed her face to the glass-smooth scales. “I feel his heart inside mine. I feel it like my own.”

“I know.”

“This is what it’s like for you and Cróga?”

“It is, aye, and for all who make the bond. Now you’ll ride.”

“I can ride him? Yes. Yes, I can. I can. I know how. I don’t have a saddle.”

“We’ll get you one, but you’ll do fine without.”

“He wants to fly.” Drenched and drunk with love, she pressed her cheek to Lonrach again. “He wants it. I feel it.”

“I’ll give you a lift up this first time.” When he stepped over, she turned to Keegan.

“I owe you, so much, for this.”

“You don’t, no, that’s foolish.”

“It’s not, and I do. You knew, you brought me so we could find each other. You knew how and when.” She took his face in her hands, kissed him. “Thank you.”

“Then you’re welcome. Up you go.”

She laid her head down on her dragon’s neck when Keegan boosted her up. “I have to cry a minute. He gets it.”

“All right, if you must. Done?” he asked when she straightened. “For now.” Then she simply thought: Home. Simply put the cottage into her head.

Lonrach rose up. Keegan mounted Cróga to join her.

The dragons roared, a sound of triumph, as she flew over Talamh.

And it was different, she realized, different than being a passenger, as thrilling as that had been. Now the sensation of flying swept through her as if she herself had wings.

Into clouds, around them as the last lights of the sun struck, turned them gold and violet and rose. Over the fields and forests with no sound but the rush of wind.

Then below, she saw Marg and Sedric standing in front of their cottage, faces lifted.

They’d known. Of course they’d known. Laughing, she threw her arms high when Lonrach whipped into a stylish turn because she’d wished it.

Harken streamed up beside her, with Morena riding behind him.

“Welcome, rider!” he called out before they veered away toward the setting sun.

In the valley others came out, to look up, to wave. She saw Aisling with Kavan on her hip, Mahon with Finian on his shoulders.

“How did they all know?”

“Word gets round. It isn’t every day rider and dragon bond and take their first flight. Take a moment for them, fly on a bit, and we’ll circle.”

“I could fly forever.”

She lifted an arm, swept it in a wave to Finola and Seamus, flew low enough to smell the glory of their gardens, hear the cheers of children who ran along the road.

They flew over the lake where as a boy Keegan had lifted the sword from its pale green waters, and on, on over hill and forest before turning back.

“Best you follow me through the portal, as you haven’t gone through this way before on your own.”

As dusk spread and shadows gathered, he banked toward the Welcoming Tree, and Lonrach glided after.

Out of Talamh and into Ireland, over the forest, and toward the bay, and the cottage where lights gleamed from the windows.

When they landed, Breen once again lay herself over her dragon’s sinuous neck.

The door opened. Bollocks bulleted out to leap and race in circles. Lonrach lowered, and the dog rose up on hind legs to lap at the great, majestic head.

“They’ll be good friends,” Breen stated.

“Sure as they’re both yours and you theirs.” Keegan swung down as Brian walked out.

“So his wait’s over. Marco, you’ll want to come out.”

Wiping his hands on a dishcloth, Marco started for the door. “I just want to— Holy shit! Two of them. What are you doing up there, girl?”

“This is Lonrach, and he’s mine.”

Keeping his distance, Marco hooked the cloth in his waistband. “You went and bought a dragon?”

“No. He’s just mine.” She slid down, stroked one hand on the dragon, the other on the dog. “And he’d never hurt you.”

“What’re you gonna do with him?”

“Ride. Learn. Love.”

“Girl, I love you more than my new harp, and that’s a lot. But I ain’t never getting up on that thing.”

With a wink for Breen, Brian put an arm around Marco. “I’m thinking never’s not as long as you think.”

“It’s as long as never. Where’s he going to sleep?”

“Dragon’s Nest. The mountain. He’ll know when I need him. I’ll know when he needs me. Tomorrow,” she said, then stepped back.

With Cróga, he rose up, the wind of wings blowing through her hair. They circled together as the first stars flickered on.

They skimmed over the trees, and away.

“Huh.” Marco just shook his head. “I think we could all use a drink. I got the chicken and dumplings going and put together a charcuterie board. So I think it’s time to show off my bartending skills.”

“I can smell the chicken, and wouldn’t say no to a drink.” Keegan started inside. “And what’s this charcuterie then?”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

While Breen and the others dug into Marco’s chicken and dumplings, Shana entered Odran’s private chambers.

He’d sent her an invitation—a command, but she preferred invitation—to dine with him. She’d changed into a more formal gown, one of deep gold with a daringly deep neckline.

She’d draped herself with jewels, and found the servant given her had an acceptable skill with hair. She wore it swept up to showcase her face—and the jewels.

She’d expected grandeur and luxury in the god’s private rooms, but they exceeded even her expectations.

The black glass walls shined like mirrors. Hundreds of candles shot light from stands of polished gold. More gold stood as columns flanking the hearth where a fire blazed. Furnishings, a long divan, wide, high-backed chairs wore gold, silk, or velvet—and really, could one have too much gold?

Jewels dripped from lamps on marble tables, and the windows held views of the night-dark sea.

He sat at his ease at a table set for two, luxuriously with gold plates, crystal goblets, platters of meat, serviettes of gold linen.

She dipped into a deep curtsy. “My lord.”

“Sit.” He waved a hand at a female servant, one who wore only a collar, like a dog, to pour the wine.

“She once sat where you are because she pleased me. Then she did not.”

When Odran lifted his wine, Shana did the same. “Then it will be my honor and duty to please you always, and in all ways.”

“We will see. You shared a bed with the taoiseach until he tired of you. Tell me what you know of him. The things a woman who’s had a man’s shaft inside her knows.”

Though it burned, she ignored the casual insult. “The Fey see him as strong, the holder of the sword and the staff, the protector of Talamh, and the defender of justice.”

Rings glinted and flashed on the hand he flicked. “Such is tradition, and tells me nothing.”

“Because they’re blinded by tradition, they don’t see his weaknesses.” She sipped wine. “He leads from duty, not desire. He has no ambition beyond the peace and safety of Talamh. If not for duty, he’d spend his days plowing the fields in the valley with his brother, planting his seed in someone content for only that. He leads, but he doesn’t rule.”

She shrugged. “This isn’t strength. In other worlds, one in his position commands. Rulers don’t barter and trade, they take what they want. A ruler, a true one, rules with passion, as you do. Rules with power absolute. Instead, Keegan sits at the council table, where they natter about small things and think nothing of what the powers of the Fey could amass in other worlds.”

That had the faintest smile curving his lips. “But you think of it.”

“Oh, aye. The world beyond, where the woman with your blood travels back and forth so freely, a world of great size and riches, resources and people with no magicks? It could be conquered like that.” She snapped her fingers. “And so could others, could all. And what they have would be ours. Instead, we bind ourselves with foolish laws and weak traditions, we revere choice and freedom as if they were gods.”

“But you do not.”

“I do not.”

He signaled to the woman again. “Serve us.” As she stepped over to fill Odran’s plate, then Shana’s, from the platters, Odran considered his guest.

“And still, this tells me little of the taoiseach.”

“It tells you, my dark lord, he’s a slave to duty, and would die for it. Like your son, who took him as a son. In other things?” She shrugged delicately as she ate. “He enjoys books and music, has more of an appetite in bed than for wielding the power of his office. He lacks patience, particularly for formalities, and has a quick temper. But a soft heart—too soft for true strength. He bears the weight of leader, but takes none of what could and should be his.”

She gestured to indicate Odran’s rooms. “You won’t find gold or jewels in his chambers at his own castle. I’m told he took the one from outside to the Trolls in the valley and bargained for what she wanted instead of taking. Bargained and drank with them. Trolls.”

She sampled the meat on her plate. “He would heed his mother in most if not all things like a child rather than a man grown. His gift is strong. If any tell you it’s not, they lie. He is skilled, as skilled as any I’ve known, and though I haven’t witnessed him in battle, I’ve seen him train others. He’s fierce.”

“As was the one who came before him, and yet he—the son I created—is with his pale gods.”

“Aye, and it’s said Eian O’Ceallaigh taught him well. Perhaps knowing the boy he trained would lead one day. And so Keegan knows every hill, every dale, every river, every forest in Talamh, and would know most who live there by name. Another skill, as it … endears him to them. So they are loyal to him.”

“But you are not.”

She ate delicately. “I have no loyalty to him. If I had taken his mother’s place as his hand, I would have used my influence to ease him away from useless traditions. I enjoyed bedding him, but I bedded him with a purpose. If the one from outside hadn’t come, I would have achieved that purpose. Then, it would have been my hope to meet with you, and discuss mutual goals.”

“And why would you think I would meet with you, or discuss goals with you?”

Smiling, she shook back her hair. “I had hope that you would see, through your great powers or through your spies, that with me there were changes. Some I could believe you would approve of. And you might consider I could help you attain all you want.

“May I have more wine, my lord?”

Watching Shana, he signaled to the woman.

“And now you sit here, defeated in your goals, having made no changes.”

“Aye, that’s true. And still I would discuss with you how I might help you attain what you wish, and have some small benefits—whatever you deem I earn. My father sits on the council,” she continued. “And though my mother has no interest in politics and policy, he found a willing ear with me. I know the defenses and offenses planned against you, my lord Odran. I know the castle as Keegan knows the world, as I made it my world.”

As she drank more wine, Shana accepted flirtation wouldn’t work here, not with a god who could take any he wanted. But knowledge could.

She would make certain it did.

“And I know what I think your spies and scouts, even any prisoners you may have taken, do not, as only a handful know. And that is the location of every portal in Talamh, what worlds they open to, and how each is secured. And while I may not know all, I know many of the portals in other worlds.”

“You’ve traveled through them.”

“I have not, my lord. And though it is not permitted, my father indulged me by showing me on maps. I would be honored to do this for you if it would please you.”

“And in return?”

“In return I would see those who turned against me punished. I would enjoy, after you’ve drained the one from outside of power, when you have finished with her, putting a collar on her like this one.”

“Because she took the taoiseach from you.”

“He’s but a man, and men are easily come by. But because she took what I worked for, what I earned.” Shana held out her palm. “And I have this to remind me. She will have scars, should you grant this wish, to remind her.”

“And the taoiseach?”

Her eyebrows rose. “You would execute him if he survives the war. Keegan, his family, a public execution so all of Talamh knows who rules.”

For the first time, he smiled. “You like the taste of blood.”

“I prefer wine, but what is rule without power, what is power without force? And to hold worlds, there must be fear, and aye, there must be blood.”

“And all you want for assisting me is what’s left of the girl when I’m done with her.”

“Well now.” With a laugh, she gestured with her wine. “If you’re well pleased with me, I wouldn’t mind if you granted me a place—oh, a small one, inconsequential—where I might rule. Under your dominion, of course. Or more, if you’re very well pleased, a place to sit beside you. To lie beside you. I could give you sons, and from them, you would take what you will. Power to drink for years and years.”

“And if you displease me?”

“I don’t believe I will. My lord, all of my life I’ve wanted what I have at this moment. To sit beside a ruler of great power, of great vision, who will use it to gain more. Who will indulge my frivolous affection for lovely things. For this, I will give all I have to please you.”

“Then you’ll begin now.” He rose. “Dispense with this,” he told the silent woman before striding into the next room.

Because she enjoyed the wine, Shana took her goblet with her.

She didn’t bother to disguise the gasp at the vast bed, the towering posts of gold, but wandered past another raging fire to circle the vast room.

She could see herself—wanted to see herself—sitting at the long dressing table with its drawer knobs of diamonds as big as a baby’s fist, or lounging among the plush pillows on the settee. Standing on the terrace looking out at all she commanded—through Odran, of course. But it would be hers. She would see to it.

Whatever the cost, whatever the price, she would have this.

“Your taste is more exquisite than any. I am humbled to stand in such a room.”

“You are not humbled.”

She smiled, lowered into a curtsy. “Already you understand me. But I am honored.”

“Disrobe.”

“Myself or you?”

“Yourself.”

“Then I must ask for the assistance of a god, as I cannot unfasten the gown.”

She set the goblet down on the dressing table, walked to him, turned her back. “If you would, my lord.”

He tore it so the gown ripped in two. Shana merely stepped out of it, kicked it aside. “Such strength. It thrills me. I lack it, but if you’ll allow.” She turned to him, wearing only the underpinnings she’d selected for this exact purpose, and began to unfasten his doublet.

“I would see you, Odran, god of the dark. And though I know you can take me willing or not, I give myself to you. Now and always, as you wish.

“Ah, such beauty.” She ran her hands over his bare chest—slighter than she’d imagined, his skin smoother, but for the small scar at his heart. “Grace in strength,” she murmured as her hands traveled down to unfasten his trousers.

She found him already hard, like stone, like the marble columns, and smiled.

When she started to put her arms around him, lift her lips for his, he shoved her against the thick post of the bed, and drove into her.

Cold, cold, like a shaft of ice impaling her. Shocked, she cried out, but he battered her against the post, and for a moment, she thought she felt claws dig into her hips.

She didn’t resist, and because he watched her with eyes that had gone to black, she lifted her legs to wrap him, around his hips, and, closing her eyes as if in ecstasy, cried out again and again.

Cold, sharp, vicious—gods, she wanted to scream for him to stop. And feared if she did, he wouldn’t until she lay dead at his feet.

She thought of the slave woman in the collar, and held on to him as if enthralled. She would die before she served meat and wore a collar like an animal.

Then something changed, and instead of pain and fear, she felt a terrible pleasure rising through it. Dark and dangerous, it conquered her. Wild with it, breathless from it, she gripped his shoulders, looked into those black eyes, and said, “More.”

When he was done with her, he tossed her on the bed. She felt slightly ill, her body throbbing as her burned hand had, and wished only for the oblivion of sleep.

Then he climbed on top of her, hiked her hips high as she moaned.

She screamed when he sodomized her. And though she feared he would tear her in two, that dark pleasure broke into her again until she wept with it.

Until she craved it.

He used her over and over, tirelessly, brutally, until she thought the endless pains and pleasures might kill her.

When after the long night he ordered her to leave him, she stumbled naked back to her room, her body bruised, tiny gouges bleeding.

And understood now that she knew those pains, those pleasures, she would rather die than live without them.

When Brian woke, he lay a moment longer in the warm bed with Marco beside him. He had duties, and would never shirk them, but thought how lovely it would be to stay, to wake together.

Another time, he hoped. They would have other times.

Quietly, he rose.

He would use the shower—a much fancier sort than any he’d found on his visits outside of Talamh. Marco had shown him how it worked, and together they had shown each other what interesting things could happen inside a glass box under a hot rain of water.

He’d imagined himself falling in love at some point. In the future. Eventually.

But he hadn’t known what it could be, not really. He hadn’t known the lightning strike, the floating on a quiet river, the wild flight among stars, the simple rest.

Love was all of that and so much more.

He’d found someone he wanted to join hands and walk with for the rest of his life.

Whatever god, whatever fate had put Marco Olsen in his path, he would be forever grateful.

He dressed in the dark before brushing a light kiss on Marco’s cheek.

“I’ll come home to you tonight,” he whispered, “and every night I can.”

Carrying his boots, he walked downstairs.

Though Marco had told him Breen rose early, it surprised him to find her in the kitchen in the first breaths of the new day.

“Good morning to you.”

“Morning.” She lifted the mug in her hand. “I made coffee.”

“Thanks for that, but I don’t have a liking for it. I’d make myself tea if you’d show me how this thing works.” He tapped the stove.

“Sure.” She turned the burner on under the kettle.

“Ah, well then, that’s simple enough.”

“I’m no Marco, but I could scramble you some eggs.”

He smiled at her, this key to so much who offered to make him breakfast. “It’s kind of you, but I’m hoping you won’t think of me as a guest here.”

She smiled back at him. “Okay then, you can scramble your own eggs. Bread, bread knife, toaster.” She pointed as she spoke. “Butter and jam in the fridge—along with eggs. The cottage is Marco’s as much as mine. You’re Marco’s so it’s yours. That’s how things work for us. If you’ve got this, I need to check on Bollocks. He’s already out and in the bay.”

“I can manage, thanks.”

She went out to drink her coffee in the air while her dog romped in the bay, while the mists rose over it and the waking sun shot tiny rainbows through it.

Keegan had left only moments before Brian came down. He’d taken no time for coffee or tea. He would, he told her, come back to resume her training, but had duties first.

So did she, she thought. A duty to the work she’d chosen, a duty to the dog and dragon who’d chosen her as she had them. A duty to the two worlds she knew, and the people in them.

Keegan left so quickly, and with so much, obviously, on his mind, she hadn’t told him about the dreams.

She didn’t know what to tell him anyway except they’d been dark, disturbing, scattered, and full of screams of pain, moans of pleasure.

Firelight against black walls, something—someone?—rutting in the shadows.

Then a light, already dim, extinguished.

Probably just a stress dream—a sexual stress dream. Though she hadn’t gone to bed stressed. She’d been happy—ridiculously so— then Keegan had made her happier yet—and exhausted, so sleep had come easily.

But she was stressed now, and couldn’t say precisely why.

She watched Bollocks bound out of the water, leap through the mists as she heard the door open and close behind her.

“You’re wet,” she warned Bollocks as Brian strode toward her. “Be polite.”

Instead of leaping on Brian, Bollocks sat, held up a paw to shake.

“And a fine morning to you as well.” Brian handed Breen one of the slices of toast he held before he shook the offered paw. “I thought you might like some yourself.”

“Now that you mention it.” Breen bit into the toast he’d loaded with butter and raspberry jam. “Thanks.”

“Marco tells me you train—exercise—in the mornings, then write your stories.”

“That’s the usual routine. I missed a lot of both when I was in the Capital. Marco’s not a morning person. But once he’s up, he’ll work.”

“On the machine, the computer.”

“He’s a whiz on it.”

“And with the cooking and the music as well.”

“Multitalented, our Marco.”

“I love him, and wish for a life with him.”

She lowered her coffee, let out a long breath. “That’s really fast.”

“I know it, but it’s as real as anything I’ve known. This isn’t just a moment for me. Not just a day or a week. It’s always.”

She’d seen it, she admitted, in both of them. Maybe she had a dozen questions about where it would go, where it could go with two people from two worlds. But what mattered, what really mattered, was love.

“You make him happy, so you make me happy. His family—not his sister, but the rest of his family …”

“He’s told me. I’m sorry for them.”

She turned to him now, felt a strong and definite click of connection.

“So am I. That’s exactly how I feel. Sorry for them because they can’t see how amazing he is. How good and kind and bright and beautiful he is. They only look through one prism, so they can’t see him.”

“But you’re his family, you and Sally and Derrick. He has you, and now he has me. He’ll have my family, who’ll love him as I do. And when Talamh and all is safe, we’ll make a life together.”

With that said, they watched the wet dog roll blissfully in grass damp with dew.

“You wonder how we’ll make that life,” Brian added. “We’ll find a way. Love finds it, and you’ve only to follow. Now I must go, as I have duties. You have duties to your stories, or you’d call for Lonrach. I know what it’s like those first days as a rider. You could ride forever.”

He handed her his empty mug. “Bright blessings on you, Breen Siobhan.”

“And on you, Brian.”

She watched him walk into the woods, wings spreading as he did. After he’d flown into the trees, she let out a little sigh.

“Okay, pal, let’s go inside. It’s time for us to report for duty.”

It felt good, she decided, really good to slide back into routine. Get her blood moving with a workout, get her head back into the story with the writing.

By the time she took a break—time for a Coke!—Marco sat at the table working on his laptop.

“You check your email?”

She winced. “Not yet. I was—”

“Good thing your publisher copies me. Anyway, they’re thinking of doing a little drawing of Bollocks at the chapter headings. Maybe just one repeated, maybe a variety.”

“Well, that would be great.”

“What I said. So I’m going to take him out in a bit, get some pictures to send them. They have the ones you’ve posted on the blog, or I’ve posted on other social media, but I figured more can’t hurt. Did you eat anything?”

“Yes, Daddy. Brian made me toast.”

He lit right up. “You saw him? He didn’t wake me up before he left.”

“I was already up.”

“How did I get to be crazy about two people who think it’s normal to get up at dawn?”

“Just lucky, I guess.”

“You’d be right. He left this on the bed for me.”

Marco picked up a small sketch of himself, sleeping with a smile curving his lips.

“Marco, this is you! I mean, it’s got you. He’s really good.”

“He has a little cottage right in the village. More of a studio, really, because besides a bed, it’s mostly—well, other than weapons— art stuff. And his paintings and drawings, Breen, they’re really, really good. I was hoping they’d be pretty good, so I could say so, but we’re talking serious-artist good.”

“I can see that by this sketch. You need to frame it.” She set it back on the table. “I’m so happy for you.”

“I’m pretty damn happy for me, too.” And blissful with it, he trailed a finger over the sketch. “Going back to work?”

“Oh yeah. I worked on Bollocks this morning—that’s the one they’re paying for. But I’m going to shift over to the fantasy for a few hours. I know it’s a shot in the dark still, but—”

“Stop.” From his seat, he drilled a finger into her belly. “You’re a writer, girl. Writers write. You go do that, and I’ll finish this. Then Bollocks and I are going to have ourselves a photo shoot.”

“He needs to go out.” She walked to the door, opened it, and the dog streaked by.

“I’ll let him in if I’m not finished before he is.”

She left them to it and went back to her desk to dive into the world of danger and magicks.

Here with the words, with the imagery, she had control. Maybe she didn’t see the end clearly, not yet, but she saw stages of the journey.

But when she passed through into Talamh, it wasn’t just words, just imagery. And a great deal of the journey lay out of her control.

So it soothed and excited her to write, even when she found herself crafting echoes of what she’d seen or heard or experienced.

And when she pushed away from her desk, she hugged herself with the satisfaction of real progress.

She took time to check her email—Marco would ask again—and as always wondered if she’d find one from her mother.

No. Not yet, and, she admitted, maybe never.

She walked away from it, and found Marco in the living room with his keyboard, his headphones, and staff paper.

“You’re writing music!” She did a little dance when he jolted, pulled off the headphones. “You haven’t been working on your music since we got here. Let me hear it!”

“Not ready yet.”

“You don’t need to go through the headphones when you’re working it. I like to hear you work out a song. It’s like back in the apartment. If you’re still into it, we can wait to go over.”

“No, I’m good. I need to let it simmer—like my pot roast.”

“That’s the amazing smell!”

“Got it simmering, and it’ll do that for about four more hours. So I need you to, like, woo-woo it.”

“Do what?”

“Woo-woo it, so it coasts along, and if we can’t get back, it turns off. Can you?”

She held up a finger. “This may be the key to my deeply buried cooking skills. I can do that.”

“Great. Handy. You do that, and I’ll get us some jackets.”

She considered it like setting a timer—a magickal one. With a good day’s work under her belt, and the prospect of Marco’s pot roast for dinner, she set off with him and Bollocks.

“You’re going to ride that dragon again, aren’t you?”

“Oh, you bet your well-toned ass I am.”

“I’m not.”

“I’ll talk you into it one day.”

“You got a lot of words, Breen, but you don’t have near enough for that. Me, I’m going to hang out with Colm.”

“Who’s that?”

“Dude has a cottage right near Finola’s. He makes beer and ale. He’s going to show me how it’s done. Maybe one of these days, I’ll start making Olsen Ale.”

“It has a ring.”

They parted ways on the road in Talamh. To give herself a moment, she sat on the wall across from the farm. She saw Harken leading a horse from the stable to pasture. And recognized the mare as the one who’d mated with Keegan’s stallion in the summer.

Curious, she opened herself, and felt the life inside the mare. Would it kick, she wondered, as Aisling’s baby did?

She saw the boys just outside Aisling’s cottage, Mab on nanny duty. The Capital, she thought, with its crowds and movements, seemed very far away.

Once again, she opened herself, and tried, for the first time, to call her dragon.

The air held a chill, but not an unpleasant one. A man galloped by on a bay and gave her a tip of his cap. The black-faced sheep grazed behind her.

And Lonrach streamed, ruby red, out of the sky.

Her heart just overflowed. “He’s coming, Bollocks.” She stood with the dog beside her. “Do you want to fly?”

The way his tail whipped, she took it as a hell, yeah.

He landed gracefully, and still the ground shook. Then he turned his head so his eyes looked into hers.

“I want to go see Nan, and Sedric if he’s there, but I wanted to fly first. Wanted this.” She laid a hand on his head.

Lonrach dipped a wing so Bollocks could run up it and onto his back. Breen did the same.

“Wherever you want,” she murmured, and he rose up.

She saw Harken raise a hand to wave up at her.

They soared over the green, over the bay, over cottages and bored sheep. She saw her father’s grave below and sent her thoughts to him.

“They’re still there, trapped.” She studied the ruins below. “We have to find a way.”

She’d talk to her grandmother about it.

She thought about asking Lonrach to fly south. She wanted to see the village there, how much of the Prayer House they’d razed, but when he veered off, she realized she’d thought of somewhere else.

The forest, the stream, the waterfall. The portal.

Pulled there, she thought now, without fully knowing it. But pulled so the dragon was pulled.

And little licks of fear slid cold over her skin as they flew closer. “Do you feel it, too?”

Because he trembled, Breen wrapped her arms around Bollocks.

She saw Cróga circling, so Keegan must be there. At the portal.

Checking. The seal needed to be checked, of course. Guarded well, because …

She saw Keegan and other Fey below. Some horses. Sedric, silver hair gleaming.

She arrowed down, wind rushing into her face as Keegan looked up. She caught the flicker of irritation, ignored it as both she and Bollocks jumped down.

“I’ve too much to do to—”

“They’re at the portal, on the other side.” She snapped it out. “Trying to open it again. Can you feel it?”

She snatched his hand. “Feel it now.”

Through her, he did. “It’s holding. We knew they’d try, and it’s holding.”

“Yes, but …”

“It holds, Breen.”

“There’s blood, blood in the water. Demon blood, and next it will be Fey, a sacrifice of their own, as they have no more of ours. For now. And it is now. Happening now.”

“What do you see?”

“The blood, so much blood. Yseult wading in it, and the sleep snakes wound around her shoulders like a scarf. She points. An elf, but he’s not quick enough, and the others drag him to her. The snakes, they strike and strike, and he screams and screams.”

“Enough,” Keegan said when she covered her ears with her hands. “Enough now.”

“No, no, no. She takes the knife, plunges it into his throat. Blood, more blood. It gushes into the water. Her hands, painted with it. But the seal holds.

“He’s not there, but he watches. Odran watches from his tower. And she falls to her knees in the blood and the water when he slaps out with power. Blood on her face now, her own. He turns his back on her, and goes inside. And outside in the storm he brings, she bleeds.”

“All right now. Bring her some water.”

“It’s not right.”

“The seal holds,” he said again. “And as it does, Talamh holds.”

“It’s not right, Keegan.” She took the offered water, drank deep. “He didn’t look at me. He didn’t look, but he saw me. I know, I felt. But he didn’t look.”

“You bested him.”

“It’s not right,” she said again. “It’s not, but I don’t know why. I wasn’t coming here, but I felt pulled. Like it was urgent I come. But the seal’s holding, and you were expecting them to try. Why did I need to come?”

Keegan looked back at the falls, brought the portal into his mind.

“To see what he wanted you to see, and feel what he wanted you to feel. There’ll be a purpose in that. Call your dragon. You’ll bring Marg to the farm. I need to get Mahon. If his purpose is what I think it may be, we have work to do.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

They sat around the big farm table in sturdy chairs. Breen imagined the generations who’d done the same for family meals. How they’d talked and argued, laughed and cried.

Had they reached over the big table for seconds? Had children pushed peas around on their plates hoping they’d somehow disappear?

Her father would have eaten here, as she would have. And her mother, she realized.

They’d been a family once.

Now they sat, another kind of family, not to eat and talk about the day to come or the day that passed, but how to defeat a god hell-bent on destroying them.

Instead of its candlestands and serving dishes, the sideboard held rolls of maps. Rather than sitting at the head of the long table, Keegan stood, the sword still strapped to his side.

“All in Talamh know of the Welcoming Tree, and the portal to the other side through Ireland. By law and tradition, because we were once part of that world, that place, any in Talamh may pass through there.

“All in Talamh,” Keegan continued, “since Odran took the child Breen was, know of the portal through the great falls that leads to the world he conquered and claims as his own. By law, this portal was sealed, and is closed and forbidden. And we know through blood sacrifice and black magicks, Yseult breached that portal. With the help of the Pious in the south, Odran was able to create a portal from his world to ours, and that we closed and sealed. These two we guard as they lead only to Odran’s world. Breen’s seen Yseult’s efforts to break through the portal in the falls.”

“Yes.” She spoke up because he looked at her. “Twice now. The first time I—somehow—went there—as they were about to sacrifice the young girl.”

“And so you stopped them, and Sedric went through and brought her back safe. But Yseult used the breach we hadn’t found to take Shana through to Odran. And in seeing this, as you saw the other, we knew where to find the breach, so sealed it.”

“I won’t forget that part anytime soon. But today I saw Yseult on the other side of the falls. They’re sacrificing their own now to work the spell, to compromise the seal.”

“I don’t doubt this is true, and they would kill their own without question, but I don’t think he plans to come at us that way.”

“From the south again?”

Keegan shook his head at Mahon. “Where we sealed again, and guard, and have, like the falls, concentrated forces.”

“He can’t use the Welcoming Tree,” Harken pointed out. “He still has no way into that world, and even Odran can’t break that ancient spell. Nothing passes through—from here or from there—that intends harm.”

“He only has those two ways.” Morena held up a finger on her right hand. “The south.” Then one on her left. “The falls.”

“There are other portals.”

“Aye, but none that lead to Odran’s world, and none all in Talamh know. To use any but the Welcoming Tree, you have to get permission from the taoiseach. If granted,” Morena continued, “you’re be-spelled so the location is hidden from your mind. For the safety of all, for this very reason.”

“For this reason,” Keegan agreed. “So none taken by Odran, none who choose to join him can give him another way, another world to conquer and destroy. And before Odran, it was tradition. The taoiseach has this knowledge, and holds it.”

“Since you wouldn’t have told him, he has no way to know …” Morena trailed off. “Gods, Keegan, you didn’t tell Shana?”

“What do you take me for?” Rather than a sting, his words carried weariness. “But the council, as it advises, as it helps craft the laws, as it is sworn to duty to Talamh and its safety, knows. It’s a sacred trust, and such matters are never to go beyond the council room.

“But Uwin is an indulgent father, and Shana a clever daughter. I used the mirror to speak with my mother, and she’ll ask him. He won’t lie. She’d know if he did, but he won’t. If he told her, he did so because he believed I’d pledge with her, and that she would sit at the council table one day.”

He turned away a moment to look out the window, the fields flowing toward the hills, the hills rolling toward the mountains, the mountains reaching for the sky.

“I don’t excuse him for it, though I understand it. And by law if he hadn’t resigned, he would be removed from the council. And I must send him and Shana’s mother from the Capital, where they’ve both served and honorably, for all their lives.”

“This is not for you to carry.”

He turned back at Marg’s cool tone.

“Who else then?”

“He chose, and wrongly. I am a mother who loved her child more than my life. Yet I never spoke of council business with my son, a clever boy indeed, until he himself was taoiseach. You love your brother, your sister, and this one here who is another brother to you. Yet you have never spoken of these things, never broken your oath to indulge them.”

“She ruined them,” Breen said quietly. “They let her.”

“There you have it.” Morena tapped a fist on Breen’s shoulder. “That’s exactly so.”

“A word?”

Keegan nodded at Sedric.

“I know the portals, as this is my gift. And yet never have I spoken of where they are with Marg, nor she with me. Love, the healthy sort, holds respect as well, and doesn’t ask another to break a trust. In my time, I’ve seen you, and those before you”—he laid a hand over Marg’s—“lift and carry the burdens of taoiseach, and so I know the staff is heavier than the sword.”

Keegan sat. “Would you take his place on the council?”

Sedric smiled. “Not even for you, lad. There’s too much cat in me for politics and protocols. But if you intend to use those maps here with those you trust, I’ll show you any portal not on them.”

“There are more?”

“I have no way of knowing. I know only what I know.”

“Wait,” Harken said when Keegan started to rise again. “You did take an oath, and can only break it to save Talamh, and the worlds beyond it. Must break it for that, but you can’t do that on a feeling or a guess, Keegan. You have to be sure Shana’s father told her, and even if he did, can you be sure she’d betray her own world? Her people, her family. To do that takes a vicious heart, an empty soul.”

“I’m going upstairs now to ask our mother if Uwin gave Shana the knowledge. If he did, as he denied her nothing, the rest follows.”

“But does it now?” Harken argued as Keegan strode out. “I know what she’s done, and I know if she’s ever found again, she must be banished for it. But to help Odran destroy her own people—”

“Men!” Morena tossed up her hands as she shoved back from the table, then used one of them to cuff Harken on the back of the head as she started to pace. “Men, men, men can be the most simple of creatures. And I count you and Keegan as two of the most sensible of the breed. But what does he do but get himself tangled up with a selfish, conniving bitch of an elf, and all for a bit of grinding together in the dark.”

“Well now, it was a bit more than that. Not much,” Mahon added, “but a bit. She could be charming, and—”

“Another blind spot.” Morena aimed a finger at Mahon, and followed it with her derision. “Charm, beauty—the clever mind, sparkling eyes, and quick tongue? Well, they can go either way, can’t they? But beauty forever makes a man think with his cock instead of his brain.”

“That’s not what I’m thinking with at the moment,” Harken shot back. “And she wasn’t the sort who brings that out in me.”

“But you see beauty and charm and it’s hard for such as you to see past that and see what it hides. Men! What do you do about them?” she demanded of Marg.

“Patience helps.”

“Oh, but I’m tired of patience.” She jabbed a finger at Breen.

“I don’t know enough about men to know.”

“Oh, you’ll learn, trust me on it. Aisling, what do you say?”

“I’ve said nothing to now, as I have two children napping upstairs here, and a third resting inside me. And every choice I make must have that in mind. I can say what Keegan decides is for him. And I will say I never liked her or trusted her. And while I can’t say Mahon thought about the trust, he never liked her. And I’ll say to you, Harken, if the question asked me was would she do this terrible thing, my answer would be, well, of course she would.”

Morena walked behind Harken again, and this time kissed the top of his head. “I love the quality of you that pulls away from thinking the worst of anyone, even as it frustrates me.”

“It’s not because she’s a beautiful woman.”

“Maybe just a bit.”

“You’re loyal.” Breen spoke up because it seemed so perfectly clear. “So it’s hard to accept such terrible disloyalty in another, and one your brother had an affection for.”

“Affection.” Morena snorted.

“Beauty and charm played into that, I suppose, but it was there. You’re kind, Harken, and that’s as much a part of you as the color of your eyes. She’s cruel. I don’t know if even she knew how much cruelty she had in her, but it’s free now.

“Keegan’s right,” she added. “If she has the knowledge, she’ll use it to destroy. It’s what she has left.”

“And she has it right enough,” Keegan said as he came back in. “My mother is calling the rest of the council, and will tell them what I need to do. I won’t wait for them to debate and argue and drag it all out to do what I need to do.”

“You’re taoiseach,” Marg told him. “Your duty’s clear.”

“Aye, it’s clear. I ask you now to be council in the valley, to hold that trust sacred, to swear it. To swear to speak truth to me as you know it, to stand for the law. To stand for Talamh. You’ve already sworn,” he said to Marg, “but I ask you to swear again.”

“And so I do.”

As he went around the table, Breen felt the doubts want to rise up. But he met her eyes, waited.

“I swear it.”

“In the Capital the council has representatives from every tribe.” On a hiss, Keegan dragged a hand through his hair. “I can’t take time for that at this moment, but will deal with it.”

Out of long-ingrained habit, Breen raised a hand. For a moment, Keegan just stared at her.

“This isn’t a bloody classroom. Speak if you’ve something to say.”

“I’m going to say you have the blood of all tribes in you. You, Harken, Aisling. So, it could be said you represent all.”

Now he frowned, even as Harken gave her a nod of approval.

“I can work with that,” Keegan decided. “Politics is bollocks half the time, and that I can work with. But for now we start with the maps of Talamh, and its portals. Then the maps of other worlds, the outside, and theirs.”

He took a map from the server, unrolled it on the table.

Breen’s first thought was that it was a beautiful piece of art, surely hand drawn and lettered with the dragon banner flying over it. Beautifully detailed as well, as she recognized places she’d been.

The Capital, of course, with its castle and bridges, the sea, the forest, the village, to the Far West and the wild cliffs and stone dance.

Then Keegan laid his hands on the parchment, and it glowed under his palms.

When he lifted them, she saw that markings had appeared. Small circles in dragon’s-heart red that shined with light.

“Here are the portals of Talamh, each named for the world or place it leads to and from. There are twelve. There are more worlds than this, of course, and some of these worlds have portals that lead to other worlds as well. A traveler may pass through two, even three to reach the one desired—and approved.”

“There’s another.” Sedric laid a finger in the center of the dance in the Far West. “It’s a kind of door, but inside only. Entering here, you can travel to any place in Talamh. It needs precision and care to use, as without that you might come out in front of a galloping horse or, as I did once as a boy, on a crumbling cliff ledge in a high wind.”

“It could save considerable time when it’s needed,” Keegan considered. “I’ve never heard of this.”

“It was rarely used even when I was a boy, and its location closely guarded. As I was told more than one who used it in long times past came to harm, even death by not calculating with accuracy. And as it closes behind you, you have to make your way back by other means.”

“One-way trip,” Breen mused. “That wouldn’t help Odran, as he’d not only have to know about it, he’d have to be inside Talamh to use it.”

“Yseult may know.” Marg frowned at the map. “And may have found a way to use it to move freely in Talamh.”

“If so, she won’t find it free to her now. We have the base there, so will keep close watch.”

“There was another.”

“Was?”

Sedric nodded at Keegan’s question and stood to bend over the map. “It lost its light before my time, before the time of the old wizard who trained me in the portals. It may have been lore more than truth, but somewhere in the forest in the Capital. Here, I was told, held the fourteenth portal of Talamh. There may have been more in the long past, but I never found them. And I looked,” he added with a small smile. “In my adventurous youth. Though I never found this one, as told to me, I felt some echo of what had been.”

“Where did it lead?”

“I don’t know, nor does anyone, to my knowledge. I found nothing written on it, no song, no story, no legend other than what I was once told. What I once felt.”

“We have those traveling outside, and even without that, we don’t seal the other portals. If Odran’s planning to use one to attack, he’d know. While he doesn’t, we have an advantage. Mahon, we’ll need guards, trusted and seasoned ones, for each portal.”

“On both sides.”

“Aye. At least one, at all times, who has the gift of sensing a change in them. We have Fey who chose other worlds, but Fey they are, and they’ll stand. We’ll send travelers through, portal to portal, to see if he means to go through another world to get here.”

“The portals won’t be a secret and sacred trust,” Mahon pointed out. “The council may try to block the strategy that reveals them all.”

Keegan just raised his eyebrows. “Have you met my mother?”

With a laugh, Mahon lifted his hands. “You’re right, of course. It’s this one …” He circled his finger above the forest on the map. “It’s a worry.”

“It is, aye, it is. Why would a portal lose its light? And why is there no story or song about such a thing?”

“A time before time,” Harken said. “A time before Talamh made its choice, before magicks were scorned or persecuted? And if its purpose became the dark, would it lose its light?”

“We’ll put scholars on such matters, but that’s my thinking. Did Odran choose a world to make his own with only one way in and out? Or did he take it, as we’ve never found another portal leading there, because of this?”

“Two portals at the Capital,” Breen said, “and both in the forest? Both to the dark? It’s the only place I see on the map where two are—or may be—so close together.”

“Could they be connected? That’s what you’re thinking,” Morena said. “The locks on the portal to banishment, to the Dark World, have never been breached. But if this is somehow part of it, or connected, could he open both?”

“Fear.” Marg looked up from the map. “It may have been fear of what stood behind the portal that stopped those from long ago from recording it, from speaking of it. Perhaps they themselves destroyed it somehow to keep what they fear on the other side. Or what lived on the other side was so dark it swallowed the light.”

“It’s said Odran fell into the Dark World when cast out,” Aisling reminded them. “And wandered there century by century until he found his way out.”

“And this may have been his way.” Keegan nodded. “Scholars will scour the great library for any mention of this. If I were planning to attack, what better place to destroy than the Capital, what he sees as the power source of Talamh?”

“It’s not,” Harken said, “only the symbol of its laws and its justice. The power of Talamh is its heart.”

“He’ll never take its heart. Sedric.”

“I’ll go, aye, of course. I’ll do my best to find it. Not so young as I once was, but wiser.”

“We’ll go.” Marg took his hand. “I can help with this. You’ll look after what’s mine while I’m gone, Taoiseach.”

“I will.”

“The boys are up. I hear them,” Aisling said as she rose. “I’ll take them home, away from plots of wars.”

“I’ll need Mahon awhile longer.”

“I know.” She ran her fingers down Mahon’s warrior’s braid, kept her other on the child growing inside her. “I’m with you on this, mo dheartháir. Be sure of it.”

As Aisling went out, Breen rose. “If I could have just a few minutes to tell Marco I’ll be here for … however long. He said he’d take Bollocks down to the bay.”

“There’s no need. I need Mahon to help choose who might travel and where, who will guard and where, and Sedric, who may know of portals we don’t. I’ll call you again, as council, when all’s in place.”

“They don’t need me either. I’ll go with you. Safe journey,” Morena said to Marg and Sedric. “And good hunting.”

“Come home soon.” Breen moved over to hug them both. “And safe. Find the tree of snakes.” She pulled back abruptly. “I don’t know what that means. I just know you should look for it.”

“Then we will.”

“Snakes,” Morena said as she pulled Breen outside. “A tree made of snakes?”

“I don’t know, but that’s disturbing. And it can’t be that. Someone would have noticed a tree made of snakes long before this.”

“You’ve the right of that. He’ll send my father, my brothers. My father traveling for certain, as he’s done so in so many worlds. And my brothers to guard.”

“You’re worried for them.”

“I can’t be.” Shaking it off, she held out an arm. Amish soared to it. “It’s who they are, and what they are. And if Odran comes, I’ll be lifting up a sword. I’ve grown up knowing that day may come. So.”

She raised her arm so Amish took flight. “We live today, and a fine one it is. We’ll watch the beauty of my hawk, spend time with your good dog and our friend. As Mahon will likely be off dealing with all this most of the evening if not the night, Harken will go to Aisling’s cottage to keep her company and help with the boys.”

“I think he’s one of the best men I’ve ever known.”

“He is, in all ways. I love him,” she said simply. “And I’ll go to his bed tonight, as we’ll both need it. I’ll ask you to invite me to dinner first.”

“Sure. You’re always welcome.”

“I can’t tell my grandparents any of this, and it scrapes at me. I find yet another reason I wouldn’t want what Keegan has. You can’t tell Marco.”

“I know, and yeah, it scrapes.”

“We’ll have leave soon enough to tell them, and that’s a more worrying time. And so …” The hawk flew back to her. “And there’s that good dog playing in the water with the Mers, and another good man sitting and watching. We’ll take the rest of this fine day with them, won’t we?”

“Yes. I’m glad I’ve got you, Morena.”

“We’ve all got each other now.” Morena gave Breen a little shoulder bump as they walked. “What do you suppose he’ll make for dinner?”

Since the Mers provided the fish, Marco tried his hand at fish and chips. The three of them ate with the fire simmering, the music humming, and candles flickering.

An easy meal with easy conversation helped Breen put thoughts of vengeful—possibly psychotic—elves and murderous gods out of her head for a little while.

It meant something, a great deal of something, to see her two closest friends, one from each of her worlds, erase all boundaries to forge a strong friendship of their own.

“I know my fish and chips.” As she polished off a second round of the chips portion of the meal, Morena wagged her fork at Marco. “So I can say with considerable authority, this was the best of them I’ve had in Talamh and on this side as well.”

“First time I’ve made them with fish caught by mer-kids. That might add an extra zip.”

“They like you, and a certain water dog.”

“Who, maybe for the first time ever, played himself out.” Breen smiled over to where Bollocks sprawled sleeping in front of the fire.

“Clancy’s cousin in the Far West has a female about to drop a litter. I’m thinking I’ll barter for one of the pups for Harken. They lost their Angel last winter, such a sweet dog she was, and he’s not had the heart to get himself another. But he misses having one running about. He’d accept a pup as a gift, then he’d have that love in his life.”

“Aww.”

She laughed, lifted her beer in a toast to Marco. “I can’t be denying I’m soft on the man, but if you preferred women, I’d toss him over without a thought for you, darling.”

“For my fish and chips.”

“It weighs heavy on your side of the scale.”

“You know, the highlight of my life, seriously, was coming to Ireland with Breen last summer. Seeing things I’d only read about or seen in movies. Actually being there. But hitching a ride to Talamh with her tops it. Meeting you, Keegan and his family, Nan and Sedric, going to a freaking castle, learning to ride a horse, finding out my best pal’s a witch, all of that. Meeting Brian? The best icing on the best cake in the history of cakes.”

“I’m tossing an aww right back at you.” Morena propped her chin on her fist. “You’re mad for him, aren’t you?”

“I guess I am. Hell, no guess about it. Totally crazy about him. I was hoping he’d make it for dinner.”

Breen accepted the quick twist of guilt knowing she couldn’t talk about the new council meeting. “I imagine Keegan’s got most of the riders doing flyovers, or whatever they’d call it. Since I had a little talk with him—Brian, that is—this morning, I happen to know the totally crazy’s mutual.”

“You talked with him? About me? What’d he say?”

She ticked a finger in the air. “Sorry, the details are in the vault.”

“Hey, hey, hey!”

“But the big picture?” She rose, bent over to kiss Marco. “He loves you, and in a way that’s as gooey sweet as a Hallmark Christmas movie, and as strong as Iron Man’s suit. So I approve, and since you made the best fish and chips in two worlds, I’ll deal with the dishes.”

“I’ll help with that, but what’s this Hallmark gooey, and who’s Iron Man, and why is his suit so strong?”

“Sit with Marco. He’ll explain. I’ve got the dishes.”

“Okay,” Marco began. “You’re definitely coming over so we can stream Christmas movies, and Iron Man—all of them, plus The Avengers. Since that’s going to take some time, I’ll give you the gist.”

It was nice, Breen thought, to listen to Marco explain some pop culture to Morena. And entertaining to hear Morena’s questions and responses—more enthusiasm by far for superheroes than holiday romances.

But Marco intended to give her both, apparently, with weekly movie nights.

When Morena left, Breen found it comforting to settle into her room with Bollocks, the fire, her tablet while listening to Marco practice on his harp downstairs.

While he waited for Brian, she thought.

Yes, both gooey and strong. And who wouldn’t want both in their lives?

When worries wanted to intrude again, she decided to push them away a little longer. She’d write her blog now, post it with photos in the morning. That would free up more writing time.

She could finish the first draft of the novel in a matter of days—a week at the most. She really thought she could. Then what she should do is set it aside. Just let it sit there while she finished the second Bollocks book.

And wasn’t it great to know she could fill her mornings doing what she’d always wanted? Odran couldn’t take that from her. Whatever happened, she had this time, she’d done this for herself.

If the novel went nowhere, she’d still have written it. And she’d have done her best.

If Odran broke through, came for her and the Fey, she’d fight, she’d draw on everything she had to stop him. She’d do her best.

Using those thoughts, that determination as a springboard, she started her blog. She’d nearly finished when Bollocks’s head popped up. She’d heard it, too—the sweep of dragon wings.

She scrambled up, hurried to the window. She could admit the quick disappointment when she recognized Brian’s dragon gliding down. That, she told herself, needed to be pushed aside as well.

Easy to do, she realized as she watched Marco come out to greet him. As she watched them embrace. As she sighed over the welcome-back kiss.

“They look good together, Bollocks.” She sighed again, stroking the dog’s topknot as her best friend and his love joined hands and walked together toward the bay.

“A moonlight walk. Romantic. Marco’s found somebody who understands romance. Some swings and misses before this.” She shot Bollocks a look. “I could tell stories there. But it looks like a home run this time, right? And whatever happens, they’ll always have this.”

She watched another moment, then stepped back. “Let’s give them some privacy. I need to finish the blog.”

When she started back to the bed, her tablet signaled a FaceTime request.

“Sally!” She dropped down, accepted, repeated, “Sally! Just who I needed. I was— Holy crap, you look gorgeous!”

Sally shook back his shaggy red wig, angled his head. “You like?”

“Love. Gorgeous, sexy, sultry.”

“We’re doing a tribute to the eighties. Rocking heroines from the decade. Way before your time, baby girl.”

“And you’re not doing your amazing Cher?”

“I wanted to mix it up, try out a new. So I’m hitting them with my best shot.”

“Oh, oh, I know! Of course. Pat Benatar. You’ll be great.”

“I’m following Dell’s Tina Turner, and that’s a tough spot. But somebody’s got to do it, and I own the joint. Speaking of gorgeous, there’s that face. Gorgeous, happy face. I miss you.”

“I miss you. I really, really miss you, and I’m so glad you called.”

“Thought I’d take a chance you and Marco would be around. Where’s my boy?”

Breen glanced toward the window. “On a date. Did he tell you he met somebody?”

“He gave me and Derrick a few crumbs, but not the whole cookie. Somebody he met at a party a week or so ago. Is that the one?”

“That’s the one. Brian. Sally, they’re in love.”

“Hmm.” Breen watched Sally pour himself a glass of wine. “That’s quick.”

“I guess it is, but it’s real. I’ve never seen him so happy, or seen him with someone who just gets him, and loves him because he gets him. I felt guilty about Marco coming with me. So sudden, like I stole him from you.”

“Don’t be silly. I like knowing he’s with you. And I like looking at you right now, knowing whatever you found there makes you happy, and gives you what you need.”

“It does. Being able to write here, it’s given me just what I needed— and more, it’s given it when I didn’t really know what I needed until I had it.”

“Derrick and I read your blog every day, and it gives me something—as your honorary mom—I need. Hearing the strong and the happy in you. It’s opened you, my sweet Breen, being there, the writing, the taking your own.”

“It’s changed me.”

“No, honey, it hasn’t changed you. It’s revealed you.” Sally waved a hand, drank some wine. “I have to stop or I’ll get sloppy and ruin my incredible eighties eyeliner.”

Love simply filled her. “How did you know you’re just what I needed tonight?”

He tapped a finger next to his shaggy bangs. “Mother’s instinct. What about Keegan, the hot yet charming Irishman? Still seeing him?”

“Oh, well, yes. I mean, not like Marco and Brian. We’re both really busy anyway.”

“No one’s too busy for love, or lust or just a little romance. What does he do, anyway? I don’t think you ever told me.”

Tricky, Breen thought. Sally could see through lies like glass. “Oh, he’s in a leadership position. The head of a large group.”

“No kidding?” Sally paused to repair his lipstick. “He didn’t strike me as the executive type. I thought there was a farm.”

“Yes, they have a family farm. Keegan, his brother, and his sister, and he bases there when he can. He has another base in the east. He travels back and forth a lot. It’s a lot of responsibility. He’s a responsible sort. People depend on him, and he takes that seriously.”

“That’s good to know. I liked him, but I have to look out for our girl, even from a distance. And I’m thinking, if you and Marco stay there into spring or summer, Derrick and I need to take a trip.”

“Really?” Twin spikes of joy and trepidation rushed through her. “You’d come to Ireland?”

“Need to see my kids, and if this thing with Brian is the real deal, I want to see for myself. And I want to meet your grandmother.”

“She’d love you. You’d love her.”

And she’d figure it out, Breen told herself. Somehow, she’d figure it all out.

“We’ll talk about it. Meanwhile, one more thing before I have to get my well-toned, leather-clad ass moving. If you do plan to stay that long, I’ve got a new girl bartending. She’s a bright one, and oddly from Ireland herself.”

“Really?”

“Not from the Galway area where you are. Dublin—and Meabh knows how to tend bar like she was born for it. You might want to think about subletting her the apartment.”

“Oh. I never thought …That makes sense.”

“I’ll send you her information. You can vet her, but I already have. We don’t hire just anyone here at Sally’s.”

“Yes, thanks, but if you trust her, I trust her. I’ll talk to Marco, but that sounds like something we should do. I mean it’s just sitting there empty.”

“You can sublet it furnished, or we can pack up and store what you don’t want in it.”

“No, it’s fine, furnished is fine. We have everything we want. I’ll talk to Marco tomorrow. Thanks, Sally. Give Derrick a big kiss from me.”

“You can count on that. We love you. Talk soon.”

“We love you. Rock their socks off.”

Sally winked. “Count on that, too.”

When Breen ended the call, she started to go back to her blog. The light rap of knuckles on wood had her looking over. She hadn’t shut her door when she’d come, and now Keegan crouched in the doorway, petting Bollocks.

“Your door was open, but I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Sally.” Breen set the tablet aside as she rose. “I didn’t hear you come in. If you need to talk to me more about all this, we can go down. I can make tea, or get you a beer.”

He stepped in, eyes on hers. Shut the door behind him. “I’ve had enough talk for the day.”

Not a walk-in-the-moonlight sort of man, she thought. Yet it was strangely romantic the way he stood, watched, waited.

Her choice.

“Funny. So have I.”

Making her choice, she went to him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

It surprised her to find him there when she woke at first light. It surprised her to wish he could stay, and she with him, to take a day without responsibilities and duties.

But that wasn’t his way, and she had responsibilities and duties of her own.

She started to get up, to begin dealing with those responsibilities and duties, and in a room full of shadows, he took her hand.

“A moment. Sometimes the day starts too soon.”

“It does.”

He flicked his free hand toward the fire, so the flames came alive. “The bed’s warm, but you won’t be when you’re out of it. I’d have you stay in it and me with you if the world would just stop for one bleeding day. But it won’t.”

He sat up, shoved back his hair. “I need to go to the Capital. Likely I should’ve stayed there last night instead of coming back. I may be back tonight, or I may not.”

She sat up beside him and rubbed a hand down his arm, rubbed it down her own. “No strings.” On his baffled look, she got up. “It’s an expression,” she began.

“Aye. I know the meaning, I think.”

Since she was naked, she decided to put on workout gear. She’d just throw a jacket over it for her morning ritual with Bollocks.

“I think I see strings on Brian and Marco.”

“Yes, very clearly. They’ll have a lot to work out at some point.”

He watched her pull on leggings, a sports bra. “I like the clothes you wear to do your exercise.”

She looked over her shoulder. “Because they’re practical for the purpose?”

“No, though I suppose they are that as well. I’d like to use your shower before I go if you don’t mind.”

She walked back, sat on the edge of the bed. “Let’s do something. Let’s say when you come here, when I sleep with you, when you’re here in the morning, you don’t have to ask to use the shower, or eat something, or make tea or have a beer. Whatever.”

“I don’t want to be careless with you.”

“You’re impatient, often abrupt, occasionally dictatorial, but you’re not careless.”

“I was careless with her, I think. With Shana. It’s not excusing any of it, but I can look back and see I was careless in assuming we both knew what we had, and what we didn’t and never would.”

“I’m not Shana.”

“You’re not, no, and nothing like her. Nothing like anyone else. I shouldn’t be with you like this, that’s the truth of it. I shouldn’t have mixed things this way, but I have. My worry for you should be only as the key to protecting my world and yours and all the others. But it’s not now, and can’t be again.”

She pushed back the urge to stroke and soothe because that wasn’t his way either.

“I see, so it’s all on you. I didn’t have anything to say about it.”

“That’s clever,” he said as he rose. “You have an agile and clever mind. I admire it.”

Naked, he wandered to the window. “I’ve spent more than half my life as taoiseach. I’ll hold the sword and staff until I die, to protect Talamh. Odran may see that’s sooner than I’d like.”

“Don’t say that. Don’t.”

He looked back at her. “I don’t fear dying for my world, for my people. I wear the braid and have as a vow to fight, to give my life if needed, as my father did, as yours did. But I fear, as I didn’t, as I shouldn’t, harm coming to you. Not just for Talamh, but for myself.”

“So you’ll knock me down, insult my sword work, and mock my archery skills.”

“You have no archery skills, and aye, as often as I can, I’ll knock you down. That’s not being careless with you, as I see it. It’s the opposite.”

“I don’t have many relationship skills either, but I’m pretty sure of this. The fact that we have one, a personal sort of relationship, makes us both stronger.”

“And how are you figuring that one?”

“Because it matters more when you care. I’m going down to let the dog out and make coffee.”

Odd, she thought, as Bollocks bolted down the steps ahead of her, she’d never had a more romantic conversation in her life. She wasn’t sure what it said about either of them, but she was fine with it.

In a cold, steady rain, Keegan flew to the Capital. He found his mother in the council room, as he’d asked her. Only the two of them for now.

She rose as he came in, her look somber.

“A wet journey,” she said, and poured him tea.

“Thanks.”

“Uwin and Gwen left an hour ago. I found a cottage in the midlands where they can live. It’s simple, it’s quiet. They have their horses and possessions, and I had the cottage stocked with food and other necessities.

“You were right to send them away.” She laid a hand on his arm. “It was hard for you to do that duty, but you were right. As I’m right to help them make this start in this new life.”

He just nodded, sat. “Sedric?”

“He and Marg are already back in the forest. It’s much ground to cover, Keegan, but they won’t stop. I would have gone to help them, but I knew you were coming and wanted to speak to me. Loren asked to help.”

Now Keegan lifted his gaze.

“He wants to find this portal,” Tarryn continued. “There’s no question of it. And part of him believes he can somehow save Shana. There’s no question of that either. But he wants to find it, and he’s skilled.”

“All right. There’s no one’s judgment I trust more than yours. You look tired.”

“Ah well, that’s what a woman likes to hear.”

“Ma.” He reached for her hand.

“I didn’t get much sleep. I’ll rest better now that I’ve seen Uwin and Gwen on their way. And I’ve three elfin replacements for you to consider for the council.”

“None from the Capital.”

Tarryn raised her eyebrows. “I thought you’d want someone quickly, and with a sense of the protocols.”

“I think we lean too heavy on from here, and those who see too little of the rest. I know someone in the south. She’s young, but a little youth may be a good addition. I need to fly south in any case to see the progress, and I’ll ask her.”

“Nila. The one who took the child the Pious stole back to her family. I know my boy. It’s a fine choice, Keegan, and I hope she agrees.”

“That saves me the time I thought I might need to convince you.”

“I’m your hand, and your ma. You’re taoiseach. And I thought you might bring Breen with you this time, as she could be useful in the forest. And with the spell Marg and I’ve started to plan out.”

“I considered it, but we need to take care not to put all the eggs in the basket, right? There may be a portal, and it may be Odran’s plan to use it. But there are others. The waterfall they’ve used before—and with her close, she may sense or have a vision. The Far West, that gateway Sedric spoke of.

“As it is, I’m thinking you might be more useful there as well.”

“In the valley?” She just smiled at him. “Save your breath for the convincing. As I said, I know my boy. You think to take me from the thick of it, as all logic says this is where he’ll strike. So while you won’t ask me to shirk my duty, you’ll try to make it seem I can do more away than here. No.”

Because he’d known that for a lost cause before he’d begun, he drank more tea. “I have some fine reasoning to wrap around it.”

“Well then, save it for another time. Do you want to call the council?”

“No, bloody hell, I don’t. I’m for the forest and the wet.”

“Then I’m with you.”

“You think I should’ve brought Breen here?”

“I think you’ll have to before it’s done.”

He found Marg first, working with Loren and an elf. He could wish for speed, but Keegan knew being thorough and efficient overruled his impatience.

They’d divided the vast acres of forest into grids, and covering each, he’d learned the previous day, took an hour or more.

“It would take less,” Marg told him, “but there’s so much here. So much energy, so many heartbeats, so many echoes of power.”

They stood in the rain, the air smelling of drenched pine and earth, and gloom thick as a plank. Like his mother, Marg wore a hooded cloak over sturdy trousers, sweater, boots.

Lifting her hands, she spread them, circled them. The grid map formed in the air.

“You see we’ve marked over grids we’ve completed.”

“And made some progress.”

“Some.” Knowing him, Marg smiled a little. “Slow progress. Sedric continues in the north of the forest while we work the south. The others you chose—the empath Glenn with the young Were, ah, Naill, take the east, and Phelin McGill takes the west with another empath. The elves, as our Yoric here, serve as runners.”

“We’ve seen nothing like a tree of snakes,” Yoric said.

“Sure you’re lucky to see your hand in front of your face in this gloom. My mother and I will take a central grid before I fly south. If we manage no more than one or two, it’s still less to be done.”

And it all could be for nothing, Keegan thought as he and Tarryn walked through the wet. A story told by an old wizard to a young were-cat, long ago.

But he gave it three hours, then had a meal, as grown man or no, he found it difficult to refuse his mother.

On Cróga he flew north first, where the frigid air turned the wet into icy stones, and then to swirling snow. In the high peaks that speared up along the thrashing sea, he dismounted in snow that reached the tops of his boots.

The portal here opened to a world he’d visited once, and briefly, as he found its reliance on machines, its lack of interaction among its residents, inhospitable.

As no other portals had been found or recorded in that world, he thought it unlikely to impossible Odran could come through this way.

Still, he had six guards on duty.

A fire blazed on a wide, flat rock, and the wave of heat from it almost thawed his frozen bones. Snow fell in thick, fat flakes, and the wind tossed them where it willed.

If the rain had been a misery, he thought, this was brutality.

And yet Hugh, whom Keegan put in charge of the day duties, greeted him with a rosy-cheeked smile.

“A fine day in the high country.”

“Every arse within five miles is frozen solid,” Keegan tossed back.

“Ah, sure and a northman’s blood runs too thick and hot for that. All’s well here. One of us slips in and out every hour as you ordered. They’re no more interested in us on the other side than we are in them.”

“Stand on then, Hugh.”

“So we will. I’m grateful for the service here, as my home is just … well, you can’t see through the snow, but it’s just down in the foothills. So I’ll see my lady and our babe when we rotate.”

“May your lady keep you warm through the night,” Keegan said as he mounted Cróga.

“That she will.”

He crisscrossed Talamh on his way south, stopping at every portal. He flew out of the snow and brittle cold—thank the gods—into more rain, an all-too-brief moment of sun, and the smoky fog that followed it.

He stopped in fields, in forests, by the banks of a lake called Lough Beag for its small size.

When he soared over the valley, he took Cróga down at the farm, where the rain had slowed to a drizzle and the sun pulsed weakly against the stacked gray clouds.

He found Harken in the barn sharpening plowshares. Other tools, including three swords, lay already keen on the worktable.

“It’s cold as a dead man’s arse in the north, wet as a drowned rat in the east. And you couldn’t cut the gloom with an axe over the far midlands.”

“Warm and dry enough in here.”

Keegan took the kettle from the squat stove, poured the hot water through a strainer of strong tea leaves.

“Do you want a meal?” Harken asked him when Keegan sat on the top of a barrel.

“Thanks, no. Our mother nagged me into eating before I left the Capital. I’ve only got a short time, but wanted to check with you before I go on.”

“Quiet. I saw Brian when he came through, and he says Breen and Marco will stay on the other side today until they’re needed. They both have work there.”

“Just as well for that.”

In steady strokes, with sure, patient hands, Harken continued to run the blade over the whetstone. “I can feel you poking at me. I know where I’m needed, Keegan, as I’ve told you before. That’s here. If you need me somewhere else, you’ll say.”

“And you’ll go.” Keegan took a long drink, felt the warmth spread that was as much home as a hot drink and a fire. “I had a lot of time to think—you’ll have it when you’re flying through fucking blizzards and downpours and buckets of bloody hail.”

Harken grinned as he worked. “The luxury and glamour of the taoiseach.”

“Bloody bollocks on that. I know there are many who would give all, who do give, and they’re valued for it, every one. But it’s family, Harken, that holds me up. You and Aisling, Mahon, the boys, Ma. Knowing I can go to any of you. This place. I don’t work it like you, but I need it like you.”

“I know it.” Harken lifted his gaze as he worked, met Keegan’s. “I don’t lead like you, mo deartháir, but I need to know you hold the sword and the staff. It holds me up knowing it.”

“Yet your sword’s sharp and ready.”

“So will the plow be when I’m done.”

“Gods willing I’ll help you use it after the wheel turns to the new year.” He rose. “I have to go. I’ve three more portals to check, and then it’s back to the Capital. I’ll come back tomorrow if I can.”

“Turas sábháilte.”

“Safe enough, but likely wet. Harken … If we’re right about Odran coming through this portal we can’t bleeding find in the Capital, and if he gets past us—”

“He won’t.” After testing the edge, Harken picked up a hooked blade. “But we’ll hold the valley, and home.”

“I trust you will.”

When Keegan left, Harken continued the task, and waited.

A few moments later, the barn door creaked open again, and Morena came in.

“I started to come in before, but saw Keegan, and felt it was a brotherly sort of talk, so went back out again.”

“It was that, and thanks for it.”

Rain dripped off the brim of the hat she’d pulled on against the rain. Mud caked her boots.

He thought, as he always did, she was the most beautiful creature ever born. And still he waited while she wandered about, so obviously restless, tense, irritated.

“You left quick and early this morning,” he said.

“Nan and Grandda needed me. Grandda’s making a rocking chair for Bridie Riley to give to her daughter, who’s having her first by Yule. And Nan’s been making apple cakes for bartering. It’s hard not to tell them about this portal that might not even be real.”

“It’s real enough.”

“How can you know?”

“Because it makes the most sense.”

She threw her hands up in frustration, and little red sparks of light shot from her fingers.

“Well, none of it makes any bloody sense to me. Why can’t he leave us alone? Do we trouble him? We wouldn’t. He has his world, doesn’t he, and can lord over it as he pleases. What does he gain by destroying ours? And why are you smiling like that?”

“As I see you’re doing all you can to work yourself up into a rage so you don’t say what brought you here. Or why you left so sudden this morning, why you’ve come back, why you’re marching around the barn like there’s fire in your boots.”

“I told you why I left, and I only came back this way thinking I might see Breen.”

“She and Marco are staying on the other side today.”

“Then I’ll go there.”

He kept working. “You won’t change what is by stomping away.”

“I’m not stomping. Change what?”

“What you feel, and what you want.” He set the tools aside and stood.

“You don’t know what I feel, and have no right to look inside me.”

“I don’t have to. I see what I see in your eyes. I love your eyes,” he said as he stepped toward her. “I love what I see in them, always, but what I see in them now, I’ve waited for. I love you, Morena. I’ve loved you a long time, and will for all the rest of time I have.”

“This isn’t the time to talk about love. What’s coming—and if I can feel it, you do—what’s coming is terrible.”

“It is, aye, so there’s no better time to talk of love. Without it, there’s no reason, is there? Just survival, and that’s not enough. You’re ready.”

He took her hands, and though she made a half-hearted attempt to tug them back, brought them to his lips.

“Ready for what? Ready to fight? I will, and so will all of us. That’s not—”

He simply touched his lips to hers.

“Bloody hell, I thought, I believed, we’d have enough of each other when we started this up. We’d have enough, and go back to being friends.”

“I’ll always be your friend, but not only. I’ve waited until you’re ready, and now you are. So I’m asking you, Morena Mac an Ghaill, to pledge to me as I pledge here to you. To wed me, and make a life with me.”

“I’m stupid in love with you. It pisses me off sometimes.”

“I know it, and well, but still, here we are.”

“I won’t promise to cook for you.”

“As you’re a terrible cook, I’ll say thanks for that.”

She had to laugh. “I am a terrible cook. It was … sitting at the table, a council. I never expected to be asked such a thing. And sitting there, listening, knowing—even though you hear and you know before—I could only think: Why do I pull away from what I want in my heart when there’s so much dark? It’s past time for the game of it. So I pledge to you, Harken O’Broin. I want a life with you, and I’ll love you through all of it, even when it pisses me off.”

He drew her in as she drew him, and kissed her long, slow, deep, in the barn that smelled of hay and oil and burning peat.

“I want to wed in the spring. I don’t want to start my life with you in the dark of winter, but in the promise of spring.”

“I can wait.” He kissed her again.

While his brother attained his heart’s desire, Keegan went to the waterfall, the Far West, then flew south.

The air warmed, the skies cleared, and the frigid cold of the north seemed like a hard dream.

It pleased him to see not a single stone from the Prayer House remained on the hill. In its place craftspeople worked on erecting a pillar of white granite. They would polish it and carve the banner of Talamh at its center. At its base would be a pool of fire and water, a flame that would never be extinguished. And above it, in the old language:

IN THE LIGHT LIVE THE BRAVE.

And all who looked on it, he promised himself, would know, would remember, would honor.

As he circled, Mahon flew up to join him. “It’s a fine thing, a strong thing. It’s the right thing.”

“Aye. And the portal?”

“The coven swears the locks and seal hold. No breaches, and no attempts.”

“There will be, if they get through in the east. I see repairs are moving quickly.”

“Thatchers, carpenters, masons. They’re swarming. It’s a good potion after the battle to mend and build. In truth, Keegan, I think there’s a cloud lifted here with no more shadow of the Prayer House. After the baby comes, I think Aisling and I will bring the children here. I want them to see the memorial, and I want them to build castles in the sand and run in the surf.”

“Well, for tonight, you can fly as far as your cottage with me.”

“Work here to be done still.”

“And you can be back at it tomorrow. Did you send for the elf?”

“I did. I’ve brought her in from patrol, and she’s down there working with the masons. She’s a good hand with stone, is Nila.”

“Then I’ll speak with her. Choose who you want to take charge until morning. She’ll say aye or nay, so this won’t take long.”

He landed Cróga on the beach, much to the delight of a group of children playing in the shallows.

And as he walked toward the shops and cottages, he thought Mahon right. A cloud lifted.

He found the elf rebuilding a wall. Spotting him, she got quickly to her feet.

“Taoiseach.”

“That’s good work. Mahon said you had a hand for it.”

“I like to build things. And watch them built. The memorial is already such a strong symbol.”

“Would you walk with me?”

“Of course.”

“I want to thank you for your words in the Judgment.”

“They were truth, and my duty. And, I don’t worry to say, a pleasure as well.”

He nodded. Young, he thought, a pretty young elf with a warrior’s braid who’d already seen battles and blood.

“I wonder if you would take up another duty.”

“I serve Talamh.”

He nodded as they walked away from the village toward the trees. “You would have heard of Shana, and her crimes, her flight, her choice to join Odran.”

“I have, aye.” Nila’s face went hard as the stones she’d laid. “Do you wish me to go through and find her?”

Keegan glanced down. “And finding her?”

“To bring her back for judgment. That is the law.”

The right answer, he thought, the true answer, and given without hesitation.

“That is the law. But no, I send no one to Odran’s world for this, for her. Her time will come when it comes. Her father was on the council, now he isn’t. I’d ask you to take his place at the council table.”

She stopped short, stared at him. “I don’t understand. Taoiseach, I’m not a politician or a scholar.”

“You’re loyal, brave, you have my trust. You know the law and honor it, Nila. I want that at my council table. Your home’s in the south, and you’d have to make a new one in the Capital. It’s no small thing I ask.”

“I’d make my home where I’m needed, and so my family would want. But I have no experience.”

“Neither did I when I took the sword from the lake—and younger than you. It’s a choice, Nila, and there’s no dishonor in choosing no.”

He looked around. Some of the trees bore battle scars, others stood as no more than scorched husks.

And still there was beauty here. And from it, more would bloom.

“How is the child? The little girl.”

“Alanis? Resilient.”

He turned to her fully. “You would know because you would go and see her, make sure of it. And this is yet another reason I ask you to serve on the council. The law must have heart, it has to beat from it, or it turns to stone.”

“I … I’m gobsmacked, and that’s the truth of it. But I’d be honored to serve Talamh, and you, on the council. But I’d ask for someone to teach me how to, well, do it.”

“You’ll have my mother for that. I’m on my way back to the Capital now, and I’ll see you have rooms and whatever you need. Do you have a horse?”

“I do, aye, though I’m faster on my feet.”

“You’ll want the horse in any case.” He held out a hand. “I’m grateful to you.”

“I’ll hope you will be.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

He didn’t come to the cottage that night, or the night after. Breen learned of progress at the Capital—slow—from Marg through the scrying mirror. She heard tidbits from Brian, who came late, left early, so she knew Keegan traveled the whole of Talamh every day, and spent hours in the forest on the search for the dark portal.

She immersed herself in her work. It gave her purpose, held off the worry, and stopped her, for hours at a time, from feeling useless.

And she shocked herself when she came to the end.

It wasn’t finished, she reminded herself as she stared at her laptop screen. She had to go through it all, edit, fix, polish, obsess.

But somehow it was all there. Five hundred and thirty-six pages of her words, all there.

She had to stand up, walk around the room, so Bollocks’s head popped up from his nap on the bed. She had to open the garden door, breathe the cool air. And because he sensed her mood—glazed joy— instead of bulleting out, Bollocks reared up on his hind legs and danced around her.

“Yeah, we’ll dance.” She held out her hands so he put his forepaws in them. Joy beamed from his eyes into hers.

“I made you a demon dog in the book, I hope you don’t mind. You’re a good demon dog. An amazing demon dog, the best ever in the history of demon dogs.

“I don’t know what to do next. Yes, I do! We have to go tell Marco.”

Happy to oblige, Bollocks ran out with her to where Marco sat at the table working. She smelled red sauce and spicy meat. Spaghetti and meatballs, she realized.

Perfect. Everything was perfect.

“Hey, girl.” He kept tapping his keyboard. “I’m about done here, and if you can do that woo-woo thing to the stove, I was thinking we could go over and take a ride. Who knew I’d learn how to ride a horse, much less miss doing it? You gotta need a break from writing after two days of pretty much round-the-clock.”

“Marco.”

“Yeah, two seconds, just finishing up, and I talked with Abby in Publicity about setting up social media accounts for Bollocks—like, his accounts, get it? After the first of the year, get people invested in him, you know?”

“Marco,” she repeated.

“And done. Yeah, what?”

He looked up and over, saw her face. “Something’s up.” He got slowly to his feet. “I think it’s good, but I know there’s shit going on you’re not telling me about. Or can’t. And Brian can’t. So tell me if it’s good right off.”

“It’s good. It’s great. It’s ridiculous. I finished the book. The novel. The fantasy. Well, not finished-finished because—”

She ended on a laugh because he swooped her up and spun her around. Not to be outdone, Bollocks reared up again and added a few joyful howls.

“Mimosas! Now!”

“Mimosas?” She laughed again, clung to him. “It’s barely two in the afternoon.”

“You wrote a damn book—another damn book.” He eased back to give her a noisy kiss. “And we’re having mimosas.”

“I wrote a book. Two books. Well, one and a half, maybe a third, because I still have to edit and expand, or contract, polish it or—”

“Two books,” Marco said definitely. “Girl, I’m so proud of you.”

“You’re a big part of why. If I had to do all that?” She pointed to his laptop, his files. “Well, I wouldn’t. I’ll take the mimosa. I think I have to sit down. I think I have to cry a little.”

“You cry all you want.” He drew her in again. “I’m going to cry with you. My Breen.”

Bollocks let out a yip, and Morena came in. “What’s all this? Why is there crying?”

“Celebratory crying,” Marco told her. “Breen finished her book.”

“Oh, well now, that’s brilliant.” She met Breen’s anxious eyes. “And all’s well.”

“I just told Breen I know there’s stuff you can’t tell me. Bollocks and I can take a walk.”

“I’m sorry for that,” Morena told him. “But there’s no need. All’s as it was two days ago, as that’s how long it’s been since you’ve come. So I’ve come to you.”

“Good timing, because we’re having mimosas.”

Now she grinned at Marco. “I know that drink. It’s putting champagne in orange juice, and I’ll have one and lift it to our storyteller. Can I read it?”

“It’s not finished-finished. I have to—basically, I have to go through and make it better.”

“Then you will, and we’ll drink again when you do.” At home, Morena took off her cap and jacket. Then sniffed the air. “And what is that amazing smell?”

“Spaghetti and meatballs.” Marco moved to the kitchen to give the pot a stir before he went for the champagne. “You should come to dinner. Hell, I got enough for a small army. Bring Harken, and if Keegan gets back, it’s a party.”

“I wish I could, believe that, but it’s best Harken and I stay in Talamh for now.”

“Because of the stuff you can’t tell me.”

“Let me say this, as Breen would be more careful about it—”

“Morena.”

“I know what I’m about.” She walked into the kitchen as well to sniff at the sauce. “Oh gods, that’s a miracle in a pot. The taoiseach formed a council here in the valley, and Breen and I are on it, and we’re sworn not to speak of what’s what there unless given leave.”

“Okay.” With his bartender’s hands, Marco opened the champagne with a happy little pop. “You’ll tell me when I can help.”

“No question of it.”

“Something’s up with you, too.” Frowning, Breen studied Morena’s face. “I can feel it, but it’s not—it’s not what we can’t talk about.”

“Nothing about that, no, and I’ve been waiting for the pair of you to come over so I can tell you. And bloody talk to you, but you don’t.”

Marco paused in the act of shaking a bottle of orange juice. “Is it good or bad? I have to know these things.”

“Well, it’s good. It’s passing strange still, but good. I was ready, you see. It was the council meeting that had me realizing it.” She wandered back out of the kitchen, in again. “And he knew it, of course. He knows my moods better than I do half the time, which is annoying and, well, comforting, I suppose. So there you have it.”

“What?” Marco set down the bottle, threw up his hands as Breen smiled and started crying again. “Give me a freaking clue here.”

“We’re pledged, Harken and me. You’d say engaged on this side, though our way of it makes more sense, I’m thinking.”

Before Breen could move in to hug, Marco grabbed Morena off her feet. “Girl!” He swung her, as he had Breen—and started the dog up again. “A Christmas wedding? Man, I love Christmas weddings.”

“No, not winter,” she said as Breen wrapped her arms around both of them. “I want spring, and the light, and the blooms, and the promise. Ah, fuck me, I’ve lost my mind and I’ll be a farmer’s wife.”

“You’re perfect for each other. Just perfect,” Breen exclaimed. “And you’re right about spring, because that’s hope and promise, and it’s a sharp stick in Odran’s ugly eye.”

“I nearly went mad waiting to tell you. When I told Nan and Grandda, Grandda went straight to the farm, claiming he was going to grill Harken like a trout over keeping me happy. Which he didn’t, of course, as he loves Harken like his own. Nan cried, then flew into a flurry of talk about dresses and flowers and such, and now is in the mirror with my ma, or they’re sending falcons winging back and forth with plans. And I’ll leave all that to them, as they’ve earned it, and will be better at it than I could be.”

She took a breath. “Now I’m babbling, but I want to say if either of you, who’d be better as well, want to put your thoughts into it, you’re welcome to. And with tradition, when we wed, you have a friend or friends stand with you when you make your promise and join your lives. So you will, won’t you?” she said to Breen. “My oldest friend, and you, Marco, as Breen made you mine and me yours. You’ll both stand with me?”

“Of course we will.”

“I’m going to get these drinks before I start blubbering like a baby.” Marco swiped tears away. “And screw the orange juice.”

That evening, Breen took her laptop to her room. She could work while giving Marco and Brian—if and when he came—some privacy. And she could work on her second Bollocks book, something happy to help her hold on to all the good feelings of the day.

Maybe Keegan would come. She’d feel steadier if she saw him, if she heard directly from him. In her talks with Marg she understood they had doubts now the portal existed. Days of searching had given them no sign or sense of it.

Or a tree of snakes.

She didn’t know what that meant, only that the phrase had come so clearly, so definitely, it had to mean something.

Unless it didn’t.

She’d tried seeing in the fire, tried seeing in the globe, but nothing came.

Unrelenting rain in the east made the search more difficult, and no doubt slowed it. But Marg had told her the rain had moved out to sea that evening, and the next day promised clear.

She wondered if she should go to the Capital, if she could help. And wondered if waiting to be asked—or ordered—was weakness or strength.

Either way, she’d go to Talamh the next day, and practice in her grandmother’s workshop. She’d ask Morena or Harken to help her with her training.

And prepare herself for whatever came.

But now she’d write, and she’d wait.

She wrote until late, until the house fell silent and sleeping. Then she threw on a robe, pulled on boots to take Bollocks out for his last round of the night while the pixies fluttered their points of light in the dark.

With Bollocks settled in front of the fire, she settled herself into bed. She’d work on his book more in the morning, but go to Talamh earlier than usual. She’d take a ride with Marco—stop by Finola’s to talk wedding plans—and she’d call Lonrach to give them both the pleasure of a flight. She’d work on her training—both magickal and physical.

She would fill the day, but if nothing changed, she’d ask Harken to let her use Keegan’s mirror. He’d just have to find time to talk with her, and accept she needed to go to the Capital and help with the search.

“Tree of snakes,” she muttered as she turned off the light. Why would she know it if it meant nothing?

Maybe in the workshop, with her grandmother’s magicks all around, she’d find the answers.

Tomorrow, she thought, and drifted into sleep.

When the dream came, it came soft and lovely with a sky of heartbreaking blue. Through the field a stream burbled, and along its banks grew the violet paws of foxglove, the elegant trumpets of columbine, the starry flowers of wild thyme. Butterflies fluttered, birds sang as she walked with Keegan.

“It’s all so beautiful.”

“Peace.” He lifted her hand to his lips. “There’s nothing more beautiful. We’ll have it, and thousands times thousands of days like this.”

“I’m glad you came. I missed seeing you, talking to you. Did you find the portal?”

“We won’t talk of such things now. We have this. We have the quiet. We both like the quiet moments.”

“We do. I guess that’s something we have in common.” She smiled when he bent down and picked a buttercup to tuck behind her ear. “You don’t get many of them, the quiet moments.”

“I could have more if I abjured the staff, if I sent the sword back into the lake.”

“You wouldn’t. Couldn’t.”

“Would you have me fight every day of my life, suffer the weight of passing judgment on others?” He turned her toward him. “Or would you have me be with you? Go to your world with you and make it mine?”

“You can’t—”

He drew her in. “Can you tell me you don’t wish me to choose you over all else? As no one has before? Even your father, in the end, chose Talamh. Chose the sword, its power.”

“Duty, not power,” she began, but he laid his lips on hers. She felt dizzy from the kiss.

“He could have passed the duties to another and stayed with you.” Eyes on hers, he brought her hand to his lips, pressed them to her palm. “You weren’t enough for him.”

“That’s not true. Keegan—”

“I would choose you over Talamh.” He pressed his lips to her wrist, had her pulse pounding. To her throat, so the beat doubled. “Ask me.”

Weak with want, she nearly did. “I can’t.”

“If you love me, tell me. Tell me I must choose you.” His hands roamed over her; his lips grew hot and urgent. “We’ll have peace, and quiet moments. You will be all to me. Tell me! Demand it!”

“If I loved you, I couldn’t. If I loved you, it’s what and who you are I love. Stop. You’re hurting me now.”

“I hurt you?” He shoved her back, and the rage on his face had her heart flying to her throat. “What do you do to me with this weak mewling? Would you have me fight against a god for a meadow of flowers? Would you have me die by his hand? Do you wish this for me?”

He swept his hands down his body. Blood poured from his chest, down his arms, dripped from his fingers.

“No. Stop. Let me help.” She leaped to him, trying to find the wounds, to heal them.

“My blood is on your hands. Remember this, pathetic child of the Fey. You killed me.”

The dark dropped, and he was gone. She stood alone with his blood still warm and wet on her hands.

Alone, but not in the sun-drenched meadow. Now she stood in a forest so thick it felt as though the trees pressed in against her. A thousand heartbeats roared in her head. Terrified, raging, grieving.

Before her stood a tree, black as pitch, its branches gnarled and coiled. Its roots dug into the ground that held no life, as the tree had smothered its breath, its beat.

As she watched, as she understood she stood before the dark mirror image of the Welcoming Tree, those coiled branches began to move, to slither.

To hiss.

“No.” She pushed back at it with all she had. “You won’t come through.”

But she heard the screams, the clash and thunder of battle.

They had come.

So she ran, with no weapon but herself, toward the sounds of war. She tossed light ahead, gasping when she saw blood on the path. And the dead scattered among the trees.

She couldn’t save them, so she ran to save others.

But when she came through the forest, the castle burned. Flames ate their way over the bridges, and the river boiled beneath them.

Cróga, his emerald and gold scales smeared with blood and ash, lay dead on the scorched earth.

Screaming in grief, in horror, she dropped down beside him.

Odran walked toward her, the sword in one hand, the staff in the other.

And the power swirling around him, through him, spoke of death.

“Rider and dragon, dead. Hear the screams, iníon? Hear how they cry out, how they beg, how they curse the day you were born? Soon, the Fey will be no more, and the world is mine. Talamh has fallen because you did nothing.”

He laughed, his black robes billowing as he walked toward her. His gold hair flew around his face, and the gray of his eyes went to red-rimmed black. “Your blood is my blood. Your power is my power. Now come, and let me drink.”

She woke with a scream strangling in her throat, and Bollocks on the bed, nosing at her, whining.

She started to wrap her arms around him to comfort them both, but in the dim light, the dawn light, saw the blood on her hands.

“Oh God, my God.” Horrified, she shoved out of bed to race to the bathroom, scrub it away. She felt dizzy and ill, had to brace her hands on the bathroom counter to fight off the vicious churn of nausea.

“Not just a dream. A portent? Was it him or was it me?”

She looked up into the mirror at her face—sheet white, clammy with sweat.

Terrified.

“It doesn’t matter.”

She rushed back into the bedroom and to the globe. “Show me Talamh, as it is now, at this moment. Show me the Capital, and beyond.”

What she saw was dawn breaking, and the castle standing quiet and whole, its banner flying against the first hints of light.

She saw dragons in the air, and fields. Sheep and cows and horses, smoke curling from chimneys.

“That wasn’t now. If it hasn’t happened, there’s time to stop it.”

She grabbed clothes, dressing quickly—leggings, sweater, boots. She didn’t have a sword at the cottage, but reached for her wand, her athame. No weapon but herself, really, so she’d have to be enough.

She sprinted down the hall, rapped hard on Marco’s door three times, then just shoved it open.

“Breen, what the fuck!” When he shoved up in bed, alone, she saw she was too late to borrow Brian’s sword or take him with her.

“I have to go. I have to go right now, to the Capital.”

“What? Why? What?” He shook his head as if to clear it. “Jesus, coffee.”

“I don’t have time, I don’t know how much time there is. I need you to stay here. Don’t go to Talamh today. Don’t go until I get back.”

If she came back.

“Keep Bollocks. I have to go now.”

When she ran for the stairs, Bollocks ran ahead of her. “No, you have to stay with Marco. You stay!”

She grabbed a jacket on the way out, shoved her arms through. As she’d already called Lonrach, he waited for her outside. Even as she yanked the door open, Marco came flying down the stairs in nothing but his Baby Yoda boxers.

“What the actual fuck, Breen.”

“I don’t have time. I have to go. Stay here, promise me. I have to go or they’ll die. He’s coming.”

“You go, I go. Give me two minutes to get some clothes on.”

“Stay here.” When he grabbed her arm, she flicked him off with a little buzz of power.

“Don’t you pull that crap on me!”

He ran after her, but she mounted the dragon where Bollocks already sat.

“Get down! Stay with Marco.”

The dog just stared at her with eyes of stubborn steel.

“Damn it. I’m taking him. Stay here, Marco.”

The dragon rose up, soared over the trees. “The hell with that.” Marco slammed the door, stormed upstairs to dress.

She wasn’t sure she knew the way, but trusted Lonrach did. Beneath her, Talamh began to wake. Lamps glowed in cottages where mothers stirred the children to dress for breakfast and chores before school. Farmers herded cows for the morning milkings. Night guards settled down to sleep, and those like Brian manned their posts.

It would not end today, she promised herself. Odran would not come through. He wouldn’t win.

She wondered if she should have tried the portal in the Far West, but calculated by the time she explained herself, tried to open it, risked using it, she could be halfway to the Capital.

She knew the tree of snakes now, and where to find it in the forest. It seemed impossible they’d searched for days and hadn’t found it, but she’d take them to it.

With Keegan, Nan, Sedric, she thought, with all that power, they’d lock it down.

She didn’t want to think about the first part of the dream, or the longing she’d felt, the war between it and duty. Did she actually wish Keegan would give everything up and come with her? Did she have that much of her mother in her?

“No. No. No. That’s not me. It was just a way to help me see the rest. It was night in the forest. I saw the moons when I came out, so it was night. We have time to stop it.”

She flew toward the rising sun.

Since the bloody rain had finally stopped, Keegan decided to stay with the search for the first few hours of the morning before beginning the laborious travel to the other portals. To check on the guards, see they remained alert.

And maybe, with the gloom lifted, they’d find this shagging tree of snakes Breen had told Sedric to look for.

Following his thoughts, Tarryn shrugged. “Portents, as we know, are tricky matters. It may be a symbol of some sort, or literal and on the other side, or we’ve simply yet to find it.”

“We’ve covered nearly every inch.”

“But not every. If we don’t find success today, you should go to her tonight. And bring her with you tomorrow. She may be what we’re missing.”

He looked around. Trees, he thought, full of squirrels and birds. He could hear the drum of a woodpecker after its breakfast, and the rustle of a fox or rabbit after theirs.

“I’m thinking I’ll go now. If she is what we’re missing, we shouldn’t waste another day. I felt it best to leave her where she is. I’m not sure altogether why, but I felt it best. But now—”

He broke off, looked up. “A dragon and rider, coming fast. Cróga sees them, and wants me to … Bloody hell, I told her to stay.”

“Breen?”

“Aye, and I told her to stay in the valley, or the cottage.”

“You were about to go get her, so this saves you time.”

“I told her to stay,” he repeated as the shadow of the dragon covered them. With the trees too thick to allow him to land, he glided on.

“I’ll get her.”

“Don’t send her back again because you’re pissed off,” his mother called after him.

Knowing he’d been tempted to do just that, he kept going.

The dog reached him first, but Breen—fleet of foot indeed—came close behind.

“I had to come.” Though she knew better, seeing him whole, alive, unharmed had her throwing her arms around him in relief. “You were dead, in the dream. You were dead, and your blood all over my hands.”

“For the love of the gods, woman, you don’t fly across the world because of a hard dream, and when I told you to stay behind.”

“It wasn’t just a hard dream.” She jerked back. “There was blood on my hands when I woke up, and that wasn’t the worst part of it. He got through. I was too late, we were too late, and he got through. And … do you remember the vision before, the dream I pulled you into when you tried to pull me out?”

“Aye.”

“Like that. The castle burning, death everywhere. And Odran, holding your sword, your staff.”

“My sword’s at my side.” But he brushed a hand over her hair. “My staff’s where I left it.”

“For now. He’ll come through if we don’t stop him. If I don’t do anything. He said this world was his because I did nothing. There was blood on my hands, Keegan.”

“All right.” He kissed her absently on the brow as he thought it through. “All right now. I was coming to bring you anyway.”

“You found it?”

“No, and there’s the problem.”

“It’s not, because I know where it is. I saw it. I saw the tree in the dream, and I know where it is.”

“Show me.”

“It’s not far.”

“We’ve covered all the not far.”

“I can’t help it.” She grabbed his hand, started down the path she’d seen soaked with blood.

Keegan gave a whistle, and seconds later an elf raced up. “Fetch all the others and find us.”

Dread filled her, threatened to block out everything else. “I ran this path after the tree started to move.”

“Move?”

“Snakes, forming its branches, its trunk. I ran because I heard the screaming, and the battle. That way.” She veered left. “We—you and I—were in the sunlight first. A field, flowers, so beautiful. But you said things you wouldn’t have said, wanted me to say things I wouldn’t. Then you were covered in blood.”

“What things?”

“Later. It’s this way.”

His mother came first, guided by another elf who whisked off again. Tarryn said nothing as Breen continued on.

When the path narrowed to a gutted track and forked, Breen pointed.

“There.”

“I see a tree right enough, and a good-sized one, but nothing resembling snakes. And we’ve covered this ground.”

“There,” she said again. “It hides and waits and holds its breath. No bird will nest in it, no creature burrow. Its leaves are false when summer comes, another mask, for nothing grows on it or from it. It eats light and life when it can, in secret, as it guards the door to hell.”

She let out a breath. “It didn’t look like this in the dream, but it’s an illusion. Dark magicks are cloaking it, and blocking the light from seeing or sensing. But I can feel.”

She started to hold out a hand, but Tarryn stopped her. “Wait for the others. If it’s this strong, we’ll want the others.”

“He made this, conjured this, created this, so he could come and go as he pleased, take what he wanted. But it took more, powers dimming, and more, powers draining. So he needed a child. He made them, but they weren’t enough. Until my father.”

She turned to Keegan. “I know it. I don’t know how, but I know it. And I know he hasn’t been able to open it again. Not since he killed my father. It takes so much, more and more, so he’s tried other ways.”

An elf raced back, a silver cat on her shoulders. The cat leaped off, and Sedric stood studying the tree. “This?” At Breen’s nod, he rubbed her shoulder. “I don’t feel it. I’m sorry. Let me move closer.”

“Not yet,” Tarryn said. “And I think it must be Breen to break the illusion.”

Marg came in the arms of a faerie, then Loren, then the others who’d spread out through the forest.

“I think the portal’s in it—or it is the portal. Like the Welcoming Tree, but its antithesis.”

“Aye,” Keegan agreed. “I think you’ve the right of that. Illusion or no, we seal it. Destroying it, while satisfying, may rip it open, so we seal it.”

“Without seeing or feeling, how will we know?” Marg asked.

“We cast the circle and begin. We close it off from Talamh.”

Beside Breen, Bollocks growled low, and she felt herself drift.

“Don’t you see it?” She saw it go black, saw the branches coil and begin to slither. “It’s swallowing the light.”

She threw up a hand and, as she swayed, as Keegan caught her, she stood on the other side with the black castle looming.

“So valiant.” Odran laughed. “The key, they say, but not just for them. Your father’s blood closed it. And yours opens it. Blood on your hands.”

He swiped the blade of a knife over her outstretched palm.

She held it up as Keegan steadied her, showed him the blood.

“He’s coming.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

The tree bled. Black streams of blood sizzled down its trunk and carved through to smoke. As the smoke, fetid with sulfur, eked out, Keegan raised his sword.

He turned to the elf beside him. “Go.”

She blurred away while, dazed, Breen stared at her bloody hand.

Marg gripped it, and that sudden fresh shock of pain brought Breen back. “Fight. He won’t take you, he won’t have you, but you have to fight.”

Dark drove out behind the smoke. As the cracks lengthened, claws gripped the edges, pulling them wider. A head pushed through, black eyes rolling, long teeth snapping. Keegan severed it, but more cracks opened, breaking the rough bark like a shattered mirror.

The dark pouring out sucked at the light.

With a long sword, Sedric impaled a demon dog as it leaped through, and even as its body writhed on the ground, more came. On a feral snarl Bollocks charged. Breen saw him latch on to the throat of a demon before they rolled away, lost in the smoke.

She threw out power, more from instinct than purpose as the light died to dusk, and they came and came.

So many, too many, crawling, clawing, leaping through the widening portal.

As she stood frozen, Phelin shoved her away from the diamond-point antlers of a black stag. “Defend,” he told her as he destroyed it. “Yourself and all.”

He took wing, shooting up to send a dark faerie plummeting to the ground. When it landed at her feet, Breen stumbled back. Bleeding, one wing gone, it gained its feet to come at her.

Marg drenched it in flames.

“Fight!” she snapped, then turned to slash her short sword at an oncoming elf.

But she could barely see Keegan, splashed with blood, battling with sword and magicks as more flooded through the portal, and his mother, fighting back-to-back with him.

Then Bollocks ran to her through the smoke, his muzzle bloodied, his eyes fierce and feral.

And he felt, she felt.

Fight. Defend. Destroy.

When he leaped at the demon charging her, putting himself between her and the sword, rage replaced fear.

Breen enflamed the sword and the demon with it.

As the smoke thickened, it seemed she fought alone, furious and desperate, enraged and terrified. Surrounded by enemies, by shrieks and screams, all but smothered by the stench of smoke and death, she hurled everything she had.

Fight. Defend. Destroy.

She turned a scrabbling gargoyle to dust with her wand, slapped burning power at a demon with wings like a bat so it screamed and burned.

It was nothing like watching a battle in the fire, nothing like fighting wraiths on the training field. She was no observer here, and the consequences would be more than bumps and bruises.

She fought for survival, for the world of her birth and all beyond it. She fought, even knowing they were too vastly outnumbered to win.

Then in a rush, others came to fight with her. Led by the swift elves, followed by faeries and riders, more Wise spinning light through the smoke, they charged into the forest.

Through the terrible noise of war, she heard Keegan’s shouted orders.

Arrows whizzed by her, and though two of the enemy drove her back, attacking with power, with fang, her training held. A vicious swipe of called wind shot them both away from her. When she stumbled over a body, she blocked out the horror and took the sword from the dead hand.

Beside her, a tree exploded, a flaming red bomb that sent shrapnel flying. A limb, sharp as a spear, impaled the wizard who’d ignited it, and impaled him, writhing, to the ground.

Bollocks streaked up to her, snagged a gargoyle in his teeth, and shook it like a rag doll. He heaved it aside, took on another as she cleaved the third in two with the sword.

Through the haze, Loren fought his way to her. Soot smeared his hair, his face, and blood—from his own wounds and from others— stained his doublet.

“We’re to fall back,” he shouted. “I’ll get you safely away.”

“I have to fight.” Fight, defend, destroy sounded like a drumbeat in her head.

“And you’ll fight. But some have broken through the line to the east and the castle. Keegan wants … Shana, don’t!”

He shoved Breen back as Shana broke out of a tree and struck out with a knife. Its jeweled hilt glinted in the dim light as she drove it into Loren.

And laughed. “Oops, missed! You got in my way.”

He said only, “Shana.”

As he fell, as his sword clattered to the ground, he took Breen down with him. The hard fall cost Breen an instant, only an instant. But when she gathered herself to lash out, Shana blurred away.

Breen shoved up to her knees, pressed a hand on the wound and the blood spreading over Loren’s chest.

“I can help.”

But he gripped her wrist. “Poisoned, dark magicks. Too late.” A bloody froth foamed between his lips, and all she read in his eyes was sorrow. “I loved her, but I couldn’t save her.”

He died on the edge of the forest where the dark and the light clashed.

She wanted to weep, just weep and weep, but she made herself get up and push through to the light.

The castle didn’t burn, nor did the bridges, but the battle raged here, too. She lifted the sword, drew her power up. Whatever it took, she’d give.

Then whirled back when she felt the change in the air.

Yseult stood, her two-headed snakes coiled around her waist like a belt. Instinctively, Breen flung out light. Yseult met it with dark, so the opposing powers slapped, shot sparks, then merged into smoke.

Fog, silent, stealthy, crawled over the ground toward Breen. Heart pounding—but not with fear, no, not with fear this time—Breen burned it away.

“You used that trick before. It won’t work anymore.”

“Learned a few things, have you now?” Tossing her hair, Yseult began to circle. “And you think it’s enough? That you’re enough? You were created by Odran for Odran. That is your destiny.”

“No.” Eyes on Yseult, Breen reached deep for power. The sounds of the battle smothered into silence, and they stood alone. That, she knew, was Yseult’s illusion. “My destiny is to stop him. But I’ll start with you.”

“Such confidence! Such spirit.” Yseult flicked out. Breen felt the sting, like the bite of an angry wasp, on her cheek, but continued to reach. And wait.

“Why don’t you show me what you think you have? You’ve never been enough, and won’t be no matter what they tell you in their pitiful attempts to use you.”

Once again, Breen burned away the fog. “Then why do you keep trying to drug me?”

“Only to make it less painful for you, my sweet. I promised Marg I would lessen your pain right before I killed her. It’s all she asked of me.”

Her world wobbled. “You’re lying.”

“She fought bravely, but in her worry for you, not well. Nor did the one she took after Odran to share her cold and righteous bed.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Sure and you do. A cat’s a sly thing, and it’s said has nine lives. Well, this one used his last today. Gone now, they are, and the dogs feast on what’s left of your taoiseach. All dead and dying because of you. Take my hand now, and come with me, and Odran may spare the rest.”

It emptied her as the fog crawled closer, as Yseult held out a hand, as the snakes at her waist showed their fangs and hissed.

And it filled her, not with the cold, calculating power she’d sought, but volcanic rage.

“Go back to hell, and tell Odran I’ll send him after you.”

Not fire, not this time. Her fury burned too hot for mere flames. It shot out in bolts and daggers of hot, searing light. The fog folded in on itself and, scorching the ground, advanced toward Yseult, as did Breen.

Screaming in shock, in pain, Yseult called the wind to deflect the barbs, but they tore through and ripped into her flesh.

“I’ll end you,” Breen vowed. “I owe you a painful, terrible end.”

Eyes wild, bleeding from dozens of tiny wounds, Yseult swirled fog around her.

When Breen shredded it, she was gone.

“I will end you,” she said again, and, riding on rage, ran out of the forest to fight.

Two faeries charged her. She took the female first, as she looked stronger, and fisting her hand, Breen crushed her wings like paper. It gave the male just enough time to grab her arm, prepare for flight, before she turned the sword and jabbed backward, and into him.

But more came, and more, and even in her rage and fury she knew she wouldn’t be enough.

Roars sounded from above. Dragons and riders streaked across the sky from the west, and faeries flew in like a storm cloud behind them. Wings spread, Morena leaped off from behind Harken and, sword slashing, landed beside Breen.

“Alone?” She snarled it as she impaled an elf.

“There wasn’t time. Oh my God, Marco!”

She saw him riding with Brian as the dragon spewed a line of fire over the enemy.

“We have to drive them back!” Morena shouted. “Back through the portal.”

The battle raged in the air as it did on the ground. Wings burned, and the wounded and dead dropped like stones from the sky.

“I don’t know where it is. You have to lead the way. Harken can deal with this. He’ll drive them back,” Morena said, “and so will we.”

So they fought their way back, through the smoke and the stench, over the bodies and the blood. Breen sensed Bollocks—always close. And alive. She called Lonrach so he’d join the other dragons, and with Morena and fresh warriors, drove the enemy back.

Some ran back through or dived or flew, others crawled, howling from wounds. From the other side where the dark pulsed, she heard screams, but she ignored them.

Marg stood, alive, whole, with Tarryn, hands clasped as they worked to spread light, to close the portal, to seal the cracks.

Once again she wanted to weep, just weep, but she ran to them, gripped Marg’s hand, and joined power.

And that merged power flexed its muscles. Fighting still whirled around them as more and more of the enemy broke ranks to rush back through, but the three women stood focused and unwavering.

Bollocks charged, dragging a wounded dog back and finishing him, and Breen pulled up light, spread it.

It burned, like dragon breath, so some went to flame in the retreat. Where the dark had swallowed the light, now light pulsed, a thousand hearts to close off the dark.

She heard Sedric call out. “We’ve broken them. You, you, you, guard the three. The rest, go after the stragglers.”

Alive, she thought. Alive. Yseult was made of lies.

She wouldn’t think of Keegan yet, couldn’t.

She still needed the rage—cold now, deliberate now—to find more, to find enough to close the portal and the dark beyond it.

All we are, she thought, all we have. And gave a last hard push.

The portal snapped shut, cutting the demon who tried to climb through in two.

“Closed,” Tarryn said. “It must be sealed.”

“My father’s blood closed it, Odran said, and mine opened it. But … he had to pull some part of me to the other side to use it.”

She looked down at her palm. She’d healed it so she could use the sword. “Can I seal it from this side?” She looked to Marg.

“Aye. In the light, and given freely.”

Breen held out her hands. “You should do it. My blood and my power come down from you.”

“Mo stór.” Marg took Breen’s hands, kissed them. Then, taking the athame from her belt, scored both palms. Then both of her own.

“From mine to his, from his to yours.” She pressed her palms to Breen’s. “A gift clean and bright.”

Breen took it, stepped to the tree, pressed her palms against it. “The light given me outshines the dark. Upon this door I place my mark. What my blood opened it closes tight, it seals with light. Through the power given me, as I will, so mote it be.”

She felt it pass through her, and felt with her hands on the portal, with her blood seeping into it, the black rage on the other side.

“Beat your fists,” she muttered. “Do your worst. You won’t use me again.”

Then it drained, it all drained, and she turned to throw her arms around Marg. “She told me she’d killed you. Yseult. You and Sedric and Keegan. I thought you were all dead.”

“Oh, no, no, my sweet girl. She lied to hurt you, to weaken you.”

“She hurt me, but made me stronger.” She held tight. Tighter. “I hurt her, Nan. But I didn’t kill her. I swore I’d end her, and I will. I heard Sedric after, so I know he’s alive. Keegan?”

She looked over Marg’s shoulder to Tarryn.

“He called Cróga only moments before you arrived to join the other dragons and riders. To join his brother. They’ll hunt down any who lived and remain in Talamh. So.”

She took Breen’s hands, gently healed the cuts. “While they do their work, we’ll finish ours.” Then she drew Breen in, held her. “Your father is proud of you today.”

“You loved him,” Breen stated. “I feel it.”

“I did. Now.” She drew back. “We cast the circle, we salt the earth, and this evil thing will never hide what it is again.”

It left her shaken. She trembled inside, as she’d learned what she would do, could do. Take lives, and more, with a terrible fury. She trembled inside, knowing she’d do it again when she had to.

So when she came out of the forest with Bollocks at last, started to cross the ground still blood-soaked and scorched, and saw Marco standing beside the dragon with Brian, the weeping she’d held off burst free.

He rushed to her, folded her in, rocked, swayed, and just said her name over and over.

“You were supposed to stay at the cottage.” She pressed her face against his shoulder. “I told you to stay at the cottage.”

“Hey, you’re not the boss of me. Well, you sort of are, but not about everything. Not about taking care of my best girl.”

“You rode on a dragon.”

“Yeah, and that’s not something I want to do again anytime soon.”

“Ah now, you’ll learn to love it.” Brian clapped Marco on the shoulder as he kissed the top of Breen’s head. “He wouldn’t stay behind, and if I’d left him there, how could he ever forgive me? And how could I ask him to?”

“You came.” She turned her head on Marco’s shoulder to meet Brian’s eyes. “You and all the others from the valley.”

“Marco went straight to Harken, and between him and Morena, they gathered enough of us, left enough behind to keep the valley secured if needed. Now we think we’ve dealt with all the stragglers, but I’m to do another pass.”

“Good luck with that,” Marco told him, and shifted Breen to draw Brian in for a kiss. “I’m staying down here on solid ground.”

“You’ll learn to love it,” Brian said again, and mounted. Then flew.

“I love you, Marco, and enough I’d put you in a happy trance so we could fly home, but as much as I want to be there, I don’t think I can leave yet. I need to talk to Keegan. Need to see him. And I want the longest, hottest shower in the history of long, hot showers. Maybe a gallon of wine just to dull the images in my head right now. I killed, Marco. I know they were evil, and it’s war, but I killed.”

“So did I.” Emotion that mirrored hers swam into his eyes. “Three Sidhe. One was a girl. I mean female. I never thought I could, but I did. I’m not sorry, but I feel a little sick inside.”

“Let’s go sit down somewhere and just breathe. And let Bollocks swim. He—he killed, too. The sweetest dog in the world—in any world—killed to protect me and others. And—and they hurt him.” Tears welled up again. “He had cuts and gouges.”

“Oh man.” Marco crouched to stroke his hands over Bollocks. “Is he okay? I don’t see anything.”

“I fixed it, and I took him to a stream so he could wash off the blood. I couldn’t stand seeing the blood on him. And you, you weren’t hurt?”

“Not a scratch. Were you?”

“Nothing much. Let’s just sit down somewhere quiet for a minute.”

“Breen.” He took her shoulders. “I need to tell you about Morena.”

“Oh God, no, is she hurt?”

“It’s not her. It’s her brother. Phelin. It’s Phelin.”

“He’s hurt? Where is he? I could help.”

“No, baby, you can’t help.”

She stared, then it struck, then it sank in. “No, no, no. I saw him fighting. I saw him right at the beginning.”

She’d sent frogs after him once, long ago. She’d danced with him at the Welcome. She’d met his wife. He’d talked about becoming a father.

“Where is she? Where’s Morena?”

“She went to tell her parents, her family.” Marco brushed tears from her cheeks, and from his own. “She’s going to need you, but she’s with her family. Harken, he had to tell her. He took out the one who killed Phelin, but he had to tell her.”

“All this, so many dead, over me.”

“Breen.”

“I don’t mean it’s my fault. I know better, especially now. But Odran used me, Marco. He used me, and Morena lost her brother. There’ll be other Leavings. There’ll be children whose mother or father doesn’t come home again. I’m not going to feel sick inside anymore about what I did today.”

She turned to him. “If I begged you to go home, back to Philadelphia, you wouldn’t.”

“Not a chance.”

“I’m afraid for you, Marco.”

“That’s mutual, me for you, so we stick together.” Eyes on hers, he gripped her hand, linked their fingers. “Like always.”

She took a breath. “It would’ve been worse, more would have died, if you’d listened to me this morning. So, okay, I’m going to try to stop. It won’t be easy, but I’m going to try. We stick together.”

“Except for now. Keegan.” He pointed out. “Looks like he’s coming down, and you guys need to talk. I’m going to go see if I’ve still got a room in the castle.”

He gave her a hard kiss, then left her.

Cróga glided down. When Keegan dismounted, she wondered if she looked anything like him. Blood on her face, her clothes. Were her eyes that exhausted?

They stood a moment, a dozen feet apart while the sea breeze blew away most of the battle stink. She wasn’t sure what to say to him, how to begin, but when he started toward her, she met him halfway.

“Are you hurt?” he asked her.

She shook her head. “Are you?”

“Nothing. No.”

But she knew, felt, some of the blood he wore was his own.

“I didn’t protect you. They separated us, and I couldn’t protect you.”

“You trained me to fight. With a sword, with my fists, with my power. And I did. It’s not like the training field. You tried to teach me that, too, but I didn’t know.” Her throat clogged; her eyes welled. “I didn’t know. Now I do.”

“Don’t cry, I beg you. Your tears would break me.”

“I came to help—the dream, the portal. But he wanted me to come. He needed me to, to use me to open it. And I didn’t see that.”

“How could you? None of us did. His tactics, his strategy, all very well planned out for this. To make us believe he’d use the falls for his way in, while he worked here. But we turned that on him, and had troops massed here.”

He looked away, back toward the woods. “Not enough, not for the ambush, not without Harken bringing more. We’d seal it, I thought, find it, seal it, and wouldn’t that fuck his fucking plans.”

“And I opened it.”

“The fault’s not yours.”

“No, it’s not, and not yours. It’s his. Phelin died.” The tears wanted to come again. “Morena—”

“I know it.” Closing his eyes a moment, he scrubbed his hands over his face. “He was a friend, a friend since childhood. I don’t know all we lost as yet.”

But he would, Breen thought. He’d know all the names, speak to all the families, and lead another Leaving.

“Loren.” At his nod, she continued. “You don’t know how. I was there. It was Shana.”

“Ah, gods.”

“You need to know. He stepped between her and me. I think, I believe, to try to save both of us. And he took the knife she intended for me. He said it was poisoned, and I couldn’t heal him. Keegan, it happened so fast, and I couldn’t … She laughed, and there was something different about her. In her.”

“She’s Odran’s now. But he couldn’t have wanted you dead, so the knife and the poison, that was hers.”

“I killed today.” She said it flatly, and drew his gaze back to hers. “I’ll never be exactly the same because of that.”

“I’m sorry for it.”

“Don’t be. I know who I am now. I fought for Talamh today, and for you, for myself, my father. When Yseult told me—”

“Yseult?” He touched her for the first time, gripping a hand on her arm.

“Didn’t your mother tell you?”

“There wasn’t time for talk. I know she’s well, and she with you and Marg closed and sealed the portal. But I … I had to see you for myself, so there wasn’t time for talk.”

“She found me—or lured me away enough, I don’t know. She tried the fog trick again.” Breen’s eyes hardened. “It didn’t work. She told me I’d caused all this. I didn’t,” she said when Keegan started to speak. “And she told me Nan and Sedric were dead. That you were dead. I said I didn’t believe her, but part of me did. I believed her, and I hurt her. I should’ve killed her quickly, but I didn’t want quick. I wanted her pain. She used the fog to get away because I didn’t want quick.”

“Wait.” He cupped her face now to keep her gaze on his. “She had you alone, and she ran from you?”

“Screaming. Shrieking, really. And bleeding. A thousand barbs, that’s what came into my head. Or not my head, I don’t know where it came from.”

“She’s as powerful as any I’ve known, and surely more since she chose Odran. And she ran from you. I took you to your dragon because you’d become. But it’s today, in full, in truth, you’ve become.”

“I’ll kill her before it’s done.”

With a sigh, he lowered his forehead to hers. “I find I don’t want this for you. I know it must be, but I find I wish it wasn’t.”

“I was born for this.”

“And so much more, mo bandia.”

“He’ll find another way. Odran. He’ll find another way through, sooner or later.”

“Aye, until he’s destroyed, he’ll keep finding a way. But ask yourself this. Why didn’t he come through this day? So many of his demons and warriors came through. Even Shana. He sent Yseult through, and with one purpose I see. To bring you back to him. He didn’t come through and take you or try. Why?”

“I hadn’t thought of it.” So much blurred, she thought, with so many moments of clear-cut clarity. But she hadn’t thought of that.

“You’ve a brain in there.” He tapped a fist lightly to her head. “And a fine one at that. So think of it. We were taken by surprise, and outnumbered. Even with the warriors waiting for a signal, we were at a disadvantage until Harken brought the valley warriors. Shana found you. Yseult found you. Why didn’t he?”

“He can’t come through?” Her eyes narrowed as she turned the question into a statement. “He can’t come through, not yet. He doesn’t have enough power to come through again.”

“The gods banished him to that world, and it took centuries for him to build enough power, to drink enough to pass through to Talamh. And what did he do?”

“Made a child—my father. To drain the power from his son because he didn’t have enough to take the world, to take Talamh. Nan stopped him, and it took him years more to come for me. He sends others through to steal children, young Fey, for sacrifices, for more power. But it’s not enough.”

“And won’t be, I’m thinking. He’s a god in that world, but in this? There are weaknesses and risk.”

“He’s a coward.” When it struck her, she gripped Keegan’s bloody shirt. “He’s a goddamn coward. Stealing and killing children, lording it over a bunch of ugly, asshole demons and—and wingnuts.”

“Wingnuts? Faeries?”

“No, I mean extremists. People who choose to belong to some insane, twisted cult because somehow it makes them feel good, feel superior.”

She gave him a little shake, paced away, paced back while Bollocks stayed stretched out on the ground and watched her with adoring eyes.

“I’ve been a coward, so I know beating one isn’t just possible. It’s probable. If he thinks he won something today, he’s wrong. He’s just one more step closer to losing.”

“I didn’t think I’d smile today,” Keegan told her. “But here you are.”

She stopped in front of him. “I need more training.”

“You do, aye. And you’ll get it. Sure I think I won’t find it so easy to knock you down so often as before.”

“I killed today.”

“Ah, Breen.”

“I killed wicked, evil things today, and I’m fine with that. This?” She held up her arm, turned her wrist to show him her tattoo. “Misneach. Courage. That’s not just a wish anymore. It hasn’t been just a wish for months now. So you’ll train me to kill wicked, evil things, and you and Nan will help me learn how to use magicks as a weapon against them.”

“I think Yseult would say you’ve learned that well already.”

“I wanted to hurt her as much as kill her, and that was a mistake. I took a sword from a body and used it. You wouldn’t have liked my form, but I used it. You’ll teach me to use it better.”

Giving in to what he’d wanted since he’d seen her standing in the field, he brought her wrist to his lips. “That may be beyond my skills.”

“Maybe I’ll surprise you.”

“You do, every day. If I kiss you here and now, I may never stop.”

“I’m all right with that.”

He drew her in, brushing a hand over her hair, hair full of hell-smoke but still bright as a flame. He touched his lips to hers gently, once, twice. Then yielded to need, to her, and poured everything, the relief, the longing, the hope, into the kiss.

She locked around him in the light, and answered everything.

“Can we stay here like this?” She pressed her face to his shoulder. “Just for a minute. I want, so much, to go home. The valley, the cottage, so if we could stay like this for a minute. I have to stay for Morena, her family. For the Leaving. I need to be here for Finola and Seamus when they come. I need to help you do all the sad, hard things you have to do.”

Murmuring, murmuring in Talamhish, he buried his face in her hair.

“And I need to learn the language so I know what you mutter at me, or shout at me.”

“I wish you wouldn’t as yet. If you’d come with me to Phelin’s family, you’d be a comfort to them. And to all who’d see you at the Leaving, you’d be strength and comfort, and hope.”

Nodding, she eased back. “I’m going to need a room.”

He kissed her again, lightly. “Share mine.”

He took her hand, so they walked toward the castle where dragons circled. They walked back to do all the hard and sad things.

And Bollocks trotted beside them.

EPILOGUE

On the other side of the portal, where a storm raged because he willed it, Odran stood over Yseult.

She suffered, lying in the soft bed he’d gifted her. He could end that suffering—kill her or cure her—but he found her misery a small pleasure on a day of disappointments.

“You failed me, yet again.”

Her eyes, glassy with pain, looked up at him. She wouldn’t beg, and he respected her for it. And still, a day of disappointments.

“You bleed, soiling the bed. Why do you not heal yourself?”

“Some of the barbs are too deep. The pain is great, and dulls my powers.”

Lightning struck outside. Something screamed.

“I could end your pain, and use your witch’s blood to enhance my own.”

“If that is your will, my king, my liege, my all.”

“Can I have her jewelry?” Shana held up one of Yseult’s pendants, posed with it in a mirror. “She won’t need it if she’s dead.” Beaming, she swirled around. “I killed a witch today, one who loved me. A powerful alchemist. It’s more than she did.”

Odran barely spared Shana a glance. “She opened the portal, you merely went through. Leave us now.”

“To your chambers or mine?”

“Mine.”

Shana sent Yseult a sparkling look before she glided out.

“I fear, my king, she is more than half mad.”

“And fertile. Already she carries a child for me, so she has her uses. I wonder about yours.” He walked to the window to watch the storm. “All the time, the blood, the work to open the portal, only to fail to bring her through, to have them close it again.”

“There are other ways through.”

“And so the mad elf has her uses.” He turned back. “But do you? Do you, scarred and bloody, weak and writhing? Defeated by one with only months to learn her magicks.”

“She has your blood, Odran, and this is her strength, this is my weakness against her. My life is yours to do with as you wish. If you take it, I pray I may serve you in death. If you spare it, I will use every moment you give me to open the way, to bring her to you.”

“I believe you. I know you speak the truth. Still, I dislike failure.”

He walked back to her bed, laid a finger on one of the wounds in her arm. The white-hot pain had Yseult’s eyes rolling back, her body arching in a rigid bridge of pain.

When he removed it, she fell limply, shuddering.

“You’ll suffer.” He leaned down until his face loomed just above hers. She saw the red rimming his irises, and wished only death came quickly.

But she didn’t beg.

Smiling, he straightened. “But you’ll live. For now. Ply your magicks, witch, and serve me well. Or the pain you feel now will be as nothing.”

When he left her, the storm snapped off. In the sudden silence, Yseult closed her eyes. The cold, as he’d refused her a fire, had her shivering even as the burn from the wounds scorched her blood.

She would suffer, and accepted it. She’d failed him, and failure paid a price.

But she would heal. She would heal, regain her strength, and amass more power.

And with that power, she would open the next door for her king, her liege, her all. She swore it on all that was unholy.

When she had, she’d drag the bitch-goddess back to Odran and toss her screaming at his feet.

And when he’d drained her, when her god Odran took all he needed and left the mongrel child of the Fey little more than a mindless husk, she would pay for every moment of this pain.

She would pay for eternity.