Island of Glass

  should’ve told somebody what we were doing, where we were going. Sawyer wanted to get the makings of an engagement ring for Anni, and—”

  “I figured that out on my own, though I figured you’d gone for a ring altogether. Doesn’t excuse it.”

  “Message received, loud and clear. It was a slap to the whole unity thing, and thoughtless. Even with that, all of this . . . old habits. I’m sorry. Best I can do is I’m sorry.”

  Because she still felt just a little fragile, she got out of bed, pulled on his torn shirt. “I’m going to— Wait. You said you figured out why we went. Has Anni?”

  “She might have, as she’s no idiot, but I steered her in another direction. I suggested the two of you’d gone so he could find her a new dress, maybe some earrings. A present.”

  “Good thinking.”

  “It mollified her, as did the half a torturous hour she spent in the little shop that sells various trinkets.”

  “I’d say I owe you for that, but considering recent activities, I claim paid in full. I’m going to grab a shower, then head down to finish the amends by helping with something domestic.”

  When he made no move to join her, she went into the bathroom, closed the door.

  Closed her eyes.

  He’d shaken everything inside her, she realized. Shaken it, tossed it in the air so it fell back in an order she didn’t understand.

  She’d figure it out, she assured herself. Whatever the puzzle, the problem, the code, she figured it out eventually.

  She took off the shirt, realized it smelled of both of them, a mix of them. A blend.

  And folding it onto the counter, she felt ridiculous because she knew she had no intention of tossing it away.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  After days of quiet, the routine of training and diving, Doyle calculated it was time, past time, to mix things up. He tracked Bran down in the tower, stood a moment watching as his friend wrote in the thick spell book.

  It wasn’t all whirlwinds and calling the lightning, he thought. Some of magick was—well—toil and trouble, and more was, apparently, as pedestrian as pen and paper.

  Bran set the pen down, studied what he’d written. Then he laid his hand on the page. Light flashed, held. Dissolved.

  And a great deal, Doyle considered, was sheer and stunning power.

  “Got a minute?” he asked when Bran glanced over.

  “I do now. Things must be written down and the magicks sealed. For ourselves, and for those who come after.”

  Curious, Doyle walked over to see what Bran had written.

  “In the old tongue.”

  “The language of my blood—and yours. Of the old gods, of the old powers.”

  “A kind of locator spell,” Doyle said, translating. “Using the coat of arms as . . . a homing device.”

  “More or less. Let’s have some tea.” He rose, leaving the book open, and walked over to plug in an electric kettle.

  “You don’t need electricity and teapots.”

  “Well now, the gods help those who help themselves, we could say. No point in being lazy about basic practicalities.”

  “Others would.”

  “And have. It’s not how I was taught. The spell,” Bran said, winding back to it as he measured tea leaves. “I thought of what happened to Riley, and again what she and Sawyer did. So this will find any of us who might become separated. I’ve given it some work since Annika and Sawyer were taken in Capri, but other matters bumped ahead of it until now.”

  “Because we’ve had a little more time on our hands in the last few days.”

  “For as long as it lasts. Impatient?”

  “Brother, I may have all the time in the world, but if this is the time—and we all believe it is—we shouldn’t waste it.”

  “I’ll agree, though I’ll tell you it’s been pleasant having Sasha settle in here, have that time to paint without being plagued day and night with visions.”

  He made the tea, offered Doyle a mug. Setting his own aside, he locked the spell book. “Let’s sit so you can tell me what you have in mind.”

  “Sawyer’s huddled up with Sasha in the other tower.”

  “Working on the design for the ring, yes.” Bran smiled and sat back. And reading the smile, Doyle shrugged.

  “I respect the women without qualifications. I’m more used to talking war with men.”

  “There are none of us, put together, who has the experience in battle you do.”

  Though he’d have said the same once, Doyle shook his head. “That doesn’t fly, not now. But putting that and gender equality aside—”

  “Sometimes a man must talk to a man. And a woman to her own.”

  “It’s no great change. The exploration of underwater caves has given us nothing but locations to cross off.”

  “Agreed. We found the same in Corfu and Capri.”

  “It feels different here.” Restless, Doyle glanced toward the window. “I don’t know if it’s my own feelings about being here, or if it is different.”

  “Would you go back?” Bran asked. “It’s something I’ve wondered. Would you, knowing you couldn’t save your brother then, do differently if you could go back to that day?”

  “Not try? Sure I’d have a normal life span, but what measure of life would it be, knowing I’d done nothing for him, and all for myself? I’ve had more than enough time to resolve I did all I could. I failed, and that will never leave me, but I did all I could do, and would do it again.”

  Doyle studied his tea, dark and strong. “You wonder why I haven’t asked Sawyer to take me back so I could kill the witch before she harmed him—or try. Sawyer would, as there’s little he wouldn’t do for a friend. I’ll ask you, wizard, could I change the fates?”

  “I don’t know, but I know this. You might save one brother and lose another. Or start a war that takes the lives of thousands. The past, to my mind, isn’t to be meddled with. The gods themselves let it lie.”

  “Change a moment, change an eon.” Doyle stared into the fire, the shadow and light. “I’ve thought the same. I failed, and the man he might have been was lost. The man I might have been was lost with him.”

  “The man you are is enough. We’re here, you and I, and four others, blown by the winds of fate to some extent. But more, I believe, through every step we’ve taken, every choice we’ve made along our way. So we’re here.”

  Bran waited a beat, arched his scarred eyebrow. “What do you want to do?”

  “I’ve thought of the words spoken, Sasha’s visions. Of coming here of all the places in the world. The gods make us pay, for all those steps, all those choices.”

  And this, Doyle knew, would be one of the most painful he’d ever made. “I know the cave where my brother died. It’s time I went back. Time we looked there.”

  Doyle’s eyes narrowed on Bran’s face. “You’ve thought the same.”

  “Whatever I thought, it had to come from you. If you’re ready for it, we’ll go together.”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow,” Bran agreed. “I’ve thought of other words, ones spoken to you, you told me, by a redheaded witch. How love would pierce your heart with fang and claw.”

  Doyle nearly laughed. “Riley? She’s not looking to pierce my heart. We understand each other.”

  Bran might have spoken again, but Sasha rushed in.

  “Oh, sorry. I’m interrupting.”

  “No, we’ve finished.” Doyle started to rise.

  “Just sit a minute, and you can add your opinion. After considerable attempts, I’ve got a design Sawyer’s about ninety-eight percent sold on. Have a look. He’s gone to make sure Annika’s occupied. And to think about it.”

  She flipped through pages in her sketchbook, each holding several designs that all looked more than good enough to Doyle’s eye. Then stopped on a page holding a single design in the center.

  She’d used colored pencils to enhance it, the deep-water blue of the center stone, surrounded
by a halo of white diamond chips, and those flanked by two pink sapphires. The band held the sparkle—pink, white, blue—repeated in the wedding band.

  “It’s lovely, and very like her. Unique,” Bran added. “As she is.”

  “It’s hard not to push him on it, because I think it’s right. I want to show it to Riley. What do you think?” she asked Doyle.

  “Not my area. It looks fine to me. Plenty of sparkle, which she’d appreciate.”

  “I hear something.” Sasha pointed at him. “I hear a but.”

  “Not my area,” he repeated. “I was just thinking how she liked the design around the coat of arms, the braids. If the bands were braided—”

  “Oh!” Sasha gave him an enthusiastic punch on the shoulder. “Oh, that’s perfect. That’s inspired. I’m going to fix it right now. And if Sawyer doesn’t say go, something is wrong with him.”

  She rushed out as she’d rushed in.

  “Well then, that’s settled.” Bran eased back with his tea, smiled at Doyle. “And it seems each of us has a hand in it. Things are meant as they’re meant.”

  Contemplatively, Doyle rubbed his shoulder. “Your woman’s got a firmer punch than she once had.”

  “In all things.”

  • • •

  It didn’t take her long, and Sasha decided she’d hit the mark when she found Sawyer working with Riley in the tower library.

  “Annika?”

  “Doing laundry. I’ve never seen anybody as happy with laundry.” Sawyer set his compass on a map, shook his head. “And she’s having better luck with it than I am with this.”

  “I’ve had tremendous luck. I’ve added another touch to the design.”

  “I was pretty well sold on the other.”

  “But not a hundred percent. I think Doyle’s idea will change that.”

  Riley looked up from her book. “Doyle?”

  “He had a suggestion. Look here, Sawyer. The bands, we can braid the bands with the same design I used on the coat of arms.”

  “I don’t know if that’s . . .” Then he looked. “Oh, yeah. Score. It’s like—it. It’s it. Why didn’t we think of that?”

  “Don’t know. Riley?”

  “If she doesn’t do handsprings over this, it’s because she’s doing backflips. You rang the bell, Sash. You going for it, Dead-Eye?”

  “I’m so going for it.”

  “You ought to take it to Bran, get him started on the mojo.”

  “Right. You’re right.” He pocketed the compass, took the sketch when Sasha tore it from her book. “Thanks.”

  Sasha watched him go. “You wanted to move him along.”

  “We’re not getting anywhere here. Everything feels stalled. I need to move. Maybe we drag Anni away from laundry, work on those handsprings and backflips.”

  “I still suck at both.”

  “Exactly.”

  “There’s something more.”

  Riley pushed back from the table, rolled her shoulders. “Maybe we’ll talk about it after I move.”

  • • •

  She’d been twitchy, Riley admitted as she dragged her friends outside. She hadn’t been able to shake it—not with work, with diving, with sex, with sleep. The minute her mind wandered from the task at hand, the twitchiness started.

  So maybe some time away from men altogether, and some solid sport that required a mind-body connection.

  The sky held blue and nearly cloudless, and the sun beamed. Pleased, Riley tossed aside the hoodie she’d grabbed on the way out, stood with her hands on her hips, wearing a faded red T-shirt that said DIG IT!

  It wasn’t Capri or Corfu, but this taste of Irish summer—that might actually last an entire day—just shined.

  She took a running start, executed triple handsprings, stuck the landing.

  Oh, yeah, she was coming back.

  And Sasha didn’t suck as much as she had. Sure her landings were still shaky, but she was getting more height. Then there was Annika—nobody could come close. She might as well have wings instead of a tail.

  Following Annika’s orders, Riley hit a back handspring, pivoted into a side kick. God, she wished she had someone to fight.

  Annika’s next order had Sasha looking a little sick, but she charged Riley, who basketed her hands. When Sasha’s foot slapped the basket, Riley pushed up hard.

  The soaring backflip was more than decent, the landing rough to Riley’s eye, but Sasha steadied quickly, punched a fist in the air.

  “I did it! I’m going to do it again. Better.”

  This time as she flew up, Sasha mimed shooting her bow. Riley found herself grinning, even as Sasha lost the landing, fell back on her ass.

  “One more time,” Riley shouted.

  On one more time, Sasha stuck it, then did a little Rocky-at-the-top-of-the-steps victory dance.

  After an hour, Riley had worked up a nice sweat, her muscles felt well used, her brain clear. And the twitchiness snuck back in.

  “Okay, we moved. Boy, did we move.” Sasha sat on the ground to stretch. “Now, what’s the more?”

  “I don’t know exactly.” Riley rolled her shoulders as if trying to get to an itch.

  “Do you still hurt?”

  “No.” Shaking her head at Annika, Riley stretched her calves, her hamstrings. “I’m good, and back to fighting weight. I guess ready for a fight. The waiting’s getting to me. We’re so close. I want to finish it.”

  As she stretched her quads, she glanced up. Doyle stood on the terrace, the breeze in his hair, his eyes on her. After a long moment, he slipped back inside.

  “Crap.”

  “Did you fight with Doyle?” Already sympathetic, Annika rubbed Riley’s arm. “You like to fight with Doyle. It’s like the foreplay.”

  “Yeah. No. I mean we’re not fighting. We probably will, and that’s okay. It’s . . .” She looked at Sasha. “You’ve already got an inkling.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s hard not to. You have feelings. Why wouldn’t you?”

  “I’m all right with feelings. But I have more than I want or know what to do with. I wasn’t after this kind of a thing, and now it’s kind of got a hook in me.”

  “Oh! You’re in love. This is wonderful!” Annika threw her arms around Riley.

  “It’s not wonderful for everybody.”

  “It should be.”

  “And I don’t know if it’s like that. I’m just . . . Why can’t it just be sex? There’s nothing complicated there. I know what to do about that. I don’t know what to do about this.”

  “You suit so well.”

  Riley gaped at Sasha. “What?”

  “You do, so well. Just fit. I’ll admit I’ve worried about it because you’re both combative, and hardheaded.”

  “I’m not hardheaded. I’m rational.”

  “And feelings aren’t. You helped me resolve mine for Bran, to see my own potential, alone and with him. So I’m telling you, if Doyle’s who you want, go get what you want.”

  “I’ve sort of got him.”

  “I like sex,” Annika said, and flipped her long braid behind her back.

  “We’ve heard.” Riley rolled her eyes. “Literally.”

  “It’s joyful, and exciting. But with Sawyer, I learned it’s more. With love it brings more, means more. When I no longer have the legs, we can still mate. I’m glad. But I’m sad to know I won’t be able to walk with him, or make food with him, or lie in bed and sleep together.”

  “Oh, Anni.” Sasha moved in to hold her. “It’s so unfair.”

  “But we’ll be together. I mean to say that. We’ve found a way to be as much together as we can, and will be happy. If Doyle would make you happy, you should listen to Sasha.”

  “How am I supposed to know if he’ll make me happy?”

  “Find out,” Sasha said. “You’re too smart—and yes, you are hard-headed—to do otherwise. He needs you.”

  “He— What?”

  “He may not know it, may not be able to accept it y
et, but he needs you. And when the man meets the boy, when the boy sees the man, the dark echoes, old blood spills fresh.”

  “Anni,” Riley ordered, “go get the others. Quick. What do you see, Sasha?”

  “Memories and grief, faced anew. Old scabs, old scars torn open. She feeds on the pain, stirs the old to rise and strike. She lies. Hold strong, hold true, pass this test. For the star waits in the dark, in the innocent. Bring back the light to the man, to the boy. See the name, read the name, say the name. And find the bright and white.”

  Sasha closed her eyes, held up a hand. “Need a second. That was intense.” When she felt Bran’s arm around her, she leaned into him.

  “Do you remember what you said?” Riley prompted.

  “Yes, and what I saw. A cave, but it’s not clear. It changed. Maybe it was the light. Your light, at first, so clean, so white,” she said as she reached down for Bran’s hand. “But then the shadows. Not shadows. And she came. Nerezza. But not her. Not exactly. I’m not making any sense.”

  “Let’s go inside,” Sawyer suggested. “You can sit down, take a minute.”

  “No, actually, the air feels good. It got so cold. A cave, but not underwater. I’m sure of that. It seemed big at first—then small. But big enough for us all to stand. It’s a bad place. A very bad place.” Her fingers whitened on Bran’s. “Terrible things there, old and terrible. Just what she wants and needs. But . . . God, then it’s just the opposite. It’s happy and quiet.”

  “Maybe we take out what’s old and terrible, and that changes things.”

  Sasha nodded at Riley. “Maybe. I just don’t know. I only know we have to go there.” Now she turned to Doyle. “I’m so sorry. We have to go there. To where you lost your brother.”

  “I know it. I spoke to Bran about it.”

  “Making plans without the whole class?” Riley snapped.

  “To start. I know the cave, and how to find it. It’s less than fifty kilometers from here.”

  “You can show me on the map,” Sawyer said, “so I’ve got it logged. In case.”

  “We’ll map it out.” Bran rubbed Sasha’s shoulder. “Steady now?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’d say some food would be in order. And wine.”

  “Won’t argue with either.”

  “Soup’s on. Anni, why don’t you check on that? I’ll get the map.” Sawyer gave her hand a tug, and left Doyle alone with Riley.