The Choice--The Dragon Heart Legacy Book 3 Read online

  “Breen. Step back from there.”

  Her head whipped around, and power with it. Keegan had to hold up both hands to block enough of it to stay standing.

  “Step back,” he repeated. “Would you risk opening it with your fury?”

  “It will not open. But he hears me.”

  “So you’ve had your say, now step back.” Because she stood too bloody close with power rolling off her, wave after wave, he strode up to her.

  When he took her arm, the jolt all but rattled his bones, but he pulled her away.

  Bollocks stood wet and whining as she stared with power and fury into Keegan’s eyes.

  “Do you think you can stop me?”

  “If I must.” He put himself between her and the portal and saw some of the temper dim into confusion. “You have to let it go now.”

  “What? Let what go?”

  “You brought the storm, now let it go.”

  “Oh God.” She pressed a hand to her face, shuddered. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Shaking, she lowered to the ground. “I’m so sorry.”

  The wind snapped off; the rain died. The power that quaked in the air faded away.

  “You had no business coming here alone,” he began, but she curled into a ball and began to weep.

  With the rage emptied out, she only had tears.

  Keegan lowered down as Bollocks ran over to cry softly against her.

  “All right now.” He stroked her hair, her back, her shoulders to warm and dry her. Then he wrapped around her, searched for words. But all he could think of was: “All right now.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “So you’ve said. It’s done and finished. Weep if you must until that’s done and finished as well.”

  “I sat with Flynn, and he … I couldn’t hold it anymore. I couldn’t just lock it inside anymore. I needed to…”

  “Scream at the gods.”

  When she lifted her head, he cocked his. “I expect they heard you all the way to the Far West.”

  “Oh, stupid, stupid.” She covered her face with her hands. “I shouldn’t have— I scared everyone when—”

  “Scared? Woman, we’re Talamhish, and not some weak-knees to fear when one of our own unleashes her power. And such as yours, such as it was, well now, there’s some rejoicing for that. The storm, now, was a bit much, as people will be some time chasing down clothes that flew off the line and such.”

  “I’m—”

  “Don’t say it again, by the gods, it’s tiring. You promised me you wouldn’t come here alone.”

  “I didn’t mean to.” On another sob, she shook her head. “I mean, I didn’t plan to. I think I went a little crazy for a minute.”

  “A bleeding hour at the least. It took a bit of time to find you, and would’ve been longer without this one here.” He gave Bollocks a good rub. “He came and got me. I was about to hunt you up, before the heavens opened. I expect you’re tired out now after all that energy and a few gallons of tears. We can leave in the morning instead of this afternoon.”

  “Leave? For where?”

  “The valley.” He stood, offered a hand to help her up.

  “No. Keegan.” She pushed up quickly. “I needed to purge or vent, or just—” She looked back at the portal. “I needed to let him know. But you can’t just send me back because I had … an episode.”

  “An episode, is it? First time in my experience I’ve seen sheep fly.”

  “Oh my God.”

  “None the worse for it. And while it’s true enough I’d send you back—and I’m taoiseach, so I could do just that. But I’m needed elsewhere, and I’ve given the Capital the time it’s needed. For now. You’ll go with me because I need it, and I know bloody well you do as well.”

  “Yes.” She stepped into him, dropped her head on his shoulder. “Yes, I need it. Can we go now?”

  “We can. After we clean up a bit, you can say your goodbyes and put together what you need to take with you. And I wouldn’t mind it if you let Marco know through the mirror so he can make a meal. His meatballs would be a fine thing tonight.”

  “Okay.” She breathed out. “Let me do a glamour so I don’t look like I’ve been crying.”

  “No.” He gripped her hand. “They heard your grief, let them see it. Let them see you. And let me say to you Odran hasn’t a prayer in heaven or hell against the woman I saw standing there, burning like a thousand candles. Not a prayer.

  “Now come along. The day’s wasting.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  She said her goodbyes and tucked messages from Morena’s mother and Keegan’s for their daughters in her bag. And as she sat on Lonrach’s broad back with Bollocks, she thought of the wild flight to the Capital, of the urgency and fear that had sent her hurtling east.

  Now she flew home, forever changed.

  She knew what spread beneath her in the shadow of Lonrach’s wings. She knew the green hills and fertile dales, the scent of thick forests, the majesty of mountain peaks. The villages, cottages, caves, and all who dwelled in them.

  There, beneath the clouds, a horse and rider at the gallop, and a woman in a cloak with a basket on her arm. There a stag, regal as a king, poised at the edge of a wood, and there a woman on the banks of a stream, her line in the water and a swaddled babe on a blanket beside her.

  There would be Trolls mining the deep caverns in the mountains, and children in the schoolroom bored with their lessons and dreaming of adventures. Farmers would check their winter crops and sharpen their plows; mothers would tuck the littles up for a nap.

  And warriors would train and train and train, honing every skill to protect the hills and dales, the mountains and streams, and all who dwelled there.

  She was part of that now, as even with the magicks, the shared blood, the knowledge, she hadn’t been. Because now she’d fought and killed and bled for Talamh.

  She looked over at Keegan, so alert, she thought, so intense. An impatient man who somehow held bottomless wells of patience. A hard man who was, in essence, made of kindness. A living, breathing contradiction.

  It fit, didn’t it, she decided, because he would fight and kill and bleed for the single most vital goal of his world.

  Peace.

  She edged Lonrach a little closer to Cróga so she could call out over the wind.

  “What happens next?”

  He glanced at her, but only briefly before he continued to scan the land, the air, the distant sea.

  “You go back to training, in magicks, in combat, as before.”

  “No, I mean now.”

  “That is now, and tomorrow, and the day after. We have time, but can’t waste it. Odran lost more than we did. He won’t grieve as we have, as the demons and the dark he sent through to destroy us don’t matter to him. But he lost power.”

  “He has to gather it again. It could be weeks, months, even years.”

  “Not years. Not this time.”

  “Because I’m here.”

  “So close, he’d think, to taking you and all you are. You, the key, the bridge, Daughter of man and Fey and gods hold all he covets. So close, he’d think, to taking all he wants and raining vengeance on all the worlds.”

  Keegan glanced over again. “But he’s wrong. He’s only farther away than he once was.”

  “Why?”

  “Because of all you are. Now, do you want the valley or the cottage? I’ll take you where you wish before I go south.”

  “You’re going south?”

  “I have duties I couldn’t attend to while needed at the Capital. Mahon’s handled the repairs there, and the razing of the Prayer House, the building of the memorial. I need to show the South the taoiseach remembers.”

  “Then I want to go to the South.”

  “You haven’t been home for weeks now.”

  “Neither have you. No, I’m not taoiseach,” she said before he could. “But you said to let them see my grief. Let them see me. Was that only for those in the Capital?”

  He said nothing for a moment, only studied her. Then, with a nod, he veered south.

  “The warm,” he said conversationally, “will make a pleasant change.”

  “I won’t mind that. But I don’t mind the cold. I like seeing what it does to the trees. The green of the pines seems to get deeper with the colors that burst out in the oaks and chestnuts, the maples. The light changes, and nights go long. The deer build their winter coats. I never expected to see fall here, or the winter that’s coming so fast. Not when I came to Ireland, or even when I first came through to Talamh.”

  She gestured to a pair of dragon riders plying the sky north.

  “They’re ours,” he told her. “Patrolling.”

  “Ours. Odran doesn’t have dragons,” she realized.

  “No. He can’t turn them or enslave them as he can with some Fey. They’re pure.”

  “If he turns their rider?”

  “They won’t turn, even for their rider. They’ll mourn, and often die of grief if their rider turns to Odran. If their rider was enslaved, didn’t choose, they wait.”

  As he rode, Keegan ran a hand over Cróga’s smooth scales. “He’d destroy them all if he could because they’ll never be his. There.” He gestured. “The South, and its sea.”

  Distant yet, but she saw the bluest of blue water stretched into the forever, and the golden beaches that edged it.

  Faeries on the wing, and sheep on the green, green hills that rose and rolled toward the sun, and thick forest that spread beyond the sand.

  On a hill above the beaches and the sprawling village, she saw a large dolmen, white as chalk.

  “Is that the memorial?”

  He circled to study it from all sides.

  And yes, he remembered.

  “There
stood, year by year, the Prayer House, granted to the Pious after so many of their faith—and this is the wrong word, for it’s not faith that had them torture, persecute, and kill. But this was granted to them, in treaty, with their oath to devote themselves to good works. Toric and his kind used this gift, this forgiveness to betray all. For them, there will be no forgiveness, and the house that stood holding its evil is gone, the ground it stood on consecrated.

  “The dolmen stands for the sacrifice of the fallen who gave their lives here to protect all.”

  “It’s beautiful.” And sad, she thought. Like grief held in stone. “It’s all beautiful, the sea, the beaches, the village. What we saw in the fire on Samhain was hard and brutal and brave. I watched you fight, you and Mahon, Sedric, all the others. Now it’s beautiful again.”

  “Talamh stands, because it must.”

  He guided Cróga to the hill, leaped down, then waited while Bollocks did the same before he held up a hand for Breen. She took it, and though her stomach dropped, dismounted to take the jump to the ground.

  “We’ll let them fly awhile and find a resting place. They’ll come when they’re needed.”

  “So will he. Go ahead,” Breen told Bollocks as he danced in place.

  He streaked down the hill, across the beach, and into the water. A young Mer spun out of the water with a laugh, then dived again to play with him.

  “He always finds the fun.” She turned to face the dolmen. “It’s powerful, a powerful symbol. Reverent.” She laid a hand on one of the legs that rose taller than two men. “And warm in the sun.”

  Then stepped back as Mahon flew to them. Keegan’s right hand and brother-in-law folded his wings as he landed. “Welcome, and you timed it well. We only raised the capstone this morning.”

  “And well done,” Keegan told him. “How go the repairs?”

  “All but finished. Mallo and Rory had some unkind words when you stole Nila.” He grinned, stroked his mahogany beard. “I won’t be repeating them. But they worked wonders true enough, kept the work moving steadily. You can see for yourself, the village thrives again, and those who come for a holiday enjoy it as much as the dog down there.”

  As Breen had, Mahon laid a hand on the stone. “And this stands to remind them why they can.”

  “There’s nothing left of Toric or his kind here,” Breen said. “Here where the ground is fertile and green again and the dolmen rises in reverence and remembrance for the brave, for the innocent. And stand it will, for all time, as the Fey stand.”

  Caught in the magicks, in what stirred in her, she walked between the two legs to stand under the capstone.

  “But when they look on this hill, when they walk on the green, there must be more than sorrow. There must be…”

  She trailed off, held up a hand, shook her head.

  “No, let it come,” Keegan demanded. “What do you see?”

  “First, I feel. Power, white and bright and strong, that lives in the stones, in the ground beneath them. I feel the air and the sun on my skin, so warm. When night comes, the twin moons rise up and over the great monument to the brave, the innocent, the lost. This is true faith and honor.

  “There, trees, three that bloom in spring as hope blooms even as the air shakes their blossoms to cover the ground. They fruit in the summer, for this is bounty, and their leaves burst with color as the wheel turns to autumn, for this is the cycle. So as they fall, a dance in the air, the wheel turns and turns until they bloom again.”

  She stepped out, stepped over. “The pool, with water clear as glass, and any who drink feel at peace. And on the great stone, the fire eternal, and in its flames lives strength and purpose.

  “So all who look upon this place, or walk on the green, know the four elements linked together and bound by magicks. All who come honor the brave and the innocent, and feel hope renewed as they know death isn’t only an ending, as life and love and light renew.”

  She shivered once, then shoved her hands through her hair. “That was … a lot. I’m sorry, I don’t want to—”

  She broke off when Keegan simply held up a hand in a signal to stop. “We’ll make it so. Mahon, we’ll need faeries to work on the trees, fruit trees, and a mason to build the pool, witches to fill it. Send an elf up, if you would, with a copper cauldron. Once you have, go home to your wife and children. If I stop in the valley before you do, I’ll have Aisling kicking my balls, and I’d as soon avoid it.”

  “Happy to oblige you. Will I see you there soon?”

  “By morning if not sooner.”

  Mahon turned to Breen, kissed her cheek. “I don’t see what you do, but I look forward to when I do.”

  After he flew off, Breen clasped her hands together. “Keegan, if I overstepped—”

  “Did I say you did? I’m saying you’ve the right of it, so we’ll put it right.”

  “But this is what you wanted, what you saw.”

  He studied the dolmen, the stark white stones. Aye, he thought, this he’d seen and no more.

  “I saw through grief and anger. The stones stand, for I was right to have them raised here. But it’s not enough, and there you’ve the right of it. Without hope, grief loses the strength to live on, and fight on, and hold.

  “The faeries will bring the trees, and we’ll have the pool, and you and I will make the fire eternal.”

  “I’ve never— I’m not sure I know how.”

  “You do, you will. It’s your vision, after all. Even in the dark, there’ll be light. We’ll hold to that.”

  When the boy brought the caldron, big and bright so it gleamed in the sunlight, Keegan sent it into the air, higher and higher until it rested in the center of the capstone.

  “Well done,” he said to the boy. “You chose well.”

  “Mahon said big.” The boy grinned. “May I watch, Taoiseach?”

  “Of course.” Then Keegan looked out and down. “Wait. Run down and tell all to watch. To watch while the taoiseach and the Daughter of the Fey light the fire eternal in this place of remembrance.”

  The boy let out a whoop and blurred away.

  “Great. Now I’ll have an audience.”

  “Breen Siobhan,” Keegan said, impatience shimmering, “you worry yourself about the small. You came to be seen, and had the right of it. Now you will be. And those who witness this will not forget. Those who witness this will tell children yet to be born of it. And all who come here will remember we stood, taoiseach and Daughter of the Fey, for the brave, for the innocent, and for all. We stood, as they did, against the dark. And we brought the light.”

  “You’re good at this,” she murmured. “Sometimes I forget how good you are at this. Being taoiseach.”

  “It’s only sense.”

  “No, it’s leadership.” She smiled as Bollocks, as if he knew, came running back up the hill. “Besides, if I screw this up, I’ll blame you.”

  People gathered below. She saw them coming out of shops and cottages, pausing their work to look up. Couples and families who’d strolled the beach or splashed in the waves stood now, watching. Mers floated on the endless blue or slid sinuously onto rocks.

  Men boosted young ones on their shoulders; women balanced babes on their hips. In her mind, Breen could hear them:

  Watch now, watch. And remember.

  “Take my hand,” Keegan ordered. “Your nerves are wasted, Daughter of Eian O’Ceallaigh. Let it rise now, let it come. Say the words. The words are in you.”

  They were, of course they were. She felt the power pulse from him to her, from her to him. Merged, joined, doubled. And the words came.

  “This power, old as breath, we call to honor life and death. A spark to flame, a flame to fire, to burn and blaze and so inspire. We owe a debt we will not forget.”

  “Here light,” Keegan continued, “burn bright through day and night. Eternal to rise into the skies. No flood, no wind will dim the flame kindled here to honor their name.”

  And with the power blowing through her like a wind, she, like Keegan, lifted her free hand toward the cauldron and let it fly.

  “Ignite,” they said together, “burn bright, eternal light.” It rose up, gold, pure, and strong, smokeless towers of flame. And its terrible beauty brought tears to her eyes.

  “Shine forever for all to see,” they said. “As we will, so mote it be.”

  On the beaches below, in the dooryards of cottages and the doorways of shops, cheers erupted.