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Marg and Bollocks waited for her at the head of the turn.
She told Bollocks where they meant to go so he could take one of his shortcuts.
“So I’ll begin as we ride.”
And still they’d ridden a quarter mile before Marg spoke again.
“It has no name, or none I’ve known, though some call it Fate’s Mantle and others the Chain of Duty. It was forged from gold mined in these hills, and the stone, the heart stone, from the Dragon’s Nest. A true dragon’s heart, the heart of a great dragon—some say the first of his kind—upon his death, enspelled into a stone. Older than Talamh, it’s said, a gift from the gods to seal the treaty between our worlds after Odran’s fall.”
“It has power.”
“Great power, and a great price. The Fey closed it in glass, to honor the gift, and coveting it, as he covets all, Odran struck out from his world. The glass shattered, and the pendant was lost. Or so it was believed.”
“You found it.”
“I was not the first to find it. The gods were displeased by the loss, though it was Odran’s greedy hand. There came a time of unrest until the treaty held again.
“So a coven of the Wise cast a spell to find the pendant, but no more to be closed in glass. They deemed whoever found it, lifted it from water, into the air, would wear it—if they chose, if they pledged.”
“Pledged what?”
They turned the horses into the woods where the light spread green like the carpets of moss.
“Their loyalty to Talamh and the Fey, their respect for all the worlds and the laws in them. To stand for Talamh and the Fey in times of joy and in times of strife when strife might come.”
She closed her eyes briefly. “And to give their life for Talamh and the Fey should it be asked. To give it willing, in the moment of asking.”
“The moment of asking?”
“Not in the heat of battle, you see? But in that moment, a moment of choosing. All life over one life, all light over one light. To take it, lift it, wear it, and break this pledge will have all powers stripped from the one who breaks the vow. They may keep their life they chose as more precious, but all they are, whatever their gifts, die.”
“You took this pledge.”
“I did, and kept it. I would have given my life. I fought in battle, spilled blood, and shed it to defend the Fey and the worlds. Should the moment have come, I would never have hesitated. But not enough, no, not enough. They took you away from me, and still I honored my vow.”
Marg dismounted, pressed her face against Igraine’s neck. “Then it was my son’s life lost. My precious boy. I wore it one last time, on the day Keegan took the sword from the lake. I wore it to honor the next taoiseach. And the night after I handed him the staff, I flew over the sea in the Far West and cast it in.”
She straightened. “As others have, either in ceremony for the life given willing, or as I did, in grief for a life taken. Centuries might pass, Breen, before it shows itself again, and so I believed when I cast it into the sea. I never thought it would be now, it would be you.”
“You dropped it into the sea, yet there it is.” She pointed at the pendant gleaming under the clear green water.
“I can’t see it. It’s not for me. It was for me, a girl younger than you who walked not these woods but another, and in the stream where the dog splashed today, I saw it and knew it. I took it and pledged, and the very next day, I went into the lake with all the rest and lifted the sword. It brings change, it’s said, it comes at times of great change.”
She gripped both of Breen’s hands. “You can leave it where it lies. There’s no shame in that. We live by choice, and this is a choice. I would take it, wear it again if I could. I’ve lived my life. Yours has only begun.”
“It has. It really has. A real life for me is not quite a year old. I fought, Nan. I spilled blood and shed it. But… it was the frenzy of the moment, kill or be killed. I’ve vowed to stand for Talamh, to do everything I can to defeat Odran and bring peace. And it’s not enough?”
“It can wait for another.”
Breen shook her head. “Before I came here, I dreamed of it, and the fear of dying. Did I remember it from childhood? Did you wear it, tell me the legend?”
“I wore it in battle, and for ceremony, not to bake biscuits for my granddaughter, or to tell her tales like this one.”
“If it’s my life, and I refuse to give it if—when—demanded, I lose everything. What I am. I don’t want to die. I want to live, and write, and laugh. I want to have children and watch them grow. But I can’t go back to being less.”
“You’ll never be less. Oh,mo stór, you’ve never been less.”
“It’s more than flicking on a fire, or casting spells. It’s being a part of something.”
