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Her hair had lost its luster and lay tangled and dull down her back. Her eyes sat sunken and dull in a face where beauty had fled.
In her broken mind, and in any mirror in Odran’s world, she saw only beauty, even more than she’d had.
She walked into the woods and felt featherlight and strong as any plow horse. To amuse herself, she dashed from tree to tree, merging with them. Or so she saw herself. But the body she believed lithe and agile sagged yet at the belly and breasts from the carrying and birthing of the child she gave no thought to.
She moved quickly, but not with a blur of speed as she once had.
She saw the cottage through the trees and sparkling wind chimes. Teeth bared, murder hot in her blood, she started to walk through. But sharp shocks repelled her, threw her back so she fell. And there beat angry fists on the ground.
She saw the garden and promised herself she would stomp the young plants into the ground. Rip up flowers by the roots. She would set fire to the thatched roof and dance while the cottage Marg made for the mongrel burned.
And kill them all with her golden knife.
She heard someone coming; her Elfin ears still served her. And crawled to a rock, rolled into it.
And watched, and waited.
He had to make time for it, Keegan thought as he stepped into the Irish woods. She’d be back before much longer, and it hadn’t rained a drop on this side since she’d left.
He needed to water her damn gardens and the pots, which hehadn’t had the time—all right, bugger it, he hadn’t taken the time—to do the past three days.
He could have asked Seamus, who’d have seen to it all happily enough. But hadn’t he made a point of telling the woman he’d see to it himself? So it was his own bloody fault, wasn’t it then?
He slept the first night at the cottage, the next at the Capital, and the last at the farm. And all of the nights restless, as she didn’t share the bed with him.
Which was a ridiculous matter, as he spent night after night at the Capital when needed. The difference lay—and he admitted, to himself at least, the idiocy of it—in that before, he’d been the one away.
Since she’d be home soon enough, the sensible thing to do was push all that aside and not think about it.
He preferred being a sensible sort.
Other than the restless nights and some wondering what she was up to in the American cities, things had been quiet and productive. He found working at the farm satisfying, and nearly as challenging as a good training session for keeping in tune.
The trip east with stops all along showed him spring across Talamh. All the young foals and lambs and calves, the fertile fields, the wash hanging on lines to dry, and all the blooming things spoke of a promise kept.
And quiet, he thought again. He had such a yearning for the quiet.
He sensed her before she leaped out of the rock. It didn’t surprise him, as he’d anticipated they’d find a way to send her.
And still the sight of her sent shocks through him. The look of her, all her beauty leached away and withered like a flower gone too long without water. The hair she’d had such pride in lay in limp, tangled strings, and her body, the high, generous breasts, the narrow waist, long, slender legs, now sagged inside the old trousers and dirty shirt that would never have touched her pampered skin in the past.
The past was gone, and so was she. And he thought that with pity overcoming the shock.
She held a twisted black blade in her hand, and madness lived in her eyes.
She laughed, a terrible sound, as she jabbed the blade toward him.
“What, no welcoming kiss for me? And here I’ve traveled such a long way to see you again.”
“Put that aside, Shana, and let me do what I can for you.”
“What you can, for me?” She laughed again, but now the bitter came through with the mad. “You’ve done all that already, haven’t you now? Taoiseach. Used me and used me only to toss me aside for the whore who lives just over there. Is she waiting for you inside her cottage? I thought to pay her a visit, but she’s barred the way well. Once I’ve killed you, I’ll claw my way through, you can be sure of that. Odran will make sure of it.”
“He won’t.” And the pity came through. “He sent you here to die.”
“He sent me here to rid the worlds of the likes of you. I’d have ruled beside you.”
“I don’t rule.”
