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She stood in the dawn mists to watch him go. Her Marco, the born-and-bred urbanite, sat in the saddle as if he’d been born in one. The frisky mare danced under him, and she heard him laugh as he set off in a trot with the warriors, heading west.
Overhead, a trio of dragons, bright as jewels in the dawn light, flew over a gray November sky with their riders. A pair of faeries winged behind them.
Battle and blood would come again, spilled and waged by the fallen god Odran. Her grandfather.
But Marco would be safe, she thought, as safe as anyone could be in a land devoted to peace and threatened by a god determined to bring war.
And he, the best human being ever born, would be with the man he loved. For now, it was all she could hope for.
“He’ll be more than fine.” Beside her, Keegan watched those he’d sent west slide into the mists. “And you were right to push him to go.”
“I know. And I know he’ll bring comfort to the valley. It’s important.”
“Aye, it’s important. You’d bring it as well. I want you here for… reasons, but I know you’d serve a purpose there, and find comfort yourself.”
“I’m not ready for comfort.” She studied him, this man, this witch, this warrior she’d come to love, to want, to need almost more than she could stand. Strong, and strongly built, his dark hair with its warrior braid disordered. And she saw both fatigue and anger in the deep, deep green of his eyes.
“Neither are you.”
“I’m not, no, I’m bloody well not.”
“And with Odran sealed up again, there’s no one to fight right here, right now.”
He gave her a long, cool look. “To wish for war is to wish for death. That’s not our way.”
“That’s not what I’m saying, Keegan. You train for war because Talamh and all the worlds need protection and defense. You taught me that, the hard way, by knocking me on my ass countless painful times in training.”
Shrugging, he glanced over to one of the training fields. “You’re not as easy to knock down these days.”
“You hold back. I hate to admit you always did. I’m never going to be a brilliant swordsman—woman—or a Robin Hood with a bow.”
“Those are good stories. The Robin Hood stories. And no, you won’t.”
“You sure don’t hold back there.”
He smiled a little and wound one of her curls around his finger. “Why lie when the truth’s right there? You’re better than you were.”
“Which isn’t saying much.”
“You’re better than you were after you were better than you were. Your magicks are… formidable. They are, and will always be, your keenest weapon. And this?” He lifted her hand, turned her wrist to run a finger over her tattoo.
“Misneach. Courage, and yours is as keen as your magicks.”
“Not always.”
“Often enough. You sent Marco away, denied yourself his comfort for the comfort of others. That’s courage. You’d go with him, but you stay because I need you to stay.”
“For reasons.”
“For reasons.”
The young ones trooped into the training field, some on wing, some with elf speed, some still yawning the sleep away.
Not a school day, she realized, as Talamh stood strong for education. She glanced down at Bollocks and his pleading eyes.
“Go ahead.”
He darted off, barking with joy.
