“Thanks, but I feel like I ought to be a little hungry, and . . . light for now. I’ll be down with Alastar until it’s time to go back home.” She set her coffee, barely touched, aside. “I needed you last night, and you were there. I won’t forget it.” She walked quickly to the door. “I’ll see you, an hour before moonrise.”
She slipped out the door and left him wondering over her.
* * *
SHE GROOMED ALASTAR CAREFULLY, THOROUGHLY SO HIS COAT GLEAMED LIKE PEWTER. Her calm remained as she brushed even the threat of tangles out of his mane, his tail.
Today he was a warhorse, and she believed that he, too, had prepared for this day all of his life.
“We won’t fail.” She circled around to his head, laid her hands on either side of his face and looked into his deep, dark eyes. “We won’t fail,” she repeated. “And we’ll keep each other safe as we do what we’re meant to do.”
She chose a saddle blanket—red for battle, for blood, then retrieved the saddle Boyle had given her.
She felt Alastar’s pleasure, his pride when she put the saddle on him. And she felt his courage, drew some of it for herself.
“There’s magick in a gift, and this was given to both of us. He thought of us when he had it made, so there’s more magick there. And last, it bears our names.”
She’d braid charms into his mane, she decided. When they got home she would choose ones for strength, for courage, for protection. And she would carry the same with her, under the sweater her grandmother had made. Another gift.
“Time to go.”
She allowed herself one moment to wonder if she’d ever be back in this stall, then set any doubt aside and led her horse out.
She found Fin waiting outside, and the sleek black he called Baru saddled.
“I’ve kept you waiting.”
“Not at all. There’s time enough. Odds are Branna’s just getting her wits about her by now in any case. I see Boyle gave you the saddle.”
“It’s wonderful. You knew?”
“When you live and work so close with another, secrets are hard to keep.” Fin linked his hands into a basket to help her mount.
“You look a picture, the pair of you,” he said when she sat the horse.
“We’re ready for what’s coming.”
“It shows.” He mounted Baru, turned so they could walk down the narrow road together.
* * *
IN THE WORKSHOP, CLOSED, LOCKED, SHIELDED FOR THE DAY, Iona listened to the plan—its step-by-step progression—to the spell she was charged to make, the words to be said, the actions to take.
“You’re quiet,” Fin commented. “Have you no questions?”
“The answers are on Sorcha’s ground. I’m ready to go there, and to do what I’m meant to do.”
“It’s a complicated spell,” Branna began. “Each piece has to fit.”
“I can handle it. And as you’ve said, I won’t be alone. You’ll be there, and so will Boyle and Meara. If I pull this off, on my own, he won’t know that, won’t see that. Advantage us. Then you come in from here, here, here,” she said, tapping the map Branna had drawn. “That distracts him, throws him off balance, and takes the heat off me. All non-witches inside the circle, and Fin, too. They’ll need you to keep the protective circle strong,” Iona said as temper flashed into Fin’s eyes. “So will we. We’ll need that time when he tries to get to you for the three of us to finish it. Finish him.”
“You’re bloody calm about it,” Connor muttered.
“I know. It’s odd. Why worry when it’s meant, right? And still I should be jumping out of my skin, but I just feel . . . right. Maybe I’m saving the jumping for when it’s done. Then I’ll probably babble like an idiot until you want to knock me unconscious. But right now, I’m ready.”
“If you’re so ready, tell me all the steps, from the beginning,” Branna ordered.
“All right. We gather here, an hour before moonrise.”