He was wrong, she told herself. She’d never be all she was, never really be free, as long as she loved him.
And that was her sorrow.
* * *
AT AN HOUR BEFORE MOONRISE THEY GATHERED. Branna lit the ritual candles, tossed ground crystals into the fire so its smoke rose pale and pure blue.
She took up a silver cup that had come down to her, stepped into the circle they formed.
“This we drink, one cup for six, from hand to hand and mouth to mouth to fix with wine our unity. Six hearts, six minds as one tonight as we prepare to wage this fight. Sip one, sip all, and show each one here answers the call.”
The cup passed hand to hand three times before Branna placed it in the center of the circle.
“Power of light, strong and bright, bless us this night, shield us from sight.”
Light erupted in the cup, burned like white flame.
“Now his eyes be blind until this magick I unwind. Not heart nor mind nor form will he see. As we will, so mote it be.”
She lowered the arms she’d lifted. “While it burns we’re the shadows. Only you, Iona, when you break this vial. Wait,” she added as she pressed it into Iona’s hand. “Wait until you’re on Sorcha’s ground.”
“I will. Don’t worry.” She slid the vial into her pocket. “Find him,” she said to Fin.
“So I will. Find, seek, lure.”
He took a crystal, round as a ball, clear as water, from his own pocket, cupped it in the palm of his hand.
As he spoke in Irish, the ball began to glow, to lift an inch above his hand. And to revolve, slower, then faster, faster until it blurred with speed.
“He seeks, blood to blood, mark to mark,” Branna told Iona quietly. “He uses what he is, what they share, to see, to stir. He . . .”
Fin’s eyes began to gleam, to glow, as unearthly a light as the crystal.
“Not so deep! He can’t—”
Connor caught Branna’s arm before she lurched forward. “He knows what he’s about.”
But for a moment, something dark lived behind the light in Fin’s eyes. Then it was gone.
“I have him.” His face a mask, Fin closed his fingers over the crystal. “He’ll come.”
“Where is he?” Boyle demanded.
“Not far. I gave him your scent,” he told Iona. “He’ll follow it, and you.”
“Then I’ll take him where we want him.”
“We’re behind you.” Meara grasped Iona’s arms. “Every one of us.”
“I know.” She breathed slow, kept her calm. “I believe.”
She touched her fingers to the hilt of the sword at her side, looked from one to the other, and thought what a wonder it was to have them all, to have what was inside her, to have such a purpose.
“I won’t let you down,” she said and started for the door.
“Bloody hell.” In two strides Boyle caught her, whirled her around, crushed his mouth to hers with everything that lived inside him.
“Take that with you,” he demanded, and set her aside.