by a halo of white diamond chips, and those flanked by two pink sapphires. The band held the sparkle—pink, white, blue—repeated in the wedding band.
“It’s lovely, and very like her. Unique,” Bran added. “As she is.”
“It’s hard not to push him on it, because I think it’s right. I want to show it to Riley. What do you think?” she asked Doyle.
“Not my area. It looks fine to me. Plenty of sparkle, which she’d appreciate.”
“I hear something.” Sasha pointed at him. “I hear a but.”
“Not my area,” he repeated. “I was just thinking how she liked the design around the coat of arms, the braids. If the bands were braided—”
“Oh!” Sasha gave him an enthusiastic punch on the shoulder. “Oh, that’s perfect. That’s inspired. I’m going to fix it right now. And if Sawyer doesn’t say go, something is wrong with him.”
She rushed out as she’d rushed in.
“Well then, that’s settled.” Bran eased back with his tea, smiled at Doyle. “And it seems each of us has a hand in it. Things are meant as they’re meant.”
Contemplatively, Doyle rubbed his shoulder. “Your woman’s got a firmer punch than she once had.”
“In all things.”
• • •
It didn’t take her long, and Sasha decided she’d hit the mark when she found Sawyer working with Riley in the tower library.
“Annika?”
“Doing laundry. I’ve never seen anybody as happy with laundry.” Sawyer set his compass on a map, shook his head. “And she’s having better luck with it than I am with this.”
“I’ve had tremendous luck. I’ve added another touch to the design.”
“I was pretty well sold on the other.”
“But not a hundred percent. I think Doyle’s idea will change that.”
Riley looked up from her book. “Doyle?”
“He had a suggestion. Look here, Sawyer. The bands, we can braid the bands with the same design I used on the coat of arms.”
“I don’t know if that’s . . .” Then he looked. “Oh, yeah. Score. It’s like—it. It’s it. Why didn’t we think of that?”
“Don’t know. Riley?”
“If she doesn’t do handsprings over this, it’s because she’s doing backflips. You rang the bell, Sash. You going for it, Dead-Eye?”
“I’m so going for it.”
“You ought to take it to Bran, get him started on the mojo.”
“Right. You’re right.” He pocketed the compass, took the sketch when Sasha tore it from her book. “Thanks.”
Sasha watched him go. “You wanted to move him along.”
“We’re not getting anywhere here. Everything feels stalled. I need to move. Maybe we drag Anni away from laundry, work on those handsprings and backflips.”
“I still suck at both.”
“Exactly.”