Keegan found her there just as Bollocks scrambled up the bank.
“It all took longer than I hoped, but then it always does. Come, we—” He broke off, frowned at her. And skimmed a finger down the coat. “Where did you get this? You’ve been to the village? Why is it shopping is what most women must do first and last and in between?”
“Breen, you look stunning in that coat. Some men might think to say that. In reverse order,” she continued, “I don’t shop first, last, and in between. No, I haven’t been to the village. And Kiara gave me the coat. A surprising and generous and thoughtful gift.”
“Ah, she did very well. The coat suits you.”
“Suits me.” She could only cast her eyes to the clouds.
“I’ll say the coat looks stunning on you, as it’s only a thing, but you’re wearing it and that lifts it up.”
“All right, now I can say you did very well. Where are we going?” she asked as he pulled her along.
“You’re not council here, and where you are, that’s not altogether official in the way of things. But it’s time you meet all who are.”
“Now?” Instant nerves shot straight through her. “But haven’t I met them?”
“You haven’t met Neo of the Mers, Nila, the elf who replaced Uwin, or Sean of the Weres, or Bok of the Trolls. I’ve called them to the council chamber, where I’ll make the introduction, and as my mother insists is proper, there’ll be some refreshment and chatting about. In that way I can put off the bloody council meeting until morning.”
“So you’re using me to skip out on a council meeting?”
“I don’t skip. Littles skip. And it’s time, true enough, you’ve met the whole of them, and they you.”
“Fine. Just let me go up and change first.”
“Why? You’re fine. You have your stunning coat, don’t you?”
“Yes, but—”
“You’ll drink some tea, make some chatter, let them have some time with the Daughter of the Fey when she’s not bringing a traitor to his knees at Judgment or wielding a sword in battle.”
She had her first look at the council chamber with its roaring fire, its long table and high-backed chairs.
And those who would sit in them to advise the taoiseach.
A diverse group, she thought, with every tribe represented, and Minga with them. And Tarryn, Keegan’s mother, as his hand.
“I bring to you Breen Siobhan O’Ceallaigh, Daughter of the O’Ceallaigh, Daughter of the Fey.”
Tarryn, in slim pants and boots, shirt and vest, her sun-washed hair in a thick braid, crossed the room to take her hand, to kiss her cheek.
“Welcome back. I’m sorry I couldn’t greet you.” She leaned in for a second kiss. “You wear Kiara’s gift,” she whispered. “And please her mother very much.”
She drew back, then led Breen forward. “Flynn, you know, of course. Flynn of the Sidhe.”
“Little red rabbit.” He lifted her off her feet in a hug and washed away half the nerves. Then he stepped back, and though he shook her hand in a formal way, his eyes twinkled at her. “The Sidhe welcome the Daughter.”
“The Daughter thanks the Sidhe, and… pledges her loyalty.”
She saw by Tarryn’s nod she’d said the right thing.
“Neo of the Mer.”
He stepped to her on the legs he wore on land. “The Mer welcome the Daughter.”
So it went with every member until Minga took her hand.
“Talamh, that has welcomed me, welcomes the Daughter.”