“Bugger that.” Marg stopped on the bridge, took Breen’s shoulders. “It’s more than important. It’s life, the shine of it. My granddaughter’s a scribe, and our Marco a far-famed cook. I couldn’t be more proud.”
She held Breen tight. In the water below, Bollocks barked and swirled and shot water high.
Laughing, Breen looked down. And saw it.
“It’s there. In the water.”
“What is?”
“Just there. Don’t you see?”
“I see only the dog, the water, the rock bed below, the little fish that swim. What do you see?”
“It’s the pendant. The dragon’s heart on a gold chain. So bright and beautiful. I’ve seen it before, but I keep forgetting to ask you. Don’t you see it?”
“No.” Marg’s voice came soft and flat. “I don’t see it.”
“I… In the portrait, your portrait in the Justice Hall. You wore it. But I’d seen it before.”
Struggling to pull it clear, she rubbed at her temple.
“I had a dream. I remember now. Before we left for Ireland, I dreamed I walked in the green light, the waterfall, the river, the moss. All so beautiful. And the pendant in the water. I wanted to pull it out, to take it out. It had to belong to someone. But I couldn’t reach it, and I—I slipped. He kept me there, in a glass cage. I didn’t know, I didn’t know. I was drowning. I couldn’t get to the surface, then Marco woke me.”
She turned to Marg. “I dreamed of it.”
“You never spoke of it.”
“I kept forgetting. It’s the oddest thing.” Even now her head ached from trying to remember. “And—and after, after I came, I dreamed of it again, near the waterfall, in the river. I couldn’t reach it, and started to slip. I couldn’t fall in. I was so afraid I’d fall in.”
Images circled in her mind, confusing, disjointed.
“But… Then I saw it, not dreaming. I went to the waterfall with Marco, the day I saw the shadow. But first I saw it again, in the water. Just out of reach. But… You wore it. In the portrait. It’s yours.”
“Not anymore, and not for some time. You see it there, in the stream?”
“Yes, I—” But when she looked again, she saw nothing but the dog. “It’s gone. I saw it, but… What does it mean? Did you lose it, was it stolen?”
“No.” Marg turned, walked away a few steps. And pressed her hands to her face. “Always they ask for more. Always more.”
“Who asks?”
“The gods, the fates, the powers beyond us. Always more. I thought—hoped—what was given would be enough, and now they demand this last thing. This everything.”
“I don’t understand.”
She turned back, weariness like a cloak around her. “Go to the farm for your horse,mo stór. I’ll saddle Igraine. We’ll ride to whereyou saw the pendant, in dreams and awake. And see it or not, I’ll tell you what it means. Please, give me time to settle myself, and I’ll tell you the whole of it.”
“All right. I won’t be long. Bollocks, stay with Nan.”
Because she felt an urgency in herself as much as she’d seen her grandmother’s weariness, she ran back to the farm. Then forced herself to slow to a walk before she came into view.
“Nan wants to ride,” she called to Morena. “I’m going to saddle Boy.”
“Save me!” Laughing, Morena clasped her hands together as she stood in the plowed field. “Take me with you.”
“We’re nearly done.” Harken reached over to pull the brim of Morena’s cap down over her eyes. “Another hour and I’ll set her free. She’ll find you.”
She called to her horse, and because she knew she was distracted, took care with the saddle and bridle. She gave the fields a cheery wave and set off in an easy canter.