Island of Glass (The Guardians Trilogy #3)(27)

He saw something of his sisters—the oldest and the baby—in the dark one, felt that old, hard twist. And his lost brother in the other, so sweet of face, kind of eye.

Projecting, he told himself. Projecting as his family’s stones projected from the ground. He stepped back as he heard Sawyer and Annika come in.

“Has she said anything?” Sawyer, his hair still tousled from sleep, moved in to look over Sasha’s shoulder.

“She’s deep in the drawing,” Bran told him, “as you can see.”

With Annika, Sawyer turned to the table.

“Oh!” Annika clasped her hands together. “It’s my mother. I mean, it’s my mother as this is Doyle’s. This is how my mother looks.”

“Some mother,” Sawyer noted. “You look like the other one.”

“I do?”

“The eyes. You have the same eyes as the blond one. And, I’ve got to say, the blonde looks a lot like my grandmother—or photos I’ve seen of her when she was young. She was hot.”

“Then your granny and my mother are twins,” Riley said from behind Sawyer. “I’d say my theory’s been as confirmed as it can be. Each one of us—because when Sasha’s finished, one of these will ring for her—came from one of them.”

“I think it’s more.”

Riley glanced at Doyle. “More what?”

“This could be a drawing of two of my sisters—not as exact as the Arianrhod to my mother, to Bran’s grandmother, but it’s striking. And this? The one who rings, as you call it, for you and Sawyer? My brother Feilim.”

“Interesting. I say we take a close look, in better light, when Sasha’s done.” So saying, Riley picked up one of the sketches. “And see if there’s more crossover.”

“What?” Sawyer scratched his head. “We’re all cousins?”

“Considering it’s been maybe a millennium since this family tree took root? Yeah, I’m going with the crossover.”

“This is so nice.” Annika hugged Riley, then Doyle. “We’re even more family now.”

“We are of the blood.” Sasha spoke as in the east the sky bloomed with light. “Conceived and born on the Island of Glass, suckled and nurtured by the mothers, by the gods, and sent from one world to another. Conceived with the stars, born with the moon, gifted and given. Wherever taken by the winds of fate, brought together, blood of the blood, a millennium plus two since the fall.

“The star waits, the Ice Star, frozen in time and place. Its day comes when the worlds still for five beats of a heart. Fire to see, water to feel, ice to fight, to take their place when the Tree of All Life blooms once more.”

Drenched in visions, Sasha lifted her hand to the eastern sky. “And she waits, weak and cold, tended by her creature. She waits and gathers powers dark to strike at the heart, the mind, the body. This world will quake from her wrath. Seek the past, open the heart.”

Now she lowered that hand, pressed it to her own heart. “Follow its path. Its light is your light. It waits. Worlds wait. She waits. Reach into yesterday, and bring them home.”

Sasha lowered her arms, swayed. “I’m okay,” she said when Bran put his arms around her. “But I could sit down for a minute.”

“You’re cold. Damn it. Inside with you. Annika, there’s water in the wet bar over there.”

“Wet bar?”

“I’ve got it.” Riley dashed inside, pulled open the small cooler in back of the angled bar while Bran half carried Sasha to a chair in front of the fire he set blazing.

Annika pulled a deep green throw off a sofa, tucked it around Sasha’s legs.

“Thanks. I’m really okay. It just kept going, stronger and stronger, then dropped away so fast.” She took the water with another thanks, sipped. “Honestly, I’d kill for coffee. Why don’t we go— Oh.” When a thick mug appeared in Bran’s hand, she smiled, her voice melting with love as she touched his cheek. “Bran. Don’t look so worried. I’m fine.”

“Your hands are cold,” he told her, and wrapped them around the mug.

“It all felt so urgent. I had to get the images down. I swear I heard their voices in my head, telling me to show them to you, to all of you. I saw them as clearly as I see all of you. And . . . I felt, I almost felt I could reach out and touch them.”

She sipped coffee, sighed deep. “Your mother, you said, Anni, the brunette with the bow.”

“It’s so like her. She’s very beautiful.”

“And my grandmother—like Bran and Doyle’s connection. I didn’t know her—my mother’s mother—when she was young. I barely know her at all, really. But I know it. The goddess is Celene, the seer, who created the Fire Star, to gift the new queen with sight and wisdom. Riley and Sawyer’s closest connection is Luna—dove and sword—the Water Star, who gifted the queen with heart and compassion. And the last is Arianrhod, the warrior, for courage.”

“And we six have some of all of them,” Riley said.

“Yes. They chose a mate, conceived a child, guided, loved, nurtured, and sent the child, on their sixteenth birthday, from their world to ours. I felt their grief.”

Annika knelt down, laid her head in Sasha’s lap. “My mother wept when I left to come to you. She was proud, but she cried. It would be hard to send a son or daughter away.”