Island of Glass (The Guardians Trilogy #3)(59)

They drilled. Riley hated to admit Doyle was right, but they needed to. Maybe it was weird to think—and feel—battles with evil forces had become a kind of routine, but as she’d nearly had her ass handed to her, she had to admit that as part of the issue.

She’d gotten sloppy, and she hadn’t been alone.

When he called it, she slipped off. Not to hit the books, but to give in to recovery. She stretched out on the sofa in the tower library, fire snapping, and took a much-needed nap.

Refreshed, she wandered back into the kitchen, and into the marvelous scents of roasted meat and potatoes.

“Good timing,” Sawyer told her. “Lamb’s resting. We eat in ten.”

Glancing over, she noted Annika had already set the table. She’d fashioned a bride and groom out of salt and pepper mills, draping a train of white linen for Sasha, creating a bow tie out of a black ribbon for Bran. She’d even created an arbor of flowers over them.

“Sweet,” Riley declared.

“She is that. I thought aquamarine.”

“Huh?”

“For a ring. For Anni.”

“Oh. Because it represents the sea. Nice, Sawyer.”

“I don’t suppose you know where I can get one—the stone. Just the stone. I’m thinking Sasha could help me design a ring, and maybe Bran could . . .” He wiggled his fingers.

Sweet, she thought again. “I’ll make some calls.”

? ? ?

They had their celebratory meal, with the bridal tablescape and champagne. Doyle might’ve preferred beer, but he figured some moments deserved the sparkle.

They didn’t talk of war but of wedding, and as a man who’d lived lifetimes as a soldier, he knew there were moments as well to put the blood and the battles aside and give over to love and life.

He might not have had much to say about either, but his companions didn’t appear to need him, as conversation never lagged.

“Would you marry me here?” Bran asked. “When the stars are returned, and our lives are our own again?”

“Here? I can’t think of a more perfect or beautiful place. My mother—”

“We’ll bring her over, and my family will come in droves, believe me.”

“Móraí.” The idea delighted Annika. “I can show her the scarves I’ve made. But . . .”

“You’re worried you won’t be able to come, that you’ll be back in the sea,” Sasha said. “Bran?”

“I’ll make you a pool,” he promised. “If your time on land is up, you’ll have a pool, and be part of the day.”

“You’d do that for me?”

Bran reached over to take her hand, to kiss her knuckles. “You’re my sister.”

“And mine. Both you and Riley. So you’ll be my maids of honor. You’ll do that, won’t you?”

“Couldn’t stop us, right, Anni?”

“Oh, we will be so happy to be maids of honor. What is it?”

As Sasha laughed, Riley reached for more potatoes. “Like attendants. It’s a tradition with a long history—which I’ll refrain from recounting.”

She ignored the applause that rounded the table.

“But to bring it current, we stand up for Sasha, help make the day perfect for her. Then we party.”

“I would like that very much.”

“And I have my best men here, with Doyle and Sawyer. It’s very like what you and Riley will be for Sasha.”

“You can count on us, bro. You can count on us to throw you the mother of all stag parties, right, Doyle?”

“You will have deer?” Annika wondered.

“Stag parties are an excuse for the groom and his pals to drink themselves stupid and hire a stripper,” Riley told her.

“They have too much class for strippers,” Sasha objected.

“No, we don’t.” And Doyle reached for more champagne.

“We’ll have our own version,” Riley assured her.

“You’ll make some calls,” Doyle assumed.

“I’ve got some contacts.”

? ? ?

Bran waited until the meal wound down.

“I’d like everyone to join me outside in an hour. For a kind of ceremony, you could say. You’ll need your weapons.”

“If it’s another drill after that meal . . .” Riley groaned as she pushed back from the table.

“Something else. In an hour,” Bran said again, “by the seawall.”

Riley spent the bulk of the hour making those calls, then pocketed her phone to go gather weapons. Since Bran hadn’t been specific, she decided to haul out all of them.

When Sawyer walked into the sitting room turned armory, she realized he’d had the same idea.

“I was going to hunt you up after I took down the first load.”

“No hunting required, and with two of us, we should be able to handle it in one trip.”

“Speaking of trips,” she said as she slung the long-distance rifle over her shoulder. “I’ve got a source for your aquamarine.”

“You— Already?”

“We deliver. Bran didn’t say ammo, but . . .” She shoved extra mags in her pockets.

“Wait. Where? How?”