Island of Glass (The Guardians Trilogy #3)(66)

Curious, Doyle walked over to see what Bran had written.

“In the old tongue.”

“The language of my blood—and yours. Of the old gods, of the old powers.”

“A kind of locator spell,” Doyle said, translating. “Using the coat of arms as . . . a homing device.”

“More or less. Let’s have some tea.” He rose, leaving the book open, and walked over to plug in an electric kettle.

“You don’t need electricity and teapots.”

“Well now, the gods help those who help themselves, we could say. No point in being lazy about basic practicalities.”

“Others would.”

“And have. It’s not how I was taught. The spell,” Bran said, winding back to it as he measured tea leaves. “I thought of what happened to Riley, and again what she and Sawyer did. So this will find any of us who might become separated. I’ve given it some work since Annika and Sawyer were taken in Capri, but other matters bumped ahead of it until now.”

“Because we’ve had a little more time on our hands in the last few days.”

“For as long as it lasts. Impatient?”

“Brother, I may have all the time in the world, but if this is the time—and we all believe it is—we shouldn’t waste it.”

“I’ll agree, though I’ll tell you it’s been pleasant having Sasha settle in here, have that time to paint without being plagued day and night with visions.”

He made the tea, offered Doyle a mug. Setting his own aside, he locked the spell book. “Let’s sit so you can tell me what you have in mind.”

“Sawyer’s huddled up with Sasha in the other tower.”

“Working on the design for the ring, yes.” Bran smiled and sat back. And reading the smile, Doyle shrugged.

“I respect the women without qualifications. I’m more used to talking war with men.”

“There are none of us, put together, who has the experience in battle you do.”

Though he’d have said the same once, Doyle shook his head. “That doesn’t fly, not now. But putting that and gender equality aside—”

“Sometimes a man must talk to a man. And a woman to her own.”

“It’s no great change. The exploration of underwater caves has given us nothing but locations to cross off.”

“Agreed. We found the same in Corfu and Capri.”

“It feels different here.” Restless, Doyle glanced toward the window. “I don’t know if it’s my own feelings about being here, or if it is different.”

“Would you go back?” Bran asked. “It’s something I’ve wondered. Would you, knowing you couldn’t save your brother then, do differently if you could go back to that day?”

“Not try? Sure I’d have a normal life span, but what measure of life would it be, knowing I’d done nothing for him, and all for myself? I’ve had more than enough time to resolve I did all I could. I failed, and that will never leave me, but I did all I could do, and would do it again.”

Doyle studied his tea, dark and strong. “You wonder why I haven’t asked Sawyer to take me back so I could kill the witch before she harmed him—or try. Sawyer would, as there’s little he wouldn’t do for a friend. I’ll ask you, wizard, could I change the fates?”

“I don’t know, but I know this. You might save one brother and lose another. Or start a war that takes the lives of thousands. The past, to my mind, isn’t to be meddled with. The gods themselves let it lie.”

“Change a moment, change an eon.” Doyle stared into the fire, the shadow and light. “I’ve thought the same. I failed, and the man he might have been was lost. The man I might have been was lost with him.”

“The man you are is enough. We’re here, you and I, and four others, blown by the winds of fate to some extent. But more, I believe, through every step we’ve taken, every choice we’ve made along our way. So we’re here.”

Bran waited a beat, arched his scarred eyebrow. “What do you want to do?”

“I’ve thought of the words spoken, Sasha’s visions. Of coming here of all the places in the world. The gods make us pay, for all those steps, all those choices.”

And this, Doyle knew, would be one of the most painful he’d ever made. “I know the cave where my brother died. It’s time I went back. Time we looked there.”

Doyle’s eyes narrowed on Bran’s face. “You’ve thought the same.”

“Whatever I thought, it had to come from you. If you’re ready for it, we’ll go together.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Bran agreed. “I’ve thought of other words, ones spoken to you, you told me, by a redheaded witch. How love would pierce your heart with fang and claw.”

Doyle nearly laughed. “Riley? She’s not looking to pierce my heart. We understand each other.”

Bran might have spoken again, but Sasha rushed in.

“Oh, sorry. I’m interrupting.”

“No, we’ve finished.” Doyle started to rise.

“Just sit a minute, and you can add your opinion. After considerable attempts, I’ve got a design Sawyer’s about ninety-eight percent sold on. Have a look. He’s gone to make sure Annika’s occupied. And to think about it.”