Island of Glass (The Guardians Trilogy #3)(69)

“We’ll map it out.” Bran rubbed Sasha’s shoulder. “Steady now?”

“Yes.”

“I’d say some food would be in order. And wine.”

“Won’t argue with either.”

“Soup’s on. Anni, why don’t you check on that? I’ll get the map.” Sawyer gave her hand a tug, and left Doyle alone with Riley.

“I don’t like explaining myself,” he began.

“Then don’t.” She started to walk away; he gripped her arm.

“I wanted to talk to a brother, and a witch, because I’d be talking about going back where I lost a brother, and killed the witch who cursed me.”

“Okay.”

“That’s it?”

“Jesus, Doyle, buy a clue. We all know it sucks, we all know it’s brutal. So you needed to lay it out to Bran first. Fine. I— We’re with you.”

“I’d have spoken to Sawyer before you.”

“Now you’re pissing me off again.”

“Why did you come out here with the other women?”

“I wanted some practice. Sasha needs the practice.” Then she mumbled a curse. “And okay, I wanted the female for a while. I get it.”

He hesitated, then gentled his hold on her arm. “If I had a life to lose, I’d put it in your hands. That’s trust and respect.”

“I could be an asshole, claim that’s easy for you to say. But I’m not an asshole, and I know it’s not. We’re cool.” She held out a hand to shake on it.

He gripped her elbows, hauled her up, kissed her. “You’re not a sister to me.”

“Good thing.”

“But you are . . . essential. Going where we’re going tomorrow, I want you with me.”

Struck, touched, she laid a hand on his cheek. “I will be.”

He dropped her to her feet, considered a moment, then took her hand. Rather than shake it, he held it as they walked back to the house.

? ? ?

Well armed, they set out early in the morning. Riley rode with Doyle on his bike as they traveled away from the coast, wound through land where the hills rolled green and serene into a sky that held in a sweet summer blue.

She imagined Doyle taking a similar route on that very hard day, on horseback. Hooves striking the ground, Doyle’s cloak flying as he pressed for speed. A faster trip now, she thought as they whizzed around curves where wild lilies sprang yellow as the sunlight they danced in. But a harder one for him. Before he’d believed he’d save his brother, bring him home to family.

Now he knew he never would.

But if they found the star . . .

Did that place that had once held such evil now serve as the resting place for the Ice Star?

Either way, they rode toward a fight. And she was more than ready for one.

Essential. He’d said that to her. She tried not to think too much of it, just as she tried not to probe too deeply into her own feelings. Far from the priority right now, she reminded herself. Whatever she felt, whatever he felt, didn’t rise up to the fate of worlds.

He slowed, veered off onto a narrow, bumpy track.

“We walk from here,” he told her. “Bran’s car can’t handle this.”

She swung off. “How far?”

“A little more than a kilometer.”

He paused, looked left over a stone wall to a small farm where a spotted dog napped in the sun and cows grazed in a field beyond.

As he stood, the farmhouse with its blue trim, the outbuildings, an old tractor, even the spotted dog faded away.

There on the field and up the rising hill sheep cropped. A shepherd boy sat dozing, propped against a rock. He opened his eyes, pale blue, and looked back at Doyle.

“Do you see him there?”

“The dog?”

“The boy. He watched me that day. He watches me now.”

“There’s no boy.” Riley kept a hand on his arm, looked back as Bran walked up with the others.

“His hair’s almost white under his cap. He’s half asleep, with his crook over his lap.”

“There’s a smear over the air.” Bran lifted a hand, pushed. Narrowed his eyes against the resistance, pushed again.

The pretty farm sat quiet, and the dog slept on.

“She’s working on you, man.”

Doyle nodded at Sawyer’s words. “Up this track, about a kilometer. The cave’s in a hillock of rock and sod. There’s a small pond outside it. It swam black that day.”

And what lived in it, he remembered as they began to walk, had slithered under the oily surface like snakes.

Now along the narrow track were the yellow lilies and overgrown hedgerows dripping with fuchsia. A magpie winged by.

One is for sorrow.

As they neared he saw the signs and talismans—carved in wood or stone, fashioned from stick and straws. Warnings and protections against evil.

As the others said nothing, he knew they saw only the rambling stone wall, the wildflowers, the scatter of cows in the field.

A raven swooped down, perched on the wall. As Riley reached for her gun, Doyle stayed her hand. “You see that, at least.” He pulled his sword, cleaved the bird in two.

Trees sprang up, and birds called from them. The cheerful, country birds that did no harm. Through the trees, he caught the glint of water from the pond. He angled right, strode through the sheltering grove.