Island of Glass (The Guardians Trilogy #3)(91)

And the desperate need to run as the feral energy of the change churned inside her. She quivered with it even as Doyle crouched beside her, a hand light on her neck.

“Don’t run, not yet.”

Instinct, intellect crashed and clashed inside her, yet another battle. But his eyes, strong and green, held her still. Then she braced, muscles coiled, prepared to attack and defend and she scented something . . . other.

Beside her Doyle reached for his sword.

They flowed from dark to light, the moon goddesses of Sasha’s vision and art. Still gripping his sword, Doyle straightened. Bran laid a hand on his arm.

“Sheath your sword, mo chara. They’re of the light. Can’t you feel it?”

“Just how do you say hi to a god?” Sawyer wondered. “I mean one who’s not trying to kill you.”

Annika solved the puzzle by running forward, wet braid flying. “Hello! We’re so happy! You’re so beautiful. You look like my mother, and like Móraí. Like the pictures Sasha drew. We’re very wet, and, oh, I have some blood.” As if brushing lint from a lapel, Annika rubbed at the blood on her arm. “I’m sorry we’re so messy.”

“That’s one way,” Sawyer murmured.

Luna smiled. “You are very welcome here, Sons and Daughters of Glass.” And she laid a hand on Annika’s arm, healed the gash as she kissed her cheek.

“Oh, thank you. We brought the stars for you. Sasha has them. She has some blood, too. And Sawyer—he’s my mate. And Bran has blood and burns. The moon is full here, so Riley had to change very fast to her wolf. And this is Doyle. He stabbed Nerezza with his sword and she fell into the sea. Now the fighting is done, and we’re here. I have such happy.”

“You are joy,” Luna told her. “And you are loved,” she said to all.

“You are courage.” Arianrhod stepped forward. “And you are valued. We will talk,” she said to Riley, “but you must run. Be free.” Then she looked at Doyle. “On my honor, she will be safe, and she will come back to you.”

The wolf turned her head, looked at Doyle. Then bounded across the sand and into the dark.

“She will always find her way to you, and you to her.”

“You are strength and valor.” Celene stepped to Bran, kissed his cheek. “Power and light. You are respected, and have all our gratitude.”

“We are your children.”

“Blood of our blood, bone of our bone. Heart,” Celene added, laying a hand on Bran’s, “of our hearts. Daughter.” She turned to Sasha. “Will you give us the stars?”

“Yes.”

Each goddess held out a hand. As the glass around the stars shimmered away, each star floated to the hand that created it.

Pulsed, pulsed, stilled. Vanished.

“Are they back in the sky?” Annika looked up.

“Not yet,” Luna told her. “But safe.”

“Don’t mean to tell you your business,” Sawyer began, “but wasn’t the whole deal about putting them back up there?”

“We’re not done,” Sasha said. “It’s not finished.”

“I didn’t end her,” Doyle said as he studied Sasha’s face. “She’s still out there.”

“Your sword struck true.” With one hand on the hilt of her own, Arianrhod faced Doyle, warrior to warrior. “As you are true. But your steel was not the sword that brings her end. Until her end, the stars wait.”

“She cannot reach them now,” Luna assured them.

“But she can reach us, even here,” Sasha said as truth pumped through her. “Now the rage heals her wounds, and once healed, her madness will be complete. She will crave our deaths like wine.”

“But not tonight.” Celene raised her arms high. “See what I see, know what I know. This night is pure, and the Children of Glass are welcomed home.”

“To take another journey.” Sasha’s eyes darkened as she saw, and she knew. “Beyond the circle of power where the Tree of All Life shelters the stone, and the stone shelters the sword. One hand to draw it, one to wield it, all to end what would swallow worlds.”

“But not tonight,” Celene said again. “Tonight you will have food and drink and rest. Come. We will tend to you.”

“She is safe.” Arianrhod laid a hand on Doyle’s arm when he hesitated. “And will be guided to you.”

As he glanced toward the hills, shadows under a star-dazed sky, he heard the wolf howl. The sound of joy and triumph echoed after him as he took the winding, torch-lit path with the others.

The palace, rising high into the night sky, was as Sasha had foreseen. Gardens of color and scent, musical fountains, rooms with a fairy-tale gleam that glowed with light and glinted with sparkle.

No one approached them as they followed three goddesses up a sweep of silver stairs strewn with flowers and white candles as tall as a man. Jeweled ropes dripped from the ceiling, raining light as they traveled along a wide corridor into a large chamber.

An elaborate sitting room, Doyle supposed, decked out with curved sofas and chairs in the same jewel colors as the ropes of light. Tables held food—platters of meats and fruit and bread, cheeses and olives and dates. Desserts all but bursting with cream. Wine and crystal goblets.