Island of Glass (The Guardians Trilogy #3)(92)

He thought of Riley’s fast. Her hard luck.

He didn’t question that his clothes, his hair and body, so thoroughly drenched by the storm and the sea, were now dry and comfortably warm.

They didn’t walk in a world of logic now.

A fire crackled invitingly, and though light seemed to emanate from the walls, candles flickered.

From somewhere, soft as a whisper, came harp song.

“You have questions. But the body, mind, and spirit must be fed.” Celene poured wine into goblets. “And rested. Your chambers are prepared for you, when you’re ready.”

“There is beer.” Arianrhod poured from an amber bottle, offered it to Doyle. “There will be food for her in the chamber you share when she wakes.”

“And if I go out to look for her?”

“You are free to go as you please, as she is. As all are. Might I see your sword? And you mine,” she added when his eyes narrowed. She drew hers, held it out to him. “I forged it when I was very young, tempered it with lightning and cooled it in the sea. I named it Ceartas.”

“Justice?”

She smiled. “I was very young.”

He accepted her sword, gave her his own.

“It has good balance and weight,” Arianrhod decided. “It still carries her blood.”

“Apparently not enough of it.”

“My sword, despite its name, was not meant to bear her blood. I envy you that. I would like to spar with you.”

Doyle arched an eyebrow. “Now?”

He saw a warrior’s gleam in her eye before she glanced back where the others filled plates, tended wounds. “My sisters would object, but perhaps tomorrow.”

“You’d have an advantage.”

She exchanged swords with him, sheathed her own. “Warrior to warrior, not god to immortal.”

“No. You look like my mother.”

That warrior gleam shifted to a compassion he hadn’t expected. “I hope a time comes when you find comfort there instead of grief. Eat, soldier, the food is good.”

Now she turned to Sawyer. “The demon, the human she turned, is dead.”

“Yeah.”

Doyle’s head whipped around as the others stopped to look at Sawyer. “Malmon’s finished?”

“We’ve been a little too busy for the recount.” Sawyer rubbed the back of his neck. “He went at Riley.”

“The marks on her throat,” Doyle added.

“She shot him, knifed him—body hits. I went for the head shot.” He gulped some wine, struggling a little. Malmon had been human once. “It took three. Magick number.”

“He is no more?” Annika asked softly.

“Melted into a pile of goo.” Sawyer sent Bran a wan smile. “You’re probably going to have to clean that up.”

“We are sworn not to do such evil.” Luna lowered her head, then lifted it. “But she has broken all oaths. And he became her evil. She turned him because she saw what he was. What was human, she destroyed. Not you, Sawyer King. You ended a demon.”

“To save a friend, a sister.” Now Arianrhod turned back to Doyle and from her pocket she took a key. “This will guide you to your bedchamber when you retire.”

“How will she find me?”

Surprise, and perhaps a little disappointment, moved over Arianrhod’s face. “You should trust, son of Cleary, Son of Glass. As long as your heart beats, she will find you.”

“Now you have food and drink and comfort,” Luna began, “we will give you privacy. If you have a need for anything, you have only to ask. Eat and rest well, and we will be with you on the morrow.”

“No harm will come tonight,” Celene vowed. “And nothing will disturb you. Be welcome here.”

When they were alone, Doyle picked up the beer, sampled it, decided he sure as hell couldn’t complain about that.

Sawyer lifted a hand. “Can I just say, holy shit? I’m not sure my brain’s caught up with the rest of me, but we’re sitting at our own personal banquet in a castle on the freaking Island of Glass. A castle, in case you didn’t notice, that’s made of glass.”

“Bollocks,” Doyle said.

“Back at you, dude. I had a good look, a good—if sneaky—feel. Plus I tapped on it. Glass. Magick glass, I bet, but wow. Plus, a god just poured me a drink.”

“They’re very nice. We made them happy, too.” Annika bit into a little cream cake. “I like this food.”

“She’s right about the food,” Sawyer told Doyle.

“Yeah, I could eat.” But he walked to the glass doors, opened them to look out on the hills.

“She’s fine. I can feel her.” Sasha leaned against Bran, sipped wine. “She’s more than fine. She’s thrilled. This is a world few have seen, much less explored, and there’s still an archaeologist inside the wolf.” Rising, Sasha filled a plate, walked over to Doyle. “Eat.”

“Eat, drink, and be merry?”

“Tomorrow’s coming either way.”

She went back to Bran.

He stroked her hair. “We found the stars, we found the island and returned them. And we should have known, I suppose, such things come in threes. So we’ve one more leg to go.”