“It’s all right.” Branna left her hand on Fin’s heart another moment, then let it fall away. “We’re coming back now. Fin’s been too long away from his own party. We’ll go toast the New Year. For luck. For light. For what may be.”
“For what should be,” Fin said, and walked out ahead of them.
“Go
with him,” Meara suggested, and moved into Branna. “Are you all right then?”
“I am. But it’s God’s truth I could do with a drink, and as much as it goes against my nature, a lot of noise and people.”
“We’ll get all of that.”
When she put an arm around Branna’s waist, Branna leaned into her a moment. “How could I love him more now than once I did? How could it be so much more in me for him when what was, was everything?”
“Love can fade and die. I’ve seen it. It can grow and build as well. I think when it’s real and meant, it can only grow bigger and stronger.”
“It’s not meant to be a misery.”
“No. It’s what we do with it that’s the misery or the joy, I think, not the love.”
Branna sighed, gave Meara a long look. “When did you get so bloody wise about it?”
“Since I let myself love.”
“Let’s go toast to that then. To you letting yourself love, to Iona’s party skills, to the New bloody Year, to the end of Cabhan. I feel I might want to get a wee bit snackered.”
“What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t get snackered right along with you? Let’s find some champagne.”
11
HE WAS MORE THAN DONE WITH PEOPLE. AT HALF-TWO in the morning, far too many of them lingered in his house, cozied up as if they’d stay till spring. He considered just going upstairs, shutting himself in, leaving them to it. He was brutally tired, and more, that moment—that incredible moment with Branna had cross-wired his emotions so he didn’t know what he felt.
So it seemed easier all around to shut it all off and feel nothing at all.
She seemed perfectly content to sit, sip champagne, chat with whoever remained. But that was Branna, wasn’t it? Strong as steel.
The best thing for him would be a few hours’ escape in sleep. They’d be back to Cabhan in the morning—or later in the morning. And the sooner the better. Ending him would fulfill his obligations. Ending Cabhan would end his own personal torment.
So he’d slip away—no one would miss him by this point.
Then Iona stepped up, as if she’d read his mind, twined her arm with his, took his hand.
“The problem with throwing a really great party is people don’t want to leave.”
“I do.”
She laughed, squeezed his hand. “We’re down to the diehards, and we’ll start nudging them along. Your circle won’t leave you alone with them. Give it about twenty minutes. What you should do is go around, start gathering up the empties since the caterers left a couple hours ago. It’s a sign it’s time to go.”
“If you say.”
“I do.” To demonstrate, she began picking up bottles and glasses, gave Boyle a telling look that had him doing the same.
In moments a handful of those diehards readied to go with many thanks and wishes for a happy and prosperous New Year. And in the case of a few, such as Sean, heartfelt if somewhat sloppy hugs.
Party magicks, Fin decided, and started on discarded tea and coffee cups.
He carted them up to the kitchen, said good-bye to another handful. Two birds, he decided, he’d have the party debris dealt with, and move out the stragglers.
Though it took thirty minutes rather than Iona’s predicted twenty, he wouldn’t complain.