Bay of Sighs (The Guardians Trilogy 2)

“It needs a little more work, but— It’s enough for now.”

Bran came first, slid an arm around her as he studied the portrait of Annika.

“Does it illuminate her, or does she illuminate it?”

“I think it’s both. I felt I needed to rush, that time is running out. I didn’t capture the glow—of her, of the star. It would bring tears, that glow.”

She turned her face into his shoulder. “Bran, are you sure you can’t help them? Sure there’s nothing you can do to allow her to stay with him?”

“Even if it wasn’t beyond my powers, and I believe it is, the spell wasn’t done to harm. She was given the gift of legs, and for a purpose. And she took an oath, of her own free will. I can’t circumvent that.”

“It breaks my heart.” She held close a moment, made herself step back. “You’re going home.”

“We are. It’s yours, fáidh, if you’ll have it. Would you live there with me, and me with you in your mountains in America? And my flats in Dublin and New York. Any and all.”

“I’d live with you anywhere. Any and all, Bran.” She held him again as she looked at the painting. “It’s beautiful and powerful. It’s so yours. Do you know why you built a home just there?”

“Only that when I walked that path the first time, came to the cliffs and the ruins there, I knew it was for me. It needed a home, and I needed to be there.”

Annika stepped out, gave a gasp. “You’ve drawn me. I found the star. I hold it. I will find it.”

“You can, and I believe you will.”

Doyle came out, just ahead of Riley. Sasha felt her heart wring out tears of sympathy.

“Got yourself a star, Anni. And I’m betting that portrait’s reality before today’s over.” Buoyed, Riley shifted over to where Doyle stood, staring down at the painting.

“Some digs, Bran. I think we could rough it there on the last and final leg of this quest. How many bedrooms?” she asked.

“Ten, though two are only put into use for that when my family comes in a herd.”

“Is there one in either of those towers?”

“Yes.”

“Dibs on it.”

“This is yours?” Doyle spoke, but never took his gaze from the painting. “This house, on these cliffs, with the woods thick at its back? And to the north, just on the verge of the woods, is a well.”

“There’s an old well, and I was told the woods came in closer at one time. How do . . . Ah.” It struck him. “You know this land, these cliffs.”

“This sea, the woods. I know it. It’s my home. Or was. My grandfather helped his father build it, or the first of it. A fine stone house. And my father helped his father add rooms to the south side, as my father was one of ten children and all of them lived. That was McCleary blood, they said. Strong and healthy. And I helped my father repair the old stable his grandfather had first built. And the sheep grazed on the rocky hills, and we hunted deer and rabbit in those woods.

“And my brother died in my arms less than a day’s hard ride from where we were born. Now they’d have me go back, these gods.”

“I’m so sorry, Doyle—” Sasha began, but Riley shook her head.

“Who came before us, how they lived, what they built? It matters. We honor them by going back, by walking where they walked, living where they lived. They’re never gone if they matter, if they’re honored.”

Doyle looked at her for a long moment. “It’s the one place on this world I never wanted to walk again.”

“Gods are bastards.”

“They are, yes. They are.”

“But Bran built a house where yours once stood. That’s not happenstance. We’ve got to go with it, learn why.”

“There’s no question of not going. And this is where you’ll put the star, as you put the other in the painting of the woods?”