Morrigan's Cross (Circle Trilogy 1)

“Will you marry me, Glenna?”

“Yes.”

He cupped the back of her neck, drawing her to him. The kiss spun out, full of promise and possibilities. Full of hope. When her arms came around him, she knew she’d found the strongest part of her destiny.

“We have more to fight for now.” He turned his face into her hair. “More to be now.”

“Then we will be. Come with me. I’ll show you what I’m working on.”

She took him with her closer to the house where there were targets set up for archery training. The sound of hoofbeats had her looking over, just in time to see Larkin ride the stallion into the trees.

“I wish he wouldn’t ride in the woods. There are so many shadows.”

“I doubt they could catch him, if they were lying in wait. But if you asked him,” Hoyt said, running a hand down Glenna’s hair, “he’d keep to the fields.”

Her brows lifted in puzzlement. “If I asked?”

“If he knew you worried, he’d give that to you. He’s grateful for what you do for him. You feed him,” Hoyt said when she frowned.

“Oh. Well, he certainly likes to eat.” Glenna looked toward the house. Moira, she imagined, was having her morning session with the books, and Cian would be sleeping. As for Blair, it would take a little time before Glenna learned the newcomer’s routine.

“I think we’ll have lasagna for dinner. Don’t worry.” She patted his hand. “You’ll like it—and it occurs to me that I’m already tending the house, and the family in it. I never thought of myself as particularly domestic. The things you learn. And now.”

She drew her dagger, moving she realized, with complete ease from cookery to weaponry.

The things you learn.

“I worked on this yesterday.”

“On the dagger,” Hoyt prompted.

“On charming the dagger. I thought I should start small, eventually work up to a sword. We talked about doing something about weapons, but with one thing and the other, we haven’t really gotten down to it. Then I thought of this.”

He took it from her, skimmed a finger up the edge. “Charmed in what way?”

“Think fire.” His gaze moved back to hers. “No, literally,” she said as she stepped back a pace. “Think fire. Visualize it, skimming over the blade.”

He turned the dagger in his hand, then shifted to a fighting grip. He imagined fire, pictured it coating the steel. But the blade remained cool.

“Are there words to be said?” he asked her.

“No, you just have to want it, to see it. Try it again.”

He focused, and got nothing.

“All right, maybe it only works for me—for now. I can refine it.” She took it back from him, drew out the image, and pointed the dagger toward the target.

There wasn’t so much as a spurt.

“Damn it, it worked yesterday.” She took a closer look to make certain she hadn’t grabbed the wrong weapon that morning. “This is the right one, I inscribed a pentagram on the hilt. See?”

“Yes, I see it. Perhaps the charm is limited. It wore off.”

“I don’t see how. I should have to break the charm, and I didn’t. I put a lot of time and energy into this, so—”

“What’s going on?” Blair strolled out, one hand tucked in the front pocket of her jeans, the other holding a steaming cup of coffee. There was a knife in a sheath at her hip, and the glimmer of moonstones dangling from her ears. “Knife-throwing practice?”

“No. Good morning.”