He could barely drum up a curse when the doors slid open, and he saw Glenna step into the dark.
“Oh for pity’s sake.” Her voice was impatient, and an instant later, the lights flashed on.
They seared his eyes so that this time his curses were loud and heartfelt.
“Look at you.” She set aside the large and elegantly wrapped box she’d carried in. “Sitting in the dark like a—”
“Vampire. Go away.”
“It reeks of whiskey in here.” As if she owned the place, she walked into his kitchen and began making coffee. While it was brewing she came out to find him exactly as he’d been.
“Merry Christmas to you, too.” She angled her head. “You need a shave, a haircut—and one day when you’re not sulking I’m going to ask how you accomplish that sort of thing. A shave,” she repeated, “a haircut, and since whiskey’s not the only reek in here, a bath.”
His eyes remained hooded, and his lips curved without a whiff of humor. “Going to give me one, Red?”
“If that’s what it takes. Why don’t you clean yourself up, Cian, come back to the apartment with me? We have plenty of leftover Christmas dinner. It’s Christmas Day,” she said to his blank look. “Nearly nine o’clock Christmas night, actually, and I’ve left my husband home alone because he’s as stubborn as you and won’t come back here without an invitation.”
“That’s something anyway. I don’t want leftovers. Or that coffee you’re making in there.” He lifted his glass. “I’ve got what I want.”
“Fine. Stay drunk and smelly and miserable. But maybe you’ll want this, too.”
She marched over to the box, hefted it, then brought it over to drop it in his lap. “Open it.”
He studied it without interest “But I didn’t get anything for you.”
She crouched at his feet now. “We’ll consider your opening it my gift. Please. It’s important to me.”
“Will you go away if I open it?”
“Soon.”
To placate her, he lifted the lid with its silver paper and elaborate bow, brushed aside the top layer of sparkling tissue.
And Moira looked out at him.
“Ah, damn you, damn you, Glenna.” Neither whiskey nor will could hold against the image of her. Emotion shook in his voice as he lifted the framed portrait. “It’s beautiful. She’s beautiful.”
Glenna had painted her in that moment Moira had drawn the sword free from the stone. The dreaminess and power of it, with green shadows, silver mists, and the new queen standing with the shining sword pointed toward the heavens.
“I thought, hoped, that having it would remind you what you helped give her. She wouldn’t have stood there without you. There’d be no Geall without you. I wouldn’t be here without you. None of us would have survived this without each one of us.” She laid a hand on his. “We’re still a circle, Cian. We always will be.”
“I did the right thing for her, leaving. I did the right thing.”
“Yes.” She squeezed his hand now. “You did the right thing, an enormous and pure act of love. But knowing you did the right thing for all the right reasons doesn’t stop the pain.”
“Nothing does. Nothing.”
“I’d say time will, but I don’t know if it’s true.” Sympathy swam in her voice, in her eyes. “I will say you have friends and family who love you, and will be there for you. You have people who love you, Cian, who hurt for you.”
“I don’t know how to take what you want to give me, not yet. But this.” He traced his finger around the frame. “Thank you for this.”
“You’re welcome. There are photographs, too. Ones I took in Ireland. I thought you might like to have them.”
He started to lift the next layers of tissue, then stopped. “I need a moment.”
“Sure. I’ll go finish the coffee.”
Alone, he uncovered the large manila envelope, and opened it.