“I am not sad. I only came out to think. To be alone and think.”
“You think too loud,” Eamon muttered, still smarting over the “puny” comment.
“And you should have more manners than to listen to others’ thoughts.”
“How can I help it when you shout them?”
“Stop. We will not quarrel.” Teagan might have been the smallest of them, but she didn’t lack in will. “We will not quarrel,” she repeated. “Brannaugh is sad, Eamon is like a man standing on hot coals, and I . . . I feel like I do when I’ve had too much pudding.”
“Are you ill?” Brannaugh’s anger whisked away. She peered into Teagan’s eyes.
“Not that way. Something is . . . not balanced. I feel it. I think you do, and you do. So we will not quarrel. We are family.” Still holding Brannaugh’s hand, Teagan reached for Eamon’s. “Tell us, sister, why you’re sad.”
“I . . . I want to cast a circle. I want to feel the light in me. I want to cast a circle and sit in its light with you. Both of you.”
“We rarely ever do,” Teagan said. “Because Ailish would we didn’t.”
“And she has taken us in. We owe her respect in her home. But we are not in her home now, and she need not know. I need the light. I need to speak with you within our circle, where no one can hear.”
“I will cast it. I practice,” Teagan told her. “When Alastar and I ride away, I practice.”
On a sigh, Brannaugh ran a hand down her sister’s bright hair. “It’s good you do. Cast the circle, deirfiúr bheag.”
2
BRANNAUGH WATCHED TEAGAN WORK, HOW HER SISTER pulled light, pulled fire out of herself, gave the goddess her thanks as she forged the ring. A ring wide enough, Brannaugh thought, with amusement and with gratitude, to include Kathel.
“You did well. I should have taught you more, but I . . .”
“Respected Ailish.”
“And worry as well,” Eamon put in, “that if we use our power too much, too strong, he’ll know. He’ll come.”
“Aye.” Brannaugh sat on the ground, looped an arm around Kathel. “She wanted us safe. She gave up everything for us. Her power, her life. She belie
ved she would destroy him, and we would be safe. She couldn’t know whatever black power he bargained with could bring him out of the ashes.”
“Weaker.”
She looked at Eamon, nodded. “Yes, weaker. Then. He . . . eats power, I think. He’ll find others, take from them, grow stronger. She wanted us safe.” Brannaugh drew a breath. “Fial wishes to wed me.”
Eamon’s mouth fell open. “Fial? But he’s old.”
“No older than Bardan.”
“Old!”
Brannaugh laughed, felt some of the tightness in her chest ease. “Men want young wives, it seems. So they can bear them many children, and still want to bed with them and cook for them.”
“You will not wed Fial,” Teagan said decisively.
“He is kind, and not uncomely. He has a house and farm larger than Ailish and Bardan. He would welcome you both.”
“You will not wed Fial,” Teagan repeated. “You do not love him.”
“I don’t look for love nor do I need it.”
“You should, but even if you close your eyes, it will find you. Do you forget the love between our mother and father?”