Island of Glass
Page 65
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
“Change a moment, change an eon.” Doyle stared into the fire, the shadow and light. “I’ve thought the same. I failed, and the man he might have been was lost. The man I might have been was lost with him.”
“The man you are is enough. We’re here, you and I, and four others, blown by the winds of fate to some extent. But more, I believe, through every step we’ve taken, every choice we’ve made along our way. So we’re here.”
Bran waited a beat, arched his scarred eyebrow. “What do you want to do?”
“I’ve thought of the words spoken, Sasha’s visions. Of coming here of all the places in the world. The gods make us pay, for all those steps, all those choices.”
And this, Doyle knew, would be one of the most painful he’d ever made. “I know the cave where my brother died. It’s time I went back. Time we looked there.”
Doyle’s eyes narrowed on Bran’s face. “You’ve thought the same.”
“Whatever I thought, it had to come from you. If you’re ready for it, we’ll go together.”
“Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” Bran agreed. “I’ve thought of other words, ones spoken to you, you told me, by a redheaded witch. How love would pierce your heart with fang and claw.”
Doyle nearly laughed. “Riley? She’s not looking to pierce my heart. We understand each other.”
Bran might have spoken again, but Sasha rushed in.
“Oh, sorry. I’m interrupting.”
“No, we’ve finished.” Doyle started to rise.
“Just sit a minute, and you can add your opinion. After considerable attempts, I’ve got a design Sawyer’s about ninety-eight percent sold on. Have a look. He’s gone to make sure Annika’s occupied. And to think about it.”
She flipped through pages in her sketchbook, each holding several designs that all looked more than good enough to Doyle’s eye. Then stopped on a page holding a single design in the center.
She’d used colored pencils to enhance it, the deep-water blue of the center stone, surrounded by a halo of white diamond chips, and those flanked by two pink sapphires. The band held the sparkle—pink, white, blue—repeated in the wedding band.
“It’s lovely, and very like her. Unique,” Bran added. “As she is.”
“It’s hard not to push him on it, because I think it’s right. I want to show it to Riley. What do you think?” she asked Doyle.
“Not my area. It looks fine to me. Plenty of sparkle, which she’d appreciate.”
“I hear something.” Sasha pointed at him. “I hear a but.”
“Not my area,” he repeated. “I was just thinking how she liked the design around the coat of arms, the braids. If the bands were braided—”
“Oh!” Sasha gave him an enthusiastic punch on the shoulder. “Oh, that’s perfect. That’s inspired. I’m going to fix it right now. And if Sawyer doesn’t say go, something is wrong with him.”
She rushed out as she’d rushed in.
“Well then, that’s settled.” Bran eased back with his tea, smiled at Doyle. “And it seems each of us has a hand in it. Things are meant as they’re meant.”
Contemplatively, Doyle rubbed his shoulder. “Your woman’s got a firmer punch than she once had.”
“In all things.”
• • •
It didn’t take her long, and Sasha decided she’d hit the mark when she found Sawyer working with Riley in the tower library.
“Annika?”
“Doing laundry. I’ve never seen anybody as happy with laundry.” Sawyer set his compass on a map, shook his head. “And she’s having better luck with it than I am with this.”
“I’ve had tremendous luck. I’ve added another touch to the design.”
“I was pretty well sold on the other.”
“But not a hundred percent. I think Doyle’s idea will change that.”
Riley looked up from her book. “Doyle?”
“He had a suggestion. Look here, Sawyer. The bands, we can braid the bands with the same design I used on the coat of arms.”
“I don’t know if that’s . . .” Then he looked. “Oh, yeah. Score. It’s like—it. It’s it. Why didn’t we think of that?”
“Don’t know. Riley?”
“If she doesn’t do handsprings over this, it’s because she’s doing backflips. You rang the bell, Sash. You going for it, Dead-Eye?”
“I’m so going for it.”
“You ought to take it to Bran, get him started on the mojo.”
“Right. You’re right.” He pocketed the compass, took the sketch when Sasha tore it from her book. “Thanks.”
Sasha watched him go. “You wanted to move him along.”
“We’re not getting anywhere here. Everything feels stalled. I need to move. Maybe we drag Anni away from laundry, work on those handsprings and backflips.”
“I still suck at both.”
“Exactly.”
“There’s something more.”
Riley pushed back from the table, rolled her shoulders. “Maybe we’ll talk about it after I move.”
• • •
She’d been twitchy, Riley admitted as she dragged her friends outside. She hadn’t been able to shake it—not with work, with diving, with sex, with sleep. The minute her mind wandered from the task at hand, the twitchiness started.
“The man you are is enough. We’re here, you and I, and four others, blown by the winds of fate to some extent. But more, I believe, through every step we’ve taken, every choice we’ve made along our way. So we’re here.”
Bran waited a beat, arched his scarred eyebrow. “What do you want to do?”
“I’ve thought of the words spoken, Sasha’s visions. Of coming here of all the places in the world. The gods make us pay, for all those steps, all those choices.”
And this, Doyle knew, would be one of the most painful he’d ever made. “I know the cave where my brother died. It’s time I went back. Time we looked there.”
Doyle’s eyes narrowed on Bran’s face. “You’ve thought the same.”
“Whatever I thought, it had to come from you. If you’re ready for it, we’ll go together.”
“Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” Bran agreed. “I’ve thought of other words, ones spoken to you, you told me, by a redheaded witch. How love would pierce your heart with fang and claw.”
Doyle nearly laughed. “Riley? She’s not looking to pierce my heart. We understand each other.”
Bran might have spoken again, but Sasha rushed in.
“Oh, sorry. I’m interrupting.”
“No, we’ve finished.” Doyle started to rise.
“Just sit a minute, and you can add your opinion. After considerable attempts, I’ve got a design Sawyer’s about ninety-eight percent sold on. Have a look. He’s gone to make sure Annika’s occupied. And to think about it.”
She flipped through pages in her sketchbook, each holding several designs that all looked more than good enough to Doyle’s eye. Then stopped on a page holding a single design in the center.
She’d used colored pencils to enhance it, the deep-water blue of the center stone, surrounded by a halo of white diamond chips, and those flanked by two pink sapphires. The band held the sparkle—pink, white, blue—repeated in the wedding band.
“It’s lovely, and very like her. Unique,” Bran added. “As she is.”
“It’s hard not to push him on it, because I think it’s right. I want to show it to Riley. What do you think?” she asked Doyle.
“Not my area. It looks fine to me. Plenty of sparkle, which she’d appreciate.”
“I hear something.” Sasha pointed at him. “I hear a but.”
“Not my area,” he repeated. “I was just thinking how she liked the design around the coat of arms, the braids. If the bands were braided—”
“Oh!” Sasha gave him an enthusiastic punch on the shoulder. “Oh, that’s perfect. That’s inspired. I’m going to fix it right now. And if Sawyer doesn’t say go, something is wrong with him.”
She rushed out as she’d rushed in.
“Well then, that’s settled.” Bran eased back with his tea, smiled at Doyle. “And it seems each of us has a hand in it. Things are meant as they’re meant.”
Contemplatively, Doyle rubbed his shoulder. “Your woman’s got a firmer punch than she once had.”
“In all things.”
• • •
It didn’t take her long, and Sasha decided she’d hit the mark when she found Sawyer working with Riley in the tower library.
“Annika?”
“Doing laundry. I’ve never seen anybody as happy with laundry.” Sawyer set his compass on a map, shook his head. “And she’s having better luck with it than I am with this.”
“I’ve had tremendous luck. I’ve added another touch to the design.”
“I was pretty well sold on the other.”
“But not a hundred percent. I think Doyle’s idea will change that.”
Riley looked up from her book. “Doyle?”
“He had a suggestion. Look here, Sawyer. The bands, we can braid the bands with the same design I used on the coat of arms.”
“I don’t know if that’s . . .” Then he looked. “Oh, yeah. Score. It’s like—it. It’s it. Why didn’t we think of that?”
“Don’t know. Riley?”
“If she doesn’t do handsprings over this, it’s because she’s doing backflips. You rang the bell, Sash. You going for it, Dead-Eye?”
“I’m so going for it.”
“You ought to take it to Bran, get him started on the mojo.”
“Right. You’re right.” He pocketed the compass, took the sketch when Sasha tore it from her book. “Thanks.”
Sasha watched him go. “You wanted to move him along.”
“We’re not getting anywhere here. Everything feels stalled. I need to move. Maybe we drag Anni away from laundry, work on those handsprings and backflips.”
“I still suck at both.”
“Exactly.”
“There’s something more.”
Riley pushed back from the table, rolled her shoulders. “Maybe we’ll talk about it after I move.”
• • •
She’d been twitchy, Riley admitted as she dragged her friends outside. She hadn’t been able to shake it—not with work, with diving, with sex, with sleep. The minute her mind wandered from the task at hand, the twitchiness started.
