“You’re angry now, and hurt more than I knew, and I’m so sorry for it. You’re just not thinking clear, that’s what this is.” Even as her eyes pleaded, Kiara kept her tone gentle. “Give me the potion, and I’ll destroy it. We’ll never speak of it. I’ll tell no one of it.”
“You’d best be telling no one, or you’ll pay for it, I promise you that.” Snarling it, she shoved Kiara back another full step. “Now take your bloody case and go. You’re a false friend, I see that clear enough.”
“I’m as true a friend as you’ve ever had, and so I’ll save you from yourself.” She didn’t pick up the case, but turned to the door. “You won’t give me the potion, but you’ll give it to my mother right enough.”
“You’d betray me?”
Eyes full of tears, Kiara looked back. “I would save you.”
She’d nearly reached the door when Shana grabbed the vase, rushed after her. Brought it down on her.
When Kiara fell, when Shana saw the blood, she thought she’d struck harder than perhaps she’d meant.
“Can’t be helped,” she mumbled. “You turned on me, and would have ruined everything. The fault’s your own.”
No time now to put on her dress, to style her hair. When Kiara woke—if she woke—she’d go running to her ma.
But when Keegan drank the potion, when she had his heart, he’d deal with them.
With all of them.
She stepped around Kiara, closed and locked the door, and began to make her way to the tower rooms of the taoiseach.
* * *
In her room, Breen put away the gift for Marg. She filled Bollocks’s water bowl, brought the fire up to a satisfying snap, then poured herself a glass of wine.
“The Capital’s interesting,” she told the dog. “But I’ll be ready to get back to the valley. And to our cottage. But right now, I have to work myself up to a party mood.”
She opened the wardrobe to lay out the blue dress, and instead pulled out the one hanging beside it, and read the note from her grandmother.
A Welcome is a bit fancier than a ceilidh, less so than a ball. Remember all the years I couldn’t give you pretty things, and enjoy this, as I enjoy the giving of it. Bright blessings, mo stór.
“Nan.” Breen sighed it as she took out a dress the color of moonlight mists.
It felt just as soft, she thought as she held it up, turned to the mirror. The thin layers of the skirt floated down to just above her ankles with the faintest of sparkles, like faerie lights through that mist. The long sleeves came to points, and the square bodice dipped considerably lower than the more modest neckline of the blue.
“Well, it’s gorgeous, and it deserves some sparkly pins in the hair, like Marco said. Let’s go find Kiara, Bollocks, and see about a loan.”
The dog went out with her, and she realized she had no idea where Kiara’s room might be. She started to tap on Marco’s door to see if he did, and saw Brigid.
“Is there something you’re needing?”
“I was hoping to ask Kiara for something, but I don’t know where her room is.”
“Well now, I’m happy to show you. It’s down in the other wing.”
“I appreciate it.”
“And so did you enjoy your afternoon in the village?” Brigid asked as she led the way.
“I did. So much to see.”
“Yes, and a fine day to see it. And tonight should be fine as well. Here’s Kiara’s room. Will she be doing your hair? She’s brilliant with hair.”
“I just wanted to see if she had some pins I could use tonight.” Breen knocked. “She told me she already promised to do someone else’s.”
Brigid slid her gaze to the door one down from Kiara’s. “Likely that one. Shana, that is. She’s likely in Shana’s room now, fixing it up for her.”
“Oh. Well, I won’t bother her.”
“I’ll wager I can find what you want. What sort of pins are you after?”
“That’s all right. It’s not important. I was just…”
She trailed off because Bollocks had gone to the other door, and now began to whine.
“Come on, Bollocks, come away from there. Let’s go back and—”
But because he felt distress, she did. Because he scented blood, she did.
“Something’s wrong.” Stepping over, Breen didn’t bother to knock, but tried to turn the handle. “It’s locked, but something’s wrong,” she repeated as Bollocks let out a howl.