“They do. Don’t ask me how. But I know sunset’s around five—I always check—so we’ll go from there.”
“Works. It all kind of works. Don’t ask me how.”
“I’m hoping to stay off horses myself today. But ask Morena if it’s okay if you and I ride to the graveyard tomorrow. I want you to see where Dad’s buried.”
“I’d like to.” He stopped at the tree. “Gets me every time.”
But he took her hand, and they passed through.
“Bright today,” he commented. “I was hoping.” He reached in his pocket, took out sunglasses. “Now I’m styling.”
“You’re always styling.” Before they started down the steps, she shaded her own eyes with the flat of her hand, looked east. “A lot of riders coming.”
“I’ll say. It’s a parade. Flags and everything. Oh man, dragons. Like half a dozen up there.”
“It must be Keegan’s mother, from the Capital.”
Even as she said it, he winged in on Cróga—from the south, she realized. He’d gone to the south. He leaped down as the dragon skimmed the road. Cróga rose up again to join the formation above.
Keegan strode to a woman on a white horse. He took the reins while she swung off, and they embraced standing on the road with two dozen horsemen and women behind and dragons circling the sky.
Her honey-blond hair formed a braided knot at her nape and left her face unframed. She wore slim pants, almost like leggings, with tall boots over them, a sweater the color of the October sky with a long leather vest.
“If that’s Mom,” Marco said, tipping down his sunglasses, “Mom’s a babe.”
After the woman kissed Keegan’s cheeks, he stepped over to take the hand of another woman, one with golden skin and ebony hair. He kissed her hand in a surprisingly gallant gesture.
“So’s her friend.” Hooking his sunglasses on his pocket, Marco started down the steps. “Let’s go say hi.”
“We ought to let them…”
She trailed off when Aisling’s two boys raced out of the house. “Nan!” they called, and laughing, the blonde ran to drop down and scoop them into her arms.
Aisling came out next, a hand on her belly as she hurried to the road. With the boys clinging to her legs, the blonde straightened to wrap Aisling tight.
Harken, coming in from the near field, vaulted over the stone wall and moved in for his own hug.
“Let’s just wait here,” Breen murmured. “It’s a family thing.”
“It’s nice.” Marco rested a hand on Breen’s shoulder. “It’s nice to see.”
But Bollocks lacked the willpower and dashed down the steps. For once he ignored the sheep, just sailed over the wall. Breen heard the woman laugh again as she bent down to greet him.
Then she turned her head, looked at Breen.
Breen felt her stomach roll into a single tight knot.
The woman said something to Harken, gestured to Keegan.
She started across the road with Keegan at her side.
“Jeez, she walks like a queen. The royal kind,” Marco elaborated. “You know what I mean.”
Because she did, Breen had to order herself to go down the steps.
“Blessings on you, Breen Siobhan O’Ceallaigh. And to your friend as well. It’s Marco, isn’t it?”
“Ma’am.”
“My mother, Tarryn O’Broin.”
“It’s pleased and more I am to meet you.” Tarryn held out a hand even as Breen wondered if she should bow or attempt a curtsy. “Your grandmother is a treasure to me, and your father, rest him, a good friend, and a father to my children when their own was lost. Keegan, find your manners.”
Tarryn swatted a hand at his arm. “Help the girl over the wall.”
“Sure she’s managed it on her own plenty.” He muttered it, but reached out, lifted Breen bodily over.
“I’d say his rudeness is my failure as his ma, but I won’t, as he’s earned it all on his own. I won’t keep you standing on the road, as you must be off to see Marg. Give her my love, will you, and ask if she’d come have a visit with me later today.”
“I will.”
To Breen’s surprise, Tarryn cupped her face, leaned in to kiss her. “You do your father proud,” she whispered. “Know that.”
Then she stepped back, smiled. “Eian had stories about both of you, and so I know you’re both musical. We’ll have a ceilidh tonight.”