“Ma—”
She waved Keegan away. “Wars and battles come soon enough. We take the good and the bright when we find it. Come back,” she told Breen and Marco, “for the good and the bright.”
“We don’t want to intrude,” Breen began as Tarryn crossed the road to lift Kavan onto her hip and take Finian’s hand.
“She wants you, she’ll have you. But you’ll train first. Don’t be late,” Keegan warned, and walked away to join Harken in the field, where the riders already set up tents.
“That was something,” Marco managed after a moment. “It still is something. They’re going to camp out here, and they’ve got all the horses in the field. There are dragons circling overhead. Oh Jesus, they’re coming down. Where are they going to put dragons?”
They landed, single file, on the road, shaking the ground as they lined up like planes on a runway.
Jewels, Breen thought. Magnificent jewels with men and women sliding or leaping off their backs.
The riders pulled off saddles, saddlebags, packs. And one by one the dragons lifted up, making Breen’s heart shake with wonder, and considerable envy.
The riders hauled their gear, nodding to Breen and Marco as they passed, talking idly among themselves.
One, a saddle over one shoulder, a pack on his back, gave Breen a nodding glance, and Marco a long look.
“A fine head of hair you have there, friend.”
“Ah, thanks. You, too.”
He stood a moment longer, well over six feet in his boots, a warrior’s braid to his shoulder and the rest of his deep blond mane waving down his back.
“And where from the other side are you from now?”
“Um. Philadelphia.”
“Phil-a-del-phi-a,” he repeated carefully, and smiled. “All right then.”
When he walked off, Marco kept watching. “Was he flirting with me?”
“I don’t know. I couldn’t really tell. Maybe. He sure wasn’t flirting with me.”
“I think he was flirting with me. It threw me off so I didn’t flirt back. He had really blue eyes. I should’ve flirted back. I didn’t even get his name.”
“Go train, Marco.”
“Right.” He put his sunglasses back on. “I’m going this way,” he said, but kept looking after the dragon rider. “Don’t forget I’ve got that Zoom, but then we’re cleaning up, duding up, and coming back to party.”
“I really don’t think we—”
“The queen—I know she’s not a queen, but she oughta be—the queen commanded it.” He gave Breen a light punch. “Catch you later.”
She didn’t have time for a party, and couldn’t think about going to a party where she knew a bare handful of people anyway. So rather than think about it, Breen called the dog and walked down to Marg’s cottage.
She found Marg in the back garden harvesting vegetables from her little patch.
And since she didn’t see a way out, she told Marg of Tarryn’s arrival, the invitation to visit, and the ceilidh.
“A ceilidh’s just the thing. I’ll walk to the farm with you to spill the tea with Tarryn.”
“Spill it?”
“Gossip, it means. And we’ll pick a couple of these pumpkins, enough for a pie and soup as well to take to the ceilidh.”
“You’re going to make a pie and soup out of an actual pumpkin?”
“Well, of course. I can’t claim to have the hand with them Sedric does, but no one’s yet turned up a nose to either. There’s magick in cooking, Breen, as you put your intent into it, and your work, and your love as well.”
For the first time in her life Breen carved out a pumpkin. She learned how to separate the seeds, how to toast them while the chunks of pumpkin simmered on the stove to soften.
Instead of a few hours in the workshop, she spent them with Marg in the kitchen with the scents of fall everywhere. She learned how to peel and grate a nut of nutmeg, how to grind cloves and cinnamon into powders with mortar and pestle.
And while she seriously doubted she’d put any of the skills to regular use, she found some pleasure in them.
Whatever they didn’t use they stored in jars for ingredients in future cooking or magicks.
In the end, they had a pot of soup, two pies, and two rounds of pumpkin bread.
“You’ve a fine hand in the kitchen.”
“Helping hand,” Breen qualified. “Our apartment kitchen’s so small I mostly stayed out of Marco’s way, but when he wanted a hand, mine did chopping and stirring.”