“But he’s already gone to the south.”
“Aye, and there will be some who wonder why he isn’t here. We will say to those who do he’s taking part at the Capital. In his place, Tarryn has chosen. She will serve, as will Harken and Aisling, as I will, as will young Declan, who’s reached his thirteenth year, and Old Padric, who has reached his century mark, as you will serve.”
“Me? But, Nan, I’ve never—”
“Nor has young Declan. All seven chosen drew their first breath in the valley.”
“If I do something wrong—”
“Why do you do that?” Marco demanded. “You’re not going to screw up, so stop it. Girl, I’ve watched you since all this started. And I’m saying you’ve got more going than you did when I first fell through the rabbit hole. Just that fun shit you did last night with the costumes. Man, you didn’t even really think about it. Just, like, abracadabra.”
“That was just…” Something she’d never done before, Breen realized.
“Marco knows his friend, and I know my granddaughter. He’s the right of it, and I’ve seen the same. Your power grows, and your memories clear. One, I think, connects to the other. This is a solemn night, mo stór, but a joyful one as well.”
She paused to gesture. “The fires are laid, the altar set, and the Fey gather. As do those from the outside who join us, and are welcome.”
And while the balefire burned, Breen thought, the battle would rage in the south. She wouldn’t make a mistake, she vowed as they walked the horses toward the beach. And she would open herself and send whatever she had, whatever she could, to those who fought back the dark.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Breen knew some of the faces, some of the names from the ceilidh. Marco, of course, knew more, so she didn’t worry about having someone explain the rite to him, walk him through it as she’d planned to do.
In this rite, in this way, her grandmother had told her, any who wished could leave an offering at the altar. A token, an image of an ancestor, food, wine, flowers. All this brought and left before the casting of the circle, before the words were spoken, before the lighting of the fire.
She saw now many had left those offerings, and more laid others. Beside the drawing Marg placed of Eian, Breen laid blooms picked from flowers she’d planted herself. And gave Marco’s hand a squeeze as he placed a small boule of bread beside them.
“It’s good,” he told her. “I didn’t know what I’d think of all this, but it’s … it’s personal and respectful. It’s good.”
He gave her a kiss on the cheek before he moved away.
Personal, Breen thought. Yes, it felt very personal. The images, the tokens, the food, the flowers, they all felt very personal.
She stepped back to wait until she was called, turned when she heard a man ask about the taoiseach.
Before she could answer, the girl beside him rolled her eyes as it seemed girls did in all worlds.
“I told you, Uncle, he’s observing Samhain in the Capital.”
“He should be here. This is his place.”
“All of Talamh is his place,” Breen heard herself say. Surprised at herself, she offered a smile to soften the sharpness that had cut through her words.
“What do you know? Who are you to say? You lived your life in the world of man.”
“Uncle! Your pardon. My uncle traveled from the north only a few weeks ago to stay with us through Samhain. He hoped to see the taoiseach lead the ritual.”
Behind his back, the girl mimed drinking with another eye roll.
Breen struggled not to laugh, tried for sympathetic. “Of course you’re disappointed. I hope—”
“You’ll know disappointment,” he muttered.
Annoyed, she reached out for his arm as he turned. “I’m sure if you—”
She felt it. It poured off him, and for an instant twisted inside her like a snake.
Such hate, such anger. And through it, such dark purpose.
Beside her, Bollocks growled.
“You would lay hands on me, you of tainted blood?”
“Yes.”
With his eyes glinting, he started to shove her. She blocked, and swept his legs out from under him in a move that shocked her as much as him.
Bollocks planted his front paws on the man’s chest. Snarled.
“Stay down,” she ordered as people began to move in. “Harken. I need Harken.”
“I’m here. I’m here. What’s all this now?” Though he moved fast, his tone came easy as a stroll. “Has someone had a few too many pints before a solemn rite? Ah well, it happens,” he added as he crouched down and patted the dog aside.