“Not before, or I’d know. If now, she’ll hide, and we’ll find her. We’ll find if any child from Talamh is missing. If yet, we’ll see she’s protected. Stop,” he ordered. “There isn’t time now. I’ll see to it. You ride in the front. Cróga will bring the dog to you. Ride behind my mother.”
The hand on her arm gripped tighter. “We’ll find her. We’ll look, and we’ll find.”
“Dilly—her name, the name she calls herself. She has brown hair, gold eyes, brown skin, pink wings. She was … about six, I think. No more than seven.”
“We’ll find her.”
He gave Boy a slap on the flank to send him forward before signaling to one of the faeries overhead.
He gave orders, and as he rode to the front, three veered off in different directions.
“I was talking to Hugh and Cait.” Marco edged his horse closer to Keegan. “I wasn’t watching her. I—”
“She’ll be fine. Ride up to the front with me now, and fall in beside her.”
Keegan rode ahead, took point with his mother. Other riders made way so Marco could move in beside Breen.
“I’m okay,” she said before he could ask. “She was such a little girl, and so scared. I’m going to believe they’ll find her, and I have to think about the rest. But not now. The castle or fortress or whatever it’s called—you can see it up on that hill. And there are already so many more cottages, and people.”
“It’s like the burbs.” He shot her a smile, hoping to help settle her as Bollocks now pranced between them. “Talamh’s version, with some urban sprawl. And holy shit, Breen, it is a castle. Good thing I’m all used to that, since we stayed in one in Ireland.”
“I wouldn’t count on Wi-Fi and in-room movies in this one.”
“It’s a downside.”
She’d live without them, Breen thought, and she’d think about the dream or vision or experience when she had some quiet and alone. But now she studied the cottages and outlying farms spreading over hill and field, and the people who stopped their work or spilled out of doors.
Babies on hips or shoulders, kids gawking and grinning. Young Sidhe spreading wings to fly alongside the riders and shower them with flickers of light.
She saw what she thought must be workshops, as those who stepped out wore leather or cloth aprons and some still held tools in their hands.
She watched a woman run out of a cottage, take wing, and one of the faeries fly toward her. They met in an embrace, circled in midair with the kiss.
“They pledged before we left for the valley,” Minga told her. “Keegan will pretend not to see Dalla broke ranks to greet her love. You’ll see some with a black band on their right arm. These are the mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, sons, daughters, wives, or husbands of a fallen.”
“How many fell? Do you know?”
Minga shook her head. “Keegan knows.”
She could feel her dog’s delight.
Children! People! Sheep! Cows!
She glanced down as he looked up at her. No one could mistake his expression for anything other than a grin.
“No running off to explore,” she told him. “Not until we have the lay of the land.”
Oh, he wanted to—she sensed that as well. But he kept pace with the horses and contented himself by looking everywhere.
They rode over a bridge spanning a narrow ribbon of river where gates stood wide and people lined the road. Others stood on the thatched roofs of cottages and what she saw were shops, pubs, workshops. She thought the clothes somehow more urban as she spotted some waistcoats worn by both sexes, dresses that skimmed above the ankles, or snug pants in bold patterns worn by some of the women.
Shawls—bright colors—or long coats protected against the autumn chill. She heard music streaming out of pubs, voices raised in welcome. She smelled the spice of stews on the simmer, meat in the skillet, a whiff of the flowers spilling from baskets, and another whiff of livestock.
It made her think of the visit to the folk park at Bunratty, how charmed by it she’d been, how oddly connected to it she’d felt. But then she’d been to the Capital before. She hadn’t remembered, didn’t remember still, but knew she’d come with her parents for the Judgment of those who’d helped Odran abduct her.
“There are five wells in the Capital.” Minga gestured to one where people gathered with buckets and jugs. “Schools, of course, and the fields for crops and livestock here, and on the castle grounds. Most of the wheat has been harvested, taken to the mills. We have three. Those who live on the castle grounds contribute to the whole.”