Minga paused, closed her eyes. “Ah, they go…” She smoothed her hand in the air.
“The treads go into the stone, make a platform. A steep one.”
“This. But now, the grand stairs are convenient.”
“And pretty freaking grand,” Marco added.
As he spoke, a young woman in snug pants and a green sweater raced down. Her dark hair coiled to her shoulder blades; her dark eyes sparkled against gold-dust skin.
“Mama!”
Though she didn’t use full speed, Breen recognized elfin blood.
“You’re home! You’re home.” She threw her arms around Minga. “I was minding Gwain’s children when I heard you were riding through the village. And here you are!”
“Here we all are.” Minga hugged hard before drawing her daughter back. “My daughter, Kiara. Make your welcome to Breen Siobhan and Marco.”
“You’re most welcome! How exciting to meet you. Oh, your hair is wonderful! Both!”
“Our Kiara has a talent for hair,” Minga told them. “They’ve traveled long today, my precious. Come, help me show them their chambers.”
“They’re so pretty! I peeked when Brigid and Lo were doing the linens and flowers.”
As she chattered, they started for the stairs. And the vision glided down them.
Her silvery blond hair fell in long, loose waves to her tiny waist. Her eyes were tawny like a cat’s and sparkled with the faintest of glitter on the lids. Her lips, pink and perfectly carved, curved in a smile in a face narrow and delicate and impossibly lovely.
She wore a tawny tunic to match her eyes, belted with gold at that tiny waist, over pants that followed every curve down to tall boots.
She smelled, Breen thought, seductively of wild things that grew in the forest.
“Minga, welcome home. You’ve been missed.” She sent Marco a flirtatious flutter of long, dark lashes before turning that smile on Breen. “And is it Breen Siobhan? Your arrival has been much anticipated.”
“This is Shana,” Minga began. “Daughter of Uwin, who serves on the council as I do, and Gwen. Breen, daughter of Eian, granddaughter of Mairghread, brings her friend, Marco, from the other side.”
“I haven’t yet traveled to your world. But now I see I must.” She offered Marco a hand in a way that invited a kiss.
He shook it instead. “If you make it to Philly, I’ll show you around.”
“Sure and now I will for certain. Have you just arrived then, and I’m keeping you standing? Minga, if you wish to rest or see the rest of your family, Kiara and I can show the guests to their chambers.”
“That’s kind of you, but the taoiseach requested it of me.”
She led the way up and up, explaining various rooms as they went. A vast library, a contemplation room, a kind of nursery area for young children, a room for magicks, another for crafting.
They took, single file, the pie-shaped winding stairs to the next level. Rooms for music, for dance instruction, for art.
Another set of stairs, and Minga led the way down a corridor.
“Your room, Marco.” Minga opened the door.
The tall bed had four soaring posts, and the drape of a blanket in midnight blue. The two moons floated over a quiet sea on the chest at its feet. A tray of fruit, cheeses, bread, decanters sat on it. A wide wardrobe that gleamed from a recent polish, a winged chair and footstool, a table where flowers graced a deep blue vase all offered a strange sort of sophistication.
His harp stood on the table with the flowers.
Doors opened to a terrace with views of a pretty courtyard and, to the east, the rolling sea.
“This is a view and a half.”
“I hope you’ll play for us.” Shana walked over to the harp, trailed her finger over the strings. “I’ve heard you’re very musical.”
“I’m still learning to play the harp. Breen bought it for me.”
Shana turned. “What a fine friend.”
“And your fine friend is in the next room.” Minga took her daughter’s hand, moved back into the corridor and down. “As with Marco, if anything doesn’t suit your needs, you’ve only to say.”
She had the big bed, but this with a gauze canopy that sparkled like stars. The fire simmered; the flowers scented the air.
She had a desk as well as the wardrobe and chest—hers painted with a meadow in full flower. On the desk that faced the side of the room toward the sea, sat her paper, her pen.
Unable to resist, she opened the doors to let the sea air flood in, and saw the terrace wrapped around the corner.