“I don’t think love has a time clock. Fast or slow or anywhere in between, it just is. And you look happy.”
“When we’re together, everything else goes away. I gave him the bracelet. He said it would be like carrying me with him wherever he went.”
“I may fall for him myself.” She slathered a slice of brown bread with butter and jam, passed it to him. “Eat, Happy Boy.”
“So. What did you do last night?”
“Well, I wasn’t busy falling in love, taking romantic walks, or having a lot of sex, but I did exactly what I wanted. I wrote, had the quiet, and got a good night’s sleep. Oh, I also ran into Kiara again, and she wants to do my hair this morning.”
“I really like her.”
“Me, too! And I can’t figure out why she’s best pals with the Mean Girl. I ran into Keegan this morning, and that was interesting.”
Marco grinned. “Tell all.”
She told him all so they dished the dirt over breakfast. Then she kicked him out so she could dress.
“Wear the leather pants with the white shirt and the heathery V-neck black sweater,” Marco suggested. “Leave the shirt out so the bottom shows under the sweater.”
“I didn’t bring the leather pants—which I wouldn’t have bought in the first place if you hadn’t worn me down.”
“Which is why I put them in your bag when you weren’t looking. Wear the leather. You look fine in them. Kick-ass. Tuck the legs into the boots. Brian says the Judgment’s serious business.”
He shot a finger at her, then hurried out.
Mostly because it meant she didn’t have to think or second-guess, she put on what he told her to put on, then did what she hoped was serious-business makeup.
She’d barely finished when Brigid and Lo scurried in to take away breakfast, and Kiara came in with them.
“Ah!” Kiara pressed her palms together. “You look lovely and strong. It would be a mannish look, but you have such a fine form it isn’t.”
“Thanks. It’s hard to know what’s appropriate.”
“You’ve done very well indeed. Now, I’ll give you hair, for certain, that complements the rest.”
“I love what you’ve done with yours.”
Kiara flipped at her high, curly ponytail. “Very simple, as I’ll be helping to mind the littles.”
“You’re not going to the Judgment?”
“For some of it, aye.” She gestured for Breen to sit, then opened a case full of brushes and combs, pins and jars, bands and ribbons. “Some will bring their children, of course—it’s good for children to see justice done. But the littles go fussy, after all.”
She ran her hands through Breen’s hair as she spoke. “Ah, sure and there’s so much of it! And healthy. What a fine color. I saw your father when he came to the Capital. He was very handsome.”
“He was.”
“Oh, and I met with Marco and Brian, speaking of handsome. We had some good craic at the pub.”
She chattered away as she worked, about the music, the man she’d decided to fall in love with, about people Breen didn’t know and who flirted with whom, who was angry about what.
“Have you been to your mother’s home world?”
“I have, aye. It’s beautiful, all gold and blue—sand and sea—and the cities have great colorful towers. And the sun bakes so you forget what cold and rain are. But Talamh is home, and we protect it, and so protect all.”
She stepped back, gave Breen a critical study. “I’m after simple for this again, and I think it’s working very well indeed. If I can find even a tiny bit of time before the Welcome, I’d love to fancy it up for you.”
Kiara took two mirrors out of her case, held the first up to Breen’s face, the other behind.
“If you don’t like it, I’ll change it.”
Breen saw her face framed by a few wispy curls, and the rest worked back into a long, loose fishtail braid.
“I don’t like it, I love it. You made it seem so easy. I could’ve struggled for an hour and not managed this. I wore it straight for so long, and Marco’s been trying to teach me how to style it, but I barely fumble through.”
“He’s the gods’ own hair, doesn’t he now? And such a voice, and … But wait.”
Kiara stopped, frowned. “You said— You’re meaning you took out the curls? Now why would you do such a thing when they’re so beautiful, and look so well on you?”