While she appreciated the compliment, Iona continued to follow the dots, into a very uneasy place. “But if he kills me, or either of you?”
“Pain’s better.” Connor ate with obvious enjoyment, and spoke with something kin to cheer. “Or seduction. Those lead to turning, and by turning any of us, he gains more power. Killing outright, he’d get some, but far from all. Still he might try it out of frustration or spite.”
“There’s a happy thought,” Meara muttered.
“If that’s true, why hasn’t he gone for either of you long before I got here?”
“Oh, he’s made a few swipes from time to time, but no scars.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Connor winced. “I’m sorry for that, Fin.”
“It’s no matter. He couldn’t know, as none of us could know, the three of youwerethe three. Not until you came, Iona, and the links clicked together.”
“And the amulets help to shield,” Branna added. “And if he did away with me or Connor, there’d be another. There’s O’Dwyers a plenty.”
“Not like you.” Boyle spoke quietly. “Nor like Connor. Or you,” he said to Iona. “You knew, Fin, it would be this three and this time.”
“Only for certain when I saw the horse. I saw you on him,” Fin said to Iona. “Astride the stallion under a moon so full and white it seemed to pulse against the black sky like a bright heart. I saw fire in your hands, and power in your eyes.”
“You said nothing of this before.”
Fin glanced at Branna. “I bought the horse because I knew it was hers. I didn’t know when you’d come, not for certain,” he said to Iona. “Only that you would, and you’d have need of Alastar. And he of you.”
“What else have you seen?” Branna demanded.
His face shuttered. “Too much, and not enough.”
“I’m not looking for riddles, Finbar.”
“You’re looking for answers, as always you do, and I don’t have them. I’ve seen the fog spread, as you have, seen him watching from the shadows, a shadow himself. I’ve seen you under that same bright moon, glowing like a thousand stars. With the wind flying through your hair, and blood on your hands. I’ve wondered if it was mine.”
Saying nothing, Branna rose to go to the stove, to pour the simmering sauce in a bowl.
“I don’t know what it means,” Fin continued, “or how much is real and true, how much is wondering.”
“When the time comes, it’ll be his blood spilled.” The cheer left Connor’s voice. Now there was only a hard edge, a lick of temper.
“Brother. I am his blood.”
“He doesn’t own you.” With her shoulders very straight, her eyes very direct, Iona looked at Fin. “And feeling sorry for yourself isn’t helping. He’s been around, waiting for hundreds of years,” she continued in a practical tone as Branna shot her a quietly approving look over her shoulder. “What the hell has he been doing for centuries?”
“Fin thinks he goes back and forth, when he’s a mind to, between times, or worlds. Or both,” Boyle added.
“How does he— Oh, the cabin, the ruins. The place behind the vines. If he can do that, why doesn’t he kill Sorcha before she burns him to ashes?”
“He can’t change what was. Her magick was as powerful as his, maybe more,” Fin speculated, “before she took ill, before he killed her man. It’s her, I think, who spellbound the place, protects it still. What was, was, and can’t be altered. I’ve tried myself.”
“Well now, you’re full of secrets, aren’t you then.” Branna dropped the bowls on the table, snatched up the salad to put it aside.
“If I could’ve finished what she started, and ended him, it would be done.”
“But so would you,” Iona pointed out. “Maybe. I think. Time paradoxes are... paradoxical.”
“In any case, I couldn’t change it. My power was there, I felt it, but it made no matter. And I couldn’t hold my place, if you take my meaning. It all wavered, and brought me back where I’d started.”
“You could’ve been lost,” Connor reminded him. “Taken somewhere, or some time else entirely.”
“I wasn’t. I think it’s like a string of wire, from then to now, and there’s no veering off from the wire.”
“But there’s a lot of years on the wire,” Iona mused. “Maybe it’s a matter of finding the right spot.”
