“A very fancy place. Romantic and elegant, and where the food is a god.” He twined some of her loosened hair around his finger. “You could wear the dress you wore New Year’s Eve.”
“I’ve more than one dress, and would consider going skyclad to be served food fit for gods that I don’t make myself.”
“If you insist, but I’d rather see to getting you skyclad myself after dessert.”
“Are we having a date, Finbar?”
“We are. Dinner at eight, though I’ll pick you up at seven so you’ll have some time to enjoy the city before we eat.”
“The city? What city?”
“Paris,” he said, and kissed her.
“You want us flying off to Paris for a meal?”
“A brilliant meal—in the City of Light.”
“Paris,” she repeated, and tried to tell herself it was frivolous and foolish, but just couldn’t. “Paris,” she said again, and kissed him back.
14
WHATWASITLIKE? PARIS,” IONAADDED. “WEHAVEN’Thad a chance to talk about it without the guys around since you went.”
“It was lovely. A bit breathtaking really. The lights, the voices, the food and wine, of course. For a few hours, another world altogether.”
“Romantic?” Iona tied pretty raffia bows around softly colored soaps, and boldly colored ones.
“It was.”
“I wonder why that part of it worries you.”
“I’m not after romance. It’s the sort of thing that weakens resolve and clouds sense.” Branna measured out ground herbs. “It’s not something I can risk now.”
“You love each other.”
“Love isn’t always the answer.” While Iona helped with store stock, Branna focused on more magickal supplies. Another battle would come, other attacks were likely. She wanted a full store of medicinals on hand, for any contingency.
“It is for you, and I’m glad of it.” She added precisely six drops of extract of nasturtium to the small cauldron. “It adds to what you are, strengthens your purpose.”
“You think it weakens yours.”
“I think it can, and now more than ever that can’t be allowed. Both Fin and I know we can live without each other. We have done so, and well enough. We know what we have now may only be for now. Whatever the rest, with or without, waits until Cabhan is finished.”
“You’re happier with him,” Iona pointed out.
“And what woman isn’t happier when she can count on a good shag with some regularity?” After Iona’s snort, she held up a finger for silence, then holding her hands over the cauldron, brought the brew to a fast boil. Murmuring now, drawing light down with one hand, a thin shower of blue rain with the other. For an instant a rainbow formed, then it, too, slid into the pot.
Branna took the brew down to the slowest of simmers.
Satisfied, she turned, found Iona studying her.
“Watching you work,” Iona explained. “It’s all so pretty, so graceful, with power just flowing all around.”
“We’ll want this restorative on hand, as well as the balms and salves I’ve been stocking up.” Branna tapped the door to a cupboard she thought of as her war chest.
“Hope for the best, but prepare for the worst.”
“A good policy.”
