“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.”
“Like a commune,” Marco said.
“If this is community, yes. We barter and trade what we grow, what we make, our skills, our service. Some will come to the taoiseach if there’s a conflict or question, and he will judge. Or the council in his place. We value peace, and train to hold it.”
“Do you sit on the council?” Breen asked.
“I do. Though I was not born in Talamh, I was given this honor, this duty. We are seven, and with the taoiseach and Tarryn as his hand, nine.”
Breen saw roads splitting off from the main as the main climbed the rise toward the castle with its many shades of gray stone, its battlements and towers and turrets.
On the topmost, the banner snapped in the wind so the red dragon seemed to fly against the white field. He carried a sword in one claw, a staff in the other.
She saw Cróga glide over the castle, and a boy—a winged boy— rode on his back. The boy’s joyful laugh spilled down like sunlight.
They came to another stone bridge, another gate. A fountain shot water clear as crystal toward the sky. It fell in rainbows. Gardens spread and speared in islands of texture, in rivers of color. More flowers flowed over walls of terraces and balconies that graced the castle. Beyond them and the roll of green stood a forest, thick and deep.
She heard the cry of a hawk, saw a stunning sweep of butterflies rise like a wave. They swirled around her, once, twice, a third time, before flying as one toward an island of blooms.
“They welcome you,” Minga said with a smile.
“That was wild.” Marco’s own smile dimmed as he studied Breen’s face. “Did they scare you, girl?”
“No, no, just surprised.”
And scratched the surface of some memory. Riding in front of her father, gulping in all the sights like water with the castle rising and spreading, the banner snapping, the fountain spewing and spilling. Those first sounds of waves slapping rock on the cliffs.
And butterflies swirling. How she’d laughed and lifted her arms so they’d land on them. Her father’s laugh as he’d kissed the top of her head.
Dragon Hearts, like your hair.
She knew Minga spoke about the falcon mews, the cliffs, the gardens as Keegan led them around to the side and back of the great stone building. She barely listened as she tried to hang on to the memory.
But it faded away as riders began to dismount around her.
Mahon walked up to take her reins. “They’ll see to the horses and have your things taken up. Minga will show you to your chambers— and anywhere else you want to go or see, as Keegan and Tarryn will be busy for a while yet. You’ve time before the Leaving to rest or wander, have some food. One of us will come fetch you, or find you if you go out and about, when it’s time.”
“I expect you’d like to walk a bit after the long ride.” Minga gestured. “We’ll go this way, and in through the doors to the entrance hall.”
“It’s big,” Marco commented as he craned his neck up. “And tall.”
“It’s all of that, but home nonetheless. I think you’ll be comfortable in the rooms Tarryn chose for you. Right next to each other, they are.”
“The gardens are beautiful. You said there was a falcon mews?”
“Aye.” Minga nodded at Breen, gestured again. “Down this path, a school for training as well—both hawks and students. Other training areas for horses and horsemanship, for archery, for combat. If you walk or ride down to the village, there are shops for trading. Fabrics and jewelry, leather goods, ironworks, tools for magicks, cobblers and tailors. Pubs for food and drink and music.”
She led the way around, winding through the garden, along stone paths, over wide terraces, and to the steps leading to massive double doors.
“The gates are only closed during times of defense. These doors are only barred at such times.”
Minga pressed her hand on the dragon image carved in the stone by the doors, and they opened.
They walked into a towering hall with stone floors polished smooth, with tapestries and bronze works gracing the walls. Archways opened up in all directions, and the sun spilled through the glass dome in the soaring ceiling.
Fabric-covered benches and high-backed chairs offered seating, flowers more beauty, and a fire, snapping in a hearth she could have stood in, warmth.
“It’s beautiful. I thought it would be more …fortified.”