Нора Робертс - The Becoming

“There will be, if they get through in the east. I see repairs are moving quickly.”

“Thatchers, carpenters, masons. They’re swarming. It’s a good potion after the battle to mend and build. In truth, Keegan, I think there’s a cloud lifted here with no more shadow of the Prayer House. After the baby comes, I think Aisling and I will bring the children here. I want them to see the memorial, and I want them to build castles in the sand and run in the surf.”

“Well, for tonight, you can fly as far as your cottage with me.”

“Work here to be done still.”

“And you can be back at it tomorrow. Did you send for the elf?”

“I did. I’ve brought her in from patrol, and she’s down there working with the masons. She’s a good hand with stone, is Nila.”

“Then I’ll speak with her. Choose who you want to take charge until morning. She’ll say aye or nay, so this won’t take long.”

He landed Cróga on the beach, much to the delight of a group of children playing in the shallows.

And as he walked toward the shops and cottages, he thought Mahon right. A cloud lifted.

He found the elf rebuilding a wall. Spotting him, she got quickly to her feet.

“Taoiseach.”

“That’s good work. Mahon said you had a hand for it.”

“I like to build things. And watch them built. The memorial is already such a strong symbol.”

“Would you walk with me?”

“Of course.”

“I want to thank you for your words in the Judgment.”

“They were truth, and my duty. And, I don’t worry to say, a pleasure as well.”

He nodded. Young, he thought, a pretty young elf with a warrior’s braid who’d already seen battles and blood.

“I wonder if you would take up another duty.”

“I serve Talamh.”

He nodded as they walked away from the village toward the trees. “You would have heard of Shana, and her crimes, her flight, her choice to join Odran.”

“I have, aye.” Nila’s face went hard as the stones she’d laid. “Do you wish me to go through and find her?”

Keegan glanced down. “And finding her?”

“To bring her back for judgment. That is the law.”

The right answer, he thought, the true answer, and given without hesitation.

“That is the law. But no, I send no one to Odran’s world for this, for her. Her time will come when it comes. Her father was on the council, now he isn’t. I’d ask you to take his place at the council table.”

She stopped short, stared at him. “I don’t understand. Taoiseach, I’m not a politician or a scholar.”

“You’re loyal, brave, you have my trust. You know the law and honor it, Nila. I want that at my council table. Your home’s in the south, and you’d have to make a new one in the Capital. It’s no small thing I ask.”

“I’d make my home where I’m needed, and so my family would want. But I have no experience.”

“Neither did I when I took the sword from the lake—and younger than you. It’s a choice, Nila, and there’s no dishonor in choosing no.”

He looked around. Some of the trees bore battle scars, others stood as no more than scorched husks.

And still there was beauty here. And from it, more would bloom.

“How is the child? The little girl.”

“Alanis? Resilient.”

He turned to her fully. “You would know because you would go and see her, make sure of it. And this is yet another reason I ask you to serve on the council. The law must have heart, it has to beat from it, or it turns to stone.”

“I … I’m gobsmacked, and that’s the truth of it. But I’d be honored to serve Talamh, and you, on the council. But I’d ask for someone to teach me how to, well, do it.”

“You’ll have my mother for that. I’m on my way back to the Capital now, and I’ll see you have rooms and whatever you need. Do you have a horse?”

“I do, aye, though I’m faster on my feet.”

“You’ll want the horse in any case.” He held out a hand. “I’m grateful to you.”

“I’ll hope you will be.”

He didn’t come to the cottage that night, or the night after. Breen learned of progress at the Capital—slow—from Marg through the scrying mirror. She heard tidbits from Brian, who came late, left early, so she knew Keegan traveled the whole of Talamh every day, and spent hours in the forest on the search for the dark portal.

She immersed herself in her work. It gave her purpose, held off the worry, and stopped her, for hours at a time, from feeling useless.

And she shocked herself when she came to the end.

It wasn’t finished, she reminded herself as she stared at her laptop screen. She had to go through it all, edit, fix, polish, obsess.

But somehow it was all there. Five hundred and thirty-six pages of her words, all there.

She had to stand up, walk around the room, so Bollocks’s head popped up from his nap on the bed. She had to open the garden door, breathe the cool air. And because he sensed her mood—glazed joy— instead of bulleting out, Bollocks reared up on his hind legs and danced around her.

“Yeah, we’ll dance.” She held out her hands so he put his forepaws in them. Joy beamed from his eyes into hers.

“I made you a demon dog in the book, I hope you don’t mind. You’re a good demon dog. An amazing demon dog, the best ever in the history of demon dogs.

“I don’t know what to do next. Yes, I do! We have to go tell Marco.”

Happy to oblige, Bollocks ran out with her to where Marco sat at the table working. She smelled red sauce and spicy meat. Spaghetti and meatballs, she realized.

Perfect. Everything was perfect.

“Hey, girl.” He kept tapping his keyboard. “I’m about done here, and if you can do that woo-woo thing to the stove, I was thinking we could go over and take a ride. Who knew I’d learn how to ride a horse, much less miss doing it? You gotta need a break from writing after two days of pretty much round-the-clock.”

“Marco.”

“Yeah, two seconds, just finishing up, and I talked with Abby in Publicity about setting up social media accounts for Bollocks—like, his accounts, get it? After the first of the year, get people invested in him, you know?”

“Marco,” she repeated.

“And done. Yeah, what?”

He looked up and over, saw her face. “Something’s up.” He got slowly to his feet. “I think it’s good, but I know there’s shit going on you’re not telling me about. Or can’t. And Brian can’t. So tell me if it’s good right off.”

“It’s good. It’s great. It’s ridiculous. I finished the book. The novel. The fantasy. Well, not finished-finished because—”

She ended on a laugh because he swooped her up and spun her around. Not to be outdone, Bollocks reared up again and added a few joyful howls.

“Mimosas! Now!”

“Mimosas?” She laughed again, clung to him. “It’s barely two in the afternoon.”

“You wrote a damn book—another damn book.” He eased back to give her a noisy kiss. “And we’re having mimosas.”

“I wrote a book. Two books. Well, one and a half, maybe a third, because I still have to edit and expand, or contract, polish it or—”

“Two books,” Marco said definitely. “Girl, I’m so proud of you.”

“You’re a big part of why. If I had to do all that?” She pointed to his laptop, his files. “Well, I wouldn’t. I’ll take the mimosa. I think I have to sit down. I think I have to cry a little.”

“You cry all you want.” He drew her in again. “I’m going to cry with you. My Breen.”

Bollocks let out a yip, and Morena came in. “What’s all this? Why is there crying?”

“Celebratory crying,” Marco told her. “Breen finished her book.”