“Your sketch. So what came from you—beauty and imagery—is also in this.” He took her hand, and with his other, reached into the cauldron.
The cuffs were exactly as she’d drawn them, down to the etched symbols, the thinly braided edges. The bronze glowed in the lowering light.
“Can I . . .”
“Of course.”
She ran her fingertip over them. “They’re beautiful. She’ll love them for that alone. I love . . . I love that you made them for her, that you understood she needed another way, and made something strong and beautiful and from light. You . . .”
Swamped in emotion, she looked up into his eyes. “You really do leave me breathless. Beyond the power, Bran. Whatever happens, this time with you? It’s changed my life. It’s opened it.”
“You’ve changed mine.” He took her face in his hands, kissed her gently. “Enriched it. I’ll make you a vow, fáidh, though I don’t have the sight. When we take the stars to where they belong, we’ll stand together, just like this, in their light.”
“That’s a vow I want both of us to keep.”
“Then trust we will.”
She leaned against him a moment, staring out at the sky, the sea—the promontory where she knew they’d also stand together in the teeth of a storm.
“It’s getting late—I lost track. You and I are on kitchen detail.”
“That’s a bloody shame, as I can think of something I’d like to do with you much more.”
“Hold the thought—but Riley needs a meal before sunset. And you should give Annika her bracelets.”
“If you must be practical. Then you’ll take a walk with me later.”
“A walk’s what you’d like to do with me much more?”
“First.” He took the bracelets she gave back to him, then her hand. “I think we’ll have had enough of battle plans and tasks,” he said as they started down. “And I’d like a walk in the moonlight with you.”
“Then it’s a date.” She saw Annika playing tug-of-war with Apollo with a thick hunk of rope. “You should take them to her, and I’ll get started on dinner.”
When she left him to it, Bran started across the lawn. Apollo broke off the game long enough to bound toward him for a greeting.
And Annika’s eyes widened when she saw the bracelets in Bran’s hand.
“Oh! This is what you made for me?” She pressed her palms together, laid them on her lips. “Look how they glow in the sun.”
“They’re of light.”
“And blood?”
“Yours and mine. They’re only for you, and can only belong to you, or your blood—someone from you,” he qualified.
“Thank you.” She took one, almost reverently, then puzzled over it. “I don’t know how to wear it. Is it for the wrist?”
“That’s right.” He took her hand, and the one he still held. “If you want it, it’ll go on. But understand, it’s both weapon and shield.”
“To help me fight—without the gun or a knife.”
“That’s right. Without a gun or knife, but with power and light.”
“I will fight.”
When Bran put her fingers through the cuff, it shimmered over her hand, onto her wrist, settled there, firm and true. Annika did the same with the second.
“They’re beautiful.”
“Only you can take them off.”
She shook her head. “I’ll wear them always. Thank you.” She wrapped her arms around him. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Let me show you how they work.”
“Yes, please.”
He lifted a hand, and formed a dark, spinning ball just above his palm, then sent it into the air. Then taking her arm, bent at the elbow, turned it toward the ball. “To start, you have to think, to aim, to be deliberate. But then it’ll be instinct. Deflect the ball.”
“Deflect?”
“Your light, Annika, against the dark. Use it.”
He helped her this time, this first time. The thin beam of light shot from her cuff, struck the ball.
“I feel it,” she murmured.
“That’s right. Do it again.”
She surprised him, lifting her other arm, and sent the ball wheeling.
“You’re a quick one.”
“I feel it,” she repeated. “But what if I make a mistake? What if it strikes someone? I don’t want to hurt anyone.”
“It only harms the dark, or someone with dark purpose. It comes from me as well, and I have a vow. Sacred to me. To harm no one. What I am, what I have, I won’t use to harm any but the dark.”
“It’s my vow, too. I take it with you. I will fight the dark.” She lifted her arms, shot out light from both so the practice ball winged right, then left.
“Yes, a very quick one. Destroy it.”
“Destroy?”
“I’ll give you another. Destroy this one.”
This light, brighter, sharper, struck the ball, and with a flash it vanished.
“If the things come back, attack us, I can do this. They’re evil, so I can do this.” Her eyes went hard, grim. “I can do this and break no vow.”
“You do this, as I do, to keep one. To destroy the dark, to find and protect the stars.”