“Another star. Did he write about her parents?”

“He was more about the food and wine, a lot more about the goddess, the clothes, the queen. He was a little bit of a jerk, at least in his own telling. And by his account the palace comes off as fairy-tale sparkle. Big and silver and full of art and elaborate rooms. But he also talks about the thick forests, and a stone circle on another hill where he walked to pay respects to the ancients. A waterfall and a troubling path, the Tree of All Life.”

“And Nerezza?”

“Gossip. Pretty juicy.” Riley took a swig of beer, wiggled closer in her chair. “First, no invite for her. She lives on the far side of the island, semi-banished to that area when she tried stirring up trouble for the former queen. Not much hard data there, but she’s feared and disliked. Everybody gives her a wide berth. On the night of his arrival, our narrator hears what he thinks is a storm. He ignores it at first, but it sounds like a big one. He gets out of bed—lots of description of his chamber—and looks out. He sees this scorched gulf cutting across the beach. Deep and black, he says, and the three goddesses on one side of it. He claims he felt the power shake the world, and the white sand flows over the split. As things settle, he looks up, as the goddesses are, and sees three new stars under the moon. More brilliant and beautiful than any star in any heaven and so on. Before dawn, Arianrhod appears in his chamber, they get it on. He’s there three days and nights, and she comes to him every night.”

“To conceive a child, part god, part sorcerer,” Sasha concluded as Riley took a huge bite of sandwich.

Riley nodded, circled a finger in the air. “I figure maybe he comes off smug and pompous in his journal, but he had to have some qualities she valued and wanted. When he left, she gave him a ring with a brilliant white stone. The Stone of Glass, she called it, and told him she would send into his world a greater gift, one that would one day return to her.”

“The child. Its descendants.”

“Same page, Sash.”

“It’s sort of lovely. I’ll get my sketchbook. It’s stopped raining, so I’d like a walk, I’d like to get a sense of where we are, where Bran’s home is, then I’ll see if I can use your notes to sketch anything.”

“I need to unpack and organize a little more.”

“I’ve got dinner tonight, with Bran assisting. I thought I’d try my hand at Guinness stew. I’ll make sure it’s done before moonrise so you can eat before the fast.”

“Appreciate it. Take the path you painted,” Riley advised. “In the moonlight it was pretty fantastic. Going out from here’s a winner, but coming back? Absolute champ.”

Sasha rose, then stopped. “Bran wants me to meet his family.”

“Well, sure.”

“There are so many of them. And I’m—I’m this American woman they’ve never met, and who’s only known Bran for—”

“Cut it out.” Still eating, Riley sliced a finger through the air. “Stop putting up problems. Meeting the parents, et cetera? You can be a little anxious, sure, but, Jesus, Sasha, you’re a freaking warrior. You’re fighting gods here. This’ll be a snap.”

“I know I have to meet them—want to meet them,” she corrected. “Eventually. I just don’t want to mess anything up.”

“Look at the man. He’s pretty great, right?”

“Beyond that.”

“And it’s a pretty sure bet his parents had something to do with that. They’re probably great, too. Relax.”

“It’s silly to worry about something like this when there’s so much else to worry about.”

“It’s human,” Riley corrected. “Can’t get around being human. Except for me, three nights a month.”

Sasha smiled. “And even then. You’re right. I’m putting this aside and away. Leave your notes there, and I’ll see what I can do with them after I take a walk.”

“Will do. And I’ll be around if you have any questions.”

• • •

Doyle walked to the cliffs, and as he had as a boy, climbed down the treacherous rocks, down the unstable hunks of turf. The boy had believed, absolutely, he’d never fall. The man knew he’d survive if he did.

He told himself he risked the fall—the pain of dying and resurrection—in order to survey the caves pocked in the cliff wall. However unlikely the star lay so close to hand, you didn’t find until you looked.

But under the excuse, he knew full well he climbed, without rope or harness, simply because he’d done the same as a boy. He did so then, did so now, as the whip of the wind, the throaty roar of the sea, the slick and chilly face of the cliff exhilarated. To cling like a lizard high above the wave-tossed rock, defying death, gulping life like the salt-flavored air.

Oh, how he’d longed for adventure as a lad. To fight brigands, or to be one, to ride off to swing a sword against tyranny, to set sail on a journey to some undiscovered land.

Mind what you wish for, he thought as he paused on a narrow ledge to watch the lash and swirl of sea and rock below.

He’d had adventures, fought brigands—been one from time to time. Lived a soldier’s life in war by war by war until he’d lost all stomach for it. He’d sailed, and he’d flown, to lands ordinary and exotic.

And Christ knew he’d grown weary of it all.

But he’d set himself on this quest, and set that course centuries before any of the other six had been born. He’d see it through.