“More gratitude.” When she heard voices, she tensed.

“It wasn’t Sasha.”

“I know.”

Doyle stopped. “She’s suffered. You need to know. Whatever worry, even fear, others knew over the last days, she felt it more keenly.”

“It wasn’t her fault.”

“Convince her,” Doyle said simply, then carried her toward the voices.

CHAPTER TEN

When Doyle stepped in, Riley in his arms, everything stopped.

Sawyer, on the point of demonstrating to Annika the proper way to hold a pool cue, jerked upright and grinned like a maniac. Annika let out a joyous laugh, and somehow managed to execute a backflip in the relatively confined space.

At the bar pouring a whiskey into a short glass, Bran set the bottle down, stepped over to lay a hand on Sasha’s shoulder. She sat on a sofa with Bran’s grandmother, who crisply laid out a tarot card spread.

“She’ll be fine now,” Brigid said as Sasha jolted to her feet, even as Sasha’s breath caught and her eyes filled.

“There she is!” Sawyer laid the cue down, used one hand on the back of a chair to hurtle over it. He grabbed Riley’s face in his hands, kissed her hard and noisily. “Yeah, there you are.”

“Put me down somewhere.” Riley punched Doyle lightly on the shoulder. “You’re making it a thing.”

“It is a thing. Here, give her to me.” Sawyer pulled Riley away from Doyle, spun in a circle. “Ladies and gentlemen, she’s back!”

“Cut it out.” As Riley laughed, Sasha burst into tears. “Oh, seriously, cut it out. Down,” she muttered to Sawyer. “Down, down.”

He carried her around the sofa, set her—gently—down.

“Sash—”

“Sorry. I’m sorry.” Even as she swiped at her eyes, Sasha dropped down to kneel in front of Riley, grip her hands. “I’m so sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything. So stop. No, that’s wrong. You did. You all did. So gratitude—extreme gratitude. Can I get something to eat? Pretty much anything.”

“There’s soup on the simmer.” Brigid continued to lay the cards on the coffee table in front of her. “Sasha had a yearning to make chicken soup, and it’s just the thing.”

“I’ll get it. Riley, I’m so happy,” Annika said as she danced to the stove.

“I’m feeling pretty cheerful myself.” Still holding Sasha’s hands, Riley studied Brigid. “You look just like her.”

“I’ve seen our Sasha’s sketches, and I do. But for a few decades.”

“I think you saved my life. It’s appreciated.”

“You’re more than welcome. Bran, are you going to give me that whiskey or let the glass sit half empty until the years pass?”

He poured a healthy four fingers, brought it to her. Kissed her on both cheeks. “My endless thanks, Móraí.”

“My gracious welcome. You’re pale yet,” Brigid observed, studying Riley over her glass. “But clear of eye. Sasha?”

“Oh, I don’t—”

“You do.” Brigid dismissed the protest. “You know how to look, how to see. So see to your sister, and no whining about it.”

Sasha took a breath—shaky—closed her brimming eyes. “There’s still pain, but it’s tolerable. There’s still healing to be done, but it’s progressing. She’s hungry, and that’s a good sign. She needs to eat, carefully for now, and rest another day or two.”

“And the hand?” Brigid probed.

“Ah . . . Will hurt when the bandages come off—Bran treated them,” she told Riley, “numbed the pain. But it’s all healing well. The bandages should come off tomorrow.” Sasha looked over at Brigid. “Is that right?”

“It is. You’ve so much more than you think. She knows better in the head,” Brigid said to Riley, “but she blames herself in her heart.”

“Then she’s stupid. That’s bullshit.”

“Sure it is.” Brigid stroked a hand down Sasha’s hair. “But love is so often full of bullshit, isn’t it?”

“Here’s food!” Bright as the sun, Annika brought over a tray. “Sasha made soup with chicken and noodles and vegetables, and Móraí made brown bread.”

“You sang to me,” Riley said as Annika set down the tray.

“You heard me? Móraí said you would hear in your heart if we talked or sang, and we should lie with you, stay close.”

“I heard.” She turned to Sawyer. “Terry Pratchett.”

“I found Night Watch in your stash. It looked like you’d read it a million times.”

“Close enough.” Riley spooned up some soup. It slid into her like glory. “Oh, my God.”

“Slowly,” Brigid warned. “Else you’ll sick it up.”

“Give me a minute here, then we can do a roundup, but I feel like I haven’t eaten in weeks.” Riley spooned up more, tried to go slow. “You sent for reinforcements,” she said to Bran.

“I didn’t know enough. We were losing you.”

“I’ve seen dead men on the battlefield with more life than you had.” At the bar, Doyle poured himself a whiskey.

“Way to ease into it,” Sawyer muttered.

“Straight up’s better.” Riley ate another spoonful, sat back. “You’re right. Slower’s better. It was Malmon.”