Sawyer shifted. “Shit. Combat knife, too.”

Riley pulled a wicked blade out of her boot. “Throwing knife.”

“Which only proves we’ve yet to reach the point where we’re fully honest. We know about Bran only because he . . . used what he has to get us all out of the cave alive. And we know about the compass because Sawyer felt guilty not telling us after we found out about Bran. Annika’s not ready, and Doyle? You’re still annoyed we got in your way.”

“You’re right on that.”

“You’re not, because we didn’t get in your way, and you know that, under the annoyance. We were all where we were supposed to be today. We all made the choice to go into the cave.”

“What? Wait.” Riley’s gilded eyes narrowed. “Do you think it was a kind of test?”

“I don’t know. I’m really new at this. But I think gods are pretty demanding. We all went into the cave. We fought. Well, all of you did.”

“Sasha.” Bran reached for her hand, but she drew it away.

“I didn’t fight. I froze. But it won’t happen again. Still, we got out, and we—six now—are sitting right here. I haven’t heard anyone say they want out. We faced down a god, and not one of us is walking away from doing it again. So I think we passed the test.”

“Smart brain there, too,” Riley said to Annika. “You’ve got a point. Throughout lore and legend, gods are notoriously demanding. And fickle, and often bloodthirsty. No quest is ever completed without tests and sacrifice and battle.”

“Sasha’s blood woke the dark.” The moment she spoke, Annika looked distressed. “I’m apology—”

“No, don’t be sorry. You’re right. I felt it myself, and maybe it’s part of the reason I froze. I don’t know. I know she wanted to drain me.”

“Because she’s not running on full power,” Riley pointed out.

“If she was, you’d be dust.” Doyle took another beer. “Mortal against god? Who do you lay your money on?”

“I’d bet on myself,” Riley tossed back, “and my four friends here. I don’t know about you yet, big guy.”

“We’re more than mortals,” Bran pointed out. “So I’d say, however fickle, the gods gave us some edge. We’ll use it.”

“The star isn’t in the cave. I spent considerable time looking,” Doyle continued, “before things got interesting.”

“There are other caves.” Riley frowned into her beer. “I’ll make some calls, get us a boat, some gear. We talked about trying some of the underwater caves. Maybe that’s the next step.”

“I have some things I can put together, in case she goes at us again. We weren’t prepared enough.” Bran pushed to his feet. “That’s the bottom of it. We weren’t prepared, and we need to be.”

“Then we will be. I’ll take care of the dishes.” Sasha got up to clear.

She had some ideas of her own.

CHAPTER NINE

Once she’d set the kitchen to rights, Sasha went upstairs for her easel and paints. She’d take an hour for herself, smooth out any remaining jagged edges.

She set up on the terrace, commandeering one of the tables and covering it with a drop cloth from her kit.

After filling several jars with water, she set out brushes, palette knives, a palette.

And began to prep a canvas. She chose a golden, fluid acrylic—it would give the painting she saw in her head an underglow. She covered the edges first, then began to scrub the paint into the canvas so it would soak in. She kept the mix thin and lean, brushing it out, wiping it down until it satisfied her.

Then she set the canvas on her easel, began a line drawing. Clouds and sea, the curve of sand, the rise of cliff, the shape of the channel that cut through.

A sweeping view, she thought, not the more dramatic and focused study she’d been compelled to paint, not the storm-tossed night, but sparkling day. No figures caught in that storm and one another on the cliff, but the hint of people on shore and sea, bright drops of color and life.

She mixed colors—greens first—the deep, dark green of cypress, the duskier hue of olive, the richer of citrus trees. All this against the sun-bleached brown of the cliffs.

It gave her peace, the process of it, and the ability to translate not only what she saw but what she felt with paint and brush and canvas.

The blues, dreamy, bold, soft, sharp—the hints of green and aquamarine around the rocks. The pale gold of sand flowing into deeper tones where the sea rolled over it, retreated, rolled again.

The clouds she painted cotton white against the pulse of blue sky, then changed brushes to add their shadows, like an echo on the sea.

She lost track of time in the work, in the pleasure. With the sparkle in front of her, and on her canvas, the cold, dark shadows of the cave in the hills didn’t exist.

She stepped back to study what she’d done, reached for a detail brush. Stopped when she heard Riley’s voice, heard her coming up the terrace steps.

“I’m all over that. Yeah, yeah, probably by nine. Really appreciate it, and tell Ari I owe him.” She laughed as she came to the top of the steps. “I don’t owe him that much. Later.”

She swiped off her phone, stuck it in her pocket as she saw Sasha and the easel.

“Hey, sorry. Didn’t know you were playing up here. I just got us . . . Wow.” She stopped in front of the canvas. “And let me repeat. Wow. That’s amazing.”