She could see Annika in a breastplate—the lithe and lovely warrior princess. “How would it work, exactly?”

“With a beam of light. The beam strikes what’s made of dark. Deflects, destroys. The shield might be—”

“Can it be two?” she interrupted.

“Two shields?”

“No, I was thinking bracelets. Like cuffs. I may not know my superheroes like Sawyer, but I know Wonder Woman.”

He laughed as Sasha brought up her arms, punched them out. “Wonder Woman. Well then, of course. She’ll have her magic bracelets, have her hands free, and be able to deflect and defend from any angle. That’s quite brilliant, fáidh.”

“Can you make them pretty? She’ll wear whatever you give her, but pretty would make her happy.”

“I can do that.” He cupped a hand under Sasha’s chin, tugged her up for a kiss. “In fact, we’ll add what will look like a design, and will add power and protection.”

He moved across the room to his books, chose one, began to flip through it. “Here. This will do well, I think.” He gestured to her.

“Is it Celtic?”

“It is, yes. My blood, and the power and protection will be imbued by me. Would you draw them? Two bracelets carrying this design. As you see them.”

“All right. Let me get a sketch pad.”

She hurried to her room and back, already imagining the cuffs. About an inch wide, she thought, slightly rounded, with a thin edging—like a tight braid.

And Bran’s Celtic symbols circling them.

“You didn’t say how they’ll clasp.”

He only smiled. “Magick. No beginning or end,” he added. “A true circle.” As he spoke, he chose a curl of wire. “Bronze. For a warrior.”

With his free hand he levitated the cauldron a few inches, flashed fire under it.

“No blade, no steel. All light. And in light the power to defend, to deflect. To destroy what comes from the dark source, to defend against what wishes to harm. The blood of the warrior.” He held up the vial, turned it over to let the three drops spill into the cauldron. “And of the magician.” Using the same knife, he used the tip on his own finger, added three drops of blood.

“Power and light bound by blood, cored by the ancients.” Now he let the wire drift into the quietly bubbling liquid. “Stirred by wind.”

He blew on his outstretched palm, and the liquid stirred.

“Sparked by fire.”

The flames rose and lapped the pot, glowing red.

“With water from both storm and sea to cure. And earth from holy ground to bless.”

Water first, spilled brilliantly blue from the bottle he chose, then earth, deeply, richly brown.

“Do you have the sketch?”

She’d drawn them, but could barely breathe now. Power thumped in the air, and the air had gone as blue as the water he’d poured. In it, he was the light, radiating it. When he turned his head to look at her, his eyes were onyx.

She held out the sketch.

He said nothing as he studied it, but nodded.

He held it high in both hands.

“Power of thee, power through me. Forge the weapons for the light, through them run the magicks bright. Blessed by thee, given by me to a warrior in this fight. With them grant her might for right. In this image form them, with our blood burn then. Spark now fire, wild and free!”

The sketch flared, flamed in his hand, and the flash that remained of it shot into the cauldron.

“As I will, so mote it be.”

He held his hands over that flash, those sparks.

“Cool now. And it is done.”

It was just a room now, in the quiet light of coming evening, with the cauldron sitting quiet on the stone pedestal.

“I can’t breathe,” she told him.

He turned quickly, the eyes that had been so wildly intense now filled with concern.

“No, I don’t mean—” She waved him off. “It’s just. Breathless. That was magnificent, and I’m breathless.”

“It’s a complex and layered business to create a tangible thing from elements and will. It takes considerable energy.”

“I could see that.”

“Does it frighten you?”

“Not when it’s you. No.”

He held out a hand. “Come, see what we’ve conjured.”

“I didn’t—”

“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.