She began the final braid. “But what does it matter, as you’ve said yourself, who he tickles in the west, or the north or south, for that matter? As long as he comes to you in the east.”

But Kiara knew her friend, felt the change, and began to soothe.

“She’s gone now in any case, didn’t I tell you? Gone back to her world. I’m thinking he bedded her to try to convince her to stay, as she’s needed. Everyone says.”

She swept the braids back, began to twist and coil.

“She has red hair, you said.”

“Aye, the fire red, but no great beauty to go with it. It may be he’ll think of her, Shana, but for the needs of Talamh. For his own? What man could look at you and think of another?”

She’d been wrong about the braids and bells, Shana thought. They formed a kind of crown, then fell in a waterfall down her back.

“It’s time he pledged to me, Kiara.”

Kiara lowered her head, pressed their cheeks together, gold against cream, black against silver. “Perhaps it will be tonight.”

Shana wore the icy blue, the braids, the bells, and knew from the glances—admiration, envy—she looked beautiful. She’d learned beauty and sex could be weapons as well as gifts. And assets, she believed, for the taoiseach as his life mate.

She had a good brain for politics and policy, had been reared since birth on the art of diplomacy. And believed, with all her heart, she made the best choice for Keegan, and for Talamh, to stand by his side.

His mother had held that position, that honor, that right, long enough.

Still, she greeted Tarryn with a kiss, and another for Kiara’s mother.

“You’re radiant,” Minga told her.

“Your daughter made me so.” She gave her head a little shake to send the bells tinkling. “I thought I would be very late.” Deliberately so, she thought as she turned back to Tarryn. “But I see Keegan is later yet.”

“We aren’t to wait for him, as you see.” Resplendent in red, her honeyed hair a crown of coils, Tarryn gestured. People, already feasting, filled the banquet hall. “He’s been delayed, but will join us when he can.”

Loren walked to them. He wore silver matched with a doublet of blue, the exact shade of Shana’s gown.

He’d bartered with Daryn to create it.

The witch, warrior, Shana’s sometime lover, knew they made a perfect picture together as he kissed Shana’s hand, offered her wine.

“You outshine every light in the room. Come, we have a seat for you.”

“Go, sit with your friends, sit with the young,”

Tarryn said. Tarryn watched them, the elf in cold, cold blue, the witch in silver, and thought how well they suited.

“A striking couple they make,” she commented. “In every way. She’ll turn to him, I think, when she fully understands Keegan will never choose her. And would never make her truly happy if he did.”

“And yet her mind’s set on him.”

“Minds can change. Clouds are forming, Minga, and Talamh needs the sword and the courage to lift it, not the tinkle of bells.”

“Ah, Tarryn, it’s a party, after all.”

“You’re right in that, and I’m a bit too hard on her. I know you’re fond of her, as I am. Come, let’s sit with your family and enjoy what we have.”

Shana had Loren, she knew. In the palm of her hand should she open it, in her bed whenever she wished it. She charmed him now as they sat with Kiara and others at a long table near enough to one of the fires that she could pull on its reflective glow.

She ate little, but spent the time flirting, smiling, and saw the appreciation in Loren’s eyes.

Green eyes, but paler than Keegan’s. He wore no warrior’s braid in his deep brown hair, but would fight, of course, with power, with sword and bow.

He excelled with the bow, as she did. His build was good, but slighter than Keegan’s. She knew both bodies very well.

As he preferred mixing potions, working his alchemy, Loren’s hands remained soft. They didn’t bring her the same thrill as Keegan’s.

And when Keegan walked in, wearing unadorned black, her heart tripped up to her throat. She didn’t see, and wouldn’t have cared, that the light in Loren’s eyes dimmed.

She lifted her wine, turned back to Loren with a light laugh, determined Keegan would come to her.

Instead, he wound his way through the hall, stopping here and there to speak with someone, to touch a shoulder, to kiss a cheek. To make a connection on his way to his mother.

There he greeted Minga and Og with easy warmth, as well as the three of their children who sat with them, and the others at the table before taking a seat with them.

She caught the few looks—how could she not—and the whispers behind hands. The taoiseach hadn’t come to her, hadn’t acknowledged her.

And that could not, would not, be borne.

So when the dancing began, she put her hand in Loren’s and joined the line as his partner.

She took the steps, made the turns, well aware she shined in a dance. She danced with her father, with a were she knew pined for her, with half a dozen others before Keegan walked to her.

“You look beautiful, as always.”

“Do I?” She tossed her head, gave him a sultry look under her lashes with their faerie dust carefully applied. “You seemed far too busy to notice.”

“Busy I’ve been, but never too much to notice beauty.”

“Not too busy, I hope, to take the air. I find it far too warm in here.”

“For a few moments, of course.”

He led her out and into the gardens, into the cool air that smelled of autumn, into moonlight that bathed the flowers in silver.

She turned to him, turned into him. “Oh, I’ve missed you.” And gripping his face in her hands, closed her mouth over his. “Come, come with me now. Take me to your bed.”

He’d never shared his bed with her, the taoiseach’s bed, and they both knew she didn’t ask only for sex.

He drew her back, gently. “I’m obliged here, Shana.”

“You’ve danced—though not with me. You’ve had words with near to everyone in the hall, but not until now with me. More than an hour in the hall before you take my hand, so others laugh at me behind theirs.”

“That’s nonsense, and foolish.”

“It’s neither,” she snapped back, and whirled away so the multitude of thin layers of her skirts whirled with her. “I would have you show those who titter at me what I am to you. Near the whole of the summer I waited, Keegan, and I’m done with it.”

Hoping to calm her, he took her hand again. “I’ve never known you to care what others think, and I’m sorry to find you do. Sorry as well I’ve caused you distress.”

“Then make it up to me.”

Temper shifted to seduction quickly. Too quickly, he thought, noting the calculation.

“The wine flows,” she murmured, with her hand stroking his cheek. “The music plays. You won’t be missed if we take what we want now, what we need. And if they do, what of it? You’re taoiseach.”

“I am.” And he knew she considered that a kind of status more than duty. “Aye, I am, and so I’m obliged to those who give their time to serve the wine, to play the music, to come tonight to have a moment, to have a word.”

“Am I not one of Talamh? I want a moment. I want the words you’ve yet to give me. I want what you’re obliged to give me.”

Now he took both her hands—and held her at arm’s length. “I’m obliged to give you my protection and the judgment I hold in staff and sword. I give you my affection and friendship freely, with no obligation.”

“Affection? Friendship? You come to my bed whenever you will.”

“And have been welcome there, and by your own words, and actions as well, with no obligation on my side or on yours. Now I see I’ve mistaken those words and actions, and am in the way of hurting you. That I regret, deeply.”

“I don’t want your regrets.” She threw her arms around him again. “Come to bed, my bed then. Do your duty here if you must, then come to me.”

He took her wrists, drew her arms away. “I’m sorry, more than I can say. I’ve cared for you, and do still. It will never be more, never be less, than that.”

When she slapped him, he said nothing. He deserved that and more for not seeing what she held in her mind and her heart.

“You’d toss me aside then, as if I meant less than nothing to you. And for what? For some half-Talamhish witch who’s gone? She left you, turned away from you. Just as her father did. Will you carry blind devotion for her as you did for him?”

“He never turned his back, not on me, not on my family, not on Talamh.”

Though he spoke softly, his words bit. He meant them to. “Eian O’Ceallaigh gave his life for you, for me, my family, for every living thing in Talamh. And for his child hidden on the other side. Never, never disparage his name or his sacrifice to me.”

“He’s gone! She’s gone! I’m here, ready to stand with you, to lie with you, to give you comfort, to give you sons. I love you.”

“I can’t give you back what you offer me. I’m sorry for it, but I can’t give you what you want.”

“So you hurt me, humiliate me, and you’re sorry for it. Well then, Taoiseach, believe this. You will be. You’ll regret turning me away like this. Others won’t.”

“I know it.”

“Think of me with the one I choose. And regret.”

She started to run back into the hall, but stopped herself. Willed back the tears, pushed back any signs of fury. She walked in, glided back to Loren.

Putting her mouth against his ear, she whispered, “The taoiseach wished to come to my bed, but I told him I had someone else in mind.”

She nipped his earlobe before taking his hand. Though he didn’t believe her, he went with her willingly.