“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.”