The Awakening: The Dragon Heart Legacy Book 1

by Nora Roberts

  “Yes. And Aisling, then Harken, as he came in while I was.”

  She nodded. “So you save Keegan for the last of us. Since you’re my friend I’ll wish you luck with that and mean it. But it’s best I leave you alone to do it.”

  “All right.”

  “I’ll see you before you go.”

  Breen started to speak again, but Morena turned and walked back toward Aisling’s cottage.

  So when Bollocks romped back to her, she continued to the training field, where Keegan sat methodically polishing one of the swords.

  “You’re late yet again, and sure took your bloody time of it. I’ve known women in more than one world who like to think a man has nothing better to do than wait for them. They’re all in the way of being wrong.”

  “I don’t think that and never have, but I had things to deal with today. I still do.”

  She sat on one of the mounting blocks he’d set down for brief rests—or as part of a brutal obstacle course he’d fashioned and whipped her through more than once.

  “I had to talk to Nan, and . . . others. I guess I still have others I should talk to. I have to talk to you.”

  He looked up, into her face. She could see the shutter come down over his eyes as if he snapped them shut over a window.

  “You’re going back then.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “In a matter of days now, two more after this, so that’s mere hours.”

  “Yes,” she said again, surprised he knew.

  “Do you think I wouldn’t know when the time you’d laid out before was up? Yet you’ve said nothing. Easier for you, I’m thinking, to let me—all of us—believe you meant to stay and see this through.”

  “No, not easier. Maybe easier for a while not to think about it at all, so I didn’t. I just didn’t. And when I did, I didn’t say anything because I wasn’t sure how.”

  “Now you’ve said it.” He got to his feet. “So there’s no point in it for me wasting my time on the training of you when you choose to go back across.”

  “Not fair.” She sprang to her feet. “Not fair. Why did I think you’d be fair or listen to what I have to say?”

  “You’re leaving, so it’s said. All in my world look to me now to hold the line against Odran, to keep that vision of death and destruction we shared from becoming. I lifted the sword from the lake as you told me I must.”

  “I—what? I never—I wasn’t even here.”

  “You came, after I saw it through the water, when I thought no, not for me, no, I don’t want it. I don’t want to lead. But you came, and in the water spoke to me. So I lifted it, and all the burdens it holds. And you, who were born with the power to guard worlds, throw the burden aside.”

  “I’m not. I won’t. I’ll come back. You don’t know who I was before I came here.” Dragging her hands through her hair, she turned away. “You wouldn’t like who I was. I don’t like who I was. I have to go back as I am now.”

  “For what purpose?”

  “To prove I can be who I am now. To prove I am what I want to be. To make the choice knowing what I know. Goddamn it, Keegan, you and everyone in Talamh travel outside, are encouraged to go, to spend time, to see and feel. Then make your choice. But I’m not allowed to do the same?”

  “You lived there.”

  “Not me.” She turned back, rapping a hand on her heart. “A woman who did everything she could not to be noticed. Who followed rules someone else set for her. A woman who believed her own father couldn’t love her enough to stay. But that’s not who’s going back. I haven’t spoken to my mother in months, and not once has she tried to contact me. But the woman who’s going back is going to have one hell of a conversation with her.”

  “So you go back to show your mother you’re strong?”

  “That’s part of it, yes. And what’s wrong with that? Haven’t you been training me to be strong? All these weeks, isn’t that what you’ve done?”

  Whirling around, she grabbed a sword. “She trained me to be weak.” And slashed the air with it. Hot light sizzled and snapped from the blade. “I damn well will show her I’m not. I have people who love me, and I need to see them, I need to somehow tell them I’m not staying, that I’m coming back to Ireland. Since I can’t tell them I’m coming back here. I can tell them I’m coming back to Ireland to finish my book, that’ll work and isn’t a complete lie.”

  She sighed, and put the sword down. “But it’s enough of one it bothers me. And it’s going to hurt them. Marco, my friend, and I were going to get a house. He found one, and it’s exactly what I wanted before . . . before everything changed. I have to disappoint him because I can’t do that until—I don’t know when now.”

  “So you think of houses and your pride. Do you forget the vision, the screams and the smoke?”

  Eyes hard, dark and hard, she lifted her face. “I’ll never forget it.”

  “Do you understand Odran knows you’ve awakened? He will continue to push against the portals, to send his scouts and demons. He will do whatever he can to push into your dreams.”

  “I have the spell—”

  “But no one to help should it fail.”

  “Then I’ll have to be good enough.”

  “And if you’re not, and he can use what you have, Talamh is lost. And when lost, so will your world be, as you are the bridge.”

  “I’ll have to be good enough,” she repeated. “Before I came here a handful of people—less—believed I was good enough, and I wasn’t one of them.”

  It cut to the bone to realize he wasn’t one of them either.

  “It’s harder to go than to stay. You won’t understand that, but that’s my choice. To go, to do what I need to do, then come back and give whatever I have to the Fey.”

  “Then I won’t waste my time or my breath. And since there’s no point in the training of you now, I’ll spend both where they can be of more use.”

  “I still have today, and tomorrow, and—”

  “It’s not likely, is it, you’ll be needing a sword in your Philadelphia.” He sheathed his with a decisive snick, picked up hers. “So go, Breen Siobhan, and do what you feel you must, for it seems what’s human in you burns stronger than what is Fey.”

  He walked away from her, and moments later she saw his dragon dive out of the sky. He mounted. Without a backward glance, they soared up to disappear into the clouds.

  She didn’t go to the farm again. As she doubted she’d be welcomed, she spent much of her remaining time with her grandmother, with Sedric. She visited Morena and her grandparents, watched the young Feys race the roads and woods.

  On the evening before her departure, she left Bollocks with Marg.

  He whined for her, and the plaintive sound of it stayed with her as she walked from the cottage, the gardens, and to the road.

  She’d stretched her time until dusk, when the light softened to a pearl gray and the far hills stood cloaked in shadows.

  A time, she knew, when Talamh fell quiet with the workday done, the evening meal finished. A time, she thought, for reading by the fire or conversations as the children slept. For music, and she heard that now as the lovely sad strains of a violin drifted from the farmhouse.

  It sounded like tears. Nothing could have suited her mood more.

  Lights shone in the windows of the house where she’d been born, and her father before her. Her heart wrenched as she walked past it with the mournful tune following her like a ghost.

  Morena sat on the wall with the Welcoming Tree behind her, and stood as Breen approached.

  “I thought to say a last goodbye.”

  Saying nothing at all, Breen walked to her, wrapped around her, held on.

  “It hurts you to go. Anyone can see it, so the need to go must be fierce.”

  “It is. I can’t explain it, but it is.”

  “You’ve explained well enough for me.” With a last squeeze, Morena pulled back, glanced toward the farmhouse. “If not for all.”

 
; “Harken plays like an angel. A grieving one.”

  “Harken can play, and more than well, but that would be Keegan.”

  “Keegan? I didn’t know he played at all.”

  “Your own father taught him, and Harken and Aisling as well. I suppose he didn’t mention the matter when the two of you tucked up in bed.”

  She knew, Breen thought. Of course she did. Probably everyone knew. “No, he didn’t. And he’s too angry with me now to mention anything.”

  “He has worlds on his shoulders, in his heart and hands as well.”

  “I get that, I really do. It’s why I can’t be angry back when it would be a lot easier.”

  “You’ll mend it all when you come back.”

  “I’ll come back, but mending’s something else.” She tried a shrug and a smile. “I think I may be the only woman in history to be dumped in two worlds.”

  “Men are fragile creatures at the base of it.”

  “Are they?” Breen asked wistfully.

  “Take my word on it. Now, you gave me a gift when you came, so I’ve one for you for your leaving.”

  She handed Breen a small wooden box etched with magical symbols.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “Oh, well, the box is fine enough, but what’s inside is the real gift.”

  As she opened it, Morena flicked on some faerie lights so Breen could clearly see what she held in the palm of her hand.

  “It’s Nan’s cottage. It’s a perfect miniature of Nan’s cottage, with the garden in front, and the door open as she likes it.”

  “I first thought to make one of the cottage on the other side, where you’ve been living.”

  “You made this? It’s incredible.”

  “I’m pleased you think so. I thought of the farm as well, as you’ve such ties there. But in the end, I thought for sentiment, it would be Marg’s cottage for you to take on your journey.”

  “I couldn’t love it more, or you for knowing what it would mean to me. Oh, Morena, I’m going to miss you.”

  “Don’t miss me too long then. I’ll be here when you return.”

  Carefully, Breen placed the miniature back in the velvet padding inside the box. “Look in on Nan and Bollocks for me.”

  “I will, of course.”

  “I have to go.”

  “I know it. Fair journey to you.”

  Breen walked across the field, up the short steps, then turned to look back where Morena still stood.

  “I think I’m the only woman who has the best of best friends in two worlds.”

  Then, with the box pressed against her heart, she stepped from one world to another.

  The entire day of travel passed like a dream. Loading the car, checking the cottage one last time, then the drive through a soft rain that made the green glow like drenched emeralds.

  When she finally walked into the airport, the noise, the crowds, the movement hit as a hard culture shock that nearly woke her. But she focused on getting through, just getting through all the steps and stages. When she finally sat in the relative quiet of the lounge to wait for her flight, she stuck with water. She already felt outside her body, and her hands shook a little as she raised the glass.

  As she boarded, she thought how she’d flown on a dragon once, and that was real. Then she answered Marco’s cheerful text to try to ground herself to what was real now.

  As the plane rose, she didn’t look out the window. Couldn’t bear to look at what she left behind. She didn’t want a movie or a book, but tried to lose herself in writing for a time.

  It helped, a little, and when the story slipped away from her, she used the bathroom to take the potion, do the spell, and with the charm in her pocket, slept the time away.

  Steps and stages, she reminded herself when she landed, and pushed through all of them until she wheeled her luggage out into a world of sound and rush that made her ears buzz and her stomach pitch.

  She might have turned then and there and rushed for some sort of escape, but there stood Marco, both hands waving in the air. Marco, grinning from ear to ear. Marco, grabbing her in a hug that lifted her off her feet.

  “Here she is!”

  “Here you are,” she murmured, and, laughing and crying at once, pressed her face to his shoulder.

  “Let me get a look at my best girl.” He pulled her back, blinked. “Girl, you were buff when I left, but shit my pants, you are frigging ripped. What’d you do?”

  “Am I? I worked out a lot.”

  Sword practice, combat training, riding, walking.

  “Looks damn good on you. Where’s that dog of yours? Where do we have to go to get him?”

  “I couldn’t bring him right now.” And she began to cry in earnest. “I left him with . . . I’ll explain.”

  “It’s all right, baby, it’s okay. Stupid apartment.”

  “I really want to get out of here, Marco.”

  “Sure you do. Here, I’ll push this little mountain.” He got behind the cart. “I borrowed my cousin’s minivan—that’s an embarrassment to my breed, but it works. You just wait at the curb, and I’ll bring it around.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You must be worn out.”

  “I guess. Everything feels so strange. Except you.” She gripped his arm as he wheeled the cart outside.

  “My clock was off for days when I got back. You okay here?”

  “Yeah, all good.”

  No, she thought as he jogged away. No, nothing’s okay. The air smells wrong, the sky looks wrong. Too many people talking at once. Too many people and cars everywhere. The thunder of planes taking off, landing.

  He pulled up in a cherry-red minivan, then hopped out to open the cargo doors. “You go on, sit and catch your breath. I’ll load up.”

  “No, I’m good, and I need to move after the long flight.”

  By the time she slid into the passenger seat, her head throbbed.

  “It’s gonna feel weird driving on the right, I bet.” He pulled away from the curb. “I got the night off, so I’m going to fix you a good dinner. I know how you are about getting everything in its place, but you can wait till tomorrow to unpack. Just chill.”

  “Maybe. I’ve got so much to tell you.”

  “And I want to hear every bit of it. Especially about the Irish hunk you hooked up with.”

  “That’s over.”

  “Hey, maybe he’ll come over to visit you.”

  She shook her head. “I had to go; he had to stay.”

  “Don’t you forget about Sandy and Danny. Summer love can last.”

  At her blank look, he rolled his eyes. “Grease, Breen, it’s the word.”

  And he made her laugh.

  She did her best to shut out everything but him as they drove into the city. She knew all of this, she thought, all of this so familiar. And now as distant as the two moons.

  They carted all the bags up to the apartment.

  “I’ve got to get the van back. You just chill, and I’ll be back again in a half hour. You chill, you hear?”

  “Yes.”

  He gave her another hard hug. “Welcome the hell home, Breen.”

  When he left, she looked around. All this familiar, too.

  But it wasn’t home, not anymore. No matter how much of the person she’d been remained here, no matter how much of Marco, this would never be home to her again.

  She unpacked, squeezing the gifts she’d brought into her little closet. On her dresser she placed the wooden box, the miniature, and the scrying mirror. And, feeling guilty, she tucked her wand, the crystals and potions she’d brought back, and the spell book away in drawers.

  She hadn’t risked bringing the athame, not on the plane, but had left that with her grandmother.

  When she heard Marco come back, she stepped out of her room.

  He fisted his hands on his hips. “You unpacked, didn’t you?”

  “I couldn’t help it.”

  “Girl.” He let out an exaggerated sigh. “You sit
down. I’m getting us an adult beverage, then we’re going to play some catch-up before I make us my famous chicken and rice.”

  “I missed your cooking.”

  “Came clear in your blog you weren’t doing much of that your own self.”

  “I suck at it.”

  He poured them wine, sat with her. “Good thing you got me. Now you tell me everything.”

  “There’s so much, I don’t know where to start.”

  “Pick a spot.”

  “I left a lot out of the blog because it was too personal. And I didn’t tell you when we talked or texted because that wasn’t personal enough. I should start with my father.”

  “Jesus, did you find him?”

  “He died, Marco, years ago. He would’ve come back but . . .”

  “Oh, my baby girl.” He rose to crouch down, gather her in. “I’m so sorry. Breen, I’m so sorry. I wish I’d been there with you. You shouldn’t’ve gone through that alone.”

  “I wasn’t. I found my grandmother. His mother.”

  He pulled back, eyes wide. “Where, how?”

  “I . . . got lost one day, and I ended up at this farm, this beautiful farm. I was born there, Marco.”

  “You—What?”

  “I never knew, but I was born there, not here. And they knew my father. My grandmother’s cottage is nearby. I spent a lot of time with her. You’d like her. You’d really like her.”

  “Breen, it’s like fate, right?”

  “Yes.” Just that simple, she thought. “It’s like fate.”

  She told him what she could, blending Talamh into Ireland.

  “So since she gave me the dog, I left him with her until . . .”

  “Your dad never told you?”

  “I think he sort of did, in the stories he told me. But I thought they were stories. And my mother, well, she quashed all of that.”

  “It’s all just—” He put his hands to the sides of his head, made an exploding sound. “You could write a book.”

  “About that.” She let out a breath. “You know the one I wrote about Bollocks?”

  “Know it, read it, loved it.”

  “I’m working on a second one, and working on my adult novel. And I got an agent.”

  “You did not! I mean whoa, look at you! This is fan-fucking-tastic, girl.”