He’d be a fool not to take advantage of some Fallon time. And he was nobody’s fool. For the first time, they’d spent the night together in that big house, and now the morning after.

He wondered if she wondered if this served as a kind of gateway into their future. And just where the gate would lead.

He let her cook because she made it clear he sucked at cooking. He didn’t think he was that bad, but why argue? Besides, he liked watching her—the confidence, even a little flair.

She set the plates on the counter, sat beside him.

“Looks great, smells great.” He sampled a forkful. “Tastes— Wow. What is it?”

“Pesto and roasted tomato omelette with some goat cheese.”

“Take after your mom. She’s the best cook in the world.”

“She’d say there’s not a lot of competition.”

“Are you worried about her, about them?”

She tasted the omelette, found herself pleased she’d pulled it off as she’d been taught. “No. I worried I’d worry, if you get me, but I’m not. It’s all steps somehow. I just wanted to fly, to take some time to think, and there was Lucy. Now through her maybe we get a couple hundred soldiers. And maybe one of them points us in a direction that gets us a couple hundred more.”

“We’ll need them. Is that what’s worrying you? New York. I hear the worry.”

“I’d be stupid not to worry. It’s a big bite. And what Will said the other day isn’t wrong. It’s not enough to be right. We need soldiers and weapons.”

He said nothing for a moment as they ate in the quiet hum of the kitchen, in the warmth of it while winter held cold and hard outside.

“They can’t always understand,” he began. “Will’s a hell of a commander. Tough, smart, courageous, committed. I learned how to fight from him—learned how to fight smart—but he can’t always understand. He accepts and respects magick. That can’t always be a snap, either, right?”

“I guess I don’t always think often enough from their side. Just listening to Fred, how she talked about those weeks in New York when everything changed. How she changed.”

“Will, Eddie, the other NMs—with the big exception being your dad—are always going to think the conventional way first. Even after twenty years in this world, they lived that long and longer in the other. I figure that’s a good thing.”

Curious, she shifted to him. “Why?”

“Because that’s how the world works now. The mix. We’re a mix of conventional—or what was conventional—and magickal. It works best when everybody accepts. You and me, we’ve got that mix right inside our own families. So does Will, so does Eddie. I figure that’s how it’s going to be now.”

“That’s another reason we’ll win.”

“Check that. I’ve spent some time at the barracks and the academy since I came back. Some students, some recruits are going to need more seasoning. You’ve got some like Denzel.”

It gave him a pang, always did, when he thought of his friend.

“He was never going to be a soldier,” Duncan went on, “but he thought—hell, lived to be one. Because he figured combat was exciting, dangerous, just plain cool.”

She thought of how desperately she’d wanted to use the sword hanging over the hearth in Mallick’s cottage because … cool.

“Didn’t you at first?”

“Maybe.” He added a half laugh. “No, hell yeah. Got that knocked out of me, thanks to Will.”

She got up to get more coffee. “We need the numbers, Duncan.”

“I hear you. Are you going to eat the rest of that?”

“Yes.” She poured the coffee, sat, picked up her fork. “The numbers determine how soon we can move on New York. Can you work directly with the ones you feel need that seasoning?”

“Sure.” Since it didn’t look like he’d get the rest of her omelette, he took his plate to the sink. Assumed, correctly, he’d take cleanup since she’d cooked. “I could use Mallick.”

She sighed. “I really wanted to give him some time at his cottage, but you’re right. He’s needed.”

When she finished, she cleared her plate, wandered to the glass doors. “I’ll spend some time on it, too. I need to go to the elf camp near the cottage, check in there, and up north. I thought Meda and I should scout in the West. We could pick up more. And I need to go back to the farm, the village. God, I miss the farm.”

Leaning on the door, she looked out at winter, the snow-covered garden, the woods beyond. “I don’t know if it’ll be home for me again. It’s like your mother talked about Brooklyn. It’s not home for her anymore. I don’t know if the farm will be for me, even though I miss it like a limb.”

“I’ll make a home with you.”

It took her breath so she had to steady herself as she turned to face him. He held a dishcloth, but, God, he’d never look domesticated. The winter sun streamed through the windows, pale as water, and flowed over the sword he wore, as she did, as routinely as another wore shoes.

“We can make a home. Here, there, somewhere else.”

“You’d leave New Hope if—”

“It’s you I won’t leave, Fallon.”

It trembled through her, the solid certainty of him, in him.

“Loving you makes me afraid,” she told him. “Afraid of what’s to come, where I’m leading others to go. Are you afraid?”

“Of dying in battle? Of losing someone else I love? Damn straight I’m afraid. And afraid doesn’t mean dick. Doing what’s next, that’s what counts.”

She let out a half laugh. “You’re the only one.”

“I’d better be.”

“No—such an ass—you’re the only one who measured up.”

“To what?”

“My fathers.”

He tossed the cloth aside as he crossed to her. “You’re calling your fathers asses?”

“No, that’s just for you.” She gripped his hands. “At fourteen, I opened the Book of Spells, and all it held blew into me in a storm of power and knowledge. With that I leaped into the Well of Light to take the sword and shield from the fire.”

“Now you’re just bragging.”

“No, no.” She laughed, squeezed his hands. “All of that, all of it, is no more magickal than being able to stand here with you, knowing I can be afraid with you and we can do what’s next. Knowing we will do what’s next.”

She brought his hands to her lips. “I’ll make a home with you. Here, there, or somewhere else.”

He started to draw her in to hold that moment. And they both felt it.

“They’re back.” She let her hand lay on his heart another second. “Mallick and the others.”

* * *

They gathered in the war room after Duncan went to get Will. As her mother’s daughter she made coffee, tea, lit the fire, and struggled to be patient until everyone settled in.

“I want to thank all of you for making this journey,” Fallon began.

Travis gestured with his mug. “I want to say, straight off, the snow queen’s got, you know, style. Her HQ’s the next thing to a palace.”

“Excessive.” Meda chose tea, black, no honey. No frills.

“Yeah, maybe, but it didn’t hurt my feelings to have a little taste of luxury. Which she definitely has.”

Arlys, prepared to take notes, shot Travis an indulgent look. “She’s converted what was a five-star hotel in the heart of Montreal to her headquarters, her home. She lives the high life, literally, in the penthouse suite—and takes the entire floor. However, she’s also seen to it her people have housing, food, clothing, medical attention. Other buildings we toured have been converted into clinics, schools, greenhouses, tanneries.”

“She indulges herself, a great deal,” Meda put in with clear disapproval. “Fancy clothes, dripping jewelry. But.”

She jerked a shoulder in what Fallon read as reluctant respect. “Her people aren’t neglected or misused. They have food, shelter.”

“And she listens to them,” Travis added.

“Yes, in her way. They use, primarily, wind and solar energy. Their training facility could be improved, but their security’s strong.”

“She was very gracious,” Arlys put in, “and seemed receptive to Meda’s suggestions on their training facilities and methods. It’s certainly a different feel from New Hope. Her center’s very urban, and she’s most definitely in charge. She has advisers, but it’s not the sort of setup where they do any more than advise. She rules.”

“And how do her people feel about that?”

“They love her,” Travis said. “They trust her, and they feel safe. She loves them. It’s not bullshit. Their safety and well-being are important to her.”

“Did you? Trust her?”

“Yeah. She’s an easy read.”

“She tried her wiles on him,” Meda added.

“Is that so?”

Travis grinned. “She’s too … fancy,” he decided. “Hot, yeah, but too fancy and not my type. And it was more of a test. She likes sex, a lot—another easy read. But it was more of a test. Same with Mallick.”

“She—” Fallon’s gaze flew to the sorcerer, who sat silent and placid. “Really?”

“Just a test,” Travis continued. “Maybe with some thoughts in there on gaining a little advantage if she could bag Mallick the Sorcerer and the brother of The One. Anyway, not my type.”

He shot a look—close to a leer—at Meda.

“Act your age, little man.”

“This is acting my age. I like hot warrior chicks.”

“I think we can move on from that. Mallick, other than attempting to seduce you and a teenager, were there negotiations that apply?”