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  Then I straightened my shoulders, and pulled my hair over my shoulders, half on each side, blown out to that sheen. No makeup other then a touch of lipstick, but my dress was the same shade as my eyes.

  You’re Athena, I reminded myself. You’re a strong and intelligent and brave. You’re the Gray Eyed Goddess.

  I took a deep breath, and then walked into the conference hall.

  Two hundred faces turned my way.

  I almost stopped. Instead, I pulled up my chin and walked to the podium.

  The first rows were filled with the usual suspects; men and women whom I knew as professors and peers. My friends from Columbia, who gave me discrete thumbs up. One held up a tiny “I Heart You!” sign briefly. And then others I recognized. I’d gone to Dr. Martin’s lectures, I’d co-author a paper with Shannon Andrews, I’d read Professor Levy’s books.

  But in the back, a wall of press filled the space.

  Usually, at lectures this large, there was some introduction, a little patter of noise to give added importance and tout awards and accomplishments. But I’d been planning on a little lecture, where I walked on, waved and launched into a speech after clearing my throat once.

  Now I closed my eyes, startling by the way my stomach turned and keeled. I pictured Kilkarten, the green fields, fresh dirt. Smelled the salt and sea and wind.

  Saw Mike.

  For a moment, my chest ached, clenching around the broken pieces of my heart, and then it relaxed as his grin crooked up, his eyes bright, his warmth steady.

  No matter what had happened, he had always believed in me. We were both lost and confused and broken, but we believed in our passions. He believed in me. I believed in Kilkarten.

  I opened my eyes.

  The microphone picked up my voice, and the audience quieted. “Hi, I’m Natalie Sullivan. Welcome to Discovering Kilkarten: A Sixth Century Settlement.”

  * * *

  I stopped seeing the audience after five minutes. They blurred out, ceased to exist, and it was just me and my slideshow. Once or twice, they came through with laughter and I remembered they were there, but most of the time I just expanded on the site. I explained the process I’d gone through to locate the section, the geophysical testing, the units. And then I went further in-depth on what we had discovered, before finishing with our future plans.

  And then I was done.

  When I was nineteen years old, I went gorge jumping. I jumped off a sixty-foot cliff and plummeted into the pools carved out by glaciers thousands of years ago. I thought my heart would stop. I thought my bones would break. When I resurfaced from the shocking, freezing water, from the silence and the dark, I expected the entire world to be different. For the students on either side of the gorge to be clapping thunderously at my epic leap. No one was. Life continued as normal. “Why didn’t anyone clap?” I’d asked Cam, and she’d shoved me lightly. “They did, stupid. But you were underwater, so you didn’t hear it.”

  This was like that. I fell back from the podium, and the lights turned up, and everyone started clapping. I just stood there, the noise washing over me, breathing rapidly as I tried to reemerge from that strange, paralyzing state.

  Then I broke through the water and saw the faces, focusing first on the familiar ones, then the strangers. No one looked blown away, but no one looked comatose, either. I smiled and leaned back into the microphone, glancing at the clock. “I think we have about twenty minutes left for questions. So—”

  “Is it true your mother is Tamara Bocharov?”

  I tried to make out the person that had shouted from the back, slightly disappointed. “I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

  “Are you really dating Michael O’Connor?”

  “Also, not relevant.” I took a deep breath, scanning for someone who didn’t look like they’d harass me about my personal life. A stodgy academic. Someone in tweed. Someone like—

  Like the man standing now.

  The press ignored him, still waving for my attention, but my eyes, like those of every academic in the room, had been captured by Professor Henry Ceile. He smiled but didn’t wait for me to invite him to speak. “I thought you were excavating this site looking for Ivernis with Jeremy Anderson. What happened to that? Why isn’t he here with you?”

  Murmurs passed through the room.

  I leaned forward until the podium cut into my stomach. “Dr. Ceile. I would have thought you’d have better things to do then attend a nightclub singer’s song-and-dance.”

  He granted me a slight nod and smile. Point to me. “It turned out I didn’t. But where’s the professor?”

  I sucked in a deep breath. “Dr. Anderson is still in Ireland working on research.”

  “But not about this site, is that right? Because there was nothing related to Ivernis here.”

  Heads swiveled back my way.

  I swallowed. I wasn’t ready for a faceoff with Dr. Ceile, especially not in a room filled with everyone I could possibly want to work with for the rest of my life, and the press to boot.

  And then I saw Mike.

  He’d picked a spot near the back of the room, hidden by the lights, a hat pulled down over his bright curls. But I saw him now as his entire stance shifted. He’d forgotten he was trying to be nondescript, invisible, and instead he sat straight, shoulders back as his eyes burned into Ceile. He turned to look at me, like he would urge me on with just the power of his gaze and his will.

  Our gazes locked. His eyes flared wide, and a flutter started deep in my belly. And then he smiled, a smile filled with such belief, such love, that I felt courage turn my spine to iron.

  “Dr. Ceile.” I spoke slowly, carefully, loudly. “I appreciate you coming here today and your interest in the site, but I don’t think this is an appropriate forum to discuss Ivernis.”

  “So you’re saying that this is not Ivernis. That there is no relation to Ivernis.”

  My eyes sought Mike’s. “It’s not Ivernis. It’s Kilkarten. But if the only reason you’re here is to continue your feud with Jeremy, I think you should leave.”

  He looked smug. “I just want the community to recognize that even Jeremy’s prodigy—the one who secured funding for his latest craze—has left his side.”

  I came around from behind my podium, standing at the edge of the stage. “You’re talking about this the wrong way, Dr. Ceile. I haven’t left anything, and I’m not setting out to prove anything. We’ve uncovered an amazing site. My purpose isn’t to prove a colleague wrong or put my name in the history books or get a TV deal. It’s to make a positive impact on the people directly affected by the excavation or the history—whether that’s descendants, or the local population, or the scholarship of the period.”

  Dr. Ceile sat.

  I leaned forward and found Mike again. “Thank you for coming.”

  * * *

  The press had already swarmed the back door by the time I exited. Reporters pressed recorders in my face and shouted questions about my mother and Mike and Jeremy and Kilkarten and Ceile.

  And then the clamor hit a feverish pitch and Mike was there, shouldering his way through the crowd. Then he was by my side, his arm wrapped around me, and we pushed through the crowd.

  “This way,” I said once we’d cleared the worst of it, and we dashed for the panelist room, set aside for speakers to relax and get a bite to eat or just, in this case, escape.

  We collapsed at one of the large round tables, and Mike fetched us bags of water and bags of chips and pretzels. “Who knew archaeology fans were as rabid as football fans?”

  I let out a shaky laugh. “I think most of them were media junkies. I’d be flattered if I thought that many people actually cared about Kilkarten.”

  He was silent, and I wondered if he’d known that when I’d said It’s not Ivernis. It’s Kilkarten, I’d been talking about him. I opened my mouth to say so, but he beat me to it. “So that was Ceile.”

  Oh. Right. I guzzled down the tiny water cup. “In the flesh.”
/>   “I wanted to punch him.”

  That drew a real laugh out of me. “I know. I want to on a regular basis.

  A new voice joined us, and we started guiltily. “Don’t let any sense of propriety hold you back.”

  I pushed to my feet. “Professor Ceile.” We’d been introduced as previous conferences, but Jeremy had always been between us. I tried to think of something to say.

  But I’d already said everything from the stage, and I didn’t want to babble. I didn’t want to create meaningless words out of nothing for the sake of filling an awkward silence. Let him be the uncomfortable one tonight.

  His attention drifted to Mike, and he formed a dry smile. “I’m a fan.”

  Mike didn’t smile back. “Thanks.”

  Ceile inspected his hands, then the wall, and then finally settled on me. “You probably think this is personal.”

  “I don’t appreciate you mixing my mother’s background with my professional life.”

  “Jeremy Anderson spent years getting thousands of dollars to excavate unimportant plots of land. Universities and non-profits sank money into him because he was young, and charismatic, and supported America’s romantic idea of Celtic Ireland. They spent money earmarked for the Iron Age, or Ireland, and none of that money went to actual digs.

  “I have artifacts sitting in storage because I can’t afford to sort them and categorize them. I have evidence for sites that have never been funded. We all do what we must, one way or the other, Ms. Sullivan. And I must keep Anderson from sinking our entire discipline. I’m sorry if you felt your character had been assassinated. But if you weren’t going to leave him, I had to make sure you weren’t able to suck more money away from projects that really needed it.”

  I couldn’t even breathe.

  He shrugged. “But it seems you aren’t as young and naïve as I thought. You figured out Jeremy was a fool on your own. Good on you, for your work on Kilkarten.” He extended his hand. “I hope we’ll be able to collaborate in the future.”

  His hand loomed large in my sight, skin tanned and weathered from long hours outside, fingers blunt and square. I took it, feeling numb. And then something uncurled inside me, and I met his pale blue eyes straight on. “Jeremy fostered a love of learning and knowledge in me. He gave me opportunities and responsibilities, and I respect him and admire him.”

  I took a moment to mull over my next words, and they came out slowly spaced. “I understand acting drastically when you think you have no other option. But I am still deeply offended by what you said. Still, I am committed to my work at Kilkarten. I am excited about the future. And I would like to be civil colleagues.”

  “Then we will, Ms. Sullivan.” He nodded at me, and he nodded at Mike, and started away. I’d almost let the tense breath out when he stopped and looked back with bright eyes. “I did not mean the Willie Scott comment maliciously, Ms. Sullivan. In fact, I always admired your mother very much.”

  He vanished.

  My legs folded and I landed shakily in my seat.

  Mike dropped in the seat beside me. “Never thought I’d feel any sympathy for Jeremy.”

  I let out a shaky laugh. “Never thought I’d feel any empathy for Ceile.” I shook my head to clear it. “Thank you for coming. It meant a lot to me, to see you there. To see you now.”

  He shrugged. “I told you I’d be here.”

  And because he’d said he would, he was. A sudden rush of warmth and certainty washed over me. “Mike—”

  “Anyway,” he interrupted, reaching into his pocket and placing a folded packet of papers on the table. “I wanted you to think about this.”

  I stared down at the sheet. “What is this?”

  He gave me his crooked smile. “It’s a list of everywhere we play this season. Including the International Game in London.” He waited a few seconds as I read the sheet. “I’m not trying to tie you down. You might’ve heard it that way, but it’s not what I meant. I’ve never known someone like you. And I don’t think you would be happy bound to one place. I don’t want to bind you. I just want to go with you.” He stood. “So think about it.”

  He didn’t give me time to think. He didn’t even look at me. He just got up and walked away.

  For a moment, my eyes traced all the paper, and my fingers beat against my leg, and then I relaxed my hand and shut my eyes and took two deep breaths.

  When I stood and looked forward, he had reached the exit.

  “Mike.”

  He stopped in the doorway, and then slowly turned back. Blank-faced, to the rest of the world, but I could see the shadows of hurt and hope. “Yeah?”

  “I used to think that I would never care about anything as much as I cared about Ivernis. And that I would care about it forever.”

  I saw the wince in his eyes.

  “But I was wrong. Because this—us—it’s entirely different. It doesn’t edge it out, it’s more—like I have two hearts, and one breaks for Ivernis, and the other is completely filled.” I paused to swallow. “Mike. Michael O’Connor. I love you. When I hold objects from thousands of years ago, I get this feeling, this glow that spreads through my chest and warms spots I didn’t know were cold, that makes me smile without realizing it—and it is nothing compared to how I feel around you.

  “But I’m scared. I’m not very good at loving people. I’m very comfortable not being in love. I like my friends, my career, my life. I have never felt incomplete without romance. Maybe because I’ve never seen a good example. But I love you. I love you so much, I guess I’m scared that it will disappear. Because even if I feel so much now, what will it be like in ten years, twenty? I can’t promise that I’ll always feel this way. I can’t promise we’ll be perfect.

  “What if our fire disappears, and we just flicker lower and lower until one day we’re cold and dark and dry? It’s so scary I’d almost rather douse the fire now. Because then at lease the memory of it will be tinted with roses.

  “Maybe one of the reasons I love archaeology so much is that the more you learn, the more real it becomes. It starts out blurry and solidifies, and you can’t look at the future and say the same. You can’t clear away dirt and see fifty years in the future, like you can see into the past. You just have to wait.

  “But I was wrong because it’s not waiting, it’s living. And I cannot picture a world without you, not now, or in five years, or in twenty.

  “And maybe this is all immaterial because you have moved on and maybe I’m too much effort and you shouldn’t start something with someone who sees doom written across a relationship, who is irrevocably broken. But I thought you should know. I want forever. I do. I want all of it. And it might be work—it might be the hardest thing in my life—but I don’t want to run away anymore. I don’t want to keep leaving. I want you.”

  And then I closed my eyes and said it one more time, because I didn’t know if I’d ever say it again, and I wanted him to know it, and I wanted to know I was capable of this. “I love you.”

  He didn’t answer, but when I opened my eyes he was staring at me with a strange combination of wonder and humor and something else. His eyes were bright, his smile soft, and his hand lifted and brushed a strand of my hair very slowly behind my ear.

  “Natalie. Do you remember the day you told me you didn’t tell believe in love? You listed off some chemicals and then asked me why I cared. And then later on you said you believed in it but not in forever.

  “And I was so mad. Because you made me want everything you told me didn’t exist. And the more time I spent with you, the more I wanted it. When I left, you cut me to the quick. You looked at me like we were nothing, like we weren’t even worth getting angry about.”

  I held up my hands. “I’m sorry. I get it. I’ll leave.”

  He caught my hand. “Natalie. I was so mad because I love you so much, and I didn’t know how to deal with you not feeling the same way.” He lowered his head so his forehead rested against mine. In the shadows of our faces his eyes gleamed
like amber. “You are not broken. You are not too much work. And I believe that we will be together until I die. I believe it enough for both of us.”

  “That’s too heavy,” I whispered.

  “Then I will change your mind. I will stay with you, and love you, until you know that this is not going to change, that we will not fizzle, that we are every single chemical out there and that they are bound together so tightly that they will keep us warm.” His hand cupped my cheek and he kissed me until I wanted to cry, and past that, until I’d wound my arms around him and my heart had lifted, and I did believe him.

  And around us I felt the grass and the sea and the sky, and the last of my doubts disappeared. For the first time, I felt light and free and real. My eyes were open, my head was straight, and I loved Mike O’Connor with every part of my being.

  Epilogue

  Eight Years Later

  “Natalie! Get over here!”

  The faint cry came as a relief. I’d been troweling all morning, and my back ached from bending over to get at the basket remains. It was a great find; the carbonized cloth remained in such good shape we could see the threads. A conservationist from NUI was coming in this afternoon to work on it, but until then I was the lead.

  Still, I was happy to straighten my shoulders, roll my neck, and lope across the field toward one of our new units. We’d just moved over to a new area in the northwest, since the entire site seemed to slant this way. This unit was the farthest one yet, after we’d used a different geophysical testing that handled the dense soil better.

  People waved as I jogged past. We were nearing the end of our eighth season, but Kilkarten wasn’t slowing down. We now had a crew of three dozen, and for the past two years we’d hosted a field school for the local archaeology students.

  My crew chief beamed up at me from inside the unit, her copper curls caught up on top of her head. I crouched down on the dirt ledge and peered into the unit. Seven feet and still going. At the bottom, a pile of blue-green circular disks spilled out of a cracked container. The oxidized metal pieces were scattered in the dirt.