“When my commander was slain by a poisoned arrow, I took command of Tuathal’s Keep. For two long years our men held the besieging forces at bay, though our numbers and supplies were few and the goblins were many. After the war, when Mór and Alannah were wed, the queen insisted that I be chosen as thane. It was not my choice. I would have preferred the life of a soldier, but honor demanded I do what Munster required of me. I’m more comfortable in the thick of battle, sword in hand, than in some dusty council chamber or surrounded by those at court.”
“In that, you and I agree.” Berengar wondered if Alannah had been there with her father at the keep. Ravenna told him Ronan grew up in the queen’s household. Already he’d seen hints the two were close, but the exact nature of their relationship remained a mystery.
At first it had surprised Berengar that Mór had chosen him for the job when there were other wardens who possessed more knowledge of the inner workings of Munster’s royal court. Then again, perhaps the king had requested him precisely for that reason, as he had no long-lasting relationships with those in the castle that might compromise his investigation.
Ronan glanced over his shoulder as if to make certain they weren’t overheard. “The princess must be fond of you to have sent me to retrieve you. Tread carefully with her, Warden Berengar.” The veiled comment almost sounded like a challenge.
“What makes you say that?” Berengar held his gaze.
“I have devoted my life to the crown,” Ronan replied. “I have no family of my own, and Ravenna is the closest thing to a daughter I will ever have.”
“She has not had an easy life, from what I’ve heard.”
Ronan sighed. “You should have known her when she was young. She was kind and gentle—always ready with a smile. There was such a spark in her, not unlike Lady Morwen in that regard. The death of her brother changed her. I do not like to speak unkindly of the dead, but King Mór treated her ill by sending her away. She was never the same after that.”
“I asked the witches about the prince’s death, but they spoke in riddles on the subject.”
“I knew the lad well. Prince Aiden was not overly studious, and he could be reckless, but he had the courage of a lion, and a heart to match. Had he lived, he would have made a good king one day.”
“The circumstances of his death seem shrouded in mystery,” Berengar said.
“Mark my words, it was the crone’s doing. King Mór ordered a full inquest into the death of his son, but the results were never revealed. I believe the king had them sealed away.”
The castle appeared ahead, towering atop the Rock of Cashel. Gathering winds howled from the north, and the company’s golden banners rippled in the breeze. As they approached the city, a horn emanated from the other side of the wall, and the gate opened to grant them entry.
The mood in the city seemed more or less the same as it had when Berengar and Morwen set out two days earlier for their dealings with the Witches of the Golden Vale. There was perhaps an added element of friction, possibly from news of the Viking attacks across the kingdom, but life continued on uninterrupted in all its districts, much as it always had and always would as long as Cashel remained standing.
“The scouts we sent after Gorr Stormsson have not returned,” Ronan said after conferring with the sentries at the gate. “Still, it’s early yet. They may be gathering intelligence and lying low until the time is right.”
It was a clear attempt on Ronan’s part to sound optimistic, but the warden had his doubts. While it was always possible the scouts were still on Stormsson’s trail, it was far more likely they were dead, or else soon would be.
The castle walls were well manned. Anyone wrongly attempting to gain entrance would have a tough go of it, though the assassin had already demonstrated himself cleverer than most. When the horses reached the path’s summit and made their way through the courtyard, Berengar noticed a place was already being made for a statue of Mór to join those of his ancestors. As the warden dismounted his horse, he caught Morwen trying to climb out of the wagon.
“Blast it,” she muttered after falling on her back. “Lend me a hand, will you?”
Berengar shook his head. “Iona said you’re to rest.”
“I’ll be fine. I think I know rather more about the art of healing than some country herbalist. Besides, the queen will want to hear our report.”
She tried again to rise, but Berengar held her in place, drawing her ire.
“You’re not going anywhere. I’ll tell the queen what we learned from the witches. You’ll wait here until you’re escorted to the infirmary. It’s not up for discussion.”
Morwen shot him a dark look. “I could cast a spell on you,” she muttered ruefully under her breath. “Maybe turn you into a toad.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” Based on the admittedly little he knew of magic, he doubted very much she could accomplish such a task, even if she wanted to. By now, he had begun to understand when she was teasing him. He crossed his arms and tried not to show his amusement. “I’ll come by and visit you later. Once you’ve had some time for one of those healing elixirs of yours to take effect, we’ll talk. Faolán will keep you company until then.”
“Wait,” she called after him as he turned to go. “Can you at least leave me your axe?”
“My axe? What do you want that for?”
“So that I can enchant it, of course. I’m certainly not planning on swinging it around. There are a few improvements I’d like to make, and it should help me pass the time without dying of boredom. You didn’t complain when I outfitted it with that rune of resistance, as I recall.”
“No.” He remembered how the rune had allowed his axe to deflect one of Agatha’s spells. “It probably saved our lives.” He laid the axe beside her on the wagon and left the magician sitting there, her feet dangling in the air.
Berengar steeled himself the moment he set foot inside the castle. Since their confrontation with the witches, an unpleasant question had slowly taken shape in his mind, and no matter the consequences, he intended to see it answered. A messenger informed them that Alannah was not holding court at the moment, and Berengar and Ronan found the queen in her council chambers, discussing matters of importance to the realm with her counselors.
“I want all those who have suffered from Viking attacks taken care of,” Alannah said from the head of the table. “Make sure grain shipments are delivered to any towns or villages without enough food.” Having failed to notice their entrance, she marked a proclamation with her seal and set it aside before turning to the next stack of documents. “It says here an oilliphéist is killing travelers along the River Shannon. Are there any other reports of monster attacks?”
Laird O’Reilly stood as a servant passed him documents of his own. “There have been several kelpie sightings near Lake Allua, my queen. And a woman from Helvick swears her children have been replaced by changelings.”
“Lady Morwen assures me the fairies have forsaken these lands,” Alannah said. “Nevertheless, send someone to Helvick to be sure—and contract mercenaries to deal with any confirmed monster sightings.” When she looked up, her gaze fell on Berengar and Ronan. “I see you have returned from your encounter with the Witches of the Golden Vale, Warden Berengar, but where is Lady Morwen? Her counsel is surely needed for this of all matters.”
Ronan approached the table. “Lady Morwen sustained injuries during a duel with the witches. Though she looks to be on the mend.”
Shock appeared on the queen’s face, and the parchment fell away from her hands. “What happened?”
Berengar remained where he stood and ignored her question. “Did you know?”
“I don’t understand your meaning.” Alannah’s expression suggested she resented his tone.
“King Mór’s agreement with the witches.” His eyes never left her face. “Each month he sent them another victim to be sacrificed. So I’ll ask you again—did you know about it?” Though Mór had been a man of secrets, Alannah wa
s a shrewd woman, and Berengar had a hard time imagining that she didn’t at least suspect what was going on.
The room grew so quiet he could almost hear the sound of her breath as it caught in her chest. “I want everyone out—with the exception of my thane, Laird O’Reilly, and the warden.”
As the last of the room’s occupants filed outside the chamber, Ronan put himself between Berengar and the queen, anger evident at the apparent affront to his queen’s dignity. “How dare you impugn the queen’s—”
Alannah held up a hand. “Ronan, enough.”
“Your Grace?” Ronan’s eyes widened in astonishment, and he took a step away from her, looking horrified. “Alannah?”
“It’s true. It was years before I learned of my husband’s accord with the witches. Not that it mattered. I told my husband it was misguided and wrong, but he would not be swayed. If anyone dared expose the truth, it would bring my husband’s reign—perhaps even the kingdom itself—to ruin. So I kept silent. Tell me, Warden, how could I have done otherwise?”
“Tell that to the families of those the witches butchered.”
It was Alannah’s turn to show anger. The queen snatched a scroll from the table and passed it to her chief adviser. “Laird O’Reilly, give the warden the edict I issued the day he rode from Cashel.”
O’Reilly, already privy to the scroll’s contents, crossed the room and handed it to Berengar.
This is an official proclamation outlawing the practice of witchcraft in Munster, he realized as he scanned the contents of the scroll. It bears the queen’s signature, but that means she had already prepared it before our return.
“It was my husband’s agreement, not mine. As far as I’m concerned, it ended the moment of his death. Mór was obsessed with magic. He traced his lineage back to High King Brian Boru himself and believed there was magic in his bloodline. He was disappointed that his children—the children I gave him—were born without magical ability.” She looked disgusted at the idea. “I, on the other hand, was relieved. As you might suspect, I have contempt for magic, Warden Berengar.”
“Your Grace—”
Alannah turned away and approached the balcony, where she gazed across the city. “When I was a child, my mother took ill. Through one of our servants, word reached my father of a traveling magician. Doubtless enamored by the prospect of the reward my father offered, the magician treated her with various potions and decoctions.” She shook her head and glanced back at them, resolute once more. “She died in agony. Her screams carried to every room in the estate. The fool of a magician had made her worse, you see. He had the good sense to flee before justice could be done to him.”
For the first time, Berengar understood the reason behind the queen’s distaste for magic. She not only lost her mother to a magician’s incompetence, but quite possibly suffered the death of her son as the result of a crone’s curse. Now that Alannah held the throne instead of her husband, the warden wondered if more changes were in the works regarding Munster’s policy toward magic and magical creatures. There was a fine line between hiring a mercenary to slay a murderous kelpie and sanctioning the death of harmless magical creatures—a line other kingdoms had tried and failed to walk. It was still too early into Alannah’s reign to know what kind of queen she would be.
“If it were up to me,” she finished, “magic would be stamped out altogether—starting with the Witches of the Golden Vale.”
“In that case, you’ll be glad to hear I killed at least one of their coven. I put my axe through her black heart.”
“That is excellent news,” the queen said. “And the others?”
“Can’t say for certain. Their lair went up in flames.”
“We’ve sent messengers to the Glen of Aherlow to find out more,” Ronan added. “Though if any witches survived, I doubt they would remain there.”
“Then their power is broken,” Alannah mused. “The realm owes you a debt of gratitude, Warden Berengar.”
Laird O’Reilly cleared his throat. “Lest we forget the reason for your departure from Cashel in the first place, were you able to learn anything useful during your time with them? Did the witches arrange the king’s murder?”
Berengar hesitated. While the queen might have been aware her husband was supplying the witches with sacrifices, he doubted she knew the full extent of Mór’s accord with Agatha—the truth of Morwen’s birth in particular. After witnessing the queen’s disposition toward magic, Berengar had no plans to enlighten her on that subject. Morwen had been through enough. If he could spare her further suffering by keeping her secret, he would.
He chose his words carefully. “The witches traded in riddles and lies. The cursed medallion the déisi used to kill Matthias came from them, but the coven denied having a hand in your husband’s death.”
“And did you believe them?”
“It’s hard to think they would risk the peace accorded to them by King Mór, but the motives of witches are always difficult to unravel. I believe someone else discovered that King Mór was supplying the witches with sacrifices and used the information to blackmail him.”
Laird O’Reilly practically coughed at the news. “What’s this? Blackmail, you say?”
Berengar was left with no choice but to briefly recount what he had learned from the Exchequer. “The witches did mention something else that should merit concern, Your Grace. The coven’s leader alluded to a darker power at work in Munster, perhaps even more powerful than the crone that dwells in the Devil’s Bit.”
“What sort of power?” Alannah asked.
“I don’t know. A dark mage, perhaps, or even a sorcerer.” He went on to detail all that happened during and after their encounter with the witches, including Gorr Stormsson’s attack on Knockaney. Neither Ronan nor the queen could account for how easily the Danes had been able to find Berengar when so few knew the reason for his departure from Cashel.
The queen considered his words for a long moment. “These are troubling tidings you bring me. I trust you and Lady Morwen will find the truth in all this. Ronan, see to it that a sizable bounty is placed on the heads of any surviving witches. I want them driven out of Munster. And bid my counselors and guards to return.”
“It will be done, Your Grace.” Ronan bowed and swept out of the room, still looking startled by the queen’s revelation.
Berengar started to go, but the queen surprised him by grabbing his hand. “I have a request.” She lowered her voice so that O’Reilly could not hear, and her expression softened. “Please don’t mention what you learned from the witches to my daughter. I fear Ravenna never forgave her father for sending her away, or me for agreeing to it. This news would only further tarnish Mór’s memory in her eyes, and perhaps destroy what little affection she retains for me.”
“Very well.” The prospect of keeping secrets from the princess was not particularly appealing. He and Alannah exchanged a final glance, and he left without another word.
Berengar searched for Ronan when he emerged from the council chambers, but the queen’s thane was already gone.
“A moment, Warden Berengar.” The voice belonged to Laird O’Reilly, who had followed him into the throne room. The chamber lay empty but for the two of them. “I would like a word in private.”
That seems to be the way with you, Berengar thought. O’Reilly was always off to the side, whispering in someone’s ear, trading in secrets and court gossip. Such behavior would have appealed to Mór, who had always possessed an ear for flattery, but Berengar suspected it was all an act.
“Go on,” he said.
O’Reilly remained on the dais, hovering uncomfortably close to the throne.
“There were new developments in the investigation while you were away. You remember the king received a letter the day of his death, which he read and promptly cast into the flames?”
Berengar nodded.
“Though the letter’s contents remain a mystery, we identified the messenger. He was a rider from Cill Airne.�
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Berengar scowled. That told him almost nothing. “Anything else?”
O’Reilly descended the steps from the dais one at a time. “It was rather convenient Thane Ronan happened to arrive just in time to lend you his aid against Gorr Stormsson. How unfortunate Stormsson managed to escape before he could be captured.”
Berengar folded his arms across his chest.“What are you saying?”
“Only this: be careful whom you trust. Only someone in a position of power could have blackmailed the king. Few were closer to Mór than Ronan.” O’Reilly made a show of looking around the empty chamber to make sure they were alone and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial tone. “There is a woman you should meet—one of the queen’s former ladies in waiting. I think you will find what she has to say quite illuminating. Will you speak to her?”
So this is what he was after all along, Berengar thought. O’Reilly used the information about the messenger from Cill Airne as a pretext to sway him against Ronan, but why? With Ronan out of the way, the royal adviser would become the second most powerful individual in the kingdom, but was there more to it than a petty rivalry?
“Fine. But this had better not be a waste of my time.” Berengar didn’t like the idea that O’Reilly might be trying to play him.
The old man rubbed his hands together with enthusiasm. “Excellent. I will make the arrangements. She’ll be expecting you tomorrow afternoon.”
“Wait,” Berengar said when O’Reilly turned to leave. “There’s something I’d like you to do for me. I want the results of the inquiry into Prince Aiden’s death.”
“Those records were sealed under order of the king.”
“Then unseal them.” Berengar took a step forward and stared down at O’Reilly. “Do we understand each other?”
To his credit, O’Reilly didn’t flinch. “I believe we do.”
“Good.” His footsteps echoed as he departed the chamber, leaving O’Reilly standing before the throne.
The Blood of Kings Page 20