by Frank Morin
"So, my friend," Ivor continued. "Now we must look forward to the second battle."
"I haven't heard a specific date yet."
"Nor have I, but that's not important. We will face each other again, and I cannot afford to lose."
"We've covered that."
"The men and women who command our destiny require that we fight," Ivor agreed, pacing again. "Each battle requires a winner, but there is one flaw to the plan."
"What flaw?"
"Most years, one general takes the lead and keeps it. Your victory today would usually grant you tremendous momentum to continue winning. Eighty-five percent of all generals who won their first two battles end up ultimately winning the Tir-raon."
When Connor didn't speak, Ivor continued. "But when they've lost the second battle, the results get very inconsistent."
"The tricks I used today were a one-time geall." Not only had Frazier confiscated the prism lanterns, but none of the other champions would blunder into battle with him again. They would bring to bear their greatest strengths. No doubt Rory would keep secret the location of the next battle till the last moment, negating any battlefield prep work Connor might otherwise employ.
"Indeed," Ivor said. "We both know the next battle will be very different. We must destroy you, but no one will underestimate you again." He stopped and fixed Connor with a serious look. "You need an ally."
"And you need a victory," Connor finished for him.
Ivor nodded. "Yes, I do."
"What do you propose?" Connor absolutely needed to win for Shona, but if there was any possible way to work out a plan with Ivor, he would consider it.
Ivor tugged a silver chain from under his collar and lifted it to reveal the sandstone pendant he had worn concealed inside his shirt. The sight of it triggered all the frustration and worry Connor had felt since Jok had stolen it so many weeks ago. Ivor understood the pendant's power, recognized the terrible consequences that would befall Ailsa should the world learn of her unsanctioned sculpting.
Would Ivor use the threat of exposing Ailsa as a way to coerce Connor into cooperating? He said he prided himself on knowing his opponents' weaknesses, but would he really do something so cold a moment after calling Connor friend?
"I believe it's time for a show of trust." Ivor lifted the pendant's silver chain over his head, then tossed it to Connor.
Connor clutched the fist-shaped sculpture, barely daring to believe he held it again. Ivor was in for a pitched battle if he thought Connor would ever give it back. "I thought you were waiting until after the Tir-raon to return this to me."
Ivor dropped into a nearby chair and reached for a glass of wine on a nearby table. "The possible advantage that sculpture offers pales next to the current opportunity."
"What are you suggesting?" Connor asked as he slipped the silver chain over his head and worked the pendant under his mask. With it nestled against his skin, he reached for its healing power, which came like an invisible wave. The rush of health and wellbeing washed through him and he relaxed more completely than he had in weeks.
More than its extreme value, more than access to its incredible healing powers, its return spelled safety for Aunt Ailsa. Even though Ivor was searching for an accord regarding the next battle, returning the pendant was the act of a friend.
Ivor leaned forward. "I have to win, my friend. It's as simple as that. Not only will we two lead the standings, but we'll throw a wrench into the calculations of all of our handlers. That will give us time to figure out a way to derail the entire system."
The daring suggestion appealed to Connor, but before he could respond, a new voice spoke from the doorway.
"The best way to wreck the standings is for me to win the third battle."
Smiling at their surprise, Padraigin sauntered into the room and plucked an apple from the fruit tray. She took a big bite and spoke around a mouthful of fruit.
"I love conspiracies."
Chapter 38
"This is a private conspiracy," Connor said, secretly applauding Padraigin's surprise entrance.
Ivor was frowning. "Where is Sheigra?"
Padraigin made a dismissive gesture. "She and your guards will be fine. No permanent damage."
"You launched an assault on Ivor's quarters?" Connor exclaimed. Tomas and Cameron were going to be disappointed that he hadn't done it first.
Losing that first battle had made her desperate. He was impressed that she'd accomplished it without alerting either of them. Ivor could not sense the use of slate or quartzite, but Connor could have, if he had thought to bring either one along.
He had sucked on a bit of marble before entering Ivor's suite, and had downed a fresh draught of soapstone, just in case. None of that helped against Padraigin.
She settled gracefully onto a nearby couch. "I apologize for my lack of manners, gentlemen, but when I was informed of General Anxiety's visit again to your quarters, my good General Ivor, I could not pass up the opportunity to join your discussions."
She grimaced at Connor. "That really is a terrible name."
"Thanks. Glad to know it's working. You knew I visited before?"
"You two are fairly subtle," she said. "But did you really think no one would see? There are more spies per square inch in this building than anywhere in the Carraig."
"They're like roaches," Ivor agreed. He had regained his composure quickly and now offered Padraigin a glass of wine, which she accepted. "We take precautions."
"Now the spies have seen you also join us," Connor said. "How long before Redmund comes storming in here?"
"We probably have a few minutes. So tell me, how exactly are we going to flip the ultimate geall back on the lords of the Tir-raon?"
"I thought you'd be pleased with settling for third place," Ivor said. "That way you could avoid marrying into House Pilib."
"On the contrary, that marriage is part of my plan," she responded. "Third place will not be any more acceptable for me than it would be for either of you."
"That's the problem, isn't it?" Connor said, studying the two champions. Had Ivor planned for Padraigin to join them as a way to twist the conversation to some ultimate end?
There were so many games within games at the Carraig, it was hard to know what to believe. Ivor and Padraigin were two of the most skilled players of the great game in the entire school. Connor couldn't think of anyone better suited to help him break the Tir-raon.
He just needed to decide if that was the best course. On the one hand, if they could fundamentally derail the game, perhaps they could all leverage the situation to win together. If they failed and the geall blew up in their faces, they could lose everything.
"I like your boldness, Padraigin," Ivor said, saluting with his glass. "And your presence does offer certain advantages. As we were just agreeing, my victory of the second battle could set the stage for an eventual unprecedented upset of the games."
Connor hadn't actually agreed, but that was indeed the direction the conversation had been going. With the return of the pendant, Ivor clearly assumed a deal had been struck. Had accepting the pendant solved one of Connor's most pressing issues, or had it played into Ivor's hands?
"And yet, you cannot derail the games while either of you wins the third contest," Padraigin replied. You need me."
Sheigra burst into the room, fists clenched, expression furious, interrupting Ivor's reply.
"Ah, there you are," he said. "This meeting is under control. Return to your post and please make sure we are not disturbed again."
Sheigra hesitated, her pretty face torn between the need to obey and her desire to challenge Padraigin, who ignored her and sipped her wine. No doubt that only enraged Sheigra further, but she was wise enough to realize she could not defeat the powerful foreign Dawnus.
She gave the briefest curtsy, then withdrew.
"Sheigra is a competent Pathfinder," Ivor said. "I'd be interested in hearing what you did to silence her."
Padraigin shrugged. "Co
mpetent, yes. But we are not where we are by being only competent."
"Indeed," Ivor said, his gaze lingering on the door where Sheigra left. Connor wondered if he was considering whether or not Sheigra would eavesdrop on their conversation while blocking others. Knowledge of their plot could be extremely valuable.
How loyal was Sheigra to Ivor?
"Assuming your suggestion has merit," he said. "It would suffice to accomplish our aim."
"If our pact proves successful, how to leverage the results to our mutual benefit?" Padraigin asked.
"I think it requires some further consideration," Connor said. No doubt they would plot long and hard. Perhaps they already had. He didn't understand the deeper ramifications of the behind-the-scenes negotiations well enough to make his own conclusions.
He needed to learn. Otherwise, he'd be like a blindfolded Cutter running the rim of the Alasdair quarry. One misstep could run him into a wall, tumble him down to a lower level, or even plunge him over the edge of the cliff to the blocking yard far below.
As much as part of him wanted to ride his army's dedication and his own cleverness to ultimate victory, he loved the idea of breaking the Tir-raon. Like Cameron and Tomas liked to say, breaking things was one of his greatest talents.
Chapter 39
Despite the late hour, Lord Nevan's aged steward still answered the door. He informed Connor that Lady Shona was indeed still awake, but hesitated when Connor asked to see her.
"This may not be the best time, young sir." The old man looked nervous. "The Lady Shona is perhaps not in the best of spirits."
"But she just won a great victory today, didn't she?"
"Indeed, but--"
Connor waved away his concern. "Don't pretend to understand Shona. I know I never do. She'll see me, I promise."
The steward reluctantly escorted Connor to the rooftop garden, with trees and shrubbery lining the paths. Despite the chill of evening and a light breeze, Shona wore only a blue silk blouse and a long, green skirt as she stood looking into the darkness, arms wrapped around herself.
She didn't turn at the sound of his footsteps. "This is not really a good time, Connor."
"I thought victory parties were supposed to make you happy." Connor absorbed a little granite, and the skittering itch of his curse helped center him. He needed information, and he was tired of her deflecting his questions. "Did you drink too much or something?"
One time during a Sogail summer festival when Connor was eight, he and Hamish had goaded Stuart into drinking half a keg of the old timers' fresh mead. Connor had never seen such spectacular vomiting. He hoped she wasn't suffering the same way, but stopped far enough away to dodge just in case.
"Don't act a fool," Shona snapped, turning toward him. Her voice was angry, but her eyes looked troubled.
"How else can I act when you don't tell me anything?"
"You know enough to do your job. Don't assume you need to know any more of my affairs. You may withdraw."
Prudence suggested he back off, but when did her suggestions ever really help? Besides, he'd always gotten more information out of Shona when she was angry than when she controlled the conversation. Time to break through her barriers.
"Fine, I withdraw from everything. You try winning the Tir-raon on your own."
He spun away, but barely took two steps before she caught him by the back of his shirt and lifted him off the patio with granite strength. She pulled him close, her face livid, and hissed, "Don't ever forget I am your patron, Connor. You owe me everything!"
Her rage was fearsome, but he retorted, "And you've got nothing without me."
With an angry shriek, Shona threw him across the patio.
He tapped granite a second before crashing through a stand of saplings ringing the garden. The impact uprooted them and would have broken bones had he not been protected by his curse. He tumbled to the low rail overlooking the rear of the palace, and banged into the stone rampart. It took a moment for the world to stop spinning.
Shona reached him a couple seconds later, leaping through the gap he'd made in the copse of trees, her expression concerned. "Oh, Connor. Are you all right?"
"Just a little overwhelmed by your kindness."
She dropped to her knees beside him. "I'm sorry. It's just, you should know better than to anger me like that."
"No need to apologize, Lady Shona," he said as she helped him sit up. "You're my patron. You can do whatever you want."
She sighed, actually looking apologetic. "I'm sorry for saying that too. You caught me in a pretty bad mood."
"Usually beating me up helps you feel better."
She laughed gently, her expression softening. "You're right. It shouldn't, but it does."
"You're not alone. Look at Catriona. For weeks, she didn't feel right unless she sent me to the hospital."
"Well, I don't want to do that." Then Shona sighed again and her expression darkened.
"What's bothering you?" he prodded.
When she hesitated, he dared reach up to touch her cheek. The move surprised her, but then she leaned against his hand and closed her eyes. "Thank you for being my friend, Connor. I don't have anyone else to confide in here."
"You can tell me anything." Really, he wished she would try it.
Shona stood and pulled him up beside her. Slipping her arm through his, she drew him into a stroll around the perimeter of the patio. For a time she didn't speak, just leaned against him as they walked. She smelled faintly of lilacs, and her skin was cool against his.
"You know our standings become important negotiating elements in some complex contracts between noble families," she said, without looking at him.
"Like marriages?"
She nodded. "Many marriages are finalized during the Tir-raon. The two great responsibilities for noble families are managing their quarries and their bloodlines. The Tir-raon is part of the great game that the houses play. We may oppose each other at times, but ultimately we must work together toward the purification and strengthening of our bloodlines."
"There's more, isn't there?" He gently turned her to face him and was surprised when she didn't protest. She met his gaze and her hazel eyes looked large in the dim light. She shivered.
"There is more," she admitted softly and her gaze fell.
"What were you so worried about when I arrived?"
"Have you ever heard the term First Breed Rights?"
"No." He wasn't sure he wanted to know
Shona actually blushed. She paced away and Connor let her. She wrapped herself with her own arms and he could tell she struggled with whatever truth he was trying to get into the open. If it was that bad, it was probably something he should have known about a lot sooner.
"Connor, you need to understand that the high families are under oath to do whatever it takes to restore the full extent of the lost Petralist powers."
"The Blood of the Tallan?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I don't know!" Pent-up frustration burned in her eyes.
"It doesn't make sense to seek the powers of the one who destroyed our country." Connor dared voice his greatest concern about his curse and all the interest shown in it. Why would they want powers that shattered everything Obrion had once been?
"There's much I don't know," Shona said, "but the duty was placed on our families after the Tallan Wars and by royal decree, we must obey."
"So what are you saying?"
Shona took a deep breath and spoke in a rush. "The champion of the Tir-raon proves their bloodline is strongest, so they have an additional duty placed upon them, one that all high families are honor-bound to acknowledge and accept."
"What duty?" She had set him up to be champion. What hadn't she explained?
"First breed rights. It means that a champion can choose any partner to. . .share bloodlines with."
"You mean?" The words failed him as the horrible truth became clear.
Shona nodded. "The bloodlines matter above al
l else. Usually the choosing of first breed rights is the result of extensive negotiations, but the ultimate choice is up to the champion. They can choose anyone they want and they have the right of intimacy with that person until a child is produced."
"That's disgusting."
"It's our duty," she said softly, but the fire in her eyes made it clear she despised it. Maybe she did understand how he felt about the looming union she planned between the two of them.
"The child becomes the property of the champion's family," she continued. "And the person they chose can then marry whoever the families have arranged."
"I had no idea." No wonder she was so driven. The revelation left him feeling sick. "So if I win," he asked, his voice hoarse as he considered the ramifications of the newly revealed truths, "I need to choose someone to. . .to breed with?"
"You can choose me," she said, gripping his hands. "Then there's only ever the two of us. That's why what we're doing is so important. We save and protect each other."
She had never actually spoken aloud her ultimate plan. He needed to hear her say it. "You would want me that way?"
Shona nodded, standing close, her hazel eyes wide in the soft moonlight. "Have I ever given you a reason to think I don't want you?"
"Not really. Your plan hasn't been entirely clear before now."
"Let me make it clear."
She leaned forward to kiss him, but he pressed a finger to her lips and gently shook his head.
"You're a very good kisser, Shona, but that's not what I was asking."
"What do you mean?" For once she sounded a bit unsure of herself. She had always tried to influence him with her beauty.
"You plan for us to be together, to breed, to marry, and for me to become your partner in your world. To what end? What do you think we'll accomplish together?"
"Anything we want," she laughed. "Connor, don't you see? We can build upon the wealth and prestige my father has acquired." She gripped his hands, her eyes bright with excitement. "With me by your side, you'll take your place at the head of our armies. You'll lead us to victory, in uniting all the lands once ruled by Obrion."