Talfryn nodded and rose. “You will find paper and ink in the drawers on the far wall. Write your missives, and I will have them sent under my personal seal. We shall find your wife one way or another.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Eoghan rapped on the heavy wood door, his heart in his throat. Ever since Riordan’s startling revelation the week before, he hadn’t been able to shake the sense of foreboding, the vague awareness of a coming storm. Worse yet, Comdiu had been mostly silent, responding to his worried questions with one word: obey. Now Liam had called Eoghan to his office, and he couldn’t help feeling that the storm had arrived.
Liam called his permission to enter, and Eoghan pushed the door open. The Ceannaire sat in his chair, a wax tablet in front of him, staring at it as if it contained some desperately interesting puzzle, when in reality it was probably just the tallies of their grain storage. “You wanted to see me, sir?”
Liam looked up and pushed the tablet aside. “Come, I want to show you something.”
Eoghan frowned, but he followed Liam back out the door and down the stairs, making a turn into a short corridor that ended in solid rock.
“It’s time you learn some of the Ceannaire’s secrets.” Liam spoke a single word—or maybe it was a handful of words—and a hidden door disengaged from its jamb, springing a fraction of an inch outward. Eoghan blinked. How could that be? He would have sworn it was simply a hallway. He tried to keep the password in his mind, but every time he thought he grasped it, it slipped away, like water flowing through his fingers.
As if he knew Eoghan’s thoughts, Liam smiled. “The password is passed down from one Ceannaire to the next, and no one who does not have the right to speak it can recall it.”
“How is that possible?”
“There is magic here at Carraigmór, magic that is more powerful than anything we can currently perform. Perhaps no one but Daimhin himself ever knew it. We simply don’t know. The password was passed to me when I accepted leadership from my master.”
Gooseflesh pricked Eoghan’s arms as he stepped through the door into a cramped tunnel. There were no torches, yet a dim glow illuminated the staircase. When the door whispered shut behind them, he had the sensation of being sealed into a tomb. Could someone get trapped in here if they didn’t know the password to get out? That wasn’t an encouraging thought.
Liam led him down the long, narrow stairway, only the sound of their shoes scuffing stone to break the silence. The walls of the corridor pressed so close he had to force himself to breathe normally. He’d never been afraid of enclosed spaces, but something about this tunnel set his heart rattling in his chest like an animal caught in a trap.
They finally came to the end of the corridor, a dead end, and Eoghan waited for Liam to open another magically hidden door. Instead, he just turned sharply into an angled passage that was little more than a split in the rock. Eoghan inhaled deeply and followed him into a chamber.
More soft, unidentifiable light illuminated the cavern, which was several arm spans wide and twice as deep. Wooden compartments lined the walls, each space holding a book, scroll, or folio. The smell of old paper and animal skin added to the musty, crypt-like atmosphere.
“This chamber is Carraigmór’s greatest secret and its greatest treasure,” Liam said reverently. “It’s called the Hall of Prophecies, but it’s much more than that. This room not only contains all the prophecies that have been gathered over the last five hundred years, it also preserves the history and the rolls of the brotherhood. Where we came from, where we are going. All that you will someday need to know. All that you must swear to protect, with your life if necessary.”
Something in Liam’s voice made Eoghan think the Ceannaire was not telling all, but he didn’t push. This was too much to take in at once. Instead, he asked, “What would happen if Keondric managed to access this chamber?”
“Disaster. You understand why I show this to you now.”
“Because I may have to protect it,” Eoghan said. “If the druid was once the Ceannaire, he knows it’s here.”
“And he knows what’s inside. Even I don’t know all that’s here. It would take a man more than a lifetime to read it all. Comdiu has guided me to what I needed to lead justly and to do His work.”
Eoghan walked slowly around the room, peering at the various writings on the shelves but afraid to touch. There were scrolls in every known language, some so old they looked as though they would crumble if they were handled. Parchments ancient enough to have the hair of the animal still attached to the back. Scraped birch bark that looked like it might disintegrate at a breath. Most of the characters he didn’t even recognize. Conor might, but Eoghan didn’t have his friend’s extensive education.
For the first time, the enormity of his undertaking hit him. Liam was to have been a king. His education, even up to his tenth birthday, was more comprehensive than most people received their entire lives—far more extensive than any of the brothers’ studies at Ard Dhaimhin. How on earth was Eoghan to be trusted with the knowledge in this room when he couldn’t even read half of it?
“I’ve debated whether to show this to you, but it’s time. It’s past time.”
Eoghan turned and saw Liam holding a folded square of uneven vellum. “What’s that?”
Liam pulled up two stools from the corner of the room and settled himself on one. “What do you remember of your parents?”
“Nothing,” Eoghan said. “My first memories are of Ard Dhaimhin.”
“I don’t believe that. Close your eyes and think hard. What do you remember?”
Eoghan sank onto the stool across from Master Liam and shut his eyes. This was a ridiculous exercise. He had come here at three years old, abandoned by his parents in the forest. He didn’t remember anything but the scent of lavender, attached to a woman: dark-haired, laughing sometimes, but more often worried.
“You remember,” Liam said quietly. “You remember your parents.”
“My mother. But I can’t see her face.” Eoghan opened his eyes. “Why bring this up now? What purpose does it serve?”
Liam toyed with the parchment, worrying the rough edge with his thumb. “I have not been completely honest with you, Eoghan. I have debated for years when to discuss the matter, if at all. And I’m afraid we are long past the time when you deserved to hear it. Do you know why you came to Ard Dhaimhin?”
Because my parents thought I was insane. Out loud he said, “They didn’t want me. Or maybe they just couldn’t care for me.”
“No. They were afraid for you, Eoghan. And because you told them that you must come here.”
Eoghan stared at his master. Impossible. He had been only three years old.
“They did not just abandon you within our borders. Quite the opposite, in fact. Your mother took you into the forest and waited for a tracker to find you. She said you were destined for the brotherhood and she was following Comdiu’s will by giving you up.”
Eoghan shook his head. “How could you possibly know that’s true?”
“Because I was the tracker.”
Eoghan opened his mouth, but nothing would come out. When the words finally did come, they weren’t what he intended. “What was her name?”
“Fionnuala. I don’t know your father’s clan, but she claimed to be a Fearghail.”
Eoghan recognized the clan name from history lessons, though he couldn’t recall exactly why. “She was Sliebhanaigh. I’m Sliebhanaigh.”
“Indeed. Nobility of some sort. I suspect she was afraid to name your father’s clan for that reason. They were also Balians.”
Understanding dawned. “At a time when the Balian faith was punishable by death.”
“Aye. Despite their best efforts to conceal their beliefs, they always feared they would be punished and you would be taken from them.” Liam hesitated. “Then there were your particular gifts.”
“Gifts?”
“From your first words, you would have conversations with yourself. At
first they thought you were mad. Then they realized that some of what you said came true. One day, you told them very clearly, ‘Men will be coming for me. I must go to the forsaken city.’ It was that wording, so unusual for a child, that convinced them you had access to something the rest of us are denied. Interaction with the Companions, perhaps Comdiu Himself.
“It didn’t take them long to figure out what the ‘forsaken city’ meant. I told Lady Fionnuala I would look after you and give you a good life at Ard Dhaimhin. I have done my best to keep that vow.”
Words wouldn’t come. All these years believing he had been abandoned, unwanted, when really he had been left for his own safety, at his own request. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Liam bowed his head and studied his clasped hands. “I don’t know. Selfishness, perhaps. I never had a family of my own, and you were as close to a son as I would ever get. Perhaps I thought if you knew your family was still out there, you would want to look for them.”
Eoghan would have, in his younger years. Now it was a wound so old and calloused that to reopen it would cause everyone unnecessary pain. “You should have told me.”
Liam raised his head, pain flashing through his expression. “I know. Eoghan, I have made many mistakes in this life. Taking you as my apprentice and my successor was not one of them. I have fumbled along, trying to follow my imperfect understanding of Comdiu’s will. Sometimes I have done good. Sometimes I have not. But you, Eoghan—I have always known that you would be a different person, a different leader. Maybe it’s the product of your particular gifts, or maybe you are just a better man than I. Don’t repeat my mistakes. Seek the counsel of Comdiu. Follow His instruction.”
Eoghan sat silent for a moment. “Conor told me the same thing once.”
“Conor was another of my mistakes. I didn’t understand until it was too late . . . Ah, but that doesn’t matter now. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. You had the right to know you were not abandoned because of a lack of love but because your family loved you too much to do otherwise.”
It was too much to take in at once. Eoghan’s gaze fell on the piece of vellum in Liam’s hand. “What’s that?”
“A letter to you from your mother.” He held it out.
Slowly, Eoghan unfolded it. Elegant script traveled across it in neat rows.
My dearest son,
I am sorry we had to give you up. We tried to hide you and your gifts, but you insisted you would be caught. You seem to believe I will come with you to Ard Dhaimhin. I am sorry that I cannot. Know that your father and I love you very much. We will always love you. We wish you the life that you deserve.
Your mother,
Fionnuala
Eoghan flipped it over. That was it? She was sorry? No more explanation than what Liam had already given? Aye, it was good to know they had loved him, that they regretted having to leave him with strangers. But there was nothing more about them, not even his father’s name. Had it not been for Liam’s memory, he would not even know his mother’s clan.
Eoghan handed the vellum back to his master, his heart heavy. He had longed for this moment his entire life, and now that it was here, it made no difference. He had still been raised among men in a life he did not choose for himself. He had still been a pawn in others’ games. He hadn’t the opportunity to know his family, to court a girl, to be married and have his own children someday, all because they had trusted a word of a three-year-old over their desire to protect him themselves.
And how is that any different than the boys coming to Ard Dhaimhin to escape Keondric’s army? You said you didn’t blame them. You said you would have done the same thing.
That was different.
Because it’s you. Because you want to believe you were wronged. Because you do not want to acknowledge that perhaps it was My plans that Liam carried out and not his own.
Eoghan rose, convicted by the sharp words in his mind. “I need some time to think.”
Liam returned the stools to their place in the corner. “Come to my study when you’re ready to continue. There is more we have to discuss, and our time is growing short.”
Eoghan nodded, barely hearing the words. He pushed through the door and strode down the hall.
So perhaps it hadn’t been Liam’s decision at all. That just left a single, uncomfortable realization.
Comdiu was the one he should have been angry with all along.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Liam noted Riordan’s presence before his friend joined him on one of Carraigmór’s granite balconies. It was his usual choice when he needed to think over a difficult matter, and he and Riordan had had many conversations here over the years. Usually, though, the Ceannaire gave the advice to Riordan, not the other way around.
“I told him.”
Riordan stepped to the railing beside Liam. “How did he take it?”
“He’s angry. Disappointed. Expected something more dramatic, perhaps.” Liam rubbed his eyes. “I suspect he’d like to go off somewhere to sulk, but he has too much self-respect to be seen doing so.”
“I imagine he does. He’s an impressive young man. You have done well by him.”
“Have I?” Liam wasn’t so sure. All these years of treading the road he thought Comdiu had set before him, secure in his justifications for his actions, were crashing down around him. “I lied to him. Or, rather, I allowed him to believe a lie, which is much the same thing.”
Riordan was quiet for a moment. “I did the same with Conor.”
“Aye, on my direction. It seems I’ve made many such questionable decisions.”
“What is this really about? I’ve never known you to be so melancholy.”
Liam pushed away from the rail and turned his back to the Fíréin city. “The druid is amassing an army. You know this; you saw and heard firsthand how he is conscripting men and boys.”
“We will be under siege.”
“Aye. And many will die, on both sides. Niall knows that even his trained men cannot stand up to the skill of the Fíréin. He just seeks to throw bodies in our way, the younger the better. If we kill them, the sorcery in their blood is a threat to us. If we take pity on them and let them live, they will find a way to strike at us from the inside. And while we are distracted, he can seek his true objective.” Liam crossed his arms over his chest. “The city will fall, and all we have built, all we have protected, will be gone.”
“And the victory?”
Liam had to give Riordan credit. To most men, news that their brothers would die and their city would fall would automatically mean defeat. “Comdiu has not shown me that. So much still depends on Eoghan. And Conor.”
“What does Conor have to do with this?”
“More than you know. More than I can tell you. His time in Seare is not finished. But I will soon become unnecessary.”
Once, Riordan would have tried to reassure him, but they both knew the time for that was past. No matter the outcome, the brotherhood’s part in Seare’s history was coming to an end.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“My lady, everything has been prepared for you.”
Aine looked up from her spot at the workbench and gave Guaire a grateful nod. “Thank you, sir. If you’ll let the men know I’ll be out shortly, I’d appreciate it.”
Guaire gave her a little bow. “As you wish, my lady.”
Aine watched the steward leave her work room, a smile on her face. Her suspicion that the steward’s enthusiasm came from a desire to thwart Lady Macha had continued to grow as Lady Ailís’s chamber was emptied of its furnishings and new items more suited to Aine’s purpose arrived.
She turned a small circle, her smile widening. Gone were the bed and the wardrobe, in their place a long wooden table along one wall and a tall bank of shelves. The wood bore the bright tan-yellow color of newly split timber, a sign they had been made especially for her, not repurposed from elsewhere in the keep. Bottles and jars lined a few of the shelves, though most were still empty. Bucke
ts of lard, tallow, and beeswax—bases for ointments and salves—waited beneath the bench, and a grated brazier stood in the far corner. The only things she lacked were the herbs that would become her healing remedies.
Aine slid a heavy-bladed knife, equally suited for defense or harvesting, onto her leather belt and then shoved thin fabric sacks and waxed parchments into a satchel. If she remembered the Aronan countryside as well as she thought she did, she would come back with enough herbs to keep herself busy for weeks.
After pulling on a pair of fine leather riding gloves, she slung the satchel over her shoulder and made her way down the corridor to the back door. Her spirits lifted at the prospect of escaping Forrais for a day. Since coming to Aron, a gloom had settled over her spirit like the gray autumn clouds that spread over the Highlands. Ensconced in the keep, it was too easy to shed bitter tears over Conor and feel sorry for herself. A ride—preferably a long one—would do her good.
Diocail himself stood in the courtyard with three men, while a stable boy held a trio of nearly identical chestnut horses and a smaller gray mare. The captain of the guard swept a low bow when she approached.
“Lady Aine, Master Guaire told me you were in need of an escort today.”
She blinked. “One man, sir. I hardly expected you to spare three from the watch.”
“Volunteers, my lady.” That rare smile tilted the corners of his lips. “May I introduce Oisean, Lachaidh, and Roidh?”
Aine nodded to each in turn, noting all were armed with swords and bows and wearing light leather armor. “You look ready for battle. I’d only planned on a day’s ride to gather herbs.”
“Even so, it pays to be prepared.” The glance Lachaidh flicked toward Diocail made her think it was on the captain’s orders. “Never fear, the three of us can look after you reasonably well.”
“Four.”
Aine turned to find Lord Uallas leading a hulking gray gelding from the stable. He offered her a friendly smile and a little bow. When he straightened, the horse nudged him in the shoulder and threw him off balance.
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