‘I wish to renew my objection to this meeting, Leath tiarna.’ Colmán’s whole stance reeked of disapproval. ‘Particularly with Ciarán away.’
That made Darragh smile. ‘You think they’re going to try and murder me over dinner?’
Colmán tugged on his beard again, a sure sign he was worried. ‘I’m just saying, Leath tiarna, no good will come of letting those unnatural creatures believe they are entitled to be treated like men.’
‘Not a lot of good has come of treating them any other way,’ Darragh pointed out. ‘And you must admit that, without them, the Druids would have faded into oblivion a thousand years ago.’ Darragh wasn’t trying to pick an argument with his Vate. He had no radical reformist agenda, and certainly no time nor sympathy for the growing Partitionist movement who didn’t understand the role of the Undivided in maintaining the Druids’ magic and wanted the rule of the Undivided — and him along with it — brought down. But there was a certain amount of amusement to be had watching Colmán’s face turn purple as he contemplated the idea that Darragh might actually be entertaining a modicum of compassion for the Faerie race. ‘Do we know when our beloved queen and her not-so-beloved son will arrive?’
Colmán shook his head. ‘We’ve received no word from her majesty either, Leath tiarna.’
‘The respect for our order is overwhelming,’ Darragh remarked. ‘Did the queen of the Celts even bother to let us know if she is planning to attend this summit?’
‘She sent a message saying she would try, Leath tiarna.’
She’ll try. Darragh shook his head. There was a time when the mere prospect of meeting with the Undivided struck fear into the hearts of rulers across the length and breadth of the land. Across the whole world, even. And into the Otherworld, besides. There was a time when oriental emperors, Egyptian pharaohs, Roman consuls and Indian maharajas made the long trek to these emerald shores to pay their respects.
No longer. Not since the Undivided were, well … divided. These days, despite the lip service they paid to his rank, Darragh was painfully aware the leaders who once deferred to his position now considered him weak and powerless.
He was Darragh the Divided. They thought him an annoying young man whom tradition forced them to acknowledge, but one increasingly easy to ignore.
They thought of him as nothing but an ineffectual figurehead at the mercy of men like Amergin who — at the behest of a leanan sídhe whore — had betrayed his own people in return for his need to be immortalised as a poet.
That would change, of course, if the Undivided were ever reunited.
When we’re reunited, Darragh corrected himself silently. Rónán was alive. Darragh knew that. He simply wouldn’t be breathing if his brother wasn’t — the psychic link between them was too strong to let a small thing like being separated by different realities get in the way.
But finding his twin in that other reality and bringing him home was an entirely different matter.
And something he didn’t have time to dwell on now. Darragh closed his eyes for a moment, hoping to glimpse the reason the Tuatha had asked for this meeting, but the future was dim. He would just have to trust Ciarán, Brógán and Niamh. His disturbing dreams of infanticide notwithstanding — which came to him unbidden — when Darragh consciously tried to see the future, all he saw were boring, mundane things like snippets of the upcoming feast, even a glimpse of a servant accidentally spilling an amphora of apple wine on one of Álmhath’s men-at-arms.
Nothing he could use. No idea what this meeting was about.
No comforting vision of Brógán or Niamh rushing into the hall to inform the entire gathering that Darragh’s long-lost brother had been found …
Nothing but a minor fistfight, Marcroy’s untrustworthy smile and Torcán’s contemptuously curled lip as he sat beside his equally disdainful fiancée, Anwen, on the raised dais, looking down his nose at the other occupants of the Druid hall.
Darragh shook his head to clear the image, certain the last one hadn’t been a vision so much as an educated guess that came from knowing the Celtic prince so well.
‘Is something the matter, Leath tiarna?’ Colmán asked anxiously, recognising Darragh’s vague expression. ‘Have you Seen something? Something we can use?’
‘Álmhath will be here by sunset,’ he told the Vate. ‘And she’s bringing Torcán with her.’
The Vate ventured a cautious smile. ‘That should please you, Leath tiarna?’
‘I’m thrilled,’ Darragh murmured to himself, knowing if he said it any louder, he’d have to explain his sour tone to Colmán. Amergin would have understood. He had thought Torcán a royal pain, too.
Damn you, Amergin, for being so selfish …
‘Pardon, Leath tiarna?’
‘Nothing, Colmán,’ Darragh sighed, wondering if he could escape Sí an Bhrú long enough to go for a ride alone to clear his head — and his Sight — before their guests arrived. Unlikely, he knew. Colmán hated to let Darragh out of his sight for more than a few moments for fear the young man would do something worthy of being recorded for posterity. ‘Just … carry on …’
‘As you wish, Leath tiarna,’ the Vate said, bowing low. And then he closed his eyes, crossed his hands in his sleeves once more and began to intone his next composition.
‘Darragh, the Undivided, waits to meet the Queen of the Celts. Sí an Bhrú rings with the sound of many busy … belts …’
Darragh sighed. Amergin, your greatest crime against the Druids wasn’t betraying the Undivided, he lamented silently, as he turned and headed for the long passage leading outside, unable to bear another word of Colmán’s recital. It was naming this fool as your successor …
CHAPTER 3
‘How long have you been here at Temair now, Brydie?’ the queen asked, slipping her arm through Brydie’s as they walked back toward Ráith Righ. Even with the crisp breeze, it was much warmer out in the bright sunlight, walking the gravelled path that led up the hill toward the castle. The sky was glorious; a pale, cloudless blue canopy. The distant clashes and shouts of men-at-arms training over on the practice field reached them faintly, but the men were out of sight of the path they were taking back to the Ráith.
Malvina had hurried on ahead, probably to get ready for her departure later in the day. The whole Ráith was in an uproar as the queen prepared to leave, which made this morning’s choosing in the sacred grove all the more unusual. These matters were rarely settled so hastily.
The queen’s familiarity worried Brydie a little, too. Until that incident in the hall a few months ago, when she acquired the unwanted description of built for sin, Brydie had barely spoken ten words to Álmhath since she’d arrived from her father’s court in the west. She’d thought she’d remained hidden and anonymous among the scores of court maidens at Temair, some married, some single, and most of them working — as Brydie was — as servants.
‘Almost eight months,’ she said, wondering why her length of time here was significant.
‘Your mother was Mogue Ni’Farrell, was she not?’
‘Yes, my lady.’
The queen nodded and smiled. ‘I remember her. She too, was built for sin.’
Brydie was beginning to tire of this. ‘My lady …’
Álmhath laughed softly and squeezed her arm tighter, cutting off her objection. ‘Forgive me, my dear. I am teasing you. Your mother was an extraordinary beauty and a loyal sister. As are you.’
‘Thank you, an Bhantiarna,’ Brydie said, a little warily. Álmhath didn’t hand out compliments like that on a whim.
‘Do you remember her?’ Álmhath asked, her tone softening a little.
‘Not really,’ Brydie said with a shrug. ‘Just what my father has told me about her. I was very little when she died.’
‘She was a great loss to us,’ Álmhath said, smiling sympathetically. ‘Her line was very precious.’
The comment intrigued Brydie. She’d never heard her father claim her mother had any special connection to the q
ueen. ‘Was she a court maiden, too?’
‘A very special one.’
‘Did you arrange her marriage to my father?’
‘Of course.’
‘Did you make her marry him, or did she volunteer?’ Brydie had never been sure about that. Her father spoke well enough of her dead mother whenever Brydie had asked about her, but he didn’t seem too broken-hearted by her demise. And he’d replaced Mogue within a year of her death with a new wife, but that could have been practicality, rather than a sign of disregard for Brydie’s mother.
The queen stopped walking and turned to look at Brydie, her eyes squinting a little as the rising sun was directly behind Brydie now. ‘Do I detect a note of disapproval in your tone, young lady?’
‘No, an Bhantiarna. Of course not.’
Álmhath raised one eyebrow as she studied Brydie curiously. ‘Are you in love?’
‘No,’ Brydie replied, puzzled by the question. ‘Why would you ask that?’
‘Because, in my experience, court maidens only question the marriages I arrange for them when they’ve already gone and done the choosing for themselves.’
Brydie shook her head. ‘I swear, an Bhantiarna, I have been true to my oath. I will do as you command. Happily. Provided …’ Her voice trailed off, as she realised she may have overstepped the mark.
The older woman smiled knowingly at her. ‘I don’t normally permit my court maidens to put qualifiers on their oaths, Brydie. I’m in the mood to indulge you, however. Provided what?’
Brydie hesitated, and then decided she might as well have her say now. The queen seemed in a remarkably congenial mood. It might be the only chance she was ever offered to have her opinion noted. ‘Provided it’s not that Gaulish brute you’ve been entertaining all month.’
Álmhath laughed. ‘By Danú, as if I’d waste someone of your pedigree on a penniless pretender like Atilis. Rest easy, young Brydie, I have much bigger plans for the daughter of Mogue Ni’Farrell.’
Brydie wasn’t sure that sounded any better. What did she mean by bigger plans?
Is that what she was talking about when she said Danú had work for me?
‘Have you been to many formal banquets since you arrived?’ Álmhath asked, before Brydie had a chance to inquire.
‘I’ve served at most of them,’ Brydie said, frowning. That’s what I get for being assigned to the low tables. The queen doesn’t even know I was there.
‘I’m leaving this morning for a meeting at Sí an Bhrú,’ the queen said, which was no news to Brydie. The meeting had been planned for days. The queen, her son, Torcán, and her large entourage were planning to leave as soon as they got back to the Ráith. ‘There will be quite a feast in Sí an Bhrú tonight.’
Brydie nodded, not sure if the remark required her to respond.
‘Have you ever been to Sí an Bhrú?’
‘No, my lady,’ she replied.
‘You’ve never met the Undivided, then?’
Well, that would be a bit of a chore, Brydie was tempted to respond. One of them is missing. But she restrained herself and shook her head. ‘No, my lady.’
‘You’ve met Marcroy Tarth, though, haven’t you?’
She nodded. ‘Only recently, my lady. When the Tuatha visited last.’ Just before riders headed out to Sí an Bhrú to arrange today’s meeting. She remembered that visit well. Although she had no idea what it was about, the queen had been in a foul temper for days after the sídhe lord left Temair. Brydie didn’t warm to Marcroy, thinking he looked far too young to be lord of the Tuatha. He certainly didn’t look thousands of years old. With his fair, flawless skin, his far-too-pretty-to-be-masculine features and his delicately pointed ears, he looked like a youth in the first flush of manhood.
‘Did Marcroy say anything to you?’
‘He said I reminded him of his niece.’
Álmhath frowned. ‘He has thousands of them. Did he say which one?’
‘I believe I remind him of Trása.’ Brydie remembered the name well because, even in the west, in the relative isolation of her family home on the coast far from court, they’d heard of the traitor Amergin’s half-Beansídhe daughter.
That made the queen smile, which worried Brydie a great deal, because it was a sly, secretive little smile she had never before seen Álmhath display. ‘Did he now? Isn’t that interesting?’
‘Is it? I thought it was an insult. She’s a mongrel.’
‘A very enticing mongrel,’ the queen informed her, apparently amused by Brydie’s indignation. ‘Which is why we had her removed from Sí an Bhrú.’
‘Oh … I didn’t know that.’
‘No reason you should, dear.’ The queen glanced around. They were still stopped on the path, standing in the open amid a field of emerald clover, kept close-cropped by the sheep herds belonging to the Ráith, far from the shadows of the earth abutments that circled the keep.
Brydie realised then why they were talking out here. Only in an open space such as this could Álmhath be certain there were no Tuatha spies about trying to listen in on their conversation. She glanced around, wondering what Álmhath feared the Faerie might overhear.
The queen turned back to study Brydie thoughtfully for a moment. ‘Are you truly your mother’s daughter, Brydie Ni’Seanan?’
‘I’m not sure what you mean by that, an Bhantiarna,’ Brydie said, certain it was a loaded question.
‘If I ask you to do something, to make a sacrifice for me, for your people, would you do it?’
Brydie nodded. ‘Of course …’
‘Provided it doesn’t involve that Gaulish pig?’ Álmhath asked, with a raised brow.
‘Even if it involved that,’ Brydie replied with a sigh, realising now that Álmhath wasn’t being friendly, she’d been toying with her. ‘I’m sorry, my lady. What you want of me, I will do. I’ll marry whoever … or whatever … you tell me I must.’
Álmhath studied her closely for a moment, as if trying to determine her sincerity, and then nodded. ‘Then return to your rooms and pack, my dear. You’ll be coming to Sí an Bhrú with us. I’ll explain what I want of you on the way.’
CHAPTER 4
With a final and eminently satisfying shake of his thick white fur, Marcroy Tarth relinquished his wolven form and changed back into a more human-like appearance as he topped the rise overlooking Sí an Bhrú.
The Faerie lord stared across the valley at the sprawling human settlement with mixed feelings. The huge stone complex sat atop an elongated ridge within a large bend in the Boyne River about five miles west of the town of Drogheda, bathed in the setting sun. It was a sacred place, defiled by humans as part of a deal that had gone horribly wrong. Now sheep grazed on its slopes, the trees surrounding it had been murdered for firewood, and smoke curled out of the roofs of the roundhouses clustered at the foot of the hill, and was quickly snatched away by the chilly breeze almost as soon as it escaped confinement.
Sí an Bhrú hadn’t always belonged to the Druids. This place had been built by his people, the Tuatha Dé Danann. But that was long ago. Now the sacred halls were filled with drunken men-at-arms, talentless bards and sorcerers wielding stolen magic, who plotted and schemed the way humans do, uncaring of the long and hallowed history of the place they now called home.
‘It must pain you to see Sí an Bhrú still occupied by men,’ his companion remarked.
Marcroy turned to the djinni, scowling, as he materialised beside him in a wisp of blue flame that defied the wind by barely moving.
‘It would pain me less if you didn’t gloat about it, Jamaspa.’
The Marid shrugged as his upper body formed a human shape similar to Marcroy’s, shimmering a little as he moved. ‘If you recall, Marcroy Tarth, I advised against this foolish bargain. Am I not entitled to remind you, now and then, that you should have listened to me? To the Brethren? Had you heeded our advice, we would not be in the position we are in now.’
‘You couldn’t have known,’ Marcroy pointed out, folding his ar
ms across his body. He would have to wait here until the Leipreachán charged with bringing his clothes arrived. It would not do to arrive in Sí an Bhrú naked.
Jamaspa shrugged, wavering a little in the crisp, cool breeze. ‘It should have been obvious, cousin,’ he said. ‘No matter how you justify the reason, you willingly gave humans access to your magic. You didn’t expect them to relinquish it without a fight, did you?’
Marcroy scowled again, not wanting to get into an argument with the Marid, a djinni so old and powerful he made Orlagh look like a newling. He was tempted to point out that it had seemed an exceedingly reasonable proposition at the time. The Tuatha were under attack and the deal with the Druids had been contingent on finding a set of ludicrously rare psychically linked twins to channel Faerie magic to human sorcerers. There’d only been a handful of such twins ever found. It didn’t seem a lingering threat. Who could have anticipated that the humans would keep finding such rare, gifted twins, again and again, for the next sixty generations?
‘The harm is done, Jamaspa,’ Marcroy said with a shrug. ‘All we can do now is mitigate the damage.’ Although he couldn’t resist adding, ‘Assuming your rift runners are not mistaken about the future that awaits us if we do nothing.’
The djinni shook his head, making his whole ephemeral body bob up and down in the air. ‘They are not mistaken. The Undivided twins, RónánDarragh, will destroy us — Tuatha, Djinni and all the others of our kind. We have seen it in the other realities where they were allowed to rule united. For the sake of all the Faerie races of this realm, we must destroy them first.’
The Undivided Page 3