by Megan Chance
You are a fool. The gods knew he wasn’t even sure he had a chance with her. She was engaged to someone else she claimed to love. He was just asking to be hurt. And there would be a price to pay for this too. Finn would never forgive him if it turned out badly.
What could a few more days matter? In the end, if he had to use the lovespot, he would. For his brothers. For Ireland.
“I can’t let you go, Grace. You must know that.”
She let out a disappointed sigh.
“But I’ll help you,” he went on. “If you promise not to try to escape me again, I’ll promise to help you find this archdruid. But I need to trust that you’ll stay.”
He saw her reluctance and her doubt, but also . . . consideration. She was measuring him, and he knew he would come up short.
But she nodded. “All right. I’ll stay. In exchange for your help.”
He couldn’t keep from smiling. Her smile in return was small and tentative, but he would take what he could get.
“Good,” he said. “Good.”
She turned to go through the doorway, giving him her hand so he could lead her as he always did through the darkness, and again he felt the soul-deep thrill that came every time they touched. But today it only frightened him. He knew the truth of himself then: Diarmid Ua Duibhne, undone by a woman again, choosing one over the Fianna again. He felt out of control, drawn by something he couldn’t name. And he had the sickening feeling that he had made the wrong decision, that he was only delaying the inevitable, that somewhere, the gods were laughing at him.
July 22
Grace
I was lying to him. I didn’t intend to stay, though I felt guilty when he seemed so relieved by it—especially because there was something in his voice that told me it really mattered to him, that he wanted me to stay, and I liked that more than I wished.
The lovespot. He was manipulating me, just as he had Lucy, but it was hard to remember that when he looked at me, or when he touched me. What had Lot said? “The things he could do with touch alone . . .”
I had to escape. My mother would be worried, my grandmother, Patrick. Even as Derry had said he would help me, I didn’t believe him. He’d said nothing of the geis and it made me suspicious that he was only telling me what I wanted to hear. His promises were meaningless; he would say anything to persuade me to choose the Fianna. Patrick was the one who loved me, who wanted to save me.
The burning of the tenement still troubled me, though. So many innocent people. I knew the Brotherhood and the Fomori wanted the Fianna, but I would have thought Patrick incapable of such a terrible act. He couldn’t have had anything to do with it, which meant the Fomori had made the decision. The thought only fed my confusion. Now, away from them and their allure, the stories I’d known all my life regained their power. Derry’s certainty that they were monsters only added to my fears, but there was also my grandmother telling me that every story had two sides. And there was Patrick and his belief in them, and my hope that they might find another spell when the Fianna weren’t even pretending to look.
I felt tossed to and fro; I didn’t know what to think about anything, and my dreams that night only confused me more. There were no battles, but I dreamed of being on a ship in the middle of the ocean, the deck shifting beneath my feet. Someone was watching me, waiting, someone I couldn’t see. Then there was Aidan, disappearing as I ran to him, just as before, but this time he said, The key—we need the key, before the darkness came between us. And then . . . the sound of waves lapping against a beach, and Derry, and it was as if I’d waited a lifetime for him. The urge to touch him made me dizzy.
When I woke the next morning, it was all I could do to resist the desire to reach out as I watched him put on his shirt, his muscles flexing beneath smooth skin.
It’s all a lie. Fight it.
I lowered my gaze, but not before he caught me watching. For once he didn’t tease. “I’m going to train the Dun Rats today. But later we’ll talk about what we’ll do next.”
I nodded.
He gave me a searching look. “In case you’re thinking about breaking your promise, I’m reminding you the sidhe are out there. They’ll drain you before you have a chance to ask them anything if I’m not there to protect you.”
It was what I’d meant to do—run off to find the sidhe—but when he said that, I remembered how tempting I’d found their song: Let me touch you. Touch you . . . touch you. I’d felt snared like a fish in a net, dragged toward them against my will. Now I knew why my grandmother had warned me to be careful.
He went on, “They’ll be looking for you, too, now that they know you’re here. And there will be more of them. They won’t be so easy to escape next time, and if you think to talk them out of hurting you, well . . . you won’t succeed. You wouldn’t make it as far as the ferry, even if you knew the way. And I don’t want to be taking a corpse back to your mother.”
I’d thought he believed me when I’d promised to stay. It flustered me to realize I hadn’t fooled him.
He finished buttoning his shirt. “I’ll call down Miles to keep you company. We’ll be training in the yard—between the door and the street. If you want to, come watch.”
Between the door and the street. I heard the warning there too. I wouldn’t get past him. I couldn’t run, not with him and Miles keeping guard, and even if I tried . . . well, I knew he was right about the sidhe.
If nothing else, Derry had kept me safe yesterday. He had to keep me alive until Samhain, didn’t he? If I was the veleda, the Fianna needed me.
And if I was not . . .
But it was harder than ever to keep hoping that, because I’d felt something besides temptation during the sidhe’s song. A strange itch in my blood. What it was, I didn’t know. Magic? Power? Could it be that I had some after all?
The thought chilled me. I tried to forget it as I dressed and went out to where Bridget was sewing. Miles was already there, sitting at the table, playing solitaire with a well-worn pack of cards.
He smiled at me. “Mornin’, Gracie. Care to play a game or two?”
“You should be training with the others.”
“I c’n hear ’em well enough.”
So could I. Their voices rose from the yard below, the sound of thuds and laughter, Derry’s voice above the others: “Not that way. Dodge like this so I can’t get you in the knees. Twist around—aye, that’s it!”
Someone shouted, “Show me that again!” and Derry shouted back, “No distractions this time, Hugh. A glance at a pretty lass will only get you a knife in the back.
Bridget jerked her head toward the window. “The girls’re out there watching.”
I abandoned whatever remaining hope I had for escape today and went to the window, bracing my hands on the sill and leaning out, hoping for a cool breeze. It was only late morning, and already the sun beat down on the fire escape, reflecting brightly off the girls’ dark heads. Molly had wedged herself between the flimsy railings of the narrow platform, leaning out over the cesspool two stories below so she could see. Sara sat in the corner, sucking on her hair and looking bored. She spat the hair from her mouth long enough to say, “Come out, Gracie.”
I stepped out, peeking through the wide grate at my feet to see how very far down it was. It reminded me of the last time I’d sat on a fire escape. The Fianna’s tenement and the Black Hands and watching Derry kill that boy. And then the kiss that had sent me running to Patrick in the hopes that he would remove Derry from my life for good.
That had worked well, hadn’t it?
Molly said, “You c’n see Derry if you lean out.”
“Why don’t you just tell me if he does something amazing?”
“’E already has,” she said admiringly. “’E took down Hugh with one hand. An’ Hugh’s strong.”
I sat, and Sara pressed into my side. She ran her dirty fing
ers over the sage-green twill of my dress. “I want a dress like this one.”
Molly said, “Ha! That’s a fine lady’s dress, Sara. It ain’t for the likes of us.”
I said, “You never know. Maybe you’ll have one like it someday.”
“I’d like to be rich. Riding ’round in carriages all day.” Molly made a little, mocking bow. “’Ello there, sir, ain’t it fine weather we’re havin’?”
I laughed.
Molly gave me a serious look. “Well, ain’t that how it is? Don’t you have fine things to eat too? Ice cream and strawberries that ain’t rotten?”
I thought of how often I’d been at the confectioner’s down the street from Patrick’s house. Sugared violets crunching against my teeth. “Yes, I suppose.”
“I don’t guess I’ll ever know what they taste like.”
“You might, Molly. Things change.”
“I guess I might meet a rich man someday. ’Cause Derry met a rich lady.”
I didn’t want to contradict her, because I wanted to give her hope that she might escape this hard life. I’d seen too much of it already. The streets were full of beggars and men looking desperate and afraid. Little girls swept the streets for the odd penny, or sold themselves, and boys picked pockets or cleaned chimneys. The cabbage Bridget cooked into stew was half-rotten, whatever hadn’t sold at market, or stolen from the garbage piles behind restaurants or groceries.
Bridget sat inside all day long, sewing tiny, careful stitches on pantaloons—she’d refused my offer of help last night because she had to pay for mistakes. I’d seen such pantaloons a hundred times in the store my father had owned before it was taken with everything else after his death. He’d bought them in bulk and sold them for good profit at Knox’s Clothing Emporium, and I had never—not once—thought to wonder who had made such careful stitches or what they were paid for their hard work.
These people were hungering for the battle Finn had promised them. I thought of the rebellion Patrick was planning in Ireland to overthrow British rule. He’d told me of the desperation there, the terrible conditions of the poor, and now I wondered if he’d ever seen the poverty in his own city. Patrick wanted what was right, and I admired him for that. But was the fight for Ireland really the battle he should be waging?
Sara said, “Tell a story, Gracie.”
Molly turned, her brown eyes lighting. “You must know a lot of ’em, don’t you? ’Cause you can read. Mama said so. She said you was out buyin’ books yesterday.”
Books. The shop. The scene Derry had laid for me, so real I’d felt I was in it with him. Sitting beside a fire, wrapped in his arms, a bard singing. “Yes. I didn’t find one I liked, though.”
“But you don’ need a book to tell us a story, do ya?”
“I want a story ’bout princesses,” Sara said.
“And fierce battles,” Molly put in.
I knew many like that. A whole lifetime worth of tales. Just beyond, I heard the boys shouting and Derry’s laugh, a laugh I somehow knew as well as my own, though I’d only heard it a few times. In Battery Park. In my dreams.
I found myself saying, “Once upon a time, there was a princess. Her name was Grainne, and she was the daughter of the High King of Ireland . . .”
By the time I’d recounted all of Diarmid’s glorious feats—conquering the sea champions and their armies and the hounds of Slieve Lougher and the giant of Dubros—it was falling into afternoon. The little girls were as entranced by the story as I had always been, and when I reached the part where Diarmid was gored by the boar and Finn let him die, Molly said, “But he didn’t really die, did he? Tell the rest—’bout how there was some magic that brought him back.”
I thought of the dord fiann. “The legend says that one day someone will blow Finn’s hunting horn, and the Fianna will return to help Ireland at her time of greatest need.”
Molly frowned. “Why just Ireland? Why couldn’t they come back and help anyone they wanted?”
“Because they’re Ireland’s heroes.” I stretched my legs, realizing I no longer heard the shouts and cries of the boys. Training must be over. I got to my feet, picking up Sara, who snuggled into me with a yawn.
Molly said, “But they’re Irish heroes, ain’t they? Not just Ireland’s.” She climbed back through the window.
I followed her, ducking beneath the sash, trying to maneuver myself and my skirts and a sleepy Sara.
“Here. Give her to me.”
Derry stood just inside the window, and I felt the same little rush I always felt when I saw him. I wondered just how long he’d been standing there. He plucked Sara from my arms, then offered his hand to me. I shook my head and climbed in myself—the last thing I wanted right now was for him to touch me.
“That was a good story you told, lass,” Bridget said from the table. She barely looked up from her sewing. “Made the time pass a mite faster. Thank you.”
“Why did Grainne marry Finn after Diarmid died?” Molly asked.
I glanced at Derry. He was carefully putting Sara on the bench. I quickly looked away again, but I felt the way he listened, and I tried to pretend the story I’d been telling had been about some stranger, not the boy who stood before me. “She might have had no choice, but I believe she loved Diarmid until she died. It’s romantic, don’t you think?”
Derry snorted.
“You don’t think the story romantic?” I asked, as casually as I could.
“I don’t know the story,” he said bluntly. “Not the one you told anyway.”
Molly said, “But everyone knows ’bout Diarmid and Grainne.”
“I know the names, that’s all.” He strode past me, into the other room, without a glance or another word.
I looked at Bridget, who shrugged and turned again to her sewing. “He stood there and listened. Him and Miles both, until he sent the lad away. Molly, go on out and see if you can’t find another cabbage.”
The little girl nodded and flew out the door as I stood there uncertainly. I should have told another story. About the hero Cuchulain, perhaps, or the Children of Lir, but that tale was so sad, and . . . well, why shouldn’t I have told my favorite of them? He’d been outside. It had never occurred to me that he might hear. It wasn’t my fault he’d decided to listen.
Bridget said, “Let the lad stew. Somethin’s got to him, but ’tis best just to ignore ’em when they’re like this. Come on over, child, and talk to me awhile.”
Miles was gone. Derry was in the other room. I could tell Bridget I was going for a walk and just slip out. It was a tempting thought, but I knew I’d no sooner be down those stairs than Derry would be after me. And then he would probably chain me to the wall—if I managed to elude the sidhe.
The fairies had changed everything, and I needed to be smart, so I sat at the table and talked idly with Bridget and told myself I didn’t care about whatever was bothering Derry. Why should I, when he was keeping me against my will?
By the time Molly came back with half a browning cabbage, the day was gone and the men who rented Bridget’s floor space began to return, straggling in a few at a time, most haggard and dirty. It was only then that Derry came into the room again. He said hardly a word. He sat at the end of the table, concentrating on spinning a dagger between his fingers.
When Molly served up cups of the cabbage, I took my own, but Derry pushed his away. “Give my share to Joe.”
The tension between us felt taut as a wire. My stomach was in knots as I ate my soup, and even though everyone in the room was talking, and the children were running around like wild things, Derry’s silence was so heavy I felt suffocated by it.
Bridget suggested, “Why don’t the two of you get out for a spell? Take a walk while it’s cool. You been crowded with kids long enough. A couple in love should be alone once in a while.”
I bit my tongue to keep from making
a snide comment.
Derry’s head jerked up. “A walk?”
“Aye. You could go out by the river.”
He glanced at me and I recognized the watchful, waiting expression from my dream. I remembered waking with the need to touch him. And even though I told myself again that it was only the spell compelling me, I was afraid. It would be a bad idea to be alone with him tonight.
I rose. It was dusk outside, a breeze easing in through the open window for the first time all day. “I think I’ll go lie down.”
“A headache?” Derry asked.
“Just tired. Good night, Bridget.”
I prayed he wouldn’t follow, at least not right away. I stepped through the men arranging themselves on the floor. Some read newspapers by candlelight, others were smoking, no one sleeping yet. I felt their glances as I went to the darkened alcove and sat to take off my boots. I rolled down my stockings, feeling trapped and desperate again. Time was passing. One more day slipping away.
He blocked what light came from the candles beyond. I looked up. Derry stood before me, his hands braced on either side of the alcove.
“Are you all right?” he asked me.
“No,” I said bitterly. “I want to go home. Or I want to find the archdruid. You promised to help me and today was just . . . just wasted. I only have until Samhain, Derry, or have you forgotten?”
“No.” He squatted down. “I’ve been thinking of the best way to go about it.”
“Deirdre said she would tell me whatever she knew.”
“Which means nothing. She might not know anything. And she wanted something in return.”
“But what if she does know something?”
“She doesn’t. ’Tis a trick. They’re good at that, you know.”
“I can’t just ignore the possibility. I want to search her out again.”
“It’s too risky—”
“You promised to help me. This is the only way.”
“I’ll go alone. I’ll talk to them and—”