"You have to tell me everything," Maeve said, pulling him toward a chair near the fire. Jenna laughed softly, watching Coelin marvel at the surroundings. "Start with the day the Connachtans attacked. ."
Coelin told her, spinning the tale with his usual adroitness, and-Jenna suspected- a certain amount of dramatic license.". . so you can see," he finished, "I barely escaped with my life myself."
That may still be the case," a voice said from the doorway. Tiarna Mac Ard stood there, frowning at the trio gathered near the fire. His dark beard and mustache were frosted with ice, and the furs over his cloca were flecked with rapidly melting snow.
"Tiarna," Coelin began. "I’m-"
I know who you are," Mac Ard interrupted. "What I don’t know is why you’re here." He took off the furs, tossing them carelessly on a chair. As he did so, he grimaced-the wound he’d taken on the road to Ath Iseal hadn’t completely healed yet, and his right arm, Jenna knew, was still stiff and sore, its range of motion limited. He was dressed in riding leathers, and a short sword hung heavily from his belt. His left hand rested casually on the silver pommel of the hilt.
"I brought him here, Tiarna," Jenna said. "I happened to see him in the city, and we started talking, and I knew Mam would want to hear about Ballintubber, so. ." She stopped, her eyes widening. "Did I do wrong?"
"Aye," Mac Ard answered, though his voice sounded more sad than angry. "I'm afraid that you did, Jenna."
"The boy isn't to blame, Padraic," Maeve said. "Or Jenna. She only did what I would have done, had I seen him."
"That may be," Mac Ard answered. "The deed's done, in any case. What we do now depends." He stopped.
"Depends on what?" Jenna asked.
"On whether Coelin Singer knows how to keep his mouth shut about certain things." Mac Ard strode up to the boy. He stood in front of Coelin, staring at the young man's face. "For various reasons, we've been careful to make certain that it's not common knowledge in the city that a certain two people from Ballintubber are here, or to know the circumstances under which they left the village. If I suddenly start hearing those rumors, I'd know where to place the blame and how to deal with the source. Am I understood?"
Coelin's lighter eyes held the man's burning gaze, though he had to clear his throat to get his voice to work. "I can keep secrets, Tiarna. I know that certain songs should never be sung, or only in the right circum-stances."
Mac Ard took a long breath. He rubbed at his beard, melting ice falling away. "We'll see," he said. "It's a hellish evening out there," he added. "Cold, and full of sleet and snow. A fine end to the year.
But a song or two performed well might be welcomed at the Ri's dinner tonight. Are you prepared to sing for a Ri, Coelin?"
Coelin's face broke into a helpless grin. "Aye," he nearly shouted. "For the Ri? Truly?"
Mac Ard seemed to smile back. "Truly," he answered. "Though you'll need to look better than you do now. Where's that girl? Aoife!" he called, and a young woman came out from one of the doors, curtsying to Mac Ard.
"Tiarna?"
"Take this lad and get him proper clothes for the supper tonight with the Ri. He'll be singing for us.
Go on, then, Coelin, and practice until you’re called for."
Coelin grinned again. "Thank you, Tiarna," he said. His gaze strayed to lenna, and he winked once at her. She smiled back at him.
"You can repay me by keeping quiet," Mac Ard told him. "Because if you don’t, I will make certain you never talk to anyone else again. I trust that’s clear enough for you."
The grin had fallen from Coelin’s face like a leaf in an autumn wind. "Aye, Tiarna" he said to Mac Ard, and his voice was now somber. "It’s very clear."
"Good." Mac Ard glanced from Coelin, to Jenna, and back again. "I would not forget my place and my task, if I were you, Coelin Singer."
Coelin nodded. He left the room with Aoife, and did not look again at Jenna.
The Ri’s suppers were in the great Common Hall of the keep, a loud and noisy chamber with stone walls and a high, dim ceiling. A trestle table was set down the length of the hall. Torin Mallaghan, the Ri Gabair, sat with his wife Cianna, the Banrion, at the head of the table, jeweled torcs of beaten gold around both of their necks.
Arrayed down either side of the table before the royal couple were the Riocha in residence at the keep.
Not surprisingly, there was a delicate etiquette involved in the seating. Immediately to the Ri’s left was Nevan O Liathain, the first son of Kiernan o Liathain, the Ri Ard-the High King in Dun Laoghaire. Nevan’s title was "Tanaise Rig," Heir Apparent to the Ri Ard. He had come to Lar Bhaile at his father’s request, as soon as the rumors of the mage-lights had reached the Ri Ard’s ears.
Padraic Mac Ard sat at the Ri’s right hand next to Cianna, a sign of his current favor, and Maeve and Jenna were seated after him. There were Riocha from most of the tuatha present as well, and many of them wore prominent necklaces with stones that were reputedly cloch na thintri, though none of them knew for certain. Jenna knew, however. She could open her mind to the cloch she held, and see the web of connection from her cloch to theirs. A good number of the stones were simply pretty stones, and those who owned them would be
disappointed when the Filleadh came. But some. . some possessed true clochs na thintri. One of them was Mac Ard, even though the cloch he held was never visible.
Farther down, below the salt, were the ceili giallnai-the minor Riocha — then the Ri's clients and a few prominent freepersons of Lar Bhaile.
Jenna hated these suppers, and usually pleaded illness to avoid them.
She hated the false smiling conversations; hated the undercurrents and hidden messages that ran through every word; hated the way Ri Mal-laghan sat in his chair like a fat, contented toad contemplating a plate of flies before him; hated when his eyes, half-hidden in folds of pale flesh, regarded her with an appraising stare, as if she were a possession of his whose value was still in question. She wanted to dislike Cianna, the Ri's ailing wife, whose eyes were always hollow and sunken, ringed with dark flesh, but she couldn't, more out of pity than anything else. Cianna was as thin as the Ri Gabair was corpulent yet she wheezed constantly, as if the exertion of moving her frail body about was nearly too much for her. Cianna, unfortunately, seemed to have fastened on Jenna as a fellow suf-ferer and talked to her often, though she treated Jenna like an addled child, always explaining things to her in a breath scented with the mingled odors of cinammon and sickness. She leaned toward her now, bending in front of Mac Ard and Maeve, the torc around her neck swinging forward, glinting in the torchlight. Her dark, haunted eyes fastened on Jenna's. "How are you feeling today, dear? Did that healer I sent to you from Dubh Bhaile help you?"
"Aye, Highness," Jenna answered. "The arm feels a bit better today." Actually, Jenna had endured the man's prodding and poking, and had thrown away the potion he offered, taking instead some of the anduilleaf she'd bought that morning. She could feel it easing the pain in her arm.
Cianna looked pleased. "Good," she said. "He's certainly done much for me, though I still can feel the pain in my back."
Jenna nodded. The Banrion had gone through three new healers in the two months they'd been at the keep; each time the Banrion seemed to get a little better, but then she inevitably slumped back
into illness and the current healer was dismissed and another summoned. If her back was hurting now, this healer would be leaving before another fortnight. The Rl himself never seemed to notice-he'd perhaps seen too many healers already, and no longer inquired after his wife's health. She'd borne him a son and a daughter early in their marriage; both were away in fosterage- the son to Tuath Infochla, the daughter to Tuath Eoganacht. The Banrion Cianna had performed her duty and could keep her title. As to the rest. . well, the Rl had other lovers, as Jenna already knew from keep gossip. For that reason, she was careful when the Rl smiled at her-two of the Ri's current lovers were as young as Jenna.
The Tanaise Rig, Nevan O Liathain, h
ad evidently been listening to Cianna's conversation with Jenna. He looked across to her as the servants set the meat trays on the table. "Perhaps the pain will lessen when the other clochs are opened, Holder," he said. "Or perhaps there is another way to use the mage-lights that wouldn't cause a Holder so much.
agony." Jenna could hear the words underneath what he said: Perhaps you are too stupid and too common to be the First. Perhaps someone of the right background would be better able to use it… O Liathain smiled; he was handsome, with hair black as Seancoim's crow Denmark, and eyes of glacial blue. Thirty, with a body hardened by training and an easy grace, his wife dead two years now leaving him still childless, he turned the heads of most of the available women in the keep, even without the added attraction of his title. He knew it, also, and smiled back at them indul-gently.
But not at Jenna. Not at Maeve. Jenna had overheard him talking to the Ri one night, a few days after his arrival. "Why do you keep them?" he asked the Ri, laughing. "Listen to them. Their accents betray their commonness, and their manners are, well, nonexistent. 1 can't believe Mac Ard would be consort-ing with that stupid cow mother of the Holder-if I were going to take one of them to my bed, as disgusting a thought as that is, I would have chosen the girl, who's at least trainable. Better to have left them back scrabbling in the dirt, which is all they're suited for. One of us should take the cloch from this Jenna now, before she truly learns to control it, and be done with the charade… "
She hadn't heard the Ri's answer. She'd slipped away, steeling herself to fight for the possession of
the cloch that night if she had to, trying to stay awake lest the Ri’s gardai enter her bedroom, but eventually exhaus-tion claimed her and she drifted off to sleep, awakening the next morning with a start. But the cloch was still with her, and the Ri Gabair, if anything, seemed almost conciliatory toward her when she saw him later that morning.
She smiled at O Liathain now across the table, but her smile was as artificial and false as his own. "Each cloch tells its Holder the way to best use it, as the Tanaise Rig might learn one day should he actually have a cloch of his own." Her smile widened on its own; O Liathain wore what he thought was a cloch na thintri around his neck; while it was certainly an expensive jewel worthy of a Ri, it pleased Jenna to know that it was simply that, not a cloch na thintri.
O Liathain frowned and fingered the polished facets of his stone on its heavy gilded chain. He looked as if he were about to retort, but the Ri guffawed at the exchange. "You see, Nevan," he said to O Liathain. "The Holder is more than she appears to be. She has an edge on her tongue."
"Indeed, she does," O Liathain replied. He inclined his head to her. ’My pardon." There was a distinct pause before the next word. "Holder," he finished.
Mac Ard speared a piece of mutton with his knife and set it on his plate. "The Tanaise Rig is gracious with his apology," he said, but Jenna and everyone else who heard it knew the tone of his voice and the hard stare he gave O Liathain added another thing entirely: and it was necessary if you didn’t want me to take offense. Maeve touched Mac Ard’s arm and smiled at him. Mac Ard, at least, seemed protective of them, though Jenna noted that while he might spend the night with Maeve, he also hadn’t offered to legitimize the relationship.
Mac Ard was playing his own game. They were all playing their own games. She had already learned that words and actions here were carefully considered, and often held more than one meaning. Jenna was already weary of ferreting out those meanings, especially since she seemed to be the prize at the end of the contest. She wanted straightforward talk again, the easy conversations she’d had back in Ballintubber with her mam or Aldwoman Pearce or the other villagers, words that were simply gentle and kind speech.
Mac Ard smiled at O Liathain; O Liathain smiled
back. Neither one of them meant the gesture. Jenna would have made an excuse, as she often did, that her arm troubled her and she needed to retire. But Maeve leaned toward her. "Patience," she whispered. "Coelin will be singing in a few minutes."
Jenna brightened at that. She endured the barbed conversations around her until the doors at the end of the hall opened and Coelin walked through with his giotar. Mac Ard cleared his throat and leaned toward the Banrion and Ri. "I heard this young man in the village where the mage-lights first appeared, and he recently came to the city. He trained with the Songmaster Curragh, who came here now and again, if you remember. He really has an extraordinary voice, Highnesses. I thought you would enjoy hearing him."
'Well, then, let's hear him," the Ri said. He gestured to Coelin, and pointed. "Stand there, and give us this voice of yours."
Coelin bowed low, his eyes catching Jenna's as he did so. "Is there a song your Highnesses would like to hear?" he asked. "A story that Song-master Curragh used to sing, perhaps?"
The Ri seemed amused by that. "Are you saying your voice is the equal of your Songmaster's, young man?"
Coelin shook his head but the charming grin remained on his face. "Oh, no, my Ri. Songmaster Curragh always said my voice was the better."
There was a moment of silence before the Ri laughed, the rest of the table following his lead a moment later. "He seems to have a healthy ego, at least, Padraic. I suppose that's good. But we'll be the judge of his talent. Give me The Lay of Rowan Beirne, young man."
Mac Ard sniffed, as if the choice surprised him, and Jenna glanced at him curiously. Coelin strummed a chord on his giotar, his eyes regarding the ceiling of the hall as if the words to the song were written there. "A fine choice, Ri Mallaghan. Songmaster Curragh taught me that one, not long before he died. Let me think a moment, and bring back the verses Aye…" Coelin's gaze came back down and he nodded his head to the Ri. "I have it now," he said. His gaze caught Jenna's again, and he winked. He began to sing.
On the cusp of summer Rowan came forth
Bright armor on his chest, around his neck the stone
He saw the army on Sliabh Bacaghorth,
The banners of the Inish waving as Rowan stood alone. .
"Have you heard this song before?" Cianna whispered, leaning toward Jenna. Jenna shook her head.
"I don’t believe so, Banrion," she answered. She wanted to add. . and 1 still won’t have heard it, if you talk to me, but held her tongue.
Cianna glanced at Mac Ard, next to her. "He knows it," she said. "Don’t you, Padraic?"
"I do, Banrion," Mac Ard answered, his voice gruff and low.
"And do you enjoy it?"
"I think ’enjoy’ is too strong a word, Banrion. I find it… illuminating. And an interesting choice for the Ri."
"Indeed." Cianna leaned back then. Jenna puzzled over the exchange for a moment, but then Coelin’s rich voice drew her back, and she re-turned her attention to him, smiling as she watched him perform.
Jenna had indeed heard portions of the tale once or twice, though greatly altered and changed in the retellings. She had heard folktales of the hero Rowan, who had a magic stone-though she hadn’t realized until now that the stone was supposedly the one she held now, or that Rowan was anything other than a mythological figure. What Coelin sang now, though, gave the full background of the tales, and it was a history Jenna had never suspected. Rowan Beirne had been a Holder of Lamh Shabhala more than five centuries before, and the last Holder from Talamh an Ghlas. From the opening stanza on the eve of Rowan’s last day of life, the lay moved backward in time to the hero’s youth, to his first triumphs on the field of battle, to the unsurprising extolling of his skill with the sword and his prowess in battle, and to his consolidation of the smaller tuatha that were numerous around Tuath Infochla at the time.
But that wasn't what startled Jenna. Early in the lay, the verses gave the lineage of Rowan, and it was then that Jenna sat back in her chair, stunned, no longer even hearing Coelin's voice. Rowan's mam was a woman named Bryth, and she held Lamh Shabhala before Rowan. Bryth's surname, before she married Tiarna Anrai Beirne of Tuath Infochla, was Mac Ard.
A Mac Ard once
held Lamh Shabhala. . Jenna barely heard the rest of the song: how Rowan foolishly allowed himself to be drawn north out of Falcarragh to a supposed parley with the Inishlanders, where he was ambushed and murdered by assassins in the employ of the Inish cloud-mage Garad Mhullien; and how Lamh Shabhala was taken from Rowan's body and brought to Inish Thuaidh. She barely reacted when Coelin fin-ished the song to the applause of the table, or when the Ri handed Coelin a small sack of coins and told him to return again four nights hence to entertain his guests at the Solstice Feast.
She sat clutching at the stone on its chain around her neck. She couldn't look at Mac Ard, and she fled the table as soon as she could make an excuse.
Chapter 18: Secrets
"WHY didn't you tell us that your ancestors once held the cloch, Padraic? I don't understand…"
Maeve's voice trembled, and Jenna could tell that her mam was on the verge of tears. Mac Ard, standing near the fireplace of their chambers, made as if to move toward her, but she lifted her head and he stopped with a shrug.
"Maeve, would you have trusted me if I had?" he answered. "Or would you have thought that I'd come only to take it from Jenna?" He glanced at Jenna, seated next to her mam and still clutching the stone.
"I don't know what I would have thought," Maeve answered. "Because you never gave us the chance to know. Why would you have come at all, if you didn't want the stone?"
"I did want it," Mac Ard answered. "I won’t deny that. Had I found the cloch on that damned hilltop, aye, I would have kept it for myself. I wanted to be the Holder of Lamh Shabhala. I thought. ." He took a breath and let it out in a nasal snort. "When I saw the mage-lights-here, so close to me-I thought that it was a sign that it was my destiny to bring the cloch back to my family. But Jenna already had it, though I didn’t know it. And when I did. ." He raised his hands, let them fall. "If you remember, I did hold it once, after Jenna killed the riders, and I gave it back. Maeve, have I done anything, anything, to make you feel threatened, or to cause you to feel that I’m a threat to your daughter?"
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