I might as well line my pockets with your foolishness."
Jenna felt the words like a slap, her cheeks reddening. "All I have to do is whisper to the Ri or Banrion, and they will have you in irons before the evening bells ring."
Du Val snorted and tossed the pouch of anduilleaf into the air and caught it again. "And if you do that, what happens when this is gone?" He gave her a lopsided leer. His glance went to Coelin. "I notice that you don't have your usual escort with you, only someone who makes his living singing for coppers and ale. Seems to me that you're being careful not to let anyone know you've come to see me, so I think I'm fairly safe from your threats, Holder."
’Jenna," Coelin said behind her. "Let’s just leave. This man is a thief. I’ve seen the type of people who come in here."
No," Jenna answered. She turned back to du Val. "Fine, I’ll give you the five morceints, but you’ll also tell me something in return. There was
a man who came from this shop just before we arrived. What did he want?"
Du Val sniffed. "I’m not in the habit of talking about my customers," he answered. "I’d also think that’s something you’d be pleased to hear, Holder."
"His name is Ennis O’Deoradhain."
Du Val’s lips pursed and he waggled his head. "So you do know him. Interesting."
"Why was he here?" When du Val didn’t answer, Jenna’s hand went to the cloch, with du Val’s black gaze watching the movement. "The man’s a danger to me, du Val. I’ll do what I need to do to protect myself, even if means killing someone."
Du Val blinked, then cleared his throat and spat on the floor. "Brave words, Holder. I love the way you lift your chin and look down at me when you say that. It’s so haughty and practiced-you’ve obviously been watching the Riocha around you. I also believe that’s another bluff. I don’t think you’re capable of striking a man down without provocation. Not yet, anyway. Tell me, Holder, how did it feel, when you killed the as-sassin?"
"I didn’t kill him. He killed-" Jenna stopped. "How did you know that?"
"I hear the things that run through the underbelly of this city. That’s one of the reasons people come to me."
"Like O’Deoradhain."
Du Val just stared at her.
"He sent the assassin, didn’t he?"
The dwarf shook his head, like a parent disappointed in a child. "Holder, you have no concept of who your real enemies are. Or your real friends. That makes me wonder if you will be holding Lamh Shabhala for much longer." He held out his left hand palm up and waggled his fingers. "Four morceints," he said. "I’m giving you a
discount for not talking about O'Deoradhain."
Jenna untied a pouch from under her cloca and counted out the coins into du Val's hand. He gave her the pouch of anduilleaf, but held onto it for a moment as her fingers closed around it. "Holder," he said, his voice gravelly and low. "Please. You can't continue this. The leaf will consume you. It will change you. It's already begun."
Jenna snatched the bag away. "I won't be back," she told du Val. "If I need to, I'll find another source."
"You'll need to," du Val said somberly.
As they left the shop, Coelin stroked her hair and she stopped, leaning against him. "Coelin. ." she whispered. She lifted her face to him, unable to stop the tears now that she was outside. She wasn't sure why she was crying: fear, or du Val's harsh words, or simply the confusion that whirled in her mind. Coelin's thumb gently blotted the tears, and he kissed her eyelids, then her mouth.
"What's the matter, Jenna?" "Everything," she answered. "And nothing."
"Is it this O'Deoradhain? Are you scared of what he might do?"
She nodded. It was as good an answer as any.
"Then I'll find him," Coelin said. "I have my sources, too. If he's down here in Low Town, I can uncover him. I'll find out where he lives, find out what he's asking. And you can send the Ri's gardai after him." He smiled down at her. "See?" he said. "You do have friends you can trust." He kissed her once more, his hand moving across the mound of her breast, and she felt herself yearn for more. "Come with me now, Jenna," he whispered. "Let me love you."
"I want to, Coelin. I want to so much."
"But. .?"
She opened her mind to the cloch, feeling the city around her with its power: her gardai were moving through the square, searching for her. One was close by, moving toward Cat's Alley. "I've been away too long already. I have to go back."
"Ah." The word held a bitterness in its tone. He
"Coelin, it's not that," she protested. "I do want you. I miss you every day."
"Then when, Jenna? When will we be together?"
"When you come to sing next. Afterward. I'll make arrangements."
He smiled at her and kissed her again. She pulled him close, not want-ing to let go yet forcing herself to push him away. She nodded toward the far end of the lane. "They're coming for me now," she said.
"Go that way."
"Jenna. ."
"Hush," she said. "Don't say anymore. Go. Find O'Deoradhain for me. We'll be together soon. I promise."
He took a step backward, still looking at her, then turned. She watched him go, then turned herself and walked toward Low Town Market Square.
Chapter 22: Proposals
THE mage-lights came that night and Jenna caught their power, crying out in mingled longing and agony. Afterward, the anduilleaf dulled only the worst of the pain, and, following a troubled sleep, she took it again early in the morning. The arm was still throbbing, a steady pulsing mirrored by a nauseous headache as she and Aoife moved toward her apartment from the common room, where she'd breakfasted with the Ban-rion.
"Holder, if you have a moment. .?"
Nevan O Liathain called to Jenna as she passed the door of his apart-ments. She stopped, closing her eyes before glancing inside as a wave of pain swept over her: the Ri Ard's son was standing near the fireplace. Rich, dark hangings adorned the walls, gleaming with bright colors; a woven carpet softened the varnished wood of the floor; the tables and chair were carved and expensive, unlike anything she’d seen in the keep. She suspected that most of the furnishings had traveled with O Liathain from Dun Laoghaire. O Liathain looked as rich and as handsome as his surroundings, his raven-black hair oiled, those strange, light blue eyes regarding her.
Jenna saw no way to politely decline. She nodded to Aoife and went to the doorway. "Good morning, Tanaise Rig. Of what service can I be to you?"
O Liathain glanced significantly at Aoife, and Jenna waved to the ser-vant. "Wait in the hall for me," she said. "I won’t be but a few minutes." She hoped that was true; she didn’t know how much longer she could hear the headache, and she longed for another cup of the leaf. Aoife curtsied and continued down the hall; Jenna took a step inside the apartment.
"The door, please, Holder," O Liathain said. "Too many ears and eyes " Jenna pulled the door to, and O Liathain took a few steps toward her stopping an arm’s reach away. He moved with the ease of a dancer or a well-trained fighter. "This is most improper, I know," he said. "Yet I would speak with you privately, without curious ears listening." Another step She could see his lips twist upward in a momentary smile. "I would like to suggest something to you that would be to our mutual advantage."
"And what would that be, Tanaise Rig?"
Another vanishing smile, gone like frost under a spring’s sun. "I will forgo delicacy here, Holder," he answered. "Let me be blunt. It’s come to my attention that your mam is carrying Tiarna Mac Ard’s child. No, you needn’t protest or try to deny it-we both know it’s true. I also know that for the moment Padraic is unlikely to legitimize the child or his relation-ship with your mam. Yet if he did so, if he took your mam to wife, and acknowledged you as his own daughter as well. . well, then that would make you a Riocha, wouldn’t it?"
Jenna sniffed. "I am evidently not quite so awed by that possibility as you, Tanaise Rig. While I would like to see the Tiarna Mac Ard acknowl-edge my mam and his child by her, if that
’s the case, I have no interest in being named his daughter."
A nod. An appraising, sidewise glance. "I believe you miss the implica-tions, Holder," he continued.
"If you are Riocha, then you are a peer to anyone here. And if, let us say, the Holder of Lamh Shabhala were to marry, especially someone with power himself, why, that would be an alliance to be reckoned with." O Liathain spread his hands wide.
"I hope I make my intentions clear enough for you."
He did. Jenna could feel a fist grasping her stomach and twisting as he watched her, and for a moment the edges of her vision went dark with the pounding in her temples and her right arm. She struggled to show nothing on her face. She lifted her hand to the cloch around her neck, and he stared at the patterns of scars on her flesh with a flat gaze. He wants the power you hold. He will take it any way he can, through marriage if he can. He will try this, but if it doesn't work, he will try another way. He may have already tried another way. Jenna knew what Cianna would tell her, that this was part of the game, and she must play the card as well and as long as she could. What she must not say was "no."
It would not be good Politics to have the heir to the Ri Ard's throne as an open enemy.
Holder?" he asked, tilting his head. The gold-threaded patterns on his gray cloca shimmered as he took another step toward her. His hand reached out and took hers. He looked at Lamh Shabhala, cupped in her palm, the chain taut around her neck. "So small, this stone. And yet so many lust for it." His finger moved over the smooth surface, trapped in its silver cage, but his blue eyes held hers. "I understand that feeling."
He let the stone drop back to her chest. "Listen to me, Holder," he said. "I can apply enough pressure to Mac Ard to make him do as I say with your mam. I'm a reasonable person, Holder, and, I'm told, not unhand-some for a man of my age. I believe it is possible we could come to love each other in time, but if not. ." He shrugged. "I would not expect fidelity of you any more than you would expect it of me, and as long as tongues aren't wagging throughout the tuatha, I would not care who you see."
Jenna could feel that her eyes were wide, that she must be showing the sick fright she felt inside. O Liathain nodded, as if what he saw on her face was what he expected. "I don't ask for an answer now, Holder. But soon I must. I would have you remember that there are… other ways. You may have thwarted the first attempts, but others might come, more difficult to prevent. Or perhaps a more
efficient tactic would be not to attack you, but rather those you love."
"Tanaise Rig, are you threatening me?"
O Liathain put his hand to his throat in theatrical horror. His eyes widened almost comically. "Me? Certainly not." Then his hand dropped, and his handsome face went serious. "I’m simply pointing out your vul-nerabilities to you, Holder. And offering you a solution to effectively ne-gate them. Think about my offer." The fleeting smile returned. "I leave to return to Dun Laoghaire in three days. It would be best to have an answer by then, so I might speak to my da, the RI Ard. I assume you know not to speak of this to anyone."
He brushed past her then, going to the door. His hand closed around the brass handle. "You’ll be at the fete the RI and Banrion are giving for me in two nights?"
Jenna nodded, silent.
"I will look forward to seeing you then, and perhaps speaking privately at that time." He swung the door open, and gestured toward the corridor. "Have a good morning, Holder."
She managed to hold her stomach in check until she and Aoife had turned down the corridor toward her apartment.
Jenna spoke to no one, though the encounter with
O Liathain troubled her all day and most of the next. She remained in her rooms, letting Aoife bring her meals with the excuse that she was too tired and in too much pain to dine with others. Cianna sent word that she would like to see her at dinner that night, and Jenna told Aoife to let the Banrion know that she would be there.
She could not hide forever, and perhaps Cianna would be a confidante. Her mam had already gone down to the common room with Mac Ard when the bells rang the sunset and Jenna left her room, Aoife accompany-ing her as she had her own duties in the kitchen. They were nearing the stairs when she heard her name called.
"Holder!"
"Tanaise Rig." She gave him a perfunctory curtsy; Aoife dropping nearly to the floor with hers, as was proper. O Liathain was accompanied by a tiarna
she'd seen at the table, well down from her. His cloca was a somber gray, the color of Dun Laoghaire, and he remained back as O Liathain approached her.
"Are you on your way to supper? Good. We will walk with you, then." o Liathain extended his arm to her; Jenna hesitated, but there seemed no graceful way to refuse. She placed her left hand in the crook of his elbow, and he smiled at her. "Come then," he said.
They walked on, the other tiarna and Aoife a few paces behind.
"Have you thought of what we spoke about yesterday?" he asked.
"Truthfully, I've thought of little else."
"Has an answer come to you?"
"No, Tanaise Rig. Not as yet."
His lips pursed, pushing out from the chiseled, perfect lines of his face. "Ah, I suppose that's what I would say in your place. But, as I said, I expect to hear from you before I leave Lar Bhaile to return home."
His face inclined toward her, he smiled, but the gesture never touched the rest of his face. The eyes were as cold as the waves of the Ice Sea as they approached the stairs leading down to the hall. "I…
I shall have an answer-"
A cry-"Stop!" — and an answering wail cut off her words. O Liathain pushed Jenna to one side of the corridor and with the same motion, drew the sword girded at his side. Jenna moved back again, trying to see past the man and reaching instinctively for Lamh Shabhala. Her awareness went streaming out with the cloch's energy, and she felt someone die: a spark guttering out in the web.
"Aoife!" Jenna cried. She pushed past O Liathain's sheltering body and stopped. "No. ."
Aoife lay sprawled on the flags of the corridor, bright blood streaming from a gash torn in her side. Her eyes were wide, her mouth open in her dying wail. O Liathain's tiarna was standing over her, his short blade held back at the end of the killing stroke, the honed edges dripping thick blood. "What have you done, Baird?" O Liathain roared at the
man, his sword now pointing at his companion. Jenna could hear footsteps pound-ing up the stairs toward them, shouts of alarm, and the ringing of un-sheathed metal.
Baird lowered his sword. "She intended to attack the Holder," he said. A booted foot prodded Aoife’s limp arm. "Look-the dagger’s still in her hand. She started to rush at your backs; I called, then I cut her down before she could reach you."
"No!" Jenna cried again. She went to Aoife, sinking down on her knees beside the body. She looked at Baird in fury, her right hand tight around the cloch, and the man backed away from her, his eyes widening in fear.
"Holder, no! I swear-"
"Jenna!" Mac Ard’s voice snapped her head around. Padraic was stand-ing, sword in hand, at the top of the stairs. Half a dozen other people crowded the landing behind him, Jenna’s mam among them. Mac Ard pushed through them and came up to Jenna. "Do nothing with the cloch," he said to her. "Not here."
Jenna pointed at Baird. "He killed Aoife," she shouted. "How dare you tell me to do nothing!"
Baird dropped his sword; the blade clanged discor-dantly on the stones.
"Tiarna Mac Ard," the man wailed, "Don’t let her kill me."
O Liathain stepped forward. He had sheathed his own sword, and went to Mac Ard, placing a hand on the smaller man’s shoulder. "Baird did as he had to," he said. "The girl tried to kill the Holder, and perhaps me as well."
"That’s not true!" Jenna shouted. "Aoife wouldn’t do that!"
"See for yourself, Tiarna," O Liathain told Mac Ard. "My man is blame-less in this."
Mac Ard gave O Liathain a dark look, then stepped forward and went to one knee alongside Jenna. She was trembling, he
r hand quivering around the stone, and she could barely hold back the power, wanting to unleash it at someone, anyone. "Calm yourself, Jenna," Mac Ard whis-pered to her as he knelt. "We both need to be very careful here." He leaned over, taking the
dagger from Aoife's hand and turning it before his face. The blade was long, the leather-wrapped hilt ending in a knob of yellowed whalebone carved as a twisted knot. "This was made in Con-nachta," he said, loudly enough so everyone could hear. "I know the hilt design-it's one they use in the ironworks of Valleylair."
"Then our cousins in Tuath Connachta have much to answer for," O Liathain said. "I'll give this news to my father, and tell him how they threatened my life and the Holder's."
"No doubt the Rl Ard will send a strong letter scolding the Ri Connachta in Thiar," Mac Ard responded, getting to his feet. He put Aoife's dagger in his belt; O Liathain watched, but didn't ask for the weapon. His face remained somber, but Jenna saw his eyebrows lower as he stared at Mac Ard.
"The Ri Ard will do what is within his power," O Liathain said. "This was a cowardly act; we can't condone it."
"Indeed," Mac Ard answered. He held his hand out to Jenna, still kneel-ing alongside Aoife's body. Jenna ignored the offer. Instead, she reached out and closed Aoife's eyes, then got to her feet by herself. She strode to o Liathain and stood before him, staring into his face. He returned the stare placidly, unblinking.
"I'm going back to my rooms," Jenna said: to O Liathain, to Mac Ard, to her mam and the others watching. "If anyone follows me, I will use the cloch. I, too, can do what I need to do." She spun on her toes and stalked down the corridor away from the carnage.
Baird shrank away to the wall as she passed. Behind her, there was only silence.
The Banrion first sent her handmaiden, who was visibly trembling when Jenna opened the door, holding a mug of anduilleaf brew. "The Banrion asks permission to visit the Holder in her chambers," the woman said. Her eyes flicked upward once to Jenna's face; otherwise, her gaze remained fixed on the floor, as if fascinated by the parquet pattern there. Jenna sighed.
"When?" she asked. "My mistress waits just outside."
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