Tell the Banrion that I'm only a guest here and
these are after all her rooms, not mine. She may come in if she wishes."
Jenna drained the mug of its bitter contents; the handmaiden curtsied and fled. A few moments later, the door opened again and Cianna entered in a rustle of her ornate, silken cloca, her torc gleaming golden around her neck. As Jenna watched, she took a seat near the fire. She said nothing, only watched Jenna as she paced back and forth across the rug.
He had her killed," Jenna said at last. "He didn’t care that he was killing a person. She was just… an illustration to me of what he could do- A warning."
Cianna continued to sit quietly. Jenna plopped into the chair across from the Banrion, not caring about the lack of etiquette. Cianna raised an eyebrow, but otherwise didn’t move. "I don’t know what to do now," Jenna said.
"We are talking about the Tanaise Rig?" Cianna asked, stirring finally. Jenna nodded. "I thought so. He departs in a few more days, and he grows impatient. Do you know why he leaves?"
Now it was Jenna who sat silent. She moved her head slowly from side to side, trying to keep back the headache that threatened to engulf her, starting to feel the brew send its welcome warmth through her body.
"Tuath Connachta is gathering an army on its borders," she said. "They have demanded erratic-blood payment-for the death of Fiacra De Derga. Padraic tells me you may not remember that name, but he was the tiarna you killed in Ballintubber when the power of Lamh Shabhala first came to you. The erratic is the excuse for their aggression, and my husband has already sent back word that they may wait for their payment forever. Of course, what they really want is you. ." Cianna stopped. She seemed to sigh. "Or more precisely, what you hold. We may be at war very soon, and the Ri Ard doesn’t want his son and heir caught up in that collision. The Ri Ard knows he must stay above feuds between the tuatha if he wants to remain on his throne."
"The Tanaise Rig wants me to marry him," Jenna said.
Cianna held her hands out to the low flames of the peat fire, rubbing them softly together. She didn’t look at Jenna. "Does that surprise you? If I were
Tanaise Rig, I would have made that suggestion to you, too-just as soon as I had decided that it was too dangerous to take the stone from you myself."
"He threatened to do this. He hinted that to make me accept the offer he'd attack the people I loved. Aoife was to let me know that he meant it. That wasn't her dagger-I'm sure of that. That man probably handed it to her, then immediately killed her. I wasn't watching; she was behind me, both of them were." Jenna couldn't speak. The tears choked her throat and blurred her vision, the headache threatened to overwhelm her. If Cianna had opened her arms then, if the Banrion had called to her, Jenna would have sunk into her embrace like a child searching for the comfort of her mam. But the Banrion only watched, wheezing slightly as she breathed and hugging herself as if cold.
"You could do much worse than the Tanaise Rig," Cianna said. "I told you before, marriage is a weapon. Now I'll tell you that once it's in your hands, you'll find the edge can cut for you as well as O Liathain."
That brought Jenna's head up and dried the tears. "You can't be se-rious."
"I am. Very much so.
"He killed Aoife."
"You killed Mac Ard's cousin De Derga and those with him. You killed two Connachtans more near Ath Iseal, I was told. And there was the assassin."
"All of that was different," Jenna protested. "With De Derga, I literally didn't know what I was doing. And the men near Ath Iseal-that was pure self-defense. They would have killed us had I not acted. The assassin was suicide; I was only trying to capture him."
"So he could be tortured and tell us what he knew, and then be killed." Cianna gave Jenna a wan smile. "I blame you for none of that, Jenna. You did what you felt was necessary, and you didn't worry that you were killing someone's son or brother or father or friend. That's as it should be, to protect yourself. But I would argue that's also what the Tanaise Rig did, if he was responsible for Aoife's death."
"I didn't threaten the Tanaise Rig. He wasn't in danger from me."
"The Tanaise Rig, the Ri Ard, as well as Ri Gabair or Ri Connachta or most of the Riocha for that matter, always feel threatened by a perceived stronger power. That’s what you represent with Lamh Shabhala around your neck. If you aren’t their ally, then you’re their enemy. That’s the way they see the world, in cold black and white. You are on their side or you are against them. There is no middle ground." Cianna lifted a finger against Jenna’s burgeoning protest. "And your saying that it’s not so doesn’t change that perception. I know that’s not your vision of the world. It’s not mine, either. But it is theirs."
"I don’t love him. I never could."
"What does love have to do with marriage? Do you think I love my husband?" Cianna gave a bitter, short laugh that ended in a barking cough. For a moment, she spasmed, leaning over as a series of coughs racked her body. Then she sat up again, wiping her mouth with a lace handkerchief, blotting away the blood on her lips. "Or that he loves me?" she finished. "It is enough that the two of you work together, with what he can do as Tanaise Rig and eventually Ri Ard, and you with Lamh Shabhala."
’To do what?" Jenna asked.
Whatever you can." Cianna closed her eyes, as if in pain. When they opened again, she smiled at Jenna. "You can’t say ’no’ to him. Not yet. But if it’s not what you want, you can also delay, and see what tomorrow brings."
Jenna pounced on that, like a drowning person grabbing a stick ex-tended from the bank. "How? How can I delay?"
"The Tanaise Rig must leave, but you can tell him that you are in too much pain to travel-that much at least is close to the truth, and he knows it. You can tell him that once Lamh Shabhala has opened the way for the other clochs to feed on the mage-lights and you no longer have that burden on you, then you’ll come to him in Dun Laoghaire and be his wife. Until then, you will stay here under Ri Gabair’s protection. That’s a reasonable compromise, and he won’t be able to refuse it." Her shoulders lifted under her cloca. "And who knows what might happen in that time."
Relief flooded into Jenna, the tension slowly receding. She went to the Banrion and knelt before her chair, taking the woman's hand in hers. "Thank you, Banrion. You are a friend where I did not expect to find one."
Cianna's face gentled, and with her free hand, she stroked Jenna's hair. "I'm pleased you feel that way," she said. "It's what I would want."
Chapter 23: Answers
JENNA was escorted to the fete by Mac Ard and her mam. As Maeve walked down the stairs, her cloca moved against her body, and Jenna could see the slight swell of her abdomen. She wondered if others saw it as well; she wondered most if Mac Ard had noticed, and what his thoughts might be.
The Banrion had sent Jenna one of her own cloca to wear, trimmed in gold thread and in the colors of Tuath Gabair. The cloca left her arms bare to the elbow, and Jenna had not let her mam bandage the right arm. "Let them see it," she'd told her. "Let them see what Lamh Shabhala does to its Holder." The stone itself she also let show, bright against the darker cloth. As a gem, it was plainer than any of the gems at the throats of the tiarna below, but its very plainness spoke of its power.
She'd taken a large draught of the anduilleaf before they left. The herb roiled in her stomach as they descended the staircase in the Great Hall toward the sound of pipes, bodhran, and flute, all eyes on them. Most of the Riocha were already there, the ceil giallnai in their finest, the higher-ranking Riocha already talking in polite circles, watching the stairway for the Ri and Banrion who would enter with O Liathain, their entrances as carefully choreographed as the seating arrangements.
Halfway down the stair and looking at the faces upturned to them, Jenna spotted Coelin, standing with his giotar near the other musicians at the end of the hall. He had a broad grin on his face, and she smiled back at him. Maeve noticed the exchange, for she saw her mam's focus shift for a moment and a brief frown cross h
er face. "Jenna," her mam whispered, leaning toward her. "Coelin has no importance here. Don't make a fool of yourself."
"You needn't worry. I'm not with child by him," Jenna answered. Her mam's hiss of hurt and irritation made Jenna immediately regret her words, but she made no apology. It's the pain talking, Mam, not me… They walked down the rest of the stairs in silence. They were immediately engulfed, several of the tiarna surrounding them, smiling and nodding. Jenna found herself torn away from her mam, who remained with Padraic as several of the unmarried women came up to him.
Tiarna Galen Aheron of Tuath Infochla, resplendent in his cloca of green and gold, with a leine of fine white cloth underneath, was suddenly next to her. He was a burly man, muscular now in his prime, but Jenna suspected that the burliness would turn to fat soon enough, leaving the tiarna huge and slow. She also remembered that Cianna had named him as one of those who coveted Lamh Shabhala himself. She could easily imagine those thick fingers drop-ping a purse of gold morceints into the palm of a paid assassin.
"Good evening, Holder," he said, his breath scented with mint. "A fine party for the Tanaise Rig, don’t you think? A shame he’ll be leaving. Have you ever given any thought of going to Dun Laoghaire yourself?" He asked the question with a slight incline of his head, and with enough emphasis that Jenna wondered if he might not know or at least suspect, what O Liathain had asked of her. If it hadn’t surprised the Banrion, then others of the Riocha would certainly have suspected it as well.
"I would like to see Dun Laoghaire sometime," she answered, trying to return the smile. "Perhaps I shall, one day."
"Soon, possibly? After all, I would think-" Aheron paused as the mu-sicians suddenly stopped playing and gave a loud, ornate flourish, his gaze going past Jenna’s shoulder and up. "Ah, here comes the guest of honor now…"
The Riocha gathered in the Great Hall turned as one, applauding po-litely. Jenna turned to see the Ri and Banrion at the top of the stair, with Cianna holding to both the Ri’s and O Liathain’s arms. O Liathain’s eyes caught Jenna’s for a moment; she looked down and away as Aheron glanced appraisingly at her. When the trio reached the foot of the stair, the Riocha closed around them, everyone talking at once. Jenna held back; she looked over her shoulder at the far end of the hall to where Coelin stood. He nodded to her. He seemed nervous and excited, his eyes wide, and she realized that he saw none of the underlying complexity-he was awed simply to be here. His naivete almost made her smile.
"Good evening to you, Holder."
Jenna turned back quickly. O Liathain was standing before her, a cadre of tiarna behind him.
He smiled at her, his gaze wandering past her for a
moment to where she'd just been looking. She lowered her head, but he stopped her automatic curtsy by picking up her right hand. He held it, looking at the pattern of scars mottling her skin.
"No bandages tonight," he said. "That's as it should be. A warrior should be proud of the scars of battle. There's no shame in them." He kissed her scarred hand. She tried to smile, feeling everyone watching, listening. "By the way, I was thinking of asking that young singer-the one from your village-to come to Dun Laoghaire and entertain us there. He has an excellent voice."
"Aye," Jenna answered, keeping her eyes downcast. "That he does."
"I wonder," O Liathain continued, "if you would have a moment to speak with me later this evening? More. . privately." Jenna looked up; his blue eyes pierced her, demanding.
"As the Tanaise Rig wishes, of course," she answered.
"Good." The corners of his mouth lifted. "I will look forward to that. In the meantime, I must speak to these good people I must leave behind tomorrow morning. Until later, then…" He kissed her hand once more, then released it, turning to the other Riocha. Jenna heard laughter, and O Liathain's rich voice starting another conversation. Someone spoke to her, and she smiled back politely, but she paid little attention to the words. She could feel the touch of O Liathain's lips on the back of her hand, and she was afraid to touch the stone around her neck.
The fete seemed interminable. Jenna wandered from conversation to con-versation, occasionally finding her mam, Mac Ard, or Banrion Cianna, but without a chance to speak with any of them. The musicians began playing again, and she was asked to dance by the Ri-a request she could not decline-then afterward by Tiarna Aheron. Coelin seemed to have van-ished; she could not find him in the crush of people. A stripe and a half later by the clock-candle near the stairs, the cold of the Great Hall was seeping into her bones despite the fires and the crowd and the dancing, and she could feel the old pain tingling in the fingertips and joints of her right hand. Jenna knew that she'd need to return to her room for more anduilleaf before the end, and she wondered how she could manage to leave without being noticed.
"Holder?"
Baird, O Liathain's man, was standing before her. Jenna could feel her face tightening as she glared at the man who had murdered Aoife. Her voice was frost and ice. "What do you want?"
"The Tanaise Rig asks if you would come with me. He said to remind you that you promised him an answer and that he awaits you in a side chamber to hear it."
Jenna’s stomach turned over and she could feel the acid burning in her throat. Baird had already turned to go. "This way, Holder. ." She fol-lowed him down a side aisle of the hall. He knocked on a door near the south end.
"Enter," a muffled, familiar voice answered. Baird opened the door and gestured to Jenna to go through, closing it behind her and remaining outside.
O Liathain was seated on a chair, his legs propped up on the stone flags of the fireplace, his boots off. He gestured to a chair next to him. "Please," he said. His voice was oddly gentle, almost tired. "It’s weary, standing and dancing all night, and I’m sure your feet are as sore as mine."
"Thank you, Tanaise Rig." Jenna settled into the chair, feeling the wel-come warmth of the fire wash over her. Neither of them spoke for several minutes. Jenna was content to have it that way, trying to think of what she might say to the man. When he finally did speak, his voice made her start.
"Have you reflected on our previous conversation?"
"I’ve thought of little else, Tanaise Rig," Jenna answered truthfully. "After all, you. . emphasized with Aoife just how important my answer was to you."
A look almost of pain played over his face in the firelight. "You are blunt, Holder. That can be an asset, if you use it in the right circum-stances. But at the wrong time. ." He let his voice trail off.
"And which is this-the right time or the wrong?"
He sat up in his chair, turning so that he faced her. "Here, we can speak openly, since there are just the two of us and my man holds the door."
"Aye. He seems to be a man who would kill someone if you ask him to do so, even if that person was entirely innocent of wrongdoing."
The right side of O Liathain’s mouth twitched as if with some inner amusement. "Innocent? Let me
speak frankly now, Holder. Did I order the girl killed? Aye, I did. Was the-well, shall we call it a lesson? — intended for you? Only partially. There was another who was even more distressed by the incident and it was mostly for that person's, ah, benefit, that I told Baird to do as he did. The girl was hardly innocent, Jenna. She may have been your servant, but she was doing the bidding of another. I happen to know that Aoife told that person's assassin where and when he could find you."
Jenna knew the shock of that statement showed on her face. "I don't. that. Aoife wouldn't have betrayed me that way." "It's true, nonetheless."
"Show me the proof. Tell me who this 'other person' is." O Liathain took a long, slow breath. He put his feet back on the hearth, slouching again in his chair. "I will. In time. When I know you and I are of one mind. Until then, you will have to trust me and trust my intentions. Did I order Aoife killed. Aye, I did. Did I do it only to demon-strate to you how far I would go to have you as my wife?" His lips pursed, his hands lifted palms up from his lap and fell again. "That was, I'll admit, a se
condary consideration. But only secondary. I had Aoife killed to tell those who would harm you that you are under my protection, to show them that I knew more than they believed and that Dun Laoghaire has long arms." He looked over to her, the blue eyes reflecting fire. "What is your answer to me, Holder? Aye, or nay?"
"I…" Jenna's throat convulsed. She remembered Cianna's advice; it was all she had. She could not look at him and say no-he would kill her mam or Coelin. "You made another promise to me-that Mac Ard would also marry my mam and make her Riocha."
O Liathain nodded. "That he will do, when I put pressure on him. The Tanaise Rig will not marry a commoner."
"Then your answer is aye," she said finally. "But Tanaise Rig, I can't go with you yet."
His burgeoning smile transformed to a frown, darkly. "Why not?" "You don't know how Lamh Shabhala hurts," she told him. The truth of that statement made it easier to say the lie she had been constructing for the last few days. "Lamh Shabhala will open the other clochs na thintri soon-no more than four or five appearances of the mage-lights from now. I need to stay here until that happens-I /eel that. Lamh Shabhala tells me this. The mage-lights would not follow me as far as Dun Laoghaire, and the cloch tells me to remain here, near the center of Talamh an Ghlas. I must stay here until Lamh Shabhala opens the other stones. When that happens, then I will come to you in Dun Laoghaire. I promise that it will be no more than a month from now, when you will be holding a cloch yourself."
He was fingering the stone around his own neck, the stone Jenna knew Was only a jewel, no more. "How do I know you tell the truth?" he scowled. "Once I’m gone, you may decide that it’s safe to change your mind." we are to be ’of one mind’ as you say, then you must learn to trust what I tell you also," Jenna answered. "And didn’t you just tell me that the arm of Dun Laoghaire is long?"
"Indeed it is." He said nothing for a time. The fire crackled and hissed in the fireplace, sending a column of whirling sparks upward. Jenna moved her right arm so that the fire’s radiance fell on the perpetually cold flesh, the welcome heat easing the growing discomfort somewhat. "Are you aware that Tuath Connachta is gathering an army and that they may attack Tuath Gabair?"
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