Jenna nodded. "The Banrion gave me the news."
"Did she also tell you that the RI no doubt hopes for Lamh Shabhala to be part of that battle, if it comes to that, that he would love to see the lightnings of your cloch smash the enemy and send them fleeing for their lives back to the Westering Sea? No, you needn’t answer; I can see by your face that she didn’t. I can also see that the thought appalls you."
"I won’t be used that way," she said. "As a weapon. To kill."
O Liathain vented a quick, unamused laugh.
"Since we’re being blunt, then let me say that you have no choice," he told her. "Lamh Shabhala is a weapon. It has always been a weapon. If you don’t wield it in war against the enemies of those who protect you or if you’re unwilling to protect yourself with its power, then someone will take it from you, someone who is willing to use it. I don’t say that as a threat or to attempt to frighten you, Jenna. I say that simply because it’s the bare truth, and if you don’t accept it as such, your life will be a short one."
"I don’t-" Jenna started to protest, then closed her mouth. It is true. You know it. The blood is already on your hands, and there will be more.
She could feel twin tears course down her face. O Liathain made no move to comfort her. He watched, fingers prowling in his dark, gray-spattered beard.
"Here is what we will do," O Liathain said. "We will go back into the hall, together, with you on my arm. You will stay on my arm for a time and
everyone will notice. Let them talk. That's exactly what we want. We will also go to the Ri and the Banrion, and we will tell them of our plans. That way, my-let's deem it an 'investment'-in you is protected by their knowledge, and they will understand that you must be kept safe or the Ri Ard and I will be most upset."
Jenna sniffed, rubbing angrily at her eyes. "And Mac Ard and my mam?"
"Mac Ard will notice the two of us together; he will see us chatting with the Ri and Banrion. He will know what that means; when I speak with him later, I guarantee he won't be surprised." O Liathain reached down and picked up his boots, pulling them over his stockings. He rose his chair and extended his hand to Jenna. "Let us make our en-trance," he said.
Jenna licked dry lips and rubbed again at her eyes. She lifted her left hand to O Liathain and he shook his head. "No, it should be the hand of power I hold," he said. "That, I think, will send the message best."
His own hand felt cool and smooth under the stiff, unyielding flesh of her right hand. He placed her fingers on his forearm, on the soft fabric of his leine.
With her hand on O Liathain's arm, they left the room and went into the hall again.
He kept her with him for a candle's stripe.
O Liathain was correct: they were noticed. Jenna could see the eyes on them, the heads that turned to nearby companions for quick, whispered comments. The Ri and Banrion accepted the news with nods and smiles and Cianna nodded once to Jenna when the Ri and the Tanaise Rig were engaged in conversation. Her mam saw, too. Maeve was shadowing Mac Ard, never on the tiarna's arm since their arrival but always near him. She lifted her hand and seemed to smile, but O Liathain moved then and Jenna had no chance to speak with her.
Coelin sang, and O Liathain moved to stand directly in front of the young man, his hand gently covering Jenna's. Coelin faltered once, seeing them, and for the rest of his performance his gaze always skittered past her, sliding over her face with an uncertain smile. When Coelin finished and left the hall to applause, O Liathain and Jenna moved from group to group for a time, until Jenna pressed O Liathain’s arm.
"Tired, Holder?"
"Aye. Exhausted. And my arm… I need to retire for a bit."
Certainly," O Liathain said. "These events are wearisome, aren’t they? But I need to remain for a while longer. Baird will escort you back to your apartment."
I don’t need. ." Jenna began. "That will be fine," she finished.
Baird left her at the door to her rooms, bowing to her as she left him.
A girl no older than herself came scurrying out from the servants’ quarters as she closed the door: Aoife’s replacement, whose name Jenna didn’t now yet. She was plain, her hair dull and close-cropped, and yet her eyes glittered with intelligence.
"Mistress, let me help you. ."
Jenna waved her away. She’ll be someone’s spy.
"I don’t want help."
’But, Mistress, I’m-"
"Go now," Jenna answered sharply. "Leave me." The girl’s eyes wid-ened, then she made a hurried curtsy and fled the room. Jenna heard her voice whispering to the other servants as she closed the door behind her. Jenna went through the outer parlor to her bedroom. There, she removed the cloca the Banrion had lent her. She went to the chest at the foot of her bed and rummaged beneath the clothing there until she felt the packet of anduilleaf. She set a pot of water to boil over the fire and prepared some of the powdered leaf in a mug. She was sipping the pungent liquid when she heard the scrape of a footstep at the door. She whirled around, nearly spilling the potion, her right hand going instinctively to the cloch.
"Coelin. ."
He smiled at her. "I thought you were about to strike me dead with that damned stone."
"How did you get in here?"
He grinned. "I have my ways. Do you want me to leave?"
"By the Mother, no," she answered. She set the mug down and went to him, her arms going around him and her face lifting for his kiss. The embrace was long and urgent, and she pulled him to the bed, enjoying the feel of his hands on her body and the heat of his response. He pulled away from her once, looking down at her with a question in his eyes, and she nodded to him. "Aye," she whispered.
Then they said nothing at all for a time.
Afterward, Jenna drew her leine over herself. There was blood between her thighs and on the bedsheets. She rolled away from him and took the cup of cold anduilleaf, sipping it as she sat on the side of the bed.
It was supposed to be different. While they were together in the few minutes of passion, she had lost herself and forgot everything to simply be with him, but when it was over. . The insistent throbbing of her arm, the dead coldness of the scarred flesh called her back, and suddenly the anduilleaf was more important than being with Coelin. She sought solace in the sour milkiness of the brew, not with the man to whom she'd just given herself. She felt dead inside when she should have been feeling joy and release.
Did you do this because you wanted Coelin that much, or just so o Liathain couldn't be the first? She wanted to cry, but there were no tears inside her.
She felt Coelin move behind her, and his hand trailed from her head down her spine. She shivered and his arms went around her, cupping her breasts. She let herself lean back against him. "Are those the herbs you bought from du Val?" he asked. He kissed the side of her neck. "That potion smells awful."
"And tastes worse. But it helps."
"Mmm." He nuzzled the other side of her neck.
His fingers started to drift lower, and she stopped them. "Jenna. ."
"Hush," she told him. "It was wonderful. It was what I wanted."
She could feel his smile. "I thought, when I saw you with the Tanaise Rig tonight… "
"I was doing what I had to do, Coelin. Nothing else. There’s no love there. There never will be." That, at least, was only the truth. She turned her head, kissing him softly; Coelin grinned at her, then returned the kiss more passionately. When he tried to lay her down again, she shook her head. "No, not now, Coelin. My mam and Mac Ard will be returning soon, and I’m… sore. Later. There will be time. But for now, you’d better go." She stopped, looked into his green, soft eyes, and for a moment felt a surge of the old affection. "My love."
"My love," he answered, and kissed her again. With a sigh, he left the bed. "I nearly forgot," he said as he drew his tunic back over his head. "That man-Ennis O’Deoradhain. I found him. I know where he’s living."
Jenna sat up, her eyes narrowing as remembered anger made her jaw clenc
h. If he sent the assassin, then he is also ultimately responsible for Aoife’s death. . "Where?" she asked.
"On Cooper Street. He has a room in a widow’s house. Her name is Murrin. I’ve seen him a couple times now. Do you want me to do some-thing with him? There are people I know in Low Town…"
"No," Jenna answered. "I will take care of O’Deoradhain myself."
Coelin’s head went back at the ferocity of her words. "You’re certain? He could be dangerous, and I-"
"I will take care of the man," Jenna said decisively. "Don’t worry about him."
Coelin nodded reluctantly. "I should go, then," he said. He looked uncertain, an odd, strained smile on his lips, and he shifted his weight from one leg to the other, as if he wanted to say more. "I’ve been asked to play for the Ri again, next week. And the Tanaise Rig said he would talk to his father about me."
The mention of O Liathain’s title brought the coldness back, and Jenna reached for the mug of brew, taking a long swallow and grimacing. "That’s… good," she told Coelin. "When you come here again, we’ll make plans."
He nodded. Turned.
Coelin," she said. She could not keep the desperation from her voice. Tell me that you love
He smiled, looking back over his shoulder. "I love you, Jenna. I always have."
And he left.
Chapter 24: The Traitor
THE Banrion seemed concerned when Jenna came to her requesting half a dozen trusted gardai, but to her credit, Cianna did not ask Jenna why but only nodded in agreement. "Certainly, Holder. Let me call for Labras; he's a good man, and he can choose five others… "
Jenna lifted her hand. "No, Banrion. Not today. After the Tanaise Rig leaves. Tomorrow morning. I need to go into Low Town then."
"Ah," Cianna had said. Just the one sound, then silence. "I'll make arrangements for them to be at Keep Gate at first bell tomorrow, then."
The Banrion started to move away, as if in dismissal, but Jenna cleared her throat. "Banrion, I would like to tell you why. It needs to be a secret between the two of us, though. You're the only person who has given me help, unasked for. Now I would ask it."
Cianna smiled softly. "Jenna, I will know anyway, whether you tell me now or not. The gardai will inform me where you take them, and why. The ones I would send with you aren't as blindly stupid as those you've borrowed before from my husband or Mac Ard. They won't let the Holder roam unaccompanied through Low Town, no matter what she says."
Jenna laughed with the Banrion. "I know. And that's why I came to you."
She told the Banrion about O'Deoradhain, how he had lied to them about himself on their way to Ath Iseal, how he had reacted during the attack by the Connachtans, that she'd glimpsed him in Low Town (though she said nothing about du Val), and how she now suspected the man had been responsible for the assassin.
Gianna’s face was grim when Jenna finished. "Tell me where this man and I will have him fetched here for you," she said. "There’s no need for you to expose yourself to danger, Jenna-and the Tanaise Rig will be upset if you are injured while you remain with us."
Jenna shook her head. "Banrion, I will have Lamh Shabhala to protect me Your gardai will be there only as a precaution. I want to do this myself- I want to see his face and hear his voice."
"Jenna-"
"Please, Banrion. I don’t know any longer who I can trust. I can only trust myself."
Jenna saw Cianna gather herself for another argument, but the Banrion finally dropped her shoulders. She coughed softly a few times, rising from her chair. Servants appeared as if summoned by the rustling of fabric, and the Banrion waved them away. "Come, then," she said. "We should give our farewell to your future husband, and pretend that none of us is plot-ting anything."
"I need four to stay out here and make certain that no one leaves until I’m finished." Jenna gestured to Labras, a tall, burly man with hair so red it almost seemed to burn and eyes as gray as storm clouds. She wasn’t sure she liked the man at all; he seemed to radiate violence, and the abundant scars on his face spoke to his familiarity with it. Yet if the Banrion trusted him… or maybe her reaction to him was only the haze of the anduilleaf. She’d taken two mugs of the brew before they’d left the Keep, knowing she might well be using the cloch, and the herb was like a fog over her mind that wouldn’t quite clear. "Labras, bring someone with you and follow me."
She touched Lamh Shabhala once as the three of them strode toward the door of the small, two-story house. She could feel O’Deoradhain, could feel the pattern of his energy motionless on the second floor. She could sense no fear or apprehension in him.
She decided that would soon change.
An elderly woman came scurrying from the kitchen as they opened the door, stopping suddenly and gaping with an open, toothless mouth at Jenna and the armed men behind her. There were two elderly men in the front parlor, huddled over a
ficheall board and staring with frightened yes at the intruders: Labras with a drawn sword, his companion holding a nocked and ready crossbow. "You have nothing to fear if you stay where you are," Jenna told them. "Widow Murrin, you have a man here named Ennis O'Deoradhain."
"First door to the left at the top of the stairs," the woman said hurriedly pointing, then hopping back as Jenna and the gardai pushed past her and up the stairs. Jenna heard the click of a door shutting as she reached the landing; in the expanded awareness of the cloch, she could feel O'Deoradhain's presence: still and quiet, even though she knew he must have heard the commotion below, the pounding of feet on the stairs and the jingling of the mail over the gardai's tunics. She could sense no danger in him, though, as she had with the assassin. He seemed to be waiting, calm. She started toward the door, but Labras shook his head. "He may have a bow or sword, ready to strike the first person through," he whis-pered. "Let me go in first." He seemed almost eager to do so.
"You needn't worry," Jenna said firmly. "He has a dagger, and it is in its sheath."
"How-?" Labras began, then saw her white-patterned hand touch the stone around her neck. An eyebrow interrupted by the pale line of a scar lifted and fell again. "So he has a dagger. You can see with that?"
"Aye," she told him. She pushed the door open. O'Deoradhain was leaning against a table on the far side of the room, arms folded across his chest.
"I was wondering how long it would take you to find me," he said. His gaze went past Jenna to the two gardai crowding the doorway. "You don't need them."
"No?" Jenna answered. "Strange. I expected you to be running like a frightened rabbit again, as you did the last time I saw you."
"If I were a 'frightened rabbit,' I wouldn't have come to Lar Bhaile at all," O'Deoradhain responded easily. "I wouldn't have made certain you saw me at du Val's. I wouldn't have made it so easy for that handsome, stupid boy with the golden throat to track me down."
His remark caused anger to flare in Jenna. She
grasped Lamh Shabhala, opening it slightly with her mind so that the cold, blue-white power filled her hand. "You knew where I was," she spat. "If you wanted to speak to me, you didn’t need this charade."
O’Deoradhain snorted. He took a step toward her, his hands down at his sides. She saw the well-worn leather of the scabbard there, and heard the gardai shift uneasily behind her. But the man stopped two strides from her. "Oh, aye. I could have walked right up to the gate-and Mac Ard would have had me killed immediately, or the RI Gabair would have bound me in irons to be tortured until I gave them the answers they wanted, or the Tanaise Rig might have had me dragged behind his carriage as he left for Dun Laoghaire, just for the pleasure it would give him. But I could never have gotten to you, Jenna Aoire. They might call me their enemy and be right, but I’m not your enemy."
Aye That’s why you sent the assassin, she wanted to tell him, mockingly. But she saw him through the eyes of Lamh Shabhala, not just her own, and though she could sense that he desired the power she held, there was no malice in him toward her, only jealousy and envy and sadness. The cert
ainty in her failed. "Who’s your master, then?" she asked. "Who sends you? The RI Connachta?"
He laughed and glanced at the gardai. He gestured at Labras with his chin his hands not moving. "I would rather not talk here. In front of them."
"You’ll talk here, or you’ll talk back at the keep. I’ll ask you again, and I’ll know the truth of what you say: are you with Tuath Connachta?"
Again, a laugh. "I gave you the truth when we met. I’m of Inish blood. As to who sent me… I’m a Brathair of the Order of Inishfeirm and the Moister there gave me this task."
Despite herself, Jenna found her interest suddenly piqued at the men-tion of Inishfeirm and the Order. She remembered her da Mall’s tale, and her great-mam’s and great-da’s escape from that island. "And what task was that?"
"To bring you back to Inishfeirm so you could be taught the ways of the cloudmage."
Jenna bristled. The anduilleaf rang in her ears, Lamh Shabhala pulsed in her grasp. "What makes
you think that I need your instruc-" In the fog of the anduilleaf, she nearly missed it: a sudden sense of danger, of attack-not from the man in front of her, but from behind. .
"Jenna!" O'Deoradhain shouted at the same time. He flung himself for-ward as Jenna turned to look.
She caught a glimpse of Labras, no longer holding a sword but with a long dagger in his hand, his gray eyes not on O'Deoradhain but on Jenna and the dagger already beginning to make a sweeping cut that would have found her neck. O'Deoradhain hit Jenna in that same instant; as she fell she glimpsed O'Deoradhain parrying Labras' attack with his own weapon, the clash of blade against blade loud. Then she saw nothing as she struck the floor with a grunt and a cry, trying to roll away. As she tumbled, she heard a shout and a horrible, wet strangling sound: Jenna, on her knees, saw Labras fall, a new, second mouth on his neck gaping wide and frothing blood. The crossbow twanged, the bolt hissing, and O'Deoradhain staggered backward. The remaining gardai tossed the now useless crossbow aside and drew his sword. He moved-toward Jenna, not the wounded O'Deoradhain.
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