"Tiarna Mac Ard," Coelin sputtered. "He… he sent word that I should come here, said that you needed someone familiar, that I could help him help you. ." He stopped. His hands lifted toward Jenna, then went to his sides. "Jenna, I didn’t mean. ."
She wanted to kill him. She wanted to hear Coelin scream in agony as the lightnings tore him apart.
She wanted him to feel the pain and hurt that was coursing through her now. Her hand trembled around Lamh Shabhala but she held back the energy that wanted to surge outward. "Did you marry her?" she asked.
A nod. "Aye. When Tara realized that Ellia was with child, she came to me. What else was I to do, Jenna? At that time, I thought you were dead, and your mam and Tiarna Mac Ard, too."
"Do you tell Ellia you love her, too? Did you come to her after you’d been with me and snuggle down alongside her and give her the same words you give me?"
"Jenna-"
She spat at his feet. "I never want to see you again," she told him. "If I do, I swear to you that I’ll use Lamh Shabhala to strike you down. Stand before me again, and I will leave Ellia a widow and your child fatherless. Go, Coelin. Go and find some way to tell Ellia about this. Maybe she’ll keep you; maybe she’ll even find the love in her to forgive you." She lifted her chin, her eyes narrowing. "But I won’t," she told him. "I never will, and I am your enemy from this moment. Do you understand me, Coelin?"
He nodded, mute. He looked as if he were about to speak again, but Jenna tightened her fist around the cloch, and-wide-eyed-he turned and fled, walking then running back the way he’d come. Her breath fast and painful in her chest, Jenna relaxed her grip
on Lamh Shabhala, and the stone's brilliance faded.
The street around them was empty and silent except for the ragged sound of her breath. "Come," she told the maids. "It's time we returned to the keep." They started down the lane toward where the carriage waited. As they walked, a man stepped out from between two houses and stood in the narrow street, barring their way. One of the chambermaids screamed at the sudden confrontation, but the man ignored her. One arm was in a sling, and he no longer seemed quite as dangerous. He looked at Jenna.
"Now you know," he said. "I'm sorry, Jenna."
"You could have told me, O'Deoradhain. Or did you get a perverse pleasure out of knowing I'd be humiliated?"
His head moved slowly in denial. "I took no pleasure in it, Holder. I would have preferred to tell you myself, but you wouldn't have believed me," he answered. "You know that, if you look inside."
She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of a response. Her head was pounding, her arm ached, and there was a fury inside burning to be unleashed. "Fine. Now get out of my way. I'm going back to the keep."
"Holder. ." He held out his hands, as if in supplication. "This isn't the way. You're angry, and you have reason to be. But you don't know the cloch well enough yet. There are too many people there, too many to confront."
Jenna coughed a single, bitter chuckle. "I thought you told me to go back and use the cloch."
"Not the way you're thinking of using it right now." He gestured to the tower of the keep, which could be seen rising above the rooftops. "I wanted you to know that the Riocha up there can't be trusted, that's all. I wanted you to use the cloch to see the truth in them."
"And you can teach me how to do that."
Aye." He said it firmly. "1 can. Come with me. Come with me now."
Her pulse pounded against the sides of her skull like a hammer; her arm seemed to be sculpted from ice. She couldn't think. She needed to get home.
Needed to get anduilleaf. Needed to think. Needed to find a way to vent this rage before it consumed her entirely.
Get out of my way, O’Deoradhain." Jenna started walking toward him.
She intended to push him out of the way, not caring about his size or the knife at his belt, ready to blast him dead with the cloch if she needed to do so. But as she reached him, he stood aside and let her pass, the two maids scrambling quickly after her.
"Holder, this is madness!" he called after her. "Please don’t do this. Jenna, I can be your ally in this if you’ll let me."
She didn’t answer.
Chapter 27: Bridges Burned
HER fury had gone cold and flintlike before the carriage reached the keep. Through the headache, through the agony in her hand and arm, the events of the last few months kept roiling in her mind and she could make no sense of it. They were all trying to use her; they were all lying to her: the Ri Gabair, the Tainise Rig, Mac Ard, the Connachtans, Tiarna Aheron, even O’Deoradhain by his own admission.
They all had their agendas. She could understand that, yet it left unan-swered the question of who was actively trying to kill her. Why would Mac Ard try to assassinate her and at the same time send Coelin to her? In any case, he could have taken the cloch easily before she knew what she possessed. What would the Tanaise Rig gain by her death when he believed he could have Lamh Shabhala for his use by marrying her? Would Ri Gabair be willing to risk the enmity of the Ri Ard and those of the other tuatha by killing her?
I’d take the stone from you if you gave it to me, aye. If you’d died the other day in my room, I’d have taken it then, too. In that, certainly, O’Deoradhain was no different. Mac Ard might not strike against her, but Jenna had no doubt that her mam’s lover would race to pluck Lamh Shabhala from her neck if she fell. Or the Ri or the Tanaise Rig or Aheron or any of the tiarna.
Yet both assassination attempts required that someone know the keep, that they know the details of the society behind the massive walls, that they know Jenna's movements. Who had known her and the keep that well? Who would have had the connections and the money to hire an assassin, to buy the loyalty of the gardai?
Jenna's next breath was a gasp as the carriage wheels struck the cobbled surface of Deer Creek Bridge. A suspicion started to grow, one that left her feeling breathless and sick. By the time Jenna stepped down at the High Gates with an admonition to her chambermaids (that she knew would be useless) to say nothing about what they had witnessed, she had already made a decision. And after you've been there and returned to the keep, use the cloch, O'Deoradhain had told her.
She would do that, then. She would do exactly that.
She hurried to her rooms.
"Jenna, what's the mat-" her mam asked as she rushed into the apart-ment, but Jenna hurried to her bedroom and slammed the door shut. She locked it, then went to the door leading to the servants' hall and locked that one as well.
Her mam knocked and called, but Jenna ignored her. She set water to boiling for the anduilleaf and dug under the clothes in her chest until she found the torc of Sinna. She placed it around her neck and let Lamh Shabhala open…
. . and there Sinna was again, the old woman with the plait of gray hair, dressed in her leine and cloca, the fireplace blazing with a remem-bered fire, the walls of the room overlaid with its older structure. Sinna turned as if surprised and Jenna opened her mind to her, letting her see what Jenna wished her to see. "Ah, Jenna," Sinna said, her voice quavering with age, "so I've met you before." A sad smile. "But of course I don't remember. I'm just a ghost."
"I need your help," Jenna told the old woman.
"Of course you do. Isn't that why we Holders always call back our predecessors? The dead can't rest when the living desire an answer." She sighed. "But your time will come, when your spirit won't be allowed its peace, either. How can I help you, Jenna First Holder?"
"I have been told that Lamh Shabhala can see the truth in someone. Can that be done?"
Sinna's gray head nodded. "Aye. With Lamh Shabhala that's possible, though not with the other clochs na thintri. If you know how to listen through the cloch, you can hear truth, though a person who holds another cloch can still hide truth from you. It's better if you learn to trust your own judgments. There are all sorts of truths, and not all of them are worth knowing."
"Show me."
Sinna smiled sadly. "Listen to me first. Sometim
es it’s not good to see the truth, Jenna. I can see anger and hurt and confusion in you already Your thinking is clouded by that and by the potions you’re taking. Jenna, sometimes you will find that you’d rather not know all the things that could be revealed to you." She gave a mocking, self-deprecating laugh. "1 discovered that, too late." "Show me," Jenna insisted.
"And what do you do when you discover the truth, Jenna?" "If you want peace, if you want me to let you rest, you’ll show me." Another nod, accompanied by a sigh. "All right, then," she said. "This
is how I was taught to truth-see…"
"Banrion!"
Cianna turned as Jenna strode through the door to her chamber, two of the Banrion’s attendants skittering nervously alongside her. Cianna waved the maids away. "Jenna," she said soothingly. "I’m glad to see you. There are rumors simply darting through the keep right now."
Jenna ignored that. The anduilleaf made her want to sleep and the walls around her seemed slightly hazy, as if she walked in a mist. Her hand closed around the cloch, the sleeve of her leine falling down to show the scars of her arm. She forced herself to focus. "I need to ask you this, Banrion-do you know who sent the first assassin?" she asked. "Do you know who told Labras that he was to kill me?"
Cianna coughed. Her eyes widened as if she were shocked by the ques-tions, and her gaze was on Jenna’s hand. "Of course not, Jenna. If I’d discovered that, I would have told you."
The words sounded sincere and almost sad. But even through the anduilleaf fog, Jenna could hear the broken, hidden tones, the umber notes that Sinna had shown her to be the signature of a lie. Jenna struggled to control her own face, to keep her voice calm even though she wanted to cry out her anger. She hadn’t wanted her suspicions confirmed; she’d continued to hope that the certainty that had
settled in the pit of her stomach since she'd spoken with O'Deoradhain was a sham-for if it was not, then she could no longer trust her own judgment. "Why would you ask, Jenna?" the Banrion continued. "You know that I would keep nothing like that from you. Who have you been talking with that filled your head with such notions?"
Jenna shrugged. Focus… "I overheard a most distressing conversation between two tiarna, and one of them was insisting that you were the one who hired the assassin."
Jenna watched the Banrion's face carefully as she gave her the fabrication. Cianna's face took on an expression of shocked disbelief. Her hand went to the torc around her neck and she coughed in quick spasms. "Surely you don't believe that, Jenna," she gasped. "I would never have. . No, my dear, that's simply not true."
Yet it was. Jenna could hear it. She knew it.
It was Cianna who would kill her to hold Lamh Shabhala.
"Who are these tiarna? I will have them brought here this instant to answer to me," Cianna fumed. She rose from her chair, steadying herself as another coughing fit took her.
"No, you won't," Jenna told her.
For a moment, Cianna glared at Jenna. "You cannot take that tone with me-" she began, then seemed to catch herself. She smiled. "Jenna, I can see that you're upset. Let me call for some refreshments…" She lifted her hand, reaching for the bell rope near her chair.
"No," Jenna said again as she took Lamh Shabhala in her hand, allow-ing more of its energy to surge forth. Cianna started to cry out in alarm, but Jenna squeezed her right hand around the cloch, imagining the cloch's energy closing itself around Cianna's throat at the same time. The Banrion gave a choking gasp, her hands going to her neck as if to tear away invisi-ble fingers. Her face went dark red, her mouth opened as she tried to draw in air.
"There can be no more lies between us, Banrion," Jenna told her. "Lamh Shabhala can hear the truth, and I know who sent* the first assassin-when you knew that I would be in my room, when you thought I might be weak or distracted by trying to
speak with the ghost of Sinna. After that attempt failed, after you came so close to being discovered, you were too frightened to try again until I stupidly played right into your hands by asking for your gardai. I can imagine you thought that incredibly convenient-kill me, kill O’Deoradhain, then blame my death on him while Labras brings you back your prize before anyone else has the chance to claim it. I can’t believe that I was so naive as to believe you afterward."
Cianna’s face had gone purple. Through the anger and the haze of anduilleaf, Jenna realized that the woman was near unconsciousness and death. She relaxed her grip on the stone, and Cianna took a deep, rattling gasp of a breath. "Why did you want the cloch so badly, Banrion?" Jenna asked. "What made it so valuable to you that it was worth my life? Answer me, and I might let you live."
"Kill me," Cianna managed to grate out, her voice a harsh croak. "Go ahead. You’re no better than any of the rest of them. I’ve heard them, all along. ’Poor Cianna. Such a weak, pathetic creature. She’s given the Ri all she could, and now she’s useless. It’s a shame she doesn’t die, so he could _ marry again.’ And you-do you think I couldn’t see the pity and disgust in your face? ’Poor Cianna. .’ Well, with the cloch, no one would be saying that."
"I never-" Jenna began.
"You want more of this truth, Holder?" Cianna spat out, interrupting. "Well here’s more: The Ri and Damhlaic Gairbith have planned more than just the defense of Gabair. When the Connachtans attack, the Ri will take you with him, let you use the cloch, then-when you’re weak and hurt and exhausted and the cloch is empty of power-you will be unfor-tunately ’killed in the battle.’ You’ll receive all the plaudits and honors you desire, but you’ll be dead and the Ri will be wearing Lamh Shabhala.
You see, he’s no different than me. And as to Nevan
O Liathain, do you really think the Tanaise Rig would have an interest in someone as common and plain as you if you weren’t the Holder? Do you honestly believe he doesn’t have his own plans to take Lamh Shabhala from you? You’re a stupid, common child, and you don’t deserve what you possess."
The rage was flooding Jenna’s mind, a foaming, wild flood that swept away reason before it. She shouted back at Cianna, a wordless, guttural scream lost in the din of the fury. She lifted the cloch on its chain, her hand a trembling fist, and Cianna began a cry that suddenly choked into silence. Jenna's fist tightened. There was a sense of unreality to her action, as if it were someone else moving her hand, and it was not only Cianna's image that she choked-she imagined doing the same to Coelin, Mac Ard, the Ri Gabair, and the Tanaise Rig and Tiarna Aheron and everyone who stared at her and whispered against her.
But they were not here. Cianna was.
Jenna felt something break inside the woman. A bloody froth bubbled on the Banrion's lips and she fell as Jenna turned away, stalking out of the room. The maids shrank back against the wall as the doors slammed against their stops with Jenna's thrust, and she strode across the anteroom and out into the corridors of the Keep.
Behind her there was a scream and a cry of alarm.
Jenna paid it no attention. She stalked through the wing toward her own rooms, pushing open the doors. "Jenna!" Maeve called as she en-tered. "What's happened?"
Silent, Jenna pushed past her into her bedroom. She grabbed the pouch of anduilleaf, placed the torc of Sinna Mac Ard around her neck. She pulled her traveling pack from its shelf, and stuffed some clothing in it.
She put on her old coat, the one she'd worn in Ballintubber. She turned to leave.
Her mam was standing in the doorway, one hand at her swelling belly, the other on the thick, polished wood of the doorframe. There were tears in her eyes. "Jenna, talk to me," she said. "Darling, you look so. ." She stopped.
"Get out of my way, Mam," Jenna said. "I'm leaving."
"You can't."
"I have to. I just murdered the Banrion."
Maeve gave a cry that was half-sob. She swayed, the hand on the door-frame going to her chest and Jenna pushed past her. As she started across the parlor, the door opened and Mac Ard entered, his dark face grim. He saw Jenna and his hand went to
his sword. For a m
oment, Jenna blinked, seeing him.
"Don't do it," Jenna told him. It sounded like someone else's voice. "Show me a hint of steel, and I'll kill you where you stand, even if you are the father of my mam's child."
"Jenna," he said. "Listen to yourself. Look at yourself. If Lamh Shabhala or the anduilleaf has driven you mad-"
"Then you'll gladly take the cloch," Jenna finished for him. "So kind of you, Tiarna. Why don't you tell my mam all of your kindness, like the way you arranged for Coelin to come here to be my lover when you knew he was married to Ellia and she was with child. Tell her about that. Now move out of the way."
"I can't let you go, Jenna. I can't. I love you as my own daughter, but I also have my duty and my word."
"Move!" Jenna shouted at the man. The word tore at her vocal cords, a shriek.
"I can't," Mac Ard repeated.
Jenna screamed again. Her vision had gone dim, a red haze over every-thing, and she could see only what stood in front of her: Mac Ard. She lifted Lamh Shabhala, and it flared in her hand as her mam shouted be-hind her. Lightning crackled, wrapping around Mac Ard and lifting him. Jenna gestured and the man was flung across the room, his body slam-ming against the wall. He collapsed with a groan. Maeve ran to him, crouching down alongside him and cradling his head in her lap. He was moaning as blood poured from a cut along his forehead. Maeve wept, tears sliding down her face. "Jenna! Stop this. . Please, darling, you must!"
Jenna spoke with a strange calmness in the midst of the red fury. "I can't stop it, Mam. I can't. It's too late for that. I'm sorry. ." She tore her gaze away from Maeve, went to the door, and left the room.
She could hear footsteps pounding up the stairs. She sent lightning crack-down the long hall toward the sound and flames sprang up where bright fingers touched. She ran the other way, to the back stairs the keep's help used. She ran down winding stone steps, scattering the few servants who were on them, and emerged into the courtyard. A tiarna was
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