She suspected that Ennis would have understood, all too well.
Jenna stared at the Banrion, her face stricken, her head shaking from side to side not so much in denial as in confusion. Aithne gathered Jenna to her, hugging her close. "Go, and think about this," she whispered in Jenna's ear. "I'll keep Moister Cleurach away from you until tomorrow. Then come and give me your answer." Her lips brushed Jenna's hair. "In the end it must be your decision, Jenna," she said. "Not mine."
Chapter 56: Covenant
AN attendant, a younger man, opened the door for Jenna and Aithne and motioned them in.
The room was the same one in which she'd first met Tiarna MacEagan. The sun streamed through the stained glass window depicting the horror of Croc a Scroilm, sending bright hues shimmering on the walls. Mac-Eagan sat in one of the chairs near the fire, sipping an amber liquid in a cut-crystal goblet. Bantiarna Kianna Ciomhsog sat across from him. Jenna brushed her cloch with her finger and let it open slightly: MacEagan wore the Cloch Mor she remembered all too well from Glenn Aill and the attack during the Feast of First Fruits. Kianna, who had no cloch at all the last time they'd met, now had a clochmion, perhaps the one that had been MacEagan's.
MacEagan set down his glass and rose as Jenna and Aithne entered, going immediately to Jenna after a quick glance at the Banrion. She found herself searching his face, looking at his body. The crown of his head was but a few finger’s width higher than her own, and streaks of pale scalp showed through the dark strands at his temple.
Still, the lines around his eyes crinkled deep when he gave her a wry smile, and his eyes were kind and lingered easily on her face.
"Holder," he said. "This is awkward for both of us."
"Aye," Jenna answered, not allowing herself to respond to the smile-"Tis that."
"Banrion Aithne has told me about her, umm, proposal. I want you to know-it would be acceptable to me. It would, in fact, be good for me. And I hope for you as well."
Jenna lifted up a shoulder under her cloca. She remained silent and MacEagan looked again at Aithne. "I’ll leave the two of you to discuss this," the Banrion said. "Bantiarna Kianna, why don’t we walk and plan the defense of Dun Kill?" Kianna pushed herself from her chair; she and the Banrion linked arms and left. The attendant remained, gazing with a strange intensity at MacEagan, who nodded to him.
"You may go, too, Alby," he said. "I’ll call for you later."
"Tiarna-"
"Go on. Please." Alby bowed stiffly and left. The door closed loudly behind him. Jenna cocked her head toward MacEagan, raising an eye-brow. "Aye," the man said. "Alby is more to me than simply my squire. I tell you that so there won’t be any secrets between us. There can’t be, not if this is to work." He gestured toward one of the chairs and Jenna sat, watching as MacEagan seated himself across from her. The odd smile was still on his face, and he folded his hands quietly on his knee.
"I’ll never love you," Jenna said flatly.
He seemed to take no offense, his face unchanging. "Perhaps not. And certainly not love in the way you loved Ennis O’Deoradhain. I wouldn’t expect or want that of you. But I hope that you could come to like and respect me, at least. I think we can be friends, Holder Aoire, and I would say that I have love for my friends."
Another shrug. More silence. Finally, MacEagan rose and went to the window. He pushed open the stained glass panels, sending colors shifting across the room. He stood there limned in sunlight before turning back. "I know the Banrion has outlined what I can offer you, Holder, and I won't go over that again, only tell you that I would endeavor to be as a father to your child. I would offer your child everything I would offer a child of my own."
"And what is it you intend to gain from our. . arrangement?" Jenna asked him. "In your words, not the Banrion's."
He brought steepled hands up to his mouth, bowing his head for a moment in thought. "I get to use your reflected power," he answered finally. "Bluntly, that's what I receive. We know-Aithne, Bantiarna Ciomhsog, and I-that Ri MacBradaigh won't live much longer. When he dies, a tiarna of the Comhairle will be elected Ri in his place. A tiarna married to the Holder of Lamh Shabhala would be a powerful figure, don't you think? Maybe even enough to be more than a Shadow Ri-and we control enough votes in the Comhairle to guarantee the outcome. And you. . you would be Banrion and would take my place on the Comhairle."
"What of Banrion Aithne?"
"She would have her ancestral lands in Rubha na Scarbh to rule, especially daily now that her brother has proved to be a traitor. She would still h among the Comhairle, representing her townland, and the Comhairm is the real power in Inish Thuaidh, not the Rl. And she would also know secrets, which would ensure that her voice was adequately heard She loses nothing but a husband she doesn't love, like, or respect and a tit] she won't mourn."
"Because hers was a political marriage," Jenna spat. "Like the one we're discussing."
"Aithne went into her marriage knowing it would be no more than it is," MacEagan responded. "I have higher expectations."
"You shouldn't."
"But 1 do," he persisted. "Oh, not for physical love-neither one of us want that of the other. But I do admire you, Holder Aoire. Your youth, your background-there aren't many like you who could have gone through what you have and survived,
much less flourished. You're stronger than most believe, including, I think, yourself."
"I don't need false flattery, Tiarna MacEagan."
He went back to the chair, sat, and took the glass in his hand again, swirling the liquid before taking a small, appreciative sip. "I've said noth-ing false, Holder. And my given name is Kyle. I would be pleased to have you use it."
"I still haven't made a decision," Jenna answered. She paused, took a breath. "Tiarna," she finished.
MacEagan gave a sniff that might have been a chuckle. "How can I help you make that decision, then? Tell me what you need."
"There's nothing you can give me. It's something I have to feel. Back in Ballintubber. . My marriage would never have been arranged; I wasn't important enough for that. It's the poor who can most easily marry for love, and I always expected that, if I married, it would be that way. I expected that we would have little more than the land we worked, that it would be hard, but it would be all right because we would care for each other. This-" Jenna swept a hand through the air.
"You can still have love," MacEagan said. "I don't intend to keep you from that."
"But it would always have to be a secret love. You might know, and perhaps Aithne, but it would have to be hidden from everyone else.
"Aye," MacEagan responded. He blinked. "As mine is. Now." He too another sip of the whiskey and set the glass down once more. "I've already y given you my trust, Holder. I've already made myself vulnerable to you sA that you would feel safe. I can't force you into this marriage, and wouldn’t even if I could. But I do think it could be advantageous to us both. I will give you one other promise-if one day you find a love that you can't bear to keep hidden from the rest of the world, then I will go with you to the Draiodoir and sign the dissolution. All you have to do is ask."
"You say that now."
"I'll put it in writing, if you wish."
Jenna could feel her hands trembling. She placed her right hand over her left, trying to conceal the
nervousness. In the three days since the Banrion had made the suggestion back in Inishfeirm, she had agonized over this. The night the Banrion had come, she’d gone to the harbor and called Thraisha, but no matter how wide she cast the vision of Lamh Shabhala, she couldn’t find her. The Holders within the cloch na thintri had been useless, yammering contradictory advice. She had found Riata in the babble and spoken with him, but he had only sighed. "The Daoine way isn’t ours," he said, more than once, and didn’t seem to be able to comprehend the implications, so foreign to his culture. She’d called her da from the carving of the blue seal, and he had listened sympathetically, but in the end all he could tell her was to do what she thought b
est. She wished more than once that she could talk with her mam again-she wondered what Maeve’s advice might be, caught up as she was in the same snare-but her mam was with Mac Ard. She closed her eyes every night and called to Ennis’ spirit, trying to bring him to her to tell her what to do… but the only answer had been the wind and the steady, relentless sound of the surf against the rocks.
"You are the only one who can make the decision," Riata had said finally. "You are the one who has to live it."
"Write it, then," Jenna said. "And we will marry, Kyle MacEagan."
"Please leave us, Keira," MacEagan said to Jenna’s attendant. The young woman-no older than Jenna herself-lowered her gaze, curtsied quickly, and vanished, closing the door to the bedchamber behind her. MacEagan smiled at Jenna, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling her night robe tightly around her neck. He held a bottle of wine and two goblets.
"I thought I would come and say good night, Jenna," he said. He re-mained standing at the door. He nodded toward the polished wood be-hind him. "You can trust her. Keira’s been with me since she was twelve; she knows how to keep her mouth shut and eyes averted when they need to be. Or if you have someone else you feel you can trust more. .
?"
Jenna shook her head, mute. MacEagan-my husband, she thought. I Wonder if I will ever stop shivering when I hear that-continued to smile.
" ’Bantiarna Jenna MacEagan of Be an Mhuilinn,
Holder of Lamh Shabhala.' I imagine that will sound strange to you for a while."
"I think it may always sound strange," Jenna answered.
"If asked, Keira will swear that I spent our wedding night here in the chamber," MacEagan said. "But Alby has put together a room for me m across the hall. I thought. ." He lifted the wine and gold-rimmed goblets "We should at least share a drink together first. I would like that, if you're willing. It's been a long and tiring day for both of us."
That was certainly true enough. Banrion Aithne had given Jenna a cloca of finest white silk that had come all the way from Thall Mor-roinn. Jenna had let Keira and the other attendants dress her, feeling numb and some-how detached, as if she were watching this happen to someone else. The wedding had been in the Great Hall of Dun Kiil Keep; she entered the hall to find the Ri and Banrion, the entire Comhairle, Moister Cleurach and several of the Brathairs of the Order, and many of the minor Riocha of the city in attendance. The dripping of the stones punctuated the droning voice of the Draiodoir brought from the Mother-Creator's temple to con-duct the ceremony. Jenna stood next to MacEagan, not truly hearing the words, and when the Draiodoir handed her the traditional oaken branch to break, symbolizing her departure from her previous family, the dry crack of the stick had sounded impossibly loud and she had dropped the half she was to give to MacEagan, startled. The party afterward had been interminable. A singer had begun the Song of Mael Armagh, his baritone voice so much like Coelin's that Jenna felt her breath go shallow for a moment. The food in front of her seemed to taste of ashes and paper. A seemingly eternal line of well-wishers passed their table. Jenna had won-dered what they were thinking behind their carefully smiling faces, their choreographed movements, their polite and empty words. .
MacEagan poured the wine and handed one of the goblets to Jenna. She took it, but stared down into the well of purple liquid without drink-ing. She felt as if she wanted to cry, but her eyes were almost painfully dry. "I don't feel much like celebrating," she said.
"I'm sorry you feel that way, Jenna. Truthfully."
She glanced up; there was genuine empathy in his face, a distress that carved deeper the lines around his eyes. "I realize I can’t ever fill the void Ennis left in you, perhaps one day someone will. But I do promise that in the meantime won’t make the emptiness larger."
"What does that mean?"
He sat on the bed near her, leaving a hand’s width between them-When she moved away, he remained where he was. "It means that stand with you even if others won’t. The truth is, when the time comes finally choose sides-and it’s coming sooner than anyone except perhaps Aithne, Kianna, and I believe-neither you nor I know where the final lines will be drawn and who will stand where. People do strange things when they think it’s to their advantage, or when it seems to be the only course they can take."
"Like marrying someone they barely know."
The corner of his lips twitched; it might have been a smile. "That’s one example, aye. You began a new age when you woke the clochs na thintri, Jenna. We still don’t know the rules of it yet, or how it will change us. We only know that it will change us." He lifted his goblet. "So would you drink with me? To the future beyond the Filleadh."
Jenna felt the infant stir within her, a fluttering deep in her stomach. She wondered what kind of world the child would be coming into. Not one I thought a child of mine would have a year ago, nor one I would have chosen. .
"To the future," she said.
The clink of the goblets touching gilded rims seemed as loud as the crash of a closing door.
"I'M so scared," she'd admitted to MacEagan that morning. "1 don't know if we can stop them." She didn't mention Thraisha's dream, which had haunted her more and more in the last few weeks: the images of death and loss. She hadn't mentioned that to anyone, but she felt the certainty of it, more firmly each day. She felt as if she were walking a path that was already set for her, unable to turn aside or change it. Part of her, at least, was already reconciled to the inevitability of failure.
The first signs of the coming battle were the white sails on the horizon beyond the arms of the Inner Harbor, well out in Dun Kiil Bay.
They knew the armada was coming from Falcarragh-their own fast scout ships had come scurrying back as soon as the fleet had been sighted. The first battle of the war had already been fought and lost: the much smaller fleet of Inish Thuaidh had engaged the enemy as soon as it rounded Falcarragh Head and turned west toward the island. The tattered remnants of the Inish fleet-five ships of twelve oars, one of twenty: their rams broken, their single sails torn, the hulls dark with smoke and blood-had landed at the end of An Ceann Caol a week ago; an exhausted courier had staggered into the keep with the news two nights afterward.
And now the sails could be seen in the morning light.
Jenna stood in the golden dawn with MacEagan, Aithne, Kianna Ciomhsog, and Ri MacBradaigh.
They gathered on the south tower, gazing out over the town, the bay, and the sea. The wind was laden with the scent o salt and fish. Soon, Jenna suspected, the primary smell would be the cop-pery odor of death.
The sails. . Jenna could count at least twenty of them; more seemed to appear every few minutes. "Forty oars, at least two hundred troops on each," MacEagan said, answering the unasked question. "Perhaps a few less than they started out with, if our ships were at all successful in ram-ming and sinking theirs. But I imagine that we’re looking at a force of up to ten thousand men."
Ten thousand… It seemed an inconceivable number. It seemed even more inconceivable to imagine such a horde in battle.
Everyone glanced down from the ramparts to Dun Kiil itself. The town bristled with troops and weapons. Officers shouted orders to trained gardai as well as conscripts from the surrounding lands. The town steamed with the smokes of the forges, the smithies hammering out weapons even as the invaders approached. Catapults sat on the harbor front and out on the headlands, ready to hurl fiery boulders at the RI Ard’s ships as they approached.
But there were not ten thousand here. There was less than half that.
"How many Clochs Mor do they have?" Kianna Ciomhsog asked. The bantiarna’s sword was already unsheathed, clenched in a muscular hand. Her bright red hair hung braided and long, shimmering against the dull leather armor around her torso. Aithne shrugged.
"The runner said that the captains claimed there were at least three single hands of them used during the sea battle. But that could be an exaggeration."
Or an undercount. . None of them would say it. Jenna remembered t
he night of the Filleadh and the power she had unleashed. Three double hands of Cloch Mors were opened then. . MacEagan had one, as did Aithne, Moister Cleurach, Ennis’ friend Mundy and one other Brathair of the Order. One single hand. The Ri Ard could have two double hands and more.
One of them, she was certain, would be Aron O Dochartaigh. He would be out there, as would Mac Ard and the Tanaise Rig, Nevan O Liathain..
Ironic, isn’t it, how firmly you turned the little bastard down when he offered you marriage. Won’t he be amused to find you married here, when you
could have been the Tanaise Banrion, to one day be Banrion Ard. .
So much would have been different, if she'd accepted. She might never have met Ennis again, but he would be alive. She would never have gone to Thall Coill, and Seancoim would still be walking in Doire Coill with Denmark on his shoulder. Maybe that would be better.
You can't go back and change any of it. That's not within even Lamh Shabhala's power.
"We should retreat now," Rl MacBradaigh muttered, staring down at his troops. The Ri's eyes were wide as he turned to look back at the others gathered with him, and his dry white hair was wild in the wind "w could leave a small force here to hold them back and give us time to rejoin the families we've already sent back to the mountains." He looked from one to another of them, as if searching their faces for some agreement Jenna turned away so she didn't have to see him. "Doesn't that make sense?" he asked. "We could carry them from the mountains, cut them down bit by bit when it was safe, maybe find a better place to make a stand, maybe even Sliabh Mlchinniuint again…"
"Which we'll do if it becomes necessary," Aithne told him, speaking to him like a stern parent to a misbehaving child. "Not all of them will land here. And none of their Holders are trained cloudmages, nor do they have Lamh Shabhala." Jenna felt everyone look to her with that pronounce-ment.
Holder of Lightning tc-1 Page 50