Conor dragged a chair up to her and sat so he could look her in the eye. “This is important. You said Meallachán was brought to Ard Bealach. Brought from where?”
“I’m not sure. Somewhere in Siomar, I think.”
Conor looked to Eoghan, no doubt thinking the same thing. Eoghan had found eight of the pins from Meallachán’s harp in the burned-out ruins of Cill Rhí in southern Siomar. They had assumed he had been murdered at the time the harp was destroyed, but it was plausible he could have been taken to Ard Bealach instead.
“Why take him there? What did Somhairle want from him?”
“That I don’t know. But I knew he was Fíréin, so I thought he could help me somehow. Perhaps provide information I could use.”
“And did he?” Eoghan asked.
She looked between them and nodded slowly. “He told me to come here.”
Eoghan ordered that Morrigan be taken to a chamber on the upper floor and guarded at all times by two men. Daigh and Riordan took him at his word and escorted her from the room themselves. As soon as she was gone, Aine collapsed into a chair, exhausted by the story.
She would never have thought one woman could cause so much trouble in such a short period of time.
“So what does this mean?” Conor burst out as soon as they were alone.
Eoghan wiped a hand over his face. “We’ll have to present her before the Conclave—”
“No, I meant this. You. Taking command. Are you finally doing it, then?”
Eoghan actually looked startled. “I hadn’t thought about it.”
“You just undermined me in front of two Conclave members and Morrigan on a whim?” Conor’s voice lowered, became more measured, a sure sign his anger was reaching the boiling point.
Aine rose and put up both hands. The sudden crackle of tension between the two made her nauseous, and even concentrating on her barriers against their thoughts didn’t dampen the fog of animosity. “Gentlemen, please.”
Conor glanced her way, and the emotion pouring off him eased a little. When he spoke again, his tone was far less dangerous. “Whether you like it or not, Eoghan, you just made a public declaration. Riordan and Daigh will be telling others as we speak. They will expect me to formally cede my authority.”
“And that’s not something you’re ready to give,” Eoghan said.
“That’s not my decision. I just hope you understand the responsibility this entails.”
Anger flashed in Eoghan’s eyes, and Aine stepped in before the tension could escalate again. Right now, they were merely bickering, but she didn’t need to search very far to know the depths of hard feelings between the two. Their animosity wasn’t their biggest problem now.
“She’s manipulating you,” Aine said flatly.
“I know,” Eoghan said.
“You know?” Conor glanced at Aine. “I thought you couldn’t read her.”
“Not with my gift. But a woman knows these things.”
“So does a man,” Eoghan said with a grimace. “The minute Conor stepped back, she turned her focus on me. Manipulation aside, though, I think she’s mostly telling the truth. Her story is plausible, and it fits with what we already know.”
“She clearly has her own agenda,” Aine said. “The only question is how closely it aligns with ours. I don’t think we need to care if she has her own reasons as long as they’re not at cross-purposes with ours.”
Eoghan nodded, his expression verging on admiring. Conor merely scowled. She couldn’t delay the discussion much longer.
“What concerns me more,” Aine continued, “is the fact I can’t read her at all.”
“You think she might be ensorcelled?” Eoghan asked.
“Doubtful,” Conor said. “She wouldn’t have been able to breach the wards if she were possessed by sorcery.”
“She could be spelled,” Aine said. “The druid took your memories of your mother’s death. He used Keondric’s weaknesses to make him open to suggestion. Both of you were able to cross wards, and I couldn’t pick up on it until I purposely looked for it.”
“So you think she might be a spy?” Eoghan asked. “Working for the druid?”
“It’s a possibility we can’t ignore.”
After a moment of quiet consideration, Conor turned his gaze on Eoghan, the challenge clear. “What do you want to do, then?”
“Nothing.” Eoghan held up a hand to forestall protest. “Comdiu told me she’s here for a reason. Regardless of her motives, she can’t cause much harm while under guard. Even if she is spying, she’ll have no way of passing information out of the city.”
“There is one possibility we haven’t discussed,” Aine said softly. “Maybe she really is seeking safety, and Meallachán’s message was her way in. You heard what I did. She has to harbor plenty of shame and anger over what she’s had to do to survive.”
“Then maybe you’re the best chance we have to learn the truth,” Conor said to her. “She might tell you things she wouldn’t say to us.”
It was a sound theory, though Aine wondered if they had any chance of getting the truth from Morrigan before she was ready. “I can speak with her in the morning. I’ll also see if I can sense Meallachán’s presence at Ard Bealach. It might be challenging, but at least we’d be able to verify that part of her story.”
“You can do that?” Eoghan asked, surprised.
“I can do my best. But not here. I can’t sense anything past the animosity in the room.”
The men actually looked penitent then, especially Eoghan. She had to confess her abilities soon. Even if he were angry over the deception, it had to be better than the guilt he felt around her now. But not yet. One woman with troublesome secrets at a time.
Conor and Aine returned silently to their chamber, their thoughts held close—at least Aine’s were. Tonight had reminded him that she could reach his deepest thoughts at any time, should she choose to.
The things he hid from her couldn’t remain buried forever.
But that wasn’t tonight’s concern. He was still too stunned by the dual shocks of Aine’s pregnancy and Morrigan’s arrival. As soon as they reached their chamber, he said, “I thought she was dead.”
Aine’s sympathetic look said she immediately followed his thoughts. “It was a reasonable assumption. You couldn’t have known.”
“I could have tried, though. Calhoun had spies. He could have found out.”
“But he wouldn’t have been able to act, even if he’d wanted to. And she seems to have made an effort to keep their identity secret.” Aine slid her arms around his waist.
“About that. Does it seem strange to you that she escaped the druid’s grasp only to seek out his army again? Three girls by those names . . . mercenaries or not, someone would have started to question them.”
Aine considered for a moment. “Perhaps it no longer mattered after several years. Or perhaps she was too much of a prize for a mercenary to give up, even to Niall. Regardless, Conor, she made her own choices. She did what she must to survive. That’s what one does in war.”
Conor’s heartbeat sped. Had something happened to her while in Aron, something she’d kept from him? Dread spread through his insides like ice.
Aine pulled away from him and loosened her hair from its plait. “I haven’t been completely honest about what happened in Aron.”
So he was right. He latched the door and leaned against it, telling himself he was giving her space, even though he held back from fear. “How so?”
“When I arrived, no one believed that you and I were married. My aunt claimed my story was a way to explain a bastard child. I feared that if I were indeed pregnant, we would be shunned and my inheritance would be somehow denied to me. Lady Macha pushed me to marry one of her lords.”
“You didn’t—”
“No!” Aine took a few steps toward him and stopped. “I considered it, though. Especially when it looked as though Lord Uallas was my only chance for survival.”
A laugh escap
ed from Conor, carried on a wave of relief. This explained the image that Briallu, the sidhe posing as Talfryn’s daughter, had shown him in the scrying bowl. It also explained why she had so quickly cut off the vision. He took Aine’s face in his hands and kissed her. “My love, you don’t need to apologize for what you almost did. You were faithful to me. Of that I have no doubt.”
She softened against him, returning the kiss for a moment before she pulled back again. “There’s more.”
“Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s not as great a sin as you think. You have an overdeveloped conscience, love.” He dipped his head to kiss her neck.
“Stop, Conor. This is important.” She hesitated. “I can influence people with my presence. Men especially are drawn to me.”
“You, my dear, are an incredibly beautiful woman.”
Aine huffed and slipped out of his reach before he could make good on his next thoughts. “Be serious, please. I don’t mean I can influence them that way. I mean I could command the loyalty of the men around me if I wished. And I have. To the death.”
Conor just stared at her. “How long have you had this ability?”
“I don’t know. At least since I came to Seare. Probably earlier. Conor, men have died to protect me. Ruarc. Lorcan. Diocail. What if their loyalty was all compelled?” Tears shimmered in her eyes.
Immediately, he put his arms around her. “Aine, that was not your fault. You couldn’t have known. And I suspect they would have done their duty regardless.” Then the more obvious implication slammed into him. “Wait. Eoghan?”
A tear slid down her face. “Not just Eoghan.”
He pulled back from her, horrified. “Surely you can’t believe that you and I . . . that this . . .”
“What if this is all a lie, Conor? You said yourself that you were determined to do all Comdiu asked of you until you saw me again. What if what you feel for me is all just a result of my gift?”
He considered the possibility within a rush of agony for the space of a second and then shook his head. “No. Impossible. I don’t believe that.” He took her hands and looked directly into her eyes. “If that were true, I wouldn’t have worked so hard to come back to you. You were what kept me going during my years at Ard Dhaimhin. You were what kept me alive while I was a prisoner of the Sofarende. If I were merely compelled by your presence, surely that would have worn off while we were apart.”
He brushed a stray lock of hair from her face and pressed his lips to her temple, then her mouth. “I’m afraid you’re not going to get rid of me that easily, especially now that I finally have you back.”
She sighed, some of the tension seeping out of her body. He held her close, hesitating over his next words. “But, Aine, you have to tell Eoghan. It’s not fair to him. Or to us. Will that break the compulsion?”
“I think so. I’m sorry, Conor. I know I should have told you sooner, but I was afraid of what it might mean.”
He supposed he couldn’t blame her. Yet she’d let him stew over Eoghan’s interest when she knew it was out of his control. There was only a small difference between what she had done to Eoghan—even unintentionally—and what the sidhe had done to him.
Except, unlike Conor, Eoghan hadn’t acted on that compulsion.
Then the bigger danger occurred to him. If Aine had some secret influence over the High King, she was a liability. What might someone be willing to do to use her influence against them?
“You have to tell him tomorrow,” he said.
“I will. I promise.”
“Good.” He smiled mischievously. “In the meantime, perhaps I should remind you that I’m legitimately mad about you.”
Lying on his pillow later that night, though, sleep eluded him. Aine had kept secrets of her own. If he came clean about his moment of indiscretion with Briallu, would she understand?
No. She was carrying his child. If Aine ever caught a glimpse of that passionate scene—even accounting for the fact he’d recovered his wits in time—she would never trust him again.
He could lose the thing that meant the most to him.
Gingerly, he eased his arm from beneath her and slid from the bed. He took a few moments to dress, but he didn’t bother to put on his boots before stealing out into the hallway.
Without realizing where he had been heading, he found himself before the door of his father’s chamber. It took him several attempts to work up the courage to knock.
Rustling inside led to the scrape of a bolt, and then the door swung open. Riordan stood aside for Conor to enter and shut the door behind him. “How are you feeling about all this?”
“Guilty.”
Riordan misunderstood his comment. “I know it must be hard hearing about what happened to your foster family, but you can’t blame yourself. If anyone is to blame, it’s me. I made Labhrás’s faith known to Galbraith when I arranged your fosterage with him. I put him in the druid’s path.”
“But if you hadn’t—”
“I didn’t say I regretted my actions, just that I bear some responsibility in the outcome.” Riordan sat on the edge of the bed and gestured for Conor to take the chair opposite it. “That’s a hard lesson to learn but one we’ll be faced with sooner than you know.”
“We are going to have to make a move on the kingdoms, whether it’s Ard Bealach or another target,” Conor said.
Riordan gave a single nod. “You’ve said it yourself. We’re cut off from outside sources of food, and we can no longer support the needs of the city. For all Eoghan urges caution, he has known that for a while. He’s far more strategic than he lets on.”
“As a good king should be.” The words fell with finality between them.
“Liam was so sure it was you,” Riordan said. “Right up until the end, when he came across Daimhin’s journal saying the High King should hear the voice of Comdiu.”
“You don’t have to spare my feelings. I never wanted to be king. I never wanted to lead at all. If Eoghan is to rule, what has been the point of all of this?”
Riordan arched an eyebrow. “Are you forgetting how you reinstated the wards around the city? How you’re meant to recall the men with Daimhin’s sword? Eoghan cannot win this war without you, Conor; that I know. Sometimes I wonder if Liam acted as he did to bind you two together, give you a common enemy.”
“Liam wasn’t an enemy.”
“An obstacle to overcome, then.”
Conor sighed and raked his hands through his hair. “And now we two are here, leading a starving kingdom on the brink of war.”
Riordan’s brow furrowed. “I don’t believe this is just concern about Ard Dhaimhin’s future. What exactly is troubling you?”
His father always was too perceptive. No harm in telling him. He’d find out soon enough anyway. “Aine is pregnant.”
Riordan merely smiled.
“You knew? How?”
“I’d noticed something different about her magic when she arrived, but I thought perhaps it was related to her multiple gifts. Since then, it’s grown. Changed.”
“You’re not saying our child is gifted? You can tell that already?”
“Enormously so, if I can sense its magic in the womb.”
Conor flopped back against the chair, stunned. Somehow it just made the whole situation that much more real. He was going to be a father to a child whose gifts would likely surpass his own. A spike of fear shot straight through his heart and into his stomach. He was only one and twenty years old. True, Riordan hadn’t been much older when he’d sired Conor, but that hadn’t turned out so well, had it?
“I will be here for this baby,” he murmured, almost to himself. “I know what it’s like to grow up without a real father.”
Riordan flinched. Too late, Conor realized it must have sounded like criticism. “I just meant—”
“No, you’re right. I wasn’t there for you. Galbraith hated the fact he had to pretend my son was his, and as good a man as Labhrás was, he had his own agenda. But, Conor, you understa
nd now why it had to be done. There are some things greater than just a single person’s happiness. Or a single person’s safety. If we fail here, if we divert from our course even for the best reasons, we could be dooming the world to a darkness it has never known. Could you live with that sacrifice?”
Conor didn’t answer. He rose and placed a hand on his father’s shoulder, a silent gesture of gratitude, and then slipped out the door.
Riordan was right. He couldn’t let personal concerns sway him from his duty. If they were going to take on the full thrust of Niall’s might and magic, they needed help.
Eoghan might finally have seen the need to leave Ard Dhaimhin’s protections, but Conor’s task was at least as daunting. With or without Meallachán’s help, he had to figure out the secret of Daimhin’s sword.
“Aine.”
Her eyes snapped open in the dim morning light. She reached for Conor beside her, but her fingertips touched only the cold bedcovering. He was long gone, probably to morning devotions in the amphitheater below. But, then, what had woken her?
Aine pushed back the covers and pulled her dress from the hook beside the bed. Dreams, she decided. Scarcely a night passed undisturbed by memories and fears, all tangled together in a jumble that left a lingering sense of dread long after the recollections faded. Or maybe she simply dreaded her conversation with Eoghan. How could she justify letting him drown in his infatuation when she could have ended it with a word? Put that way, it was unforgivable.
She had laced up her dress and thrust her feet into her boots before she noticed the stack of books on the chair beside the bed. Flipping open the cover of one, she smiled. Conor had somehow noticed that she had moved on to Shanna’s journals and brought up the remaining stack from the Hall of Prophecies. If she didn’t know better, she would say he was the one with mind-reading abilities.
The sooner she found Eoghan and made her promised trip to Morrigan’s chamber, the sooner she could get back to her reading and see if Shanna’s writings actually contained anything that could help them. But Eoghan wasn’t in his chamber, the Ceannaire’s office, or the hall. She stretched out her awareness through the city, searching for Eoghan’s thoughts. She finally found him below in the private practice yard used by the Conclave—with Conor. Even from a distance, the mood seemed easier than it had the night before, a good sign. Dare she hope that with this matter settled they could come to an understanding about command in the city?
The Sword and the Song Page 5
