The Sword and the Song

by C. E. Laureano

  No point in interrupting their newfound peace with unpleasant news, then. She made her usual trek down to the cookhouse for a bowl of porridge and then stopped by the laundry on her way back to Morrigan’s borrowed chamber.

  “Lady Aine.” The guards at the door gave her a deferential bow, which she returned with a polite nod.

  “Has she left at all since she arrived?”

  “We took over the post at sunrise,” one of the men said. “She hasn’t so much as opened the door.”

  Probably because there was no point. She would accomplish nothing while they suspected her. Aine shifted her burden. “Knock, please,” she instructed the guards.

  Moments later, the door opened. Morrigan’s wary expression changed to one of puzzlement. “My lady?”

  “I brought breakfast.” Aine indicated the bowls in her hands. “The men said you hadn’t ventured out this morning.”

  “Considering my reception last night, it didn’t seem prudent.” Morrigan stood aside for her to pass. One of the guards attempted to follow her in, but Aine stopped him with a sharp look.

  “I think I’m safe enough, thank you. I will call if I need you.”

  Aine set the bowls on the table and shifted the bundle of cloth from beneath her arm to her hands. “We haven’t been formally introduced. I am Aine Nic Tamhais, Conor’s wife.”

  Surprise flickered on the other woman’s face. “King Calhoun’s sister?”

  Aine dipped her head in acknowledgment. “The same.” She offered the bundle in her hands. “This is for you in case you want to change clothes.”

  Morrigan shook out the dress, her brow furrowing. “I don’t understand.”

  “I thought you might like to appear in front of the Conclave in something other than bloodstained trousers.” Aine took a seat at the small table across from Morrigan’s breakfast tray and gestured. “But first let’s eat. I’m famished.”

  “I expect you would be, in your condition.” Morrigan sat across from Aine and pulled her bowl toward herself.

  A smile twitched on Aine’s lips, but she suppressed it. So the game had begun. “My condition?”

  “Naturally. The men might be too blind to notice, but you’re clearly with child. I would guess four or five months. Am I right?”

  “Very good. You’re correct.”

  “Does my brother know?”

  “Aye, he knows. Please eat. I suspect times have been lean, and you’ll need your strength.”

  Now it was Morrigan’s turn to smile. “Does Conor know how skilled you are at this?”

  At least that proved Morrigan wouldn’t be manipulated. She’d get further playing it straight. “Of course he does. That’s why he sent me.”

  Morrigan broke into a full-fledged smile. “Then tell me, my lady: what do you want from me? We both know the plan to coax out my secrets woman to woman was doomed from the start.”

  “Tell me about Ard Bealach.”

  A flash of disquiet crossed Morrigan’s face and disappeared just as swiftly. “Compared to Lisdara or Carraigmór, it’s a relatively small fortress, but it’s deep. Three stories of stone with catacombs and passages beneath. Meallachán was imprisoned in the cells on the lowest level, though they’re really more like bolt-holes with grates across them. Not even enough room to stand.”

  Aine studied Morrigan closely as she spoke. There was no hesitation, no wavering, no shifting of her eyes that would indicate she was fabricating this story. “So given that the fortress is so small and isolated, how did you escape? Why didn’t Somhairle send men after you?”

  Morrigan stared, a tinge of sickness coloring her skin, a sign that she hadn’t expected that question from Aine. Then it was gone behind her cool, controlled facade.

  “You’re a beautiful woman, Lady Aine. Surely you’ve discovered the advantage that gives you. You were alone in Aron, as I understand it. It must have been useful.”

  Aine recoiled a bit, the comment hitting too close for comfort, even if Morrigan couldn’t know her current turmoil. “Aye. But you were a prisoner.”

  Morrigan studied her for a moment. “You really are an innocent, aren’t you? I wouldn’t have thought that still possible.” Her tone gentled, almost as if she didn’t wish to shock her. “All men have their price, my lady. And all women have their weapons. You’d be surprised what you can accomplish when you’re willing to use them.”

  Innocent as Morrigan believed she was, Aine received the message clearly. Rather than shocking her, it set a deep pity in her chest. That could have been her situation, had she not been born with her gifts.

  “I think you’ve told me everything I need to know for now, Lady Morrigan. You’ll wish to dress for the Conclave. I imagine the summons will come shortly.” Aine pushed herself up from her chair and then swayed on her feet as if dizzy. Morrigan’s hand shot out, and she clamped her own over it.

  In that instant, she thrust out her awareness into the other woman, searching for anything that would indicate a spell, a gift, something to explain why she had not been able to pick up a single thought from her the entire time they had been speaking. Morrigan’s eyes widened, and she let go of her hand abruptly.

  “Lady Aine,” she said shakily, “I do believe that you are far less innocent than you let on.”

  “Perhaps so, Lady Morrigan.” Aine nodded politely and turned toward the door. “I do have one last question. How did you know I had spent time in Aron?”

  “I think you’re far better known that you realize, my lady. Have a care you don’t reveal too much.”

  It felt like a warning, an acknowledgment that Aine had tipped her hand. But at least she had found out something very important in return.

  Morrigan was indeed spelled.

  Somehow, in the course of half a day, everything had changed.

  When Eoghan passed through the hall on his way to the practice yard for his morning workout with Conor, Gradaigh and Dal stopped their conversation to stare at him. So Conor had been right. Rumors of the way he had seized control from Conor had gotten out, and now they were waiting for him to make an official statement.

  Was this what you had in mind, Comdiu? Was this Your plan all along?

  But that implied that Comdiu had tricked Eoghan into doing something he didn’t want to do. Like it or not, he had taken command of the situation voluntarily. The weight of responsibility fell on him suddenly. Heavy. Suffocating. Aye, he had been trained for this, but trained to take over the brotherhood, not this blend of kingdom men and Fíréin that the city had become.

  Yet when faced with the potential threat that their newcomer posed, he’d been absolutely convinced of his path. That could only be due to Comdiu’s guidance.

  Aine had said she would seek Meallachán’s presence to confirm Morrigan’s story, and she was probably preparing to visit Morrigan at this very moment. If anyone could get to the truth, it would be her. He somehow didn’t think she would need her mind powers to determine whether Morrigan was being honest or not.

  Unfortunately, that thought brought with it warm feelings that were better left unexplored. No wonder Conor was angry with him. Not only had he just usurped Conor’s role in the city—one that Eoghan had insisted he didn’t want—he also had feelings for his wife, never mind the fact that he would never steal her away, could not even if he tried. It was just a miracle that Aine wasn’t perpetually angry with him too.

  When he reached the private practice yard, Conor was waiting. For a change, he didn’t greet him with a scowl, just tossed him a practice sword and began his own warm-ups. Perhaps it was the easing up of their animosity, or perhaps it was a result of the late night, but they both held back their usual aggression as they started into the bout. Eoghan knew Conor well enough to see he was testing his own weaknesses, looking for flaws in his technique, probably trying to figure out how he had lost the last time.

  Finally, Conor stepped back and swiped a sleeve across his forehead. “You’re right. I’m just slow. And lazy.”
<
br />   Eoghan felt a pang of guilt over his earlier taunt. “No. Not lazy.” The fact was Eoghan had put more time into his sword work this fall than ever before. If he were honest, he’d needed to prove to himself that there was one area in which Conor couldn’t overshadow him.

  Now it seemed their roles were reversed.

  He put up his sword. “Conor, I’m sorry.”

  “For what? For telling the truth?”

  “For what’s happened here. We are friends. Brothers. We shouldn’t be at each other’s throats.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Conor muttered, but he didn’t elaborate. “Shall we go up and see if Aine has any news for us?”

  Eoghan nodded and gathered the practice weapons, puzzled by Conor’s sudden change of attitude. “We need to bring Lady Morrigan and this matter before the Conclave as soon as Aine can give us some more insight into the situation. I think you should be the one to call the meeting.”

  “Oh? You’ve clearly taken command here.”

  “You are still the Ceannaire, and the Conclave are technically your advisors. I have yet to make a formal announcement.”

  “But you will.”

  “Aye, I will.”

  Conor still didn’t look convinced, but it wasn’t as if Eoghan had any choice in the matter. No doubt word had already spread through the brotherhood that he was taking leadership as the High King, and that’s what he must do no matter how ill the title fit.

  When they reached the Ceannaire’s office, Aine already waited for them, perched on a chair while she perused a book spread open on the Ceannaire’s desk. She rose when they entered.

  “Did you speak with her?” Conor asked immediately. “Did you learn anything?”

  Aine gestured for them to take seats, giving Eoghan the impression they were about to get lectured for their impatience. He barely repressed a laugh at the thought, but his mirth faded with the first words.

  “Morrigan is spelled.”

  Conor spoke first, his voice heavy. “So she’s a spy.”

  Aine hesitated. “I don’t know what to think. Between the spell and the fact she mentioned Lisdara as though she’d been there, it’s very suspicious. Yet the spell feels odd. Like it’s . . . inert, for lack of a better word.”

  “How is that possible?” Conor asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe the city’s wards are interfering with it? Either way, her story about Meallachán rings true. I still can’t read her, but after I left, I was able to locate him where she said he would be.”

  “Is he alive?” Eoghan asked immediately. “Were you able to contact him?”

  “Aye, alive. But I wasn’t able to speak to him. I think he was unconscious.”

  Eoghan’s mind flew through the possibilities. If Meallachán were unconscious, that didn’t give them many options. Ard Bealach was weeks away. “We’ll need to bring her before the Conclave immediately to choose a course of action.”

  Conor seemed surprised there was any question. “If Meallachán’s alive, we have to rescue him. He has the information we need about the runes.”

  “And if he’s bait?” They had far too much to lose to trust Morrigan so easily. Niall knew the Fíréin well enough to realize that nothing short of a solution to their problems would tempt them from Ard Dhaimhin’s security. Who better to deliver the message than someone Conor had once trusted?

  “Of course he’s bait,” Aine said. “Knowing that gives us the advantage, doesn’t it?”

  Eoghan’s attention shifted to Aine at the same time Conor’s did. Once again, they had underestimated her. “We’ll get the Conclave’s opinion,” Eoghan said finally, rising. “You’ll call the meeting, Conor?”

  “Wait.” Aine shifted, looking suddenly uncomfortable. Truth be told, she looked downright ill. His heart sank. From the way her eyes refused to meet his, he knew he wouldn’t like this.

  “Eoghan, while I was in Aron, I discovered a gift that I had been unaware of.”

  “What kind of gift? Something that could help us?”

  Aine chewed her bottom lip. “I can influence people around me.”

  “So, this is helpful to us. Right?”

  “Eoghan,” she said gently, finally looking at him directly. “What you feel toward me? That’s simply a result of my gift. I’m so sorry. I know how you’ve wrestled with this.”

  Eoghan felt as if someone had struck him in the chest with a sling stone, hard enough to pierce him through. It felt suspiciously like betrayal. He looked to Conor. “You knew about this?”

  “Only since last night,” Aine said. “I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner, but I feared if Conor knew the truth—”

  “You might learn he was being influenced by you too,” Eoghan said. All this time he’d spent berating himself for his weakness, all the guilt he’d suffered because he felt that he was betraying his best friend, all unnecessary, yet he found it hard to hold on to his anger when he saw how miserable she looked. Could he really blame her for fearing what might happen should they find out?

  Eoghan sighed. “I take it that once the person learns of your ability, they’re no longer susceptible to it?”

  “That seems to be the case with other gifts of the mind,” Conor said.

  “Well, that’s some consolation. I can’t say I’m not relieved.”

  “You forgive me, then?” The hope in her expression was heartbreaking.

  “Of course. I have no reason not to.”

  Aine let out a relieved breath, and she and Conor rose simultaneously.

  “I’ll call the Conclave this afternoon,” Conor said.

  Eoghan acknowledged the words with a decisive nod. “I’ll be along in a moment.” But when the door closed, he stayed in his chair, fingers clamped on the wooden arms. Conor and Aine assumed the matter was over. He had forgiven her, and now that he knew the truth, his feelings would vanish.

  They were right about the first part at least. He would forgive her anything, especially when he suspected there was nothing to forgive. The uncomfortable pang of truth seeped into the place hope had just occupied.

  He really was in love with his best friend’s wife.

  Conor called the Conclave together, and as usual, Eoghan was the last to arrive, a fact that was not lost on the group. The anticipation crackled in the air as they waited, no doubt due in part to the dramatic arrival of their “guest,” but more likely because of the rumors that had been rippling through Carraigmór all morning. Still, when Eoghan finally showed, he took a seat at the center of the table and wordlessly turned his attention to Conor at the head.

  “Brothers, we have matters of importance to discuss,” Conor began. “By now, you all know there was a breach of the fortress last night.”

  “Why is Brother Eoghan not speaking to the matter?” Dal’s eyes glittered with something that could have been anticipation or malice.

  That was quick. Conor had thought he would at least get through his introduction without having his authority questioned. He raised his eyebrows at Eoghan.

  “Conor is most qualified to speak on this particular matter, given the identity of the intruder.”

  Heads swiveled back toward Conor, and he wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or irritated. “Indeed. The intruder in question is my foster sister, Lady Morrigan. I was raised alongside her by her father, Lord Labhrás, who was executed by King Fergus at the beginning of the war.”

  “What is she doing here? Why arrive in such a fashion?”

  Conor acknowledged Gradaigh with a nod. “She claims her dramatic entrance was a way to guarantee an audience with me. She has potentially crucial information.”

  “A traitor’s daughter,” Fechin said flatly. “What do you suggest we do with her?”

  “Lord Labhrás was no traitor. He was a victim of political assassination. And regardless, her father’s actions have no bearing on her honesty.”

  “Yet you yourself doubted her story,” Daigh shot back.

  Conor let that comment pass
. Sometimes the Conclave acted more like squabbling children than grown men. “Morrigan has brought us news that Brother Meallachán lives and is being held prisoner at Ard Bealach. Lady Aine has confirmed this.”

  This got their attention, and all eyes moved to Aine. “This is true?” Daigh asked. “You spoke with him?”

  “No. But he is alive and where Lady Morrigan claims he is.” She hesitated. “He is not in the best of health. I suspect ill-treatment, most likely torture.”

  “The question I put to the Conclave today is whether we launch a rescue attempt,” Conor said. “Meallachán is one of the few men living who understand the harp’s full capability and how the runes work with it. We need him on our side and, if possible, before he gives up that information to our enemy.”

  “And why are you putting this question to us when Eoghan has stepped forward to take leadership?” Dal asked, a little smile on his face. The man truly did not like Conor.

  The entire table fell silent, looking between Conor and Eoghan in anticipation. Conor’s stomach tightened. This was the moment of truth.

  Eoghan met his eyes and gave him a solemn nod before rising. Conor sank to his seat, feeling as if the air had gone out of him. At last Eoghan had given in to his badgering. So why didn’t he feel relieved?

  “Conor is correct in his assessment. Meallachán is too great an asset to be left in the hands of our enemies. I propose that we launch a rescue mission to retrieve him from Ard Bealach.”

  The room erupted into a babble of voices: questions about his leadership, the mission, what this meant to Ard Dhaimhin. Eoghan held up his hands for silence and nodded to Riordan, who was waiting to speak.

  “Does this mean you are claiming the kingship?”