Then his presence vanished from her mind.
She gasped, searching through the surrounding minds, picking up stray thoughts but nothing that could explain what she was feeling. Surely if they were under attack, she would pick up urgency or fear from the other men. If he’d been killed or injured, they would be sending someone back to the city. So why couldn’t she find him?
Her eyes fell on the small table that held all her possessions. Or at least it had. Her comb, mirror, and ribbons were still there. But the small jar of ink was gone, in its place a small vial.
She lifted the glass vial and turned it over, then uncapped the stopper. Just as quickly, she pulled it away. She recognized the distinctive, musty smell: hemlock. She had used it in small doses as a sedative, but there was enough here in this vial to kill a man. Why had Conor had it in his possession in the first place? Had he left it for her? Or was it something he’d been leaving behind? She almost reached out to him to ask before she understood the truth. He’d drawn the shield rune. He’d blocked her out.
Momentary panic welled up inside her before she could make herself think rationally. Why would he do that? On one hand, it would be that much more difficult for the druid to track him. On the other, he would be unable to reach her with updates as they’d planned. Why would he sever his one main link back to Ard Dhaimhin?
Morrigan.
She shoved the book aside, leapt out of bed, and stormed out of her chamber without acknowledging Iomhar. He hurried to catch up. “What’s wrong, my lady?”
“I don’t know. That’s what I’m trying to find out.” She pushed past Morrigan’s guards and pounded on her door.
“Lady Aine?” Morrigan blinked innocently.
“Iomhar, with me.” She shoved her way into the room, earning a shocked look from Conor’s sister. She rounded on her. “What did you tell him?”
“I don’t understand.”
“You spoke with Conor last night. What did you tell him?”
“Ah. He took the rune, didn’t he? I thought he might. I just thought he’d deliberate for longer.” She sat on the edge of her bed, looking quite satisfied with herself.
“What did you tell him?”
“Nothing. He figured it out for himself—how your connection with him was harming you and the baby.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Why do you think? Your love is blinding you, Lady Aine. He’s using you. They are all using you. Do you think they have you under guard because they care about you? You are their most valuable tool. They are protecting you only because they need you.”
“Then why on earth would you tell Conor that?”
“Because it was the right thing to do. Once you reflect on that, you’ll see I’m right.”
Aine paced a little path back and forth in front of Morrigan. “I don’t understand you. Have your experiences twisted you so much that you trust no one? Have they completely skewed your perspective on humanity?”
“Skewed it? No. Made it clear to me.” Morrigan stood and took Aine’s hands to stop her pacing, her voice earnest. “Aine, you must understand, I did this for you. I know what it’s like to be tormented. You don’t deserve that. Your baby doesn’t deserve that. You’re finally free.”
Aine just stared at Morrigan as if she’d never seen her before. She was either a master strategist or a little mad. “You have no idea what you’ve done.”
She turned and marched out of the room, accompanied by Iomhar, who seemed confused by the whole exchange. “Where’s Eoghan?”
“I don’t know, my lady. He could still be down below.”
“I need him now.” She continued down the corridor, down the staircase, toward the Ceannaire’s office. Iomhar caught another brother passing in the hall and whispered a few words before he hurried after her. The chamber was empty, as she expected it to be, but she plopped herself in a chair to wait. Less than ten minutes later, Eoghan appeared.
“My lady, you summoned me?”
Aine flushed, realizing how high-handed the gesture had been. Eoghan was just too gracious to acknowledge it. “Conor has taken the shield rune. I can’t sense him anymore.”
He blinked at her. “Why would he do that?”
“He knows I’m dreaming his nightmares.”
Eoghan circled around and sat on the edge of the desk. “And so he thinks he’s doing you a favor.”
“Except now he’s making it so we can’t communicate in any way.” She loaded irritation in her voice so she didn’t have to acknowledge her very real fear.
“Well, let’s think about this a moment. It has the effect of making him harder to track. And he probably knew you’d be upset if he told you ahead of time.”
“I thought the same. But Morrigan basically admitted to manipulating the situation. She thinks I’m being used against my will and that I’m being protected only because I’m too valuable to Ard Dhaimhin to lose.”
“Morrigan’s partially right. We do need you.”
“And the rest?”
“I won’t even answer that question. You know I’d see you protected if you didn’t have a single gift. You’re Conor’s wife, and even if you weren’t—”
“I believe you,” she said before he could elaborate further. “But the fact is, I am important to the war effort, and she used Conor’s concern for me to make me basically ineffective.”
“Perhaps that was the idea,” Eoghan said grimly. “But she obviously doesn’t know we planned for this. My lady, I know it’s painful to be shut out, but as long as you can still monitor the other members of his party, there’s no reason to be concerned. They have the doves if they need to convey anything of importance.”
His measured demeanor only highlighted how emotional her reaction had been. If she were honest with herself, wasn’t it more hurt over his pushing her away than real concern for the mission? She sighed. “How do you manage to be so calm about everything?”
“I’m not. I just know that some things are out of our control. Some things we just have to entrust to our Maker. And no, He hasn’t shown me how this turns out. My decisions would be a lot easier if He actually did show me the future.”
She pushed herself to her feet, feeling suddenly foolish. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”
“It is my pleasure, my lady.” He gave her a formal little bow and nodded to Iomhar to escort her from the room.
She felt a little foolish for her tirade as they climbed back up the stairs to her chamber. Somehow having faith seemed easier when she could assure herself that he was alive and well anytime she wished it. But if she could entrust him to Comdiu moment to moment, she could learn to trust Him without her involvement.
Eoghan limited his interactions with Aine in Conor’s absence, even if he kept an eye on her activities through the reports of her guards. It didn’t take long for her to chafe at the necessary restrictions on her movements, wandering the halls at all hours with Iomhar by her side. Eoghan authorized her requests immediately—herbs for her healing concoctions, fabric for a baby’s cap and gown, even the odd bit of embroidery thread—though he had a feeling they were all merely distractions.
After about a week of such reports from Iomhar, Eoghan couldn’t stand it any longer. Aine must feel as if she were in a prison after having the freedom to roam the entire city. Despite his vow to leave her be while Conor was gone, despite the possibility he might have buried ulterior motives, he devised a way to get her into the fresh air while still keeping her safe.
Iomhar’s eyebrows lifted when he showed up at Aine’s door. Eoghan ignored the silent indictment and rapped softly. As soon as the door opened, before she could voice her surprise, he asked, “Would you care to join me for a game of King and Conqueror?”
Her eyes brightened for a moment and then her expression shuttered. “Thank you, Eoghan, but I think I will decline.”
“Even if it means you’ll get some fresh air?”
“How?”
He smiled and gest
ured for her to follow. “Come and see. You, too, Iomhar.”
Curiosity apparently overtook her suspicion, because she followed him down the stairs toward the Ceannaire’s office. Before he reached it, he made a quick turn and opened a door. They stepped into a blast of cold afternoon air from the balcony where Liam had always come to think. Eoghan had already set up a small table and two stools with a game board between them and a pile of furs on the ground beside them.
“Compromise,” he said, sweeping his arm out. “You get out of the fortress, but you’re practically guaranteed safety.”
A smile lifted the corners of her mouth, and the answering twinge in his chest was immediately followed by a rush of guilt. He could pretend he would do the same for anyone else, but even he knew that for a lie. Too late now, though.
He waited for her to choose one of the stools before draping a fur around her shoulders and another across her lap. Then he sat across from her, forcing nonchalance. “Conor tells me you’re a good player.”
“I’m passable. Not like he is.”
“Very few people play like he does,” Eoghan said. At least this was a safe topic. “Did he ever tell you that was how he earned the respect of his céad mates when he first came to Ard Dhaimhin?”
She shook her head.
“No, he probably wouldn’t. There’s a fair bit of . . . initiation . . . that goes on with the older novices. A couple of the boys in our céad decided they were going to make life difficult for him, and as you’ve probably guessed, he’s not the type to fight back unless he needs to. Plus, there was no way he could actually fight. So he spent every spare moment carving pieces for a King and Conqueror set and promptly destroyed each boy in the clochán on every game.”
“And did that stop the initiation rites?”
“It slowed them. What stopped them is when everyone realized that Conor was making enough progress to destroy them in the practice yard as well.”
Aine laughed. “He never told me that.”
“He wouldn’t. To be honest, he was never completely happy here. Always, in everything he did, there was the desire to get back to you. Had he not had that goal, I’m not sure whether he would have accomplished all that he did.”
She stayed lost in that thought for a moment before alarm flashed in her eyes. “Wait. Something didn’t happen to him, did it?”
“No!” Eoghan said. “Of course not. I wouldn’t keep that from you.” He reached into the pouch at his waist and produced a tiny cylinder of paper. “This did arrive today, though, with a dove.”
Aine unrolled it and tilted it toward the dim light of the overcast sky. He’d already read it half a dozen times, making sure he wasn’t missing anything in the tiny, cramped writing: Arrived Glas Na Baile. Friendly. Entry tomorrow.
Aine let the paper curl back in her palm. “‘Friendly’? That means they don’t expect any opposition, right?”
“He would have written ‘hostile’ had he thought they would need to fight. That’s a good sign, Aine.” Eoghan smiled at her, forcing all the reassurance he could muster, and then realized he might be overdoing it. He nodded toward the game board. “You get the opening move.”
Aine selected a gray pawn and moved it forward in a traditional opening. Eoghan immediately moved his black piece to mirror hers.
“I can’t decide if it’s easier or more difficult for you,” she said while she considered her next move.
“What do you mean?”
“Having Comdiu’s voice in your head.”
It was a surprisingly personal observation, considering how hard Aine seemed to work to keep things light and superficial. “I’m not sure I can answer that. I’ve never experienced its absence. I mean, there have been times when He chooses to be silent, but He’s there all the same.” Even now, when Eoghan wasn’t sure if the warning he was feeling was from Comdiu or his own conscience.
Aine chose another pawn and moved it on the outside of the board. “Sometimes I wonder if I imagined His presence. Lord Balus appeared to me once, you know. He’s sent his Companions multiple times. Yet when I sit here alone, it all seems very distant.”
He didn’t answer right away. She had hit on his biggest challenge. He considered how much to confide in her before he decided she deserved the truth. “You have no idea how long I questioned whether the voice I heard was real or a product of madness. I learned to keep it hidden, secret, as soon as I was old enough to understand I was different. Even now, when Comdiu won’t give me specifics and just talks in hints, I wonder.”
“What’s the point, then?” Aine asked. “Why do you think He speaks to you if He won’t tell you what to do?”
How many times had he asked that very question? He moved a piece and took one of her soldiers. “I suppose if He were always perfectly clear, I wouldn’t have to have faith. Is this about Conor and the rune?”
She blinked, surprised, and he laughed. “I know you two better than you think. You’ve always been connected in a way. He could feel when you were in danger. Whether it was Comdiu telling him or it was some sort of magical link, you two have always had something unusual—something I confess I’m a little envious of. And now you’re grieving the loss of that in a way, even though he’s still there.”
“And doubting my own faith,” she muttered.
“Aye. Because so many of your fears are for him and not for yourself.”
“Did Comdiu tell you that?”
“No. As I said, I know you two better than you think. Everything will work out as it must, Aine. You need to believe that. You also need to watch your queen, because she’s in danger.”
Aine stared down at the board, where he was poised to take the piece in four moves. “I never claimed to be great at this game, you know.”
His heart beat a little too fast as he considered his next words, even if he weren’t so clear on his own motivations. “I never claimed to be good at this”—he waved a hand vaguely between them—“but I’ll give it a try. Do you think we could be friends, Aine? Just friends.”
“I think we already are.” She nudged a piece forward. “You might be a better friend if you ignored what a terrible move that was.”
“We’re not that close,” he said, right before he put her king into check.
By the time they’d played two games—both of which Eoghan won, even though she made a far better showing the second time—her eyes shone and her cheeks were pink from the cold. She also looked more cheerful than she had since Conor left. Gradually, the awkwardness fell away and Aine relaxed in his presence. Even if he couldn’t claim that his feelings were purely friendly, he’d convinced himself he could push them down where they wouldn’t get in the way. She was his best friend’s wife, and right now she needed his support. He would not do anything to jeopardize that trust, no matter how hard it might be.
Iomhar escorted Aine from the balcony. Even though his face was expressionless, she thought she felt a vague wave of disapproval. Or maybe that was just her own guilt speaking.
I have nothing to feel guilty about. But accepting the company of a man who was clearly interested in more than friendship felt like a betrayal.
Beside her, Iomhar muttered something that she didn’t catch. “Pardon me?” she asked, a touch crossly.
Iomhar gave her a bewildered look. “I’m sorry, my lady?”
“It must have been my imagination.” She hugged her arms around herself against the cold breeze coming through the balcony door. But then she heard it again. A whisper. A man’s voice.
Keondric? But no, it wasn’t that kind of voice. It wasn’t even familiar. It was distant, faded even.
Eoghan stepped through the doorway, game board tucked under his arm, and immediately picked up on her confusion. “Something the matter?”
“I thought I heard something.”
“Keondric?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Maybe I’m just tired. I haven’t slept all that well lately.” In fact, she’d slept fine since Conor h
ad left, but admitting that aloud felt like another betrayal. Yet, that tickle, that whisper, returned. “I would swear it’s coming from your office.”
“It should be empty. But let’s look.”
Eoghan led them back toward the office and up the steps. He gave the door a little push open. Empty.
Aine pressed a hand to her forehead. She wandered around the chamber, ready to declare herself mistaken, when she heard it again: not a whisper but an echo. Dozens of echoes.
And they were coming from a flat wooden box.
“You have the sword here.” She looked back at Eoghan for confirmation.
“Conor brought it up before he left. We thought it was a poor idea to have it locked away in the event we needed it and he was . . . unavailable.”
In case he was dead and the password didn’t pass to his successor like it was supposed to, you mean. But she couldn’t bring herself to speak that thought.
Instead, she opened the box to reveal the sword, the shimmer of runes along the blade reflecting a light that had no appreciable source in the room. She glanced over her shoulder again. “This is what I’m hearing. The oaths. May I?”
Eoghan stood, mesmerized by the development. “Aye, of course.”
Aine reached for the sword. The instant her hand closed around it, the hum of energy pulsed through her, that old bright magic she had always sensed in the wards. And then she heard the voices, thousands of them, echoing the same oath over and over again. She pulled in a shocked breath and dropped the sword back into the case.
“I heard them. The oaths. What does that mean?” She looked between the two men, feeling just as amazed as they looked.
“I don’t know,” Eoghan said. “The only people who have ever been able to hear them were Liam and Conor. And now you.”
“Maybe that means we’re supposed to have a High Queen,” Iomhar quipped, then quickly sobered at Eoghan’s sharp look.
“I doubt it,” Aine said. “Conor heard the oaths when Liam was alive, so hearing them doesn’t necessarily indicate leadership.”
“Except Conor ended up being Liam’s successor,” Eoghan said.
The Sword and the Song Page 26
