The Veil (Fianna Trilogy Book 3)

by Megan Chance

  “She pledged her oath to my courtier, Turgen.” Battle Annie gestured, and a boy with copper hair stumbled forward as if someone had pushed him. His head was bowed, his wrists bound with vines that licked and wriggled like little snakes. “The two of them conspired to mutiny. Turgen has already been punished for his treachery.”

  At this, the boy raised his head. I saw with shock that his eyes were white and ghostly. Blinded.

  Battle Annie went on, “But the girl denies she was part of his plan. She claims that he enthralled her, and she had no will of her own.”

  “Is that possible?” I asked. “Are there spells to make one a slave?”

  Battle Annie lifted a brow. “You seem surprised, veleda. I think you know the answer already. You’ve felt such enslavement yourself, have you not? The ball seirce was a fairy’s gift.”

  I knew everyone must have noted my flaming cheeks.

  “Turgen claims he cast no spells. And so, a brithem must decide.”

  Deirdre pleaded, “He did enthrall me. I would never have joined with him otherwise. Please, veleda. You must believe me.”

  I felt sorry for her. I knew what it was to feel helpless against love, to be foolish and blind. I wanted to help her, and I knew it was in my power to do so. A word from me, and Battle Annie would set her free.

  But what kind of brithem would I be if I did not seek the truth? I closed my eyes and listened, so many songs, all playing together, and there, woven within them, was Deirdre’s. I’d heard it before, the music that had once told me to trust her. She was telling the truth.

  But then I heard the false note—only one, but it was enough. Just as I’d been able to hear the complicated truth of how Iobhar had drained Roddy, I understood what had happened between the fairies. Deirdre had been in love with Turgen, but he had not compelled her. Because she loved him, Deirdre had helped Turgen with the mutiny. Because she loved him, she had done what he wanted.

  The truth, as always, was not black or white, but gray.

  I knew what I must say would condemn her, because no one cared why someone had done something, only that they had. I felt sick. This was what it meant to be a judge, to know your words dealt life or death, punishment or reprieve.

  How could I do this? It was so overwhelming—not just this decision now, but the knowledge of what I must do, who I must be. The choice I had to make on Samhain had always been more about dying than anything else. But now, I realized how much bigger it was, what it really meant. It was tied to everything I loved. How could I choose against Diarmid? Or Patrick? Against Aidan or Mama? How could I possibly condemn any of them?

  Reluctantly I opened my eyes and said, “Deirdre was in love with Turgen. It was why she followed him. She was enslaved by love, but it was no spell.”

  Deirdre sagged; Battle Annie smiled, showing those wicked, filed teeth. “Thank you, veleda. We bow to your punishment.”

  “What punishment?”

  “’Tis your power and your duty. ‘The veleda sees, she weighs, she chooses.’ Do so.”

  They all looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to unleash Deirdre’s punishment, which I could not do. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I didn’t have the power. I was only the brithem; only the vater could punish or redeem. My grandmother, not me. I felt the danger of the truth, the music of peril all around me. Iobhar was right—to reveal this would be folly. But what else could I do? Snap my fingers and say, I think she’s been punished enough, don’t you? They would only see weakness. They would know. Deirdre whimpered.

  Battle Annie said, “To delay is no kindness.”

  Frantically, I tried to remember one of the spells for the vater. My mind was blank. I stared helplessly at Deirdre.

  Aidan’s music crescendoed; I felt the tightening of the web, a fierce buzzing.

  Aidan knew.

  I shouted, “No, Aidan!” Too late. A bolt shot from his fingertips, dazzling purple. It hit Deirdre and then—shockingly—bounced off the vines binding her and dissipated into smoke.

  The sidhe grabbed my brother. Our connection wavered; I gasped as he sank to his knees, weakened by their draw on his power. Patrick rushed to him. “Let him go! For God’s sake, let him go!”

  “He has taken away the veleda’s right to deliver justice,” Battle Annie said. “For that, he must pay the price.”

  “No,” I protested. “No! He was only trying to help me.”

  “What veleda has need of help from a stormcaster?” she asked acidly.

  Aidan writhed in the fairies’ grasp, and I felt the sidhe’s pull as he did. Desire and repulsion, surrender . . .

  Mama screamed. The sound echoed in my head, so loud I put my hands to my ears. She swayed; Daire Donn caught her. Her eyes shone with fear.

  “To me!” Finn shouted, but before Diarmid could join him, the sidhe swarmed to keep them apart.

  One of the sidhe jerked back Aidan’s head, while another set a shining, ancient knife to his throat.

  I screamed, “No! You can’t kill him! He’s the veleda too!”

  The world seemed to crack. Everyone halted.

  Aidan gasped, “Grace, what have you done?” He was breathing hard, his eyes rolling back into his head.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Battle Annie demanded.

  “The veleda’s been split,” I confessed, feeling everything fall apart and helpless to stop it. There was no way to call it back or undo it. “There was a curse. The veleda is now three. Me, Aidan, and my grandmother. Eubages, brithem, and vater. I’m only the brithem.”

  “The veleda’s split?” Patrick whispered in relief, as if a tormenting mystery had at last been solved. “How long have you known this?”

  “A few weeks. Iobhar discovered it.”

  “You knew this and you said nothing?” Diarmid asked, looking at me as if I’d betrayed him, but how could that be, when he was more dangerous to me than anything?

  “Release them,” Battle Annie said. “Take our prisoner back to the dungeon. I’ll decide her punishment myself. I am no fool to interfere with prophecies. But veleda”—she took in both Aidan and me with her gaze—“there are others who would dare.”

  The fairies drew back. Aidan collapsed on the floor.

  Deirdre called out, “Turgen!” as they took her away, and he strained to follow. Those who held him tightened their grips, and he bowed his head in heartbreaking surrender.

  I wanted only to leave. I hurried from the dais. Patrick helped my brother to his feet and came to me. When he touched my hand, my fear fell away. I stumbled gratefully into Patrick’s arms.

  “We should go,” he said. “And quickly, before Annie changes her mind.”

  My mother was there, Lot and Daire Donn behind her. Mama was trembling.

  “These cursed sidhe,” said Daire Donn. “’Tis best to have nothing to do with them. We were lucky today. Next time, my dear, you should heed our warnings.”

  “Patrick, Aidan must come back to the house with us,” Mama said.

  Finn came up to us just in time to hear her. He said tersely, “Aidan belongs to the Fianna now.” Then he looked at me. “Might I speak with you, lass?”

  Mama touched my arm, a shake of her head, and Patrick looked thunderous. But I was surrounded by people determined to protect me, and so I nodded, and Finn and I stepped away from the others.

  He stood close, too close, just as he had that day he’d asked me questions in their tenement room. He was just as stunning as he had been then. Anxiously, I remembered the way he’d fingered my hair, the longing I’d seen in his eyes, because I’d reminded him of Neasa, whom he’d once loved.

  “We’ve only a moment before the others will protest,” he said. “So I’ll be blunt, veleda, and ask if you will come with us. You are bound to the Fianna. The Fomori have no claim to you. We will protect you with our lives if we must. I think you know this.”

  The words were simple, but his plea was not. I felt his longing again, and with it his hope and fear. T
he way he looked at me—Finn was wise and gifted and canny, and I saw that he understood me in a way even Diarmid did not. He saw all the ways I was tangled. He understood why I struggled. This was why men flocked to follow him. It wasn’t just his charisma; it was his perception. The two things together made me want to do whatever he asked. I wanted him to be the hero he’d been in the tales I’d grown up with. I wanted to believe him.

  But Iobhar’s lessons had taught me to be wary. Neither, nor. I’d heard other tales, too, and I knew that truth was not absolute.

  And so I said only, “Not today.”

  Finn pursed his lips thoughtfully. He reached out before I knew what he was doing; his finger swept my jaw, a warm and tender touch, as if he meant to reassure himself that I was real. The warmth of him lingered. “I know better than to argue with a veleda. Therefore, we will wait. But a word from you, and we will hasten to your side. Remember this.”

  I had no time to answer before Aidan was there. He looked as troubled as he had all day. He said nothing to me, instead leaning to whisper something to Finn; but I heard my brother’s voice in my head: We have to talk, Grace. I’ll come to you soon. Don’t do anything until then. Promise me.

  Mama hurried over. She pulled me away from Finn and Aidan, saying, “Come now, Grace. The carriage waits.”

  And then . . . I couldn’t help myself. I looked for Diarmid. He stood at the door, waiting for me.

  “Is that him? Diarmid?” Mama gripped my hand. “Don’t speak to him.”

  “She certainly will not,” Lot agreed, taking my other arm.

  They rushed me past him. He didn’t try to stop me, but the accusation and anger in his eyes were unbearable.

  We stepped out into the world just before dawn, into a chill breeze coming off the water that felt as if it settled in my heart.

  October 28

  Patrick

  Patrick rubbed his eyes in exhaustion. A pink and gold sunrise streaked a slate-colored sky beyond the parlor windows. The fire was burning, but he was so cold, he felt he might never be warm again.

  The veleda was split. It explained everything: his concern and worry for Aidan as well as Grace, and also for their grandmother. He was the protector of the veleda, so of course he was bound to watch over all three. The ogham stick’s riddles made sense at last. Great stones crack and split. All things will only be known in pieces.

  But what exactly did the split mean for the prophecy? For the ritual?

  “If we knew what caused the curse, we could know how to mend it,” Lot mused. She and Daire Donn and Patrick had been talking since they’d returned. Mrs. Knox had gone to bed, looking more fragile than ever. Grace had followed.

  Lot warmed her hands by the fire, her hair deeply golden in the light. “With the power so fractured, the sacrifice may release only that which belongs to the vater. It may not be enough to help us, as we’d hoped.”

  “The power will want to mend itself,” Daire Donn offered. “The sacrifice may kill all three.”

  Patrick made a sound of despair.

  Lot said gently, “We don’t know, my darling. None of us have seen this before. We’re only guessing.”

  “What would this mean for your bargain with the Otherworld?” Patrick asked. “Is it likely we can barter for the release of three souls?”

  He saw the answer in Lot’s eyes before she turned away.

  Daire Donn sighed. “Bres and the others will have to be told that the triune isn’t goddess power, but splintered. It won’t be good news. Ah, Druid divination. We should have learned by now not to trust it.”

  “The Fianna believed it too,” Patrick said.

  “Did they?” Daire Donn’s brow furrowed. “They told you this? Tonight when you went to the river queen’s lair? Which reminds me: how did you come to be with them there?”

  Patrick heard the suspicion in Daire Donn’s voice, but he was too tired and confused to care. “The Fianna were waiting when Grace and I returned from the ball. They brought Battle Annie’s message. She had gone to them to find Grace. My only hope of keeping her out of Fianna hands was to go with them.”

  “Of course.” Lot sat beside him in a rustle of silk and a cloud of water lily perfume. “Any one of us would have done the same.”

  “I was surprised when you showed up. How did you find us?” Patrick asked.

  “Mrs. Knox was concerned when you and her daughter left the ball,” Lot explained. “The guard gave us a description of who you’d gone away with, and Mrs. Knox felt very strongly that Battle Annie was involved. We were lucky she was right. Mothers and daughters have a curious bond. I have often been in awe of it.” Her hand came to Patrick’s arm. “You have done so well, my darling. Did you see Finn’s face when she confessed that she still loved you?”

  Grace hadn’t confessed that, but Patrick didn’t bother to correct Lot. Grace had only been doing what he’d asked her to do—pretend nothing had changed between them. But he’d seen her face when Diarmid had stepped from the shadows last night, and he feared that Grace had lied when she’d said the lovespell had faded.

  “Yes, but it might not be enough,” Daire Donn said, pushing back his dark hair that had come loose from its queue as he paced to the window. “We came near to losing everything last night. If the pirate queen had killed the lad . . . ’twould have been disaster. We’ll need the whole of the veleda for the ritual. Even so, the power might be weakened. We’re sore pressed as it is. The Fianna’s militia grows more skilled. Our spies tell us they’ve sent men into factories to organize strikes.”

  Lot said, “The evictions will help, but—”

  “Evictions?” Patrick asked.

  “We’ve been evicting strike organizers.” Daire Donn turned from the window. “They’ve followed the Fianna blindly, but we’ll see how much they still feel like rebelling when they’ve nowhere to go home to each night.”

  “You’re putting families on the streets?”

  Daire Donn’s gaze softened with compassion. “None of us likes such tactics, my friend. But you know as well as I that war requires it. We can’t have them organizing for the Fianna.”

  Daire Donn was right. The Fianna had captured the minds of the poor; they could shut down the city with strikes and riots and protests. Patrick couldn’t let himself forget what was important. Beating the Fianna, so they could move on to Ireland, to the real fight.

  But none of this was what he’d anticipated when he’d called the Fianna so long ago. It was not what he’d wanted. And now the veleda was fractured, and his own loyalties hopelessly divided.

  “We’re with you to the end in this, my friend,” Daire Donn assured him.

  It was all Patrick had hoped for. The loyalty of the Fomori. Winning freedom for Ireland, for his people.

  He wondered when that thought had become such a cold comfort.

  That morning

  Diarmid

  Diarmid followed Finn and Aidan back to the tenement as dawn broke over the world. The air was heavy with the mineral stink of coal smoke, streets filling with ragged drovers and peddlers, newspaper boys climbing from their sleeping alcoves near steam vents, and homeless men and women looking dazed and uncertain.

  He wanted to be a hero, but a hero wouldn’t be so torn. A hero would sacrifice love for his people. A hero would make the choice his brothers expected of him.

  And it should be easier now, shouldn’t it? It wasn’t Grace he had to kill. But it wasn’t easier, because he had to kill someone she loved. If Grace lived through it, she would never forgive him. He wouldn’t expect her to.

  When they reached the flat, Diarmid lay on his pallet, staring sleeplessly at the ceiling, haunted by the desperate fear on Grace’s face when she’d revealed that the veleda was split. In spite of everything between them, she still didn’t trust him.

  Almost as disturbing were those moments she’d spent with Finn before they’d left Battle Annie’s. What had he said to her? How closely they’d stood, how warmly Finn had caressed he
r. The start of Finn’s seduction, no doubt. . . . Well, Diarmid had known to expect it. He shouldn’t care—she didn’t trust him, and she’d told him to leave her alone, and he knew he should. But he did care.

  Finally, he gave up the pretense of sleep. He sat spinning one of his daggers between his fingers, watching as the others went to drill with the militia, and wondered what Finn expected of him now.

  He got the answer quickly.

  “Go and train,” Finn told him.

  “What, no hunting down Grace?” Diarmid asked bitterly. “No wresting her from Fomori hands? Or were you planning to do that yourself?”

  “I’ve no intention of pursuing her. I trust that heartens you. We’ll leave it to Aidan. If anyone can persuade her to choose us, ’twill be him.”

  Diarmid let the dagger fall, point first, into the hard-packed dirt of the floor, where it stuck and vibrated.

  Finn squatted beside him. His eyes were . . . sad, Diarmid thought. How strange. He hadn’t seen that expression on Finn’s face for a very long time.

  Finn said, “I know the geis torments you, lad. But you seem worse today, even though ’tis not your beloved you must kill, but an old woman who’s already seen her best days.”

  “The veleda’s split. Perhaps Grace and Aidan will die with her. Or perhaps the spell won’t work at all.”

  “Perhaps,” Finn agreed, his gaze gentle with affection. “There’s no way of knowing. All we can do is train our men, fight the best we can, and hope she chooses us. You feel too much, sometimes, Diarmid. ’Tis your worst fault as well as your greatest strength. But we value it. We trust you to make the right decision. You know this?”

  “Aye.”

  “Now go on and train. ’Twill do you good not to think.”

  The little bit of compassion nearly undid him. Diarmid rose, shoving his dagger back into his belt, going up the stairs, into an overcast day that promised rain.

  Aidan joined him. “I want to know what you think will happen. Tell me exactly. Don’t try to ease it.”