by Megan Chance
Diarmid kept walking. “You already knew the veleda was split, didn’t you? Don’t bother to lie to me. I know you did.”
“Don’t act so annoyed. I tried to tell you.”
“When?”
“It’s what I was trying to say when Battle Annie showed up.”
Diarmid vaguely remembered Aidan saying there was something Grace didn’t want him to know. “When did Grace tell you?”
“She didn’t. We’re connected, remember? We’re each part of a whole. It explains everything. Something’s felt wrong to me about the veleda from the beginning. My grandmother’s words, the prophecy . . . nothing made sense. Then Grace stepped out of that pawnshop, and everything she knew flooded into my head. But Finn won’t tell me what he thinks this means.”
“Because no one knows what it means. No one’s ever heard of such a thing. A veleda split . . . it should be impossible.”
“Iobhar says it was a curse to punish a lie.”
“Iobhar?”
“The sidhe archdruid. The veleda is Cormac’s Cup made human. A lie broke it into three. Iobhar told Grace the most powerful kind of lie is a broken promise. That’s what he thinks caused it.”
It made sense. Dishonor. A bad vow. Going against one’s most sacred duty: being true to oneself. It was powerful magic. “Who does Iobhar say was responsible?”
Aidan shrugged. “He doesn’t know. An ancestor. Does it matter?”
“You’re asking me questions that no one can answer. All I know is that Nature tries to heal herself. Things want to be whole.”
“So you think we’ll all die during the ritual? Grace and me as well as our grandmother?”
Diarmid couldn’t look at him. “That’s my fear, aye. When your morai offers herself for the sacrifice—”
“Offers herself? How?”
The militia gathered in the alley. Oscar called out instructions; the others divided up the troops into training units. Diarmid said, “She has to show that she isn’t forced to offer her power, that it’s her own free will. In the old times, it was an honor to be so chosen. She would even want to die. Things are different now, but still . . . she could choose not to sacrifice herself, though I’m thinking that wouldn’t end well. Such magic doesn’t like to be thwarted.”
“It needs free will?” Aidan’s eyes sparked with that vibrant, electric energy.
“Aye. I’ve got to go train—”
Aidan grabbed his arm. “No. Come with me.”
“They’re waiting—”
“We have to see Grace.”
Her name stopped Diarmid in his tracks. “She doesn’t want to see me, Aidan, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“I want you to tell her what you just told me.”
“What I just told you? All I’ve said is that I don’t know what will happen.”
“About free will. You have to tell Grace that.”
“Tell her yourself.”
“Derry, don’t be an ass,” Aidan said urgently. “My grandmother’s comatose. Before that, she was mad. She didn’t know what she was saying or doing half the time. How exactly is she supposed to offer herself to the spell? She’s the vater, but she can’t choose whether or not to sacrifice herself. She has no free will.”
It was too fine a point. It wouldn’t matter. But Diarmid’s hope flickered. No free will. Brigid Knox was the vater, but she couldn’t offer herself to his knife. And if she couldn’t offer herself . . .
Perhaps the geis would be forfeit.
Aidan said, “Just tell Grace what you told me. Then we’ll think of what must be done.”
That hope was more than a flicker now. Diarmid had looked so long for something. Barely a straw to grasp, but maybe . . .
“Come on,” he said.
That afternoon
Grace
I slept late, and woke with a headache that made me want to lie in bed all day. Coward. Yes, I was, but I could no longer avoid the danger Iobhar had predicted. I had to face it.
I wore the blue watered-silk gown that Iobhar had given me, which only made me look as pale and sick as I felt. Then I went to see my grandmother.
The room was dim, the curtains drawn. The air smelled of gaslight and beef tea. I knew when I saw her that Grandma would soon be gone, and not just because it was only days until Samhain. I wondered if waiting for the ritual was the only thing that kept her alive.
I went to her bedside and took her cold fingers in mine. I closed my eyes and tried to find her music—that of the Prophet, and the grandmother I loved—pushing aside all others, one by one, to hear. First, there was only an unnerving silence, and then a single note. And then another, and another. They flew away and struck one another, notes that had once harmonized, now distorted so they couldn’t fit together anymore, though they wanted to. I’d heard this music once before, but I hadn’t understood it then. Her madness was all through it. But there must be the vater’s music, too, tangled within it. There had to be—
Instead, I heard another song, sweet and touched with a frenzied, vibrant fire. It pushed in, insistent, and Grandma’s music fled as if her notes were caught in a cyclone wind, ripped away. The other music stayed. It, too, held some distorted notes, that touch of madness.
Aidan.
Waiting for me in the park’s gazebo. I opened my eyes. “I’ll be back, Grandma,” I whispered, though I knew she heard nothing now. I ran downstairs, right into Patrick.
“There you are,” he said with a tired smile. “I’ve been waiting for you. There are things we should talk about, Grace.”
“I know.” Aidan in my head, urgent. Now, Grace. “But perhaps later? I was hoping to go for a walk—”
“I’ll come with you,” he said.
“Oh. Oh no, I don’t want to keep you . . .”
Understanding leaped into Patrick’s eyes. “It’s Aidan, isn’t it? I need to talk to him too. Is he in the gazebo?”
Patrick was also Aidan’s protector. I nodded.
“You never would have got past the guard without me.”
I’d forgotten completely about the guards. I followed Patrick outside. It was cold and looked like rain. I kept forgetting it was no longer summer. Patrick told the guard we were going for a walk, and we went into the nearly empty park. When we reached the gazebo, Aidan wasn’t the only one waiting.
“Diarmid,” Patrick said. “Again? This is starting to be a bad habit.”
“I could say the same of you,” Diarmid replied, his dark-blue gaze intense. “’Twas only Grace who was summoned.”
“I’m the veleda’s protector, or have you forgotten? It’s my job to protect Grace. And Aidan.”
“And that means she’s not to take a step without you?”
“If that’s how to keep her safe.”
“This has nothing to do with you.”
“Everything about the veleda has to do with me.”
“You protectors are always stepping in where you don’t belong—”
“Derry, stop,” Aidan commanded. “And you, too, Patrick. We’ve more important things to discuss than who has the right to protect whom.”
I asked, “Why are you here, Derry? There are guards everywhere. It’s too dangerous.”
“’Tis good to know you still worry over what happens to me, lass. And here I’d thought you past all that.”
I tried to pretend my heart wasn’t in my throat. Patrick stood very close. I saw the quick tensing of Diarmid’s jaw, the flexing of his fingers, and deliberately, I stepped away from Patrick, not wanting to make things worse. “Nothing has changed. You shouldn’t have come.”
“Aye, you’re right. I shouldn’t have. And I wouldn’t have if Aidan hadn’t insisted. The gods know I’ve no liking for having my heart ripped out over and over again.”
My brother interrupted. “Listen to what he has to say. Tell them, Derry.”
“The prophecy needs free will,” Diarmid said bluntly.
Aidan shot me a triumphant look.
I
frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I,” Patrick said.
“Don’t you see?” My brother’s voice was high with excitement. “‘The veleda sees, she weighs, she chooses.’ She has to choose to offer her power.”
“I already know that,” I said. “But it’s not as if there’s really a choice. No sacrifice at all could mean the end of everything.”
“But Grace, Grandma can’t choose anything,” Aidan said.
Patrick grasped it more quickly than I did. “If she can’t offer herself, the ritual can’t be completed, through no one’s fault.”
“Exactly,” Aidan said.
I could not keep the strain of hope from my voice. “And the geis?”
“I don’t know,” Diarmid admitted.
Aidan said, “How can the geis matter if the vater has no free will? This could be the way out for all of us.”
I wanted to believe. I wanted it so badly. But I knew too much now. Iobhar had made certain of it. “I thought this kind of magic wanted punishment and sacrifice.”
Diarmid nodded. “Aye. If the vater refused to sacrifice herself, there would be retribution. The magic would find a way to work and punish as well. But now . . . It seems an opening.”
“You believe that? You truly do?”
“I want to believe it,” he said quietly.
“Could it really be so easy?” Patrick asked.
“Iobhar would know,” I said.
“No. For God’s sake, Grace, no. He’s too dangerous,” Patrick told me.
“If there is an answer, he’ll have it.”
“I agree with Patrick for a change,” Diarmid said. “You can’t go back there. Nor Aidan.”
Aidan said, “Samhain’s only in a few days. We need answers now. Grace is right, if anyone knows, it would be Iobhar. I’ll go with her.”
“And have him drain the both of you?” Diarmid said incredulously.
“I’ll go with them,” said Patrick. “I’m the protector, after all.”
“You might be the protector, but you know next to nothing about the sidhe and their tricks,” Diarmid protested.
“And you can’t see them through a glamour,” Patrick pointed out. “But I can. I’m the one who rescued Grace. Not you.”
“Enough,” Aidan broke in, rolling his eyes. “Both of you go, or neither; it doesn’t matter to me. But decide it now, so we can get this over with.”
“I’m going,” Diarmid said.
“And so am I,” said Patrick.
I had to admit I was glad. Between Diarmid’s understanding of the sidhe, Patrick’s ability to see through glamours, Aidan’s stormcasting, and my training, I thought we might actually discover something.
We told no one we were going. Who knew if anything would come of it? Patrick told his mother we were going for a drive and ordered the carriage. I felt a growing excitement as we started for Corlears Hook, a hope I hadn’t felt since I’d found Iobhar. If there could be no sacrifice, there could be no geis . . . It felt as if a tight little knot inside me was beginning to loosen. Perhaps there could be a future for me and Diarmid. Perhaps . . .
I told myself not to want so much, but it was like a drop of water in a puddle, circles spreading and multiplying. No ritual. No geis. Alive. Together.
It meant that I could love him.
He met my gaze as if he knew what I was thinking. Yearning leaped between us, so strong, I caught my breath and had to look away—right into Patrick’s eyes. I saw his flash of pain and knew that he’d seen.
“We don’t know what it means yet, Grace,” Aidan said, a soft admonishment, my brother feeling my emotions through the web woven between us. He was right. I couldn’t afford to think these things, or to want them. Not yet.
It wasn’t long before we were in Corlears Hook, and Roddy’s Grotto.
I was nervous as we approached. Diarmid’s hand brushed the small of my back, making me shiver. He said, “You’re stronger now. And we’re with you. There’s no need to be afraid.”
“He’s right,” Patrick said brusquely. “We’ll make sure no harm comes to either of you.”
I reached for Aidan’s hand and squeezed it tight, and he smiled thinly, then I pushed open the door and stepped inside.
So familiar, the smell of mildew and must, Iobhar’s scent. Roddy looked up from the counter, where he was polishing a broach I knew he’d polished six hundred times already. A smile lit his face, then died quickly.
“I want to see him,” I said.
Roddy glanced at Aidan. “He should not be here. You should tell him to flee. Run! Run!”
“Iobhar won’t hurt him.”
“And just how do you know that, brithem? You are no eubages to see the future.”
The voice was Iobhar’s, coming from a dark corner that led to a darker hallway and floors upon floors of glamoured stairs. He wore the gold-and-scarlet-edged tunic and the supple leather boots. The bells around his neck tinkled. A feathered headdress fanned from his long curls like a peacock’s tail.
His golden gaze swept us. “I see you’ve brought guests. Or perhaps . . . an offering?”
“My brother, Aidan,” I said by way of introduction.
“We’ve met, though he doesn’t know it.” Iobhar sauntered over. My brother wavered, leaning toward him. I knew what he was imagining. Putting a necklace of bells around his neck, dancing and dancing . . .
“We’ve questions to ask of you,” I said. “My brother is not your prize.”
Iobhar’s smile broadened. “As you wish, brithem.” His music ceased. Aidan jerked upright, stumbling. Iobhar glanced at Patrick and Diarmid. “Did you not trust me, milis? How you wound me.”
“She has plenty of reason,” Patrick said.
“Sometimes even I get lonely. I have no liking for my own kind, and she at least is clever.” Iobhar’s fingers brushed my hair.
Diarmid’s knife was in his hand so quickly, I had not seen him reach for it. “Don’t touch her.”
“I could incinerate you where you stand, Ua Duibhne, so do not try me.”
“No one wants a fight.” Patrick touched Diarmid’s arm. Reluctantly, Diarmid lowered the knife.
“We have questions about the split veleda,” Aidan said. “And the ritual.”
Iobhar crossed his arms over his chest. The necklaces jangled at the movement; the feathers in his hair fanned open and closed as if they were alive. “I’ve already told the brithem what I know.”
“Not everything, I think,” I said. “What happens if the vater can’t offer her power?”
Iobhar eyed me. “Can’t? Or won’t?”
“My grandmother is comatose. Diarmid says she must offer herself to the sacrifice freely. She can’t do that. Does it change anything?”
One dark brow rose. “’Tis an interesting question.”
“Does it cancel the geis?” I rushed to get the words out.
Iobhar glanced at Diarmid, who watched tensely, his knife still in his hand. “You ask me to be certain about uncertainties. The geis has bound this warrior for centuries. The veleda’s duty has passed through blood and time. It has strength and power.”
“But the geis was meant for a veleda whose power was whole. Who could act,” I said.
“Aye. And the ritual requires that the veleda see and weigh as well. Your brother is still a Seer. You can tell truth from lies. Together you will know which side is worthy.”
“But she can’t choose. Are you saying that Diarmid is still bound?”
The feathers in Iobhar’s hair fanned out again. “I did not say that. I have no idea what will happen with the vater. But you and your brother must perform your parts of the ritual. He must see, and you must weigh. As for the rest . . . if the vater cannot act, the geis cannot be fulfilled. Perhaps the powers that be will leave it at that.”
“But you don’t know for certain,” I said.
“No,” he agreed. “Perhaps you and your brother will be enough to satisfy the prophecy, and yo
u will be allowed to live. Perhaps not. Perhaps the inability to fulfil the geis will be seen as a refusal, and Ua Duibhne and the others will die.”
“Those aren’t answers.”
“They are the only ones I have. The world is uncertain. The only advice I can give you is this, brithem: prepare to die and hope you will live. The ritual cannot be completed—’tis no fault of yours or your brother’s, nor even of your warrior. Intention matters. ’Twill be accepted or not. There is no way of reading such ancient power, and no way of predicting it. But know this too: fate can be changed by those willing to risk everything to change it.”
“Faith or fear,” I whispered.
Diarmid gave me a quick look, and I knew he recognized the words he’d once said to me.
Iobhar shrugged. “Life is cruel and unfair. You can only control who you will be. If you act bravely in the world, perhaps it will reward you. If not . . . you deserve the fate it assigns.”
Diarmid sighed and put his knife back into his belt.
“And what about the power the sacrifice is supposed to release?” Patrick asked. “If there is no power, what happens?”
“Who knows? Death—or worse: perhaps the Fomori and the Fianna will be forced to find a way to live with each other.”
“Live with chaos and evil?” Diarmid snorted.
“Or arrogance and abuse of power?” Patrick countered.
“How is that different from anyone’s life?” Iobhar asked.
Aidan raked his hand through his hair, electrifying it. “So that’s all you can tell us? That we have to be brave? That we have to just hope?”
“’Tis the truest answer, eubages.”
Patrick said, “As I see it, unless your grandmother unexpectedly wakes, we’ve two options: go through with the ritual up to the sacrifice and hope for the best, or ignore Samhain altogether and face certain disaster.”
“Neither’s a good choice,” Diarmid said.
“But at least one of them gives us better odds.”
“’Tis easy for you to say it. What are you risking?”
Patrick glanced at me. “Everything I’ve ever wanted.”
I felt myself blush, and I knew Diarmid noticed it.
“My vote is that we go ahead with the ritual,” Aidan said.
