I hesitated for a moment, struggling to think of an excuse, but there was nothing so important that would allow me to ignore my father’s command. I dipped my head in acquiescence, and he rode away, giving orders to the clansmen to rest.
Before I could follow, I watched Conall move to meet my father as he dismounted from his horse. Áthair bent his head toward Conall, and the two of them continued walking toward the castle keep.
It was Conall’s duty as much as it was mine to tell the king what had passed in the battle, but would Conall tell him of the Northman prisoner?
A sense of urgency nipped at my heels as I followed. If—no, when—my father discovered I kept the Northman prisoner in the cave, he would order him beheaded without question. In my mind, I saw the young prisoner and his younger brother, and a sort of desperation built within me. I winced as images of my sisters’ murders assaulted my mind. Forcefully, I pushed the terrorizing thoughts away. If the Northman knew something—anything—that could help me stop the crow’s vision, then I could not let him be killed.
Even if it meant facing Áthair’s wrath.
I strode into the keep’s great hall, my soft leather boots barely making a sound upon the stone floor. The cavernous room was quiet, the rows upon rows of wooden benches empty. Ahead of me, my father made his way toward his wide wooden throne, elevated on a stone dais. He would expect me to stand before him and make my report on the battle like any other clansman. For a moment, I imagined what it would be like to have him express concern for me, to inquire about the battle with his face twisted in anxiety instead of calculation. Even as I thought these things, I shook my head. My parents had always kept me at a distance; imagining anything different would only cause me pain.
The first time I’d stood before his disappointed gaze in this very room, I’d been thirteen. It was after our first battle against Northman raiders, and my leg had been cut so badly I could barely walk. As I limped the length of the room, my father watched my slow progress dispassionately.
“You have the blood of a warrior, Ciara,” my father had said, his eyes intense on mine. “It’s been a year since you first discovered your extraordinary powers, and still you have not mastered them.” He glanced down at my leg. “That injury you bear will be the least of what you—and others—may suffer if you cannot gain control of them. But we cannot rely on chance battles and raids to train you.” He waved forward one of our clansmen, a superior fighter as strong as an ox. “You will have to learn to take over the minds of our allies so that you may be able to do so against our enemies in battle.”
I wish I could say I hadn’t wanted to. That I’d refused my father and learned to hone my skills some other way. But the truth was, while my abilities disgusted and even shamed me, in the midst of using them, I reveled in them. I felt invincible, all-powerful, and most of all, I felt useful. So while part of me shriveled in horror at what I did to men and boys I’d grown up with, the other rejoiced at the power I displayed.
But such things came at a price.
My steps slowed, echoing in the great hall, as I tried unsuccessfully to fight off a yawning feeling of loneliness. As a child, I could never have been described as affable, but I did have a handful of friends. Now, it was only my sisters who sought my company—and Fergus, on occasion. As a princess, my clansmen couldn’t shun me outright, but they avoided me, until some days I felt like I’d go mad from the isolation. A writhing remorse deep in my abdomen surfaced—for men, much older than I, who watched me with suspicion and flinched when I entered the room. Of Séamus, who had once been my closest friend, a boy I’d thought I loved, but who now despised me.
Demon, they called me in their minds. Changeling. Cursed. And every time I took hold of someone’s mind, I wondered if perhaps they were right.
Reaching his throne before me, Áthair sat down heavily. When I stood before the dais, he glanced down at me and nodded. His elegant clothing looked dull—a fine layer of dust had settled upon his fur-trimmed cloak, his boots were scuffed, and his tunic was rumpled beneath his leather breastplate. For a moment, he looked so weary that I almost asked if he’d rather I came back later, but I knew drawing attention to any weakness of his made him bearish. As though sensing my thoughts, he straightened.
“You are to be commended for driving the pagans off,” Áthair began, but I waited bracingly, knowing his compliments were almost always followed by a criticism. “However, I was informed that there were survivors.”
My heart beat faster in my chest. So Conall must have told him. I kept my gaze very carefully on his eyes, afraid I’d betray myself by looking anxiously at the door. “They retreated when their leader was defeated.”
He leaned forward. “And you let them?”
I could see now that what I had originally taken for weariness was actually disappointment . . . in me. “Should I have hunted them all down as animals, then?”
“What you did was far worse. Tell me, what exactly were you planning to do with a prisoner?”
Suddenly, the room was much too warm. I needed the Northman alive, but if my father already knew, then had he sent one of the others to kill him? A niggling feeling crept up my neck. I knew what needed to be done—this was my father, yes, but also the king. And the king should be informed of a vision of monstrous beings who would not only bring about the destruction of Éirinn but the deaths of my own sisters. But would he believe me?
“I held him for questioning when I suspected he had attacked the northern monastery.”
Some of the anger in my father’s face lessened. “You feared for me?”
“I did, Áthair.”
“Why interrogate him when you could simply take over his mind?”
I raised my eyebrows in surprise. Áthair rarely discussed my abilities. Forced me to endlessly practice them on the training grounds, yes. But rarely spoke of them. “He was able to resist me,” I admitted.
Áthair looked taken aback for a moment, but quickly recovered. “A rare talent. Unfortunately for him, it’s not enough to preserve his life.” He let out a sigh and leaned back. “You’re a good daughter, Ciara. But it’s time you cleaned up your own mess. Go to the prisoner, kill him, and burn the body. Return to me when you are done.”
I froze, my heartbeat throbbing in my ears. It was now or never. Áthair needed to know why I couldn’t kill the Northman, why we might even need him to face the new enemies that would soon be at our door.
“Áthair,” I said, proud that my voice managed to not waver, “the prisoner must be kept alive.” His eyes narrowed, but I forged ahead. “After the battle with the Northmen raiders, I endured a vision of not only our kingdom falling under attack, but the whole of Éirinn.”
“You’ve never had visions before. Where did this come from, and why should you believe it?”
I took a deep breath. My pious father would not like to hear it had been given to me not by God, but by a pagan goddess. “The Morrigan appeared to me.”
His face paled, and he started to come out of his throne before sitting back down again. “The Morrigan?”
“Yes, Áthair,” I said. “The Phantom—”
“I know who she is,” he roared, his voice echoing throughout the throne room. “Why would you listen to one of the Old Ones? You know they’re dangerous. Many have been led to their death by the Old Ones, and many more have lost their souls.”
“I listened to her because it’s her voice I’ve been hearing all along—the one that has warned me of battles and death.” His face paled again, but at least he’d stopped shouting long enough to listen to me. “I listened because she showed our castle being attacked, and my sisters . . .” I swallowed hard as I remembered helplessly watching as the giant killed them both. “My sisters were killed by enemies I’ve never encountered before. They were like the Northmen we have battled, only giant, taller than an oak tree and stronger than any man I’ve ever seen. The Morrigan warned they wouldn’t rest with Éirinn; they meant to take over the world.”
>
“We have battled Northmen before and won,” Áthair said. “A pagan creature shows you differently, and you believe her. You are being led astray.”
I took a step toward the throne, desperation rising within me. “You don’t understand. I have heard her voice before, and she has never been wrong. You don’t understand what’s at stake.” I thought again of my sisters, of the whole isle turning to ash, and I painstakingly described every horrific image the Morrigan had shown me, but still, he shook his head angrily.
“Enough of this, Ciara,” he said, his voice rising again. “Listening to the Old Ones is heresy, and I will not tolerate it in my kingdom. Go to the Northman prisoner. Kill him. Be done with this—it matters not what the Morrigan told you. Their race is full of lies and deceit.”
“I cannot.”
Silence descended as Áthair stared at me. “You dare to tell me no?” His tone was dangerously calm.
Like a flame touched to dry wood, it ignited my own anger. “The Morrigan said the Northman is the only one aside from myself with the power to stop the inhuman invaders. If there’s even the slightest chance this is true, if it means keeping my sisters safe, then I will keep him alive.”
Áthair flew out of his throne, red-faced with rage. “If you defy me in this, Ciara, then I swear by all the saints that I will send you away to the other side of Éirinn and kill the Northman myself.”
His eyes were narrowed, his hands fists at his sides. I knew he wouldn’t listen to me, and I knew he’d stand by his words. He never listened to me, at least not like a father should listen to his daughter. The anger built and built within me, until every muscle tightened to the point it was painful. I thought of Alana, dead at the Northmen’s hands, of Branna and Deirdre writhing and clawing for breaths as they were murdered in my own room, and something within me snapped. If he wouldn’t listen to me, then I would make him understand. Without stopping to think of the consequences, I lashed out with my mind.
I grabbed hold of my father’s mind, and his shock and outrage spewed forth a torrent of memories that washed over me: the Morrigan on a battlefield, standing naked before Áthair, a murder of crows flying above them.
There will come a day, the Morrigan said in her terrible voice, when your own blood will join forces with your enemy.
He struggled against my hold on his mind, but I delved deeper until the thought he’d been trying to hide from me surfaced: the image of myself standing before him on the throne, telling him of the Morrigan’s vision, and Áthair, hearing the echo of the Morrigan’s warning all those years ago.
I shoved him back into his throne. “You knew the Morrigan’s vision was true.” The horror of that shook me enough that my mental grip on him weakened.
Áthair fought anew until he was able to wrench free of my hold. He gripped his head in his hands, and I knew he was in agony—taking control of someone by force could have that effect. I took a step forward as though I could help him, desperate to undo what I’d just done. “Áthair, I—”
“You dare turn on me like a mad dog?” His voice was gruff with pain but also anger. The fury rolled off him like black smoke.
“I just wanted you to understand. You have to listen to me—”
“Your mother always said I was wrong to train you after what you did to her.”
I flinched like I’d been struck. We never spoke of that day. It made me feel sick to be reminded of it after doing the same to Áthair. He stood, and again I reached out as if to steady him, but his words stopped me.
“She was right. You are an abomination, a monster who threatens her own family.” His eyes leveled on me, remorseless. “You leave me with no choice, despite the terrible loss of you as a warrior. But I can no longer fear who you will turn on next.”
His words hung heavily in the air, and I took a step back in horror when I realized who he was implying: my sisters.
“I want you to leave. There are convents far from here—the kingdoms of Connacht or Munster on the other side of Éirinn. They will take you in. Go there, and may God have mercy on your soul.”
I held on to my swelling rage; I knew once I took a moment to absorb my father’s words that I would face endless despair. Exile! I thought again of Branna and Deirdre, of my clansmen, and the kingdom of Mide. The Morrigan had said I had the ability to save them. I couldn’t let anything stand in my way. Not even my own father.
I did the only thing I could do: I turned and ran.
No one tried to stop me as I flew out of the castle, angrily brushing away the tears that fell unchecked from my eyes. I had broken the one rule I’d vowed to always uphold: to never use my abilities on a member of our family. Certainly not him. Never him.
“I am a monster,” I whispered to myself.
I had always been a monster in his eyes. But I would gladly be a monster if it meant saving my sisters.
Banishment. Exile. I never thought I’d hear those words directed toward me, and as the initial anger slowly abated, I had the strongest urge to run back to the castle and beg his forgiveness. The mere thought of having to leave the kingdom and not see my sisters again was so devastating I let out a cry of pain. It didn’t matter that I was the princess. Áthair was known for his quick temper, and many clansmen who had committed far lesser crimes had been exiled before. My particular crime subjected me to both Brehon Law, the law all kingdoms obeyed, and the Church. I wouldn’t be brought before a tribunal of judges, though—no, my father had already issued my punishment. As soon as he had recovered from my attack on him, he’d send his guards after me to escort me out of the kingdom.
There was only one place I could go . . . to the Northman.
And then what? I demanded of myself. Even if he knew of the invaders to our land, what would I do? Ask him to join me in exile?
I let out a noise that was disgust and frustration in one.
If I wanted the prisoner to answer me, it was in my best interest to bring him the food he demanded. There wouldn’t be time to force the information from him, no matter how desperate I was.
It was easy enough to retrieve bread and cheese from the larder, as well as a flagon of water, but I ground my teeth when I found a massive cauldron of fish stew bubbling over a fire. How I would hate the look of triumph on the Northman’s face when I brought him exactly what he had asked for.
I was as nervous as a hare that scented the fox as I hurried back through the bailey with my parcels of food. I couldn’t be detained. Lying was not my strength, and I was short on daylight.
A shock of red hair drew my attention as I made my way to the stockade. The Lord had mercy on me. It was Fergus and not Conall, for obviously it was he who had told my father about the prisoner. I should have anticipated it, really. Conall’s loyalties above all were to his king. I shouldn’t have expected him to keep silent on something like a captured Northman prisoner.
Fergus hailed me, one hand raised. “I was just coming to find you, milady. I checked on the prisoner not long ago, and he seemed to be asleep. Pity, that.”
I tried not to dance in place. I was desperate to continue on my way, but running off now would only make him suspicious. “Thank you, Fergus. I’m sorry to have left you at the foot of the trail for so long. Áthair summoned me the moment he returned.”
“And I apologize for having to leave my post, but the king will want to see me.”
My hands tightened on the food I carried. “Of course.”
Thoughts of how Fergus would react when he learned I’d attacked my own father and had been exiled for it tried to fill my mind, but I pushed them aside. They were too painful. His gaze drifted to the food I carried, and both bushy eyebrows lifted questioningly.
“It’s better not to ask,” I said.
He frowned. “You are feeding him now?”
I kept walking. “It’s none of your concern, Fergus.”
“It is, milady. I’m to keep watch over ye.” He touched his hand to my arm. “Does your father know?”
&nbs
p; In this, at least, I need not lie. “He does. This is to be the prisoner’s last meal.”
That silenced him for a moment. “Should I come with you?”
“No,” I said—a little too sharply. “I must speak to him privately first.”
I tried to hurry away from Fergus, but his words stopped me. “What more do you need to know? The king has returned to us safely. The Northman has nothing to offer you now.”
I stopped and turned toward my clansman. I held his watery gaze with mine, praying that I could convey the direness of the situation. “Fergus, do you believe the talk about me? That I’m a changeling?”
He floundered, all round eyes and gaping mouth. “I—” He seemed to gather his thoughts. “I wouldn’t consider myself an authority on such a matter. I only know you have the ability to . . .” And there he trailed off. “. . . control others in battle,” he said. “You are able to interpret omens.”
“Then know this. I have seen things, Fergus. Terrible things, destruction to our world I pray never comes to pass. I believe this Northman may have answers, and I will do anything to get them.”
“Even bringing him food like a servant?”
“Even that.”
Fergus nodded. “Very well, milady. But once you have your answers, if you find you cannot bring yourself to do what must be done, only call on me, and I will help you.”
He was offering to take the burden of executing the Northman for me. Not that I intended to go through with the act—not when the Northman could be the only remaining ally I had. “Thank you, Fergus, but you can be most helpful in making sure my interrogation stays private.”
He nodded once before watching me go, his brows a dark furrow of concern. My heart twisted to see his expression. Fergus had always been a friend to me. And now, because of my monstrous abilities, I’d lose him, too. With the bowl of stew still balanced precariously in my hand, I walked as fast as I could to the cave.
On the path, the wind threatened to tear the food from my hands, but I held on tenaciously. He will likely complain the stew has gone cold, I thought, squishing the bread in my clenched fist.
Beyond a Darkened Shore Page 6
