Beneath the Forsaken City (29 page)

From the concealment of her cloak,
Aine scanned the dozens of ships in port. The proprietor of the inn had said there were only two ships that traveled from Dún Caomaugh to Seare these days, and it had taken the better part of the morning to find the first. As soon as she had laid eyes on the
Verity
, however, she had felt the nudge that meant she should move on. Now she had made it to the end of the slips without any luck on the second.

The activity in the dock quarter flowed around her, no one paying any attention to the waif in their midst. A man jostled her from behind, and she reached for the dagger at her waist, but the traveler didn’t give her a second look before cursing her and moving on. She was so accustomed to the deference given to a lady that she forgot that to them, she was just another bedraggled urchin. At least it proved it was an effective disguise.

Lord, protect me
, she prayed, and immediately the answering reassurance filled her. It was the lesson she’d had to learn alone on the long journey south. Whereas she’d had the help of strangers on the way to Forrais, Comdiu had made it clear that this time she was to rely on only Him.

Aine was about to give up her search, when she saw a two-masted ship, a larger version of the cog that had taken her and Conor from Seare. Deckhands loaded wooden crates via a ramp on the port side. She circled to where the name had once been painted on the hull. The letters had been rubbed away, but the faint outline of a four-looped shield knot remained.

A laugh slipped out. Her Creator had a sense of humor
 
—or perhaps just an ironic sense of provision. She waited for the men to deliver their load and go back for another before she approached the ramp.

At the bottom, however, she stopped, her heart pounding. She’d avoided thinking about the fact she’d have to board another ship to get home, but now even the lap of the water against the boat’s hull sent a spike of panic through her. Three times she’d nearly drowned. Three times she had narrowly missed meeting her end in the water: first when she’d been forced into Loch Eirich by the sidhe, then in Glenmallaig’s moat after Conor rescued her, and finally in the storm on the Amantine Sea.

I can’t do this. I thought I could, but I can’t. I’m not strong enough.

But what was the alternative? She’d already learned what happened when she didn’t obey. Did she really think Comdiu would send her back to Seare and then allow her to perish on the open sea?

Her first step onto the plank was shaky, as was her second. But she forced herself up it, faster and faster, until she was standing on the deck of the ship. She snagged the first sailor she found. “Is this the
Hono
r
?”

He glanced at her, not unkindly, and laughed. “Aye. Best be off the ship, girl, before you get hurt. We have no need of your services.” Before she could process what kind of services he thought she was offering, he turned away.

“I’m a paying passenger,” she called after him, jingling her coin pouch for emphasis.

He stopped and looked at her, really looked this time. Evidently he realized she was not some street urchin and nodded toward a short, dark-haired man at the stern. “Captain Ó Meara there. You’ll want to speak with him.”

“Thank you.” Aine strode toward the captain, dropping back her hood and throwing off one shoulder of her cloak to display her mother’s marriage dagger, clear evidence of her nobility. It had been a risk, this deviation in her waif’s disguise, but now she was glad she’d brought it.

“Captain Ó Meara?”

The man turned and sized her up before he spoke. “My lady? How may I assist you?”

He was sharp. He was also Seareann. Considering the Fíréin symbol, she should have expected as much, but his Aronan crew had thrown her off.

“I need passage to Seare. I understand you’re making for Ballaghbán.”

“Aye.” The captain hesitated. “Forgive me, my lady, but you do realize that Seare is at war. The blockades have been lifted, but the cities . . . they wouldn’t be safe for a lady with a full guard, let alone one traveling on her own.”

A flutter of nervousness crept into her stomach, but she met his gaze. “I’m fully aware of what awaits me in Seare, sir.”

He bowed his head. “Very well, then. You can take the aft cabin if you don’t mind a few crates.”

“That will be fine, Captain. Thank you.”

He sighed heavily, the sound of a man who already regretted his decision, and then pointed her toward the small door beneath the upper deck.

The cabin was cramped and, as he had warned, stacked with
crates. Clearly he hadn’t expected to take on any passengers. Not until she noticed a man’s coat hanging on a peg did she realize that the captain had given her his own cabin.

Thank you, Comdiu. You are always faithful.

She took off her cloak and laid it over the top of the pack that contained her court gown and a small bag of medicines she thought might be useful on the trip. In a few weeks, she would be at Ard Dhaimhin. A giddy feeling welled up inside her, not all due to her return to Seare.

Conor was alive.

Aine closed her eyes and reached out with her mind. She had felt him immediately after the fire, when her new ability first began to manifest itself, but she’d been so overwhelmed by the press of pain and anger from those around her that it had gotten lost in the cacophony. But as the days had passed
 
—nearly three weeks now
 
—she had become more adept at identifying individuals. She knew for certain that one of them was Conor.

A light rap on the cabin door brought her to her feet. Captain Ó Meara poked his head into the space. “My lady, we’re about to cast off. If you get seasick, you might want to come out on deck.”

“Thank you, Captain. I’ll be fine until we reach open water, I think.”

He gave her a knowing look. Undoubtedly the captain knew the reasons a lady would need to disguise herself as a commoner. “I’ll let you know when we’re out of sight of land.”

Her pleased frame of mind lasted only through the first part of the night, when a storm stirred up on the Amantine Sea, throwing the vessel around like a toy ship in a whirlpool. Aine stayed in her cabin, clutching a bucket and forcing herself to chew mouthfuls of the fresh mint she had brought along for this purpose. Unfortunately it was largely unsuccessful.

Closing her eyes so she couldn’t see the movement of the cabin
around her helped a little, but every time she tried, images from the last storm on the Amantine crowded in: the cold, the water, the terrifying slide across the decking into the sea.

Comdiu, preserve me
, she prayed over and over as the ship did its acrobatic maneuvers through the waves.

“You all right?” the captain asked when he poked his head into the cabin. Aine just nodded. If she opened her mouth, bad things were liable to happen.

“The rain has abated. You might feel better out on deck in fresh air.”

She shook her head. The memories were too fresh. It had been hard enough to stand on deck in the harbor.

Aine reached for Conor’s mind, which grew more distant as the miles stretched between them. But she could still feel him, driven by some irresistible compulsion to return to Ard Dhaimhin. She allowed herself one brief smile at the thought of their reunion before the next wave hit and sent her scrambling for the bucket.

On the third day, Aine awoke to find that the pitching of the ship had been replaced by the steady pull of oars. Only the thud of wood in the locks broke the silence. She pushed herself up on the bunk, fighting a wave of dizziness.

She poked her head out the cabin door and blinked at the wall of white that met her, searching for the dark shapes that would indicate crew members.

“It’s always like this now.”

The deep voice of the captain came from the mist behind her, startling her.

“How near are we to the coast?” she asked.

“Several leagues still.”

The closer they got, the more obvious it became that this was no natural phenomenon. Aine gripped the railing, assailed
by the sick sense of wrongness that always accompanied the presence of the sidhe. She shivered violently and barely caught herself on the railing when her knees gave way.

“They are loosed,” she whispered. “I thought
 
—”

“Aye. It happened right after Faolán fell. Few understand why.”

“But you do. You can feel the evil.”

The sharp look the captain gave her made her snap her mouth shut. Instead, she reached out with her mind, trying to feel those thin, bright threads of magic she had always sensed on the isle. They were gone. The only power she sensed was dark, like oily scum floating on the surface of a pond. She shuddered.

“Perhaps you should go inside,” Ó Meara murmured. “My crew are staring.”

Aine straightened with his assistance and moved back to the tiny cabin, where she sank down onto the edge of the bunk.

“I don’t know if I can do this.” It was bad enough being able to sense the evil, which was strong, repellant. But the undercurrent of fear was so pervasive she could taste it. Seare had truly fallen.

But what other options did she have? She couldn’t go back. Macha probably had agents in every port city, with instructions to kill her and dispose of her quietly. She had read almost as much in the chieftain’s mind. Her aunt wouldn’t attack her directly, considering people were already speaking of Aine as a saint, but Macha wouldn’t take the chance that Aine would come back and seize leadership on the strength of that following.

Another reason why she’d left Aron as quickly as possible. She didn’t want followers at all.

Aine closed her eyes and pretended to rest, even though her heart was heavy. The oppressive sense of evil grew as they neared shore. She curled up into a ball, forcing down the
nausea that intensified with the pitch and roll of the craft as they came into port.

The captain slipped halfway into the cabin, his expression somber. “My lady, we have arrived.”

“Thank you, Captain. For everything.” She reached for her pouch, intending to pay the passage he had refused in Aron, but he again shook his head.

“No, my lady. It’s my honor. And the least I can do for the sister of Liam Mac Cuillinn.”

Aine’s mouth dropped open. “You knew me? How?”

The captain just smiled and handed her a shred of paper, torn from the edge of a larger sheet. “Go to this alehouse and ask for Cuinn. Tell him I sent you. He will lodge you with his family overnight until you can move on. Don’t linger in the city, though. The streets are safe for no one.”

“I’m indebted to you, sir.”

“No, you’re not. Just be careful, Lady Aine.” The captain turned and disappeared before she could say another word.

Aine rose to her feet, smoothed her dress, and said a silent prayer for strength. Then she stepped out the door, preparing to set foot in the waking nightmare Seare had become.

Eoghan shoved down his feeling of despair
as he entered the port city, not entirely sure if it was the cloying mist or his disappointment in the results of his quest. When he’d left Ard Dhaimhin, his greatest worry had been whether or not he could locate Meallachán’s harp. As it turned out, it had been easy to find.

Smashed into pieces and burned in the rubble of Cill Rhí. No amount of skill could reassemble the instrument into what it had once been.

At least Eoghan assumed it was the instrument in question. He had never seen it, but Liam had given him a thorough description, down to the carvings on the ivory tuning pins. Eight of those pins rested in his coin pouch now, practically the only objects that had survived the destruction of the Siomaigh monastery.

One of them was carved into the shape of a three-spoked wheel, symbol of their faith. Eoghan wanted to believe it was a sign, encouragement from the Creator, but he couldn’t help feeling as though it were a warning about the future of Seare:
a symbol of Lord Balus, cast off among the ashes of a once-great edifice.

Do you trust your feelings, or do you trust Me?

Comdiu’s chastisement was sharp and instantaneous, and it cut through Eoghan’s dark thoughts. Even after preparing himself for it, he had succumbed to the sidhe’s influence. If he could not trust his own judgment, what could he trust?

“Don’t say it,” he muttered aloud. “I already know.”

Stay on course. Find her.

Eoghan shouldered his pack and adjusted his cloak so it concealed both his belongings and his sword. A port city of this size was infested by cutpurses and worse, all driven by fear and their baser desires, manipulated by the spirits of the mist into performing acts of which even they would not have thought themselves capable. The mist made it hard to see more than a few feet in front of him, and as he navigated his way into the rougher part of the city, he found himself dodging men with barely enough time to avoid a collision.

“Watch yourself,” one man growled, hand moving to the knife at his waist. Eoghan just dipped his head and moved on before the accidental brush could escalate into bloodshed.

So this is what occurs when You remove Your influence from a land
, he thought grimly, evading the reach of a young prostitute. The hollow, despairing look in the girl’s eye struck him to the core, and he moved on before he could succumb to that same despair himself.

This is what happens when My people turn their backs on Me. If I removed My influence from the land, people would be wishing for this as a paradise.

Eoghan shuddered. That was a world he had no wish to see.

The mist cleared enough to show the intersection with a main thoroughfare ahead. That would be the road that led
from the dock quarter. North of that, the nicer inns and drinking establishments lined the streets, or at least they once had. Eoghan had already been through this city once, and even though the mist had already begun to encroach, there hadn’t been drunks propped up against the sides of buildings.

Stop.

Eoghan obeyed and looked around. He found an unoccupied corner beside the least raucous alehouse on the block and backed up against it, leaning casually as if he were waiting for someone inside. He loosened the dagger at his belt.

I’m here. What now, Lord?

Wait.

Very well, he would wait. It was hard to judge the time of day through the fog, but the vague glow from the west suggested full dark would fall in a few hours. Most of the ships would make port well before nightfall or anchor far offshore so they wouldn’t be boarded by thieves or troublemakers. The few armed guards most merchants employed would not be enough to stop desperate men.

Eoghan lost track of time, suppressing a yawn with the back of his hand as the day lengthened. It wasn’t until someone nearly walked into him that he realized he’d faded into the shadows. No wonder he had managed to avoid notice for so long. He straightened, vowing greater vigilance, when a tickle in his consciousness caught his attention just as surely as a tap on the shoulder.

A girl made her way down the street, struggling under the weight of a heavy pack. Men shot her curious looks, but no one addressed her
 
—yet. The sight put his nerves on edge.

Her
.

“Thank You, I hadn’t guessed,” Eoghan muttered under his breath. He instantly felt the sting of chastisement. Sometimes having the voice of Comdiu in his head made him forget he was
talking to the Most Holy. A sense of humor his God most certainly possessed, but He didn’t seem to appreciate sarcasm. Eoghan pushed away from the wall and fell into the stream of travelers, following a few paces behind so the girl wouldn’t notice him.

She glanced down at a scrap of paper in her hands and then made a sharp turn at the next intersection. As she came to an alehouse from which loud music and even more raucous laughter spilled, she hesitated. He didn’t blame her. No girl belonged in a place like that.

He approached her slowly, not wanting to spook her, and touched her arm. “Miss?”

She spun and, before he could react, pressed a blade to the inside of his thigh. “Move along,” she said, her voice hard.

Eoghan froze, both because of her dagger’s proximity to a major artery and because her identity took a second to sink in. “Lady Aine?”

She stepped back and sheathed the blade, her threatening expression melting into one of recognition. “Eoghan.”

Her smile hit him straight in the gut, and she walked without hesitation into his embrace. He caught his breath before he could control his reaction.

“Comdiu is good. I was not looking forward to walking in there by myself.” She stepped back and a frown creased her forehead. “What are you doing here?”

“Comdiu sent me. Of course He didn’t tell me you were the one I was looking for.” His relief at Aine’s presence faded in favor of a sick realization. “Where’s Conor?”

“Gwydden, I think. We were separated in that storm that followed us from Tigh. I feared he was lost at sea, but I sense him now. He’s returning to Seare as well.”

She spoke with such authority he could not doubt her. “You can tell me when we’re safely away.”

“Indeed. I was supposed to lodge here tonight.”

“No. We can’t stay in here. Even with me standing guard, I can’t guarantee your safety.”

“Where, then?”

“The sidhe’s influence is much less outside of the city. Not as many people to draw them. I know someone who will give us shelter until we can head for Ard Dhaimhin.”

“Thank you, Eoghan. You are the answer to my prayers.”

Eoghan smiled and took her pack, but the warmth that crept into him at her gratitude felt like a betrayal. Aine was his best friend’s wife, practically a sister to him, given his relationship with Conor. He’d best remember that. If Conor thought his friend was harboring thoughts that were anything but brotherly about Aine, he would not hesitate to stick a blade into the most convenient part of Eoghan he could reach.