Holder of Lightning (29 page)

O Liathain nodded. “That he will do, when I put pres sure on him. The Tanaise Ríg will not marry a commoner.”

“Then your answer is aye,” she said finally. “But Tanaise Ríg, I can’t go with you yet.”

His burgeoning smile transformed to a frown, darkly. “Why not?”

“You don’t know how Lámh Shábhála hurts,” she told him. The truth of that statement made it easier to say the lie she had been constructing for the last few days. “Lámh Shábhála will open the other clochs na thintrí soon—no more than four or five appearances of the mage-lights from now. I need to stay here until that happens—I
feel
that. Lámh Shábhála tells me this. The mage-lights would not follow me as far as Dun Laoghaire, and the cloch tells me to remain here, near the center of Talamh an Ghlas. I
must
stay here until Lámh Shábhála opens the other stones. When that happens, then I will come to you in Dún Laoghaire. I promise that it will be no more than a month from now, when you will be holding a cloch yourself.”

He was fingering the stone around his own neck, the stone Jenna knew was only a jewel, no more. “How do I know you tell the truth?” he scowled. “Once I’m gone, you may decide that it’s safe to change your mind.”

“If we are to be ‘of one mind’ as you say, then you must learn to trust what I tell you also,” Jenna answered. “And didn’t you just tell me that the arm of Dun Laoghaire is long?”

“Indeed it is.” He said nothing for a time. The fire crackled and hissed in the fireplace, sending a column of whirling sparks upward. Jenna moved her right arm so that the fire’s radiance fell on the perpetually cold flesh, the welcome heat easing the growing discomfort somewhat. “Are you aware that Tuath Connachta is gathering an army and that they may attack Tuath Gabair?”

Jenna nodded. “The Banrion gave me the news.”

“Did she also tell you that the Rí no doubt hopes for Lámh Shábhála to be part of that battle, if it comes to that, that he would love to see the lightnings of your cloch smash the enemy and send them fleeing for their lives back to the Westering Sea? No, you needn’t answer; I can see by your face that she didn’t. I can also see that the thought ap palls you.”

“I won’t be used that way,” she said. “As a weapon. To kill.”

O Liathain vented a quick, unamused laugh. “Since we’re being blunt, then let me say that you have no choice,” he told her. “Lámh Shábhála is a weapon. It has
always
been a weapon. If you don’t wield it in war against the enemies of those who protect you or if you’re unwilling to protect yourself with its power, then someone will take it from you, someone who is willing to use it. I don’t say that as a threat or to attempt to frighten you, Jenna. I say that simply because it’s the bare truth, and if you don’t accept it as such, your life will be a short one.”

“I don’t—” Jenna started to protest, then closed her mouth.
It
is
true. You know it. The blood is already on your hands, and there will be more . . .
She could feel twin tears course down her face. O Liathain made no move to comfort her. He watched, fingers prowling in his dark, gray-spattered beard.

“Here is what we will do,” O Liathain said. “We will go back into the hall, together, with you on my arm. You will stay on my arm for a time and everyone will notice. Let them talk. That’s exactly what we want. We will also go to the Rí and the Banrion, and we will tell them of our plans. That way, my—let’s deem it an ‘investment’—in you is protected by their knowledge, and they will understand that you must be kept safe or the Rí Ard and I will be most upset.”

Jenna sniffed, rubbing angrily at her eyes. “And Mac Ard and my mam?”

“Mac Ard will notice the two of us together; he will see us chatting with the Rí and Banrion. He will know what that means; when I speak with him later, I guarantee he won’t be surprised.” O Liathain reached down and picked up his boots, pulling them over his stockings. He rose from his chair and extended his hand to Jenna. “Let us make our entrance,” he said.

Jenna licked dry lips and rubbed again at her eyes. She lifted her left hand to O Liathain and he shook his head. “No, it should be the hand of power I hold,” he said. “That, I think, will send the message best.”

His own hand felt cool and smooth under the stiff, unyielding flesh of her right hand. He placed her fingers on his forearm, on the soft fabric of his léine.

With her hand on O Liathain’s arm, they left the room and went into the hall again.

He kept her with him for a candle’s stripe.

O Liathain was correct: they were noticed. Jenna could see the eyes on them, the heads that turned to nearby companions for quick, whispered comments. The Rí and Banrion accepted the news with nods and smiles and Cianna nodded once to Jenna when the Rí and the Tanaise Ríg were engaged in conversation. Her mam saw, too. Maeve was shadowing Mac Ard, never on the tiarna’s arm since their arrival but always near him. She lifted her hand and seemed to smile, but O Liathain moved then and Jenna had no chance to speak with her.

Coelin sang, and O Liathain moved to stand directly in front of the young man, his hand gently covering Jenna’s. Coelin faltered once, seeing them, and for the rest of his performance his gaze always skittered past her, sliding over her face with an uncertain smile. When Coelin finished and left the hall to applause, O Liathain and Jenna moved from group to group for a time, until Jenna pressed O Liathain’s arm.

“Tired, Holder?”

“Aye. Exhausted. And my arm . . . I need to retire for a bit.”

“Certainly,” O Liathain said. “These events are wearisome, aren’t they? But I need to remain for a while longer. Baird will escort you back to your apartment.”

“I don’t need . . .” Jenna began. “That will be fine,” she finished.

Baird left her at the door to her rooms, bowing to her as she left him. A girl no older than herself came scurrying out from the servants’ quarters as she closed the door: Aoife’s replacement, whose name Jenna didn’t know yet. She was plain, her hair dull and close-cropped, and yet her eyes glittered with intelligence.

“Mistress, let me help you . . .”

Jenna waved her away.
She’ll be someone’s spy
. . . “I don’t want help.”

“But, Mistress, I’m—”

“Go now,” Jenna answered sharply. “Leave me.” The girl’s eyes widened, then she made a hurried curtsy and fled the room. Jenna heard her voice whispering to the other servants as she closed the door behind her. Jenna went through the outer parlor to her bedroom. There, she removed the clóca the Banrion had lent her. She went to the chest at the foot of her bed and rummaged beneath the clothing there until she felt the packet of andúilleaf. She set a pot of water to boil over the fire and prepared some of the powdered leaf in a mug. She was sipping the pungent liquid when she heard the scrape of a footstep at the door. She whirled around, nearly spilling the potion, her right hand going instinctively to the cloch.

“Coelin . . .”

He smiled at her. “I thought you were about to strike me dead with that damned stone.”

“How did you get in here?”

He grinned. “I have my ways. Do you want me to leave?”

“By the Mother, no,” she answered. She set the mug down and went to him, her arms going around him and her face lifting for his kiss. The embrace was long and urgent, and she pulled him to the bed, enjoying the feel of his hands on her body and the heat of his response. He pulled away from her once, looking down at her with a question in his eyes, and she nodded to him. “Aye,” she whispered.

Then they said nothing at all for a time.

Afterward, Jenna drew her leine over herself. There was blood between her thighs and on the bedsheets. She rolled away from him and took the cup of cold andúilleaf, sipping it as she sat on the side of the bed.

It was supposed to be different. While they were together in the few minutes of passion, she had lost herself and forgot everything to simply be with him, but when it was over . . . The insistent throbbing of her arm, the dead coldness of the scarred flesh called her back, and suddenly the andúilleaf was more important than being with Coelin. She sought solace in the sour milkiness of the brew, not with the man to whom she’d just given herself. She felt dead inside when she should have been feeling joy and release.

Did you do this because you wanted Coelin that much, or just so O Liathain couldn’t be the first?
She wanted to cry, but there were no tears inside her.

She felt Coelin move behind her, and his hand trailed from her head down her spine. She shivered and his arms went around her, cupping her breasts. She let herself lean back against him. “Are those the herbs you bought from du Val?” he asked. He kissed the side of her neck. “That potion smells awful.”

“And tastes worse. But it helps.”

“Mmm.” He nuzzled the other side of her neck. His fingers started to drift lower, and she stopped them. “Jenna . . .”

“Hush,” she told him. “It was wonderful. It was what I wanted.”

She could feel his smile. “I thought, when I saw you with the Tanaise Ríg tonight . . .”

“I was doing what I had to do, Coelin. Nothing else. There’s no love there. There never will be.” That, at least, was only the truth. She turned her head, kissing him softly; Coelin grinned at her, then returned the kiss more passionately. When he tried to lay her down again, she shook her head. “No, not now, Coelin. My mam and Mac Ard will be returning soon, and I’m . . . sore. Later. There will be time. But for now, you’d better go.” She stopped, looked into his green, soft eyes, and for a moment felt a surge of the old affection. “My love.”

“My love,” he answered, and kissed her again. With a sigh, he left the bed. “I nearly forgot,” he said as he drew his tunic back over his head. “That man—Ennis O’Deorad háin. I found him. I know where he’s living.”

Jenna sat up, her eyes narrowing as remembered anger made her jaw clench.
If he sent the assassin, then he is also ultimately responsible for Aoife’s death. . . .
“Where?” she asked.

“On Cooper Street. He has a room in a widow’s house. Her name is Murrin. I’ve seen him a couple times now. Do you want me to do something with him? There are people I know in Low Town . . .”

“No,” Jenna answered. “I will take care of O’Deorad háin myself.”

Coelin’s head went back at the ferocity of her words. “You’re certain? He could be dangerous, and I—”

“I will take care of the man,” Jenna said decisively. “Don’t worry about him.”

Coelin nodded reluctantly. “I should go, then,” he said. He looked uncertain, an odd, strained smile on his lips, and he shifted his weight from one leg to the other, as if he wanted to say more. “I’ve been asked to play for the Rí again, next week. And the Tanaise Ríg said he would talk to his father about me.”

The mention of O Liathain’s title brought the coldness back, and Jenna reached for the mug of brew, taking a long swallow and grimacing. “That’s . . . good,” she told Coelin. “When you come here again, we’ll make plans.”

He nodded. Turned.

“Coelin,” she said. She could not keep the desperation from her voice. “Tell me that you love me.”

He smiled, looking back over his shoulder. “I love you, Jenna. I always have.”

And he left.

24

The Traitor

T
HE Banrion seemed concerned when Jenna came to her requesting half a dozen trusted gardai, but to her credit, Cianna did not ask Jenna why but only nodded in agreement. “Certainly, Holder. Let me call for Labras; he’s a good man, and he can choose five others . . .”

Jenna lifted her hand. “No, Banrion. Not today. After the Tanaise Ríg leaves. Tomorrow morning. I need to go into Low Town then.”

“Ah,” Cianna had said. Just the one sound, then silence. “I’ll make arrangements for them to be at Keep Gate at first bell tomorrow, then.”

The Banrion started to move away, as if in dismissal, but Jenna cleared her throat. “Banrion, I would like to tell you why. It needs to be a secret between the two of us, though. You’re the only person who has given me help, unasked for. Now I would ask it.”

Cianna smiled softly. “Jenna, I will know anyway, whether you tell me now or not. The gardai will inform me where you take them, and why. The ones I would send with you aren’t as blindly stupid as those you’ve borrowed before from my husband or Mac Ard. They won’t let the Holder roam unaccompanied through Low Town, no matter what she says.”

Jenna laughed with the Banrion. “I know. And that’s why I came to you.”

She told the Banrion about O’Deoradháin, how he had lied to them about himself on their way to Ath Iseal, how he had reacted during the attack by the Connachtans, that she’d glimpsed him in Low Town (though she said nothing about du Val), and how she now suspected the man had been responsible for the assassin.

Cianna’s face was grim when Jenna finished. “Tell me where this man is, and I will have him fetched here for you,” she said. “There’s no need for you to expose yourself to danger, Jenna—and the Tanaise Ríg will be upset if you are injured while you remain with us.”

Jenna shook her head. “Banrion, I will have Lámh Sháb hála to protect me. Your gardai will be there only as a precaution. I want to do this myself. I want to see his face and hear his voice.”

“Jenna—”

“Please, Banrion. I don’t know any longer who I can trust. I can only trust myself.”

Jenna saw Cianna gather herself for another argument, but the Banrion finally dropped her shoulders. She coughed softly a few times, rising from her chair. Servants appeared as if summoned by the rustling of fabric, and the Banrion waved them away. “Come, then,” she said. “We should give our farewell to your future husband, and pretend that none of us is plotting anything.”

“I need four to stay out here and make certain that no one leaves until I’m finished.” Jenna gestured to Labras, a tall, burly man with hair so red it almost seemed to burn and eyes as gray as storm clouds. She wasn’t sure she liked the man at all; he seemed to radiate violence, and the abundant scars on his face spoke to his familiarity with it. Yet if the Banrion trusted him ... or maybe her reaction to him was only the haze of the andúilleaf. She’d taken two mugs of the brew before they’d left the Keep, knowing she might well be using the cloch, and the herb was like a fog over her mind that wouldn’t quite clear. “Labras, bring someone with you and follow me.”