Into the Fire (5 page)

After a moment, the blonde reedy woman whom Nuala had called Sorcha stepped forward. “We have known Fionnghuala for many years, and she has not once used her gift for her own benefit. Do not presume to tell us what to do. We will consider her proposal. Now leave us. There is much to discuss.”

Cedar turned to Rohan, looking for his support. But he just shook his head. “We’d best leave,” he said. “The Council must deliberate.”

Cedar felt fire burning in the pit of her stomach again. “You’re making a huge mistake,” she snarled, and then turned abruptly and walked out of the circle, her body rigid and her head held high. She knew Finn and Rohan were keeping pace behind her, but she kept on walking until she was outside the Hall. The cold, dry air hit her in the face, and she finally stopped, breathing hard.

“We have to go back,” she said, swiveling around to face Finn and his father. “We need to talk to them alone, when Nuala’s not there.”

Rohan exhaled loudly and reached out a hand to stop her. “I wish it were that simple, Cedar. I’ve always hated the politics of this place. Brogan was able to keep all of these egos in line, but…,” he trailed off, his expression cloudy.

“I’ve tried talking to them. So have Felix and Anya. But Nuala got here first, and she planted seeds of doubt in their minds. We were gone for many years and were in hiding for years before that. We’ve been branded as traitors, and there are many questions about what we were doing while we were on Ériu. Lorcan was not as reviled as you might think. He did not rise to power by violence only. There were many who supported him, who believed that we should take back the land we once called home. But he was too bloodthirsty, too power hungry, and by the time the others realized that, he was too powerful to stop.

“Nuala’s timing is impeccable. The Council is glad that Lorcan’s gone, but his death created a vacuum. She can give them what they’ve always wanted without the bloodshed and civil unrest. She may be using her power on them, but I don’t think so. I don’t think she
needs
to… she’s offering something most of them want. And Sorcha is right—I never saw Nuala use her ability until we were in Ériu. They trust her, and with her ability, she can hand them what they want on a silver platter. If they have to make her queen in order for that to happen, well… as you see, she doesn’t have much opposition.” He looked at her sadly. “I’m sorry, Cedar. I know this is not the welcome you expected. But I don’t think talking to the Council is going to help us.”

Cedar frowned. “Do you think we can fight them? Or just go after Nuala directly? Because we
need
to stop her.”

Rohan and Finn exchanged glances. “We do,” Rohan said slowly. “But starting another civil war is not the answer, and targeting Nuala would be too dangerous given our precarious position here. There is another solution.”

“What?” Cedar exclaimed. Her blood was still pounding through her veins, and she was ready to do whatever it took.

“We need to present the Council with an alternative to Nuala as queen. Someone with a very strong claim to the throne, who would have the support of the people. That person is you, Cedar. We need
you
to become queen of Tír na nÓg.”

CHAPTER 3

W
ell, that was certainly interesting,” Nuala said as she strolled by the dry banks of the river. Her companion, the imposing Council member with the dark goatee, laughed softly.

“That’s one way to put it,” he said. She could feel the weight of his gaze on her, but she pretended to be absorbed in the flora around them, even though there was nothing of beauty to draw her eye. Let him look… and desire.

“Do you have a better description, Deaglán?” she asked with a lilt in her voice.

“You, for one, were as captivating as always,” he answered. “I know I’m not the only one who’s glad to have you back. And I’m grateful that you weren’t here for the worst of it.”

Nuala arched an eyebrow at him. “The worst?”

“I was proud to support Lorcan at first,” he said, furrowing his brow. “He had lofty ambitions. He wanted to see our people rise to greatness again. Brogan was happy for us to stay as we were—outcasts. He didn’t see the shame in our defeat. I know you were on Brogan’s side, so I will not speak ill of him—”

“I was on no one’s side. I merely wanted to avoid bloodshed,” Nuala interrupted. “I believed there had to be a better way than sending our people to war. I still believe it.”

He nodded. “I agree. And you were right to escape Lorcan. He grew mad with power, and ruthless. He started turning on his own supporters if they had a gift that could benefit him. No one was safe. You certainly wouldn’t have been.”

Nuala feigned a shudder at the thought. “Yes, I believe he would have killed me sooner or later. I had hoped to best him when I returned, but with Gorman’s shield… well, the human woman did us all a favor.”
She certainly did,
Nuala thought to herself. She had never dreamed that things could turn out so well. With Lorcan gone, there was very little standing in her way. The return of Rohan and the rest of her pursuers from Ériu was inconvenient, but she had been pleasantly surprised by how easy it was to discredit them. Lorcan’s propaganda had done its job for her. “And now that the madman is gone, we must move forward. Do you think the other Council members agree with me?”

“Well, I can’t speak for the others, of course,” Deaglán demurred. “But I believe your plan to be an excellent one. There is the small problem of your family history, of course, which may give some of them second thought. Gorman in particular is being rather prickly about that issue. But to my mind it makes perfect sense that your plan should be put into action, and making you queen is a necessary step. I don’t think it will take the Council long to reach a decision. Despite the prophecy and Lorcan’s death, the land has not healed. We cannot stay here much longer, not the way things are.”

“I’m glad that we are of a like mind,” Nuala purred. “You have great influence on the Council.”

“You have great influence on everyone,” Deaglán said, casting her a knowing glance.

Nuala blushed. “I would never use my ability on the Council—surely you know that. I’ve sworn to never use it to gain an unfair advantage, whether in matters of politics… or love.” She lifted her eyes to meet his, and let them linger there until her meaning was impossible to misunderstand. “What exactly do they say about my family?” she asked once he had finally looked away.

He stared at the ground as he answered. “Only that you do not come from one of the great houses, and that your ancestors were
more servants than masters. Well, and there is talk that there has been the occasional… instability, shall we say, in your family line.”

“I see,” Nuala said, but she could hardly deny it. Everyone knew the stories.

“And then there is the matter of your parents, of course. A very tragic situation, to be sure.”

“It was,” Nuala agreed.

Deaglán hesitated and then asked, “May I be so bold as to inquire as to exactly what occurred there? There appear to be some… variations on the tale, you might say.”

Nuala looked across the riverbed to the bank beyond. She didn’t enjoy discussing or even remembering her family. But a little bit of sympathy would certainly not hurt her cause. She decided to use her pathetic story to her advantage.

“My ability came from my mother’s side,” she said. “She could see deep into the hearts of others and uncover their true desires, even those they wouldn’t admit to themselves. She could use her power to persuade a person to do something or think something, as long as it aligned with something true inside that person’s mind or heart. But she was gentle and kind, and never used her ability to her own advantage, even though she could have achieved anything she wanted. My father, as I’m sure you have heard, was neither gentle nor kind. He was vain and brutish and constantly paranoid that my mother was casting a spell on him, making him do things that he couldn’t remember. Why he married her in the first place I don’t know—he knew she had this power. She never hid her ability from him and had always promised that she’d never use it on him. I don’t believe she ever did. But he could not be convinced otherwise.”

She glanced over at Deaglán to see how her story was being received. His eyes were gazing back at her with compassion, so she took a deep breath and kept talking. “I was eight when we discovered that I shared my mother’s ability. I was arguing with a friend over the last elderberry tart, of all ridiculous things. She was
determined to have it, but I told her to give it to me. Suddenly, her eyes glazed over, and she handed me the tart and then walked away. I told my mother what had happened, and she was horrified. She knew what it meant. She had hoped it would skip my generation, or die out with her. From the very beginning she warned me not to use it or let anyone know about it, particularly my father. She said that no one would ever trust me once they knew the truth about my talent. I didn’t believe her; I had more faith in people than that, and I was determined to prove that I could be trusted. That I could be loved.”

She spared another glimpse at Deaglán and saw that he was blushing slightly. She mentally rolled her eyes. This was too easy. He was like a dog desperate for a walk; all she had to do was dangle the leash in front of him. She exulted in the fact that she didn’t even need to use her ability; in some cases, apparently, feminine wiles were enough.

Nuala was grateful for her mother’s warning; in all her years in Tír na nÓg she had been cautious and had used her ability sparingly and only in secret. Her restraint had paid off. She had proven herself trustworthy, and the Council did not suspect that she would ever be so bold as to try and influence their decision. And—so far—she hadn’t. As long as they were cooperating, she saw no need to risk being caught using her power on them. If they became difficult, however…

Her thoughts were interrupted by Deaglán. “You deserve both trust and love, fair Nuala,” he said. “And so did your mother.”

“She did,” Nuala agreed. “But my father did not think so.” She could not keep the bitterness from her voice. “I used to come home to find my mother battered and bruised. She would never fight back, not even to protect herself. I used to beg her to let me use my ability to deal with my father, to get him to leave her alone. But even then she forbade me to use my gift. She told me that the only
way I could live a normal life was to act like I didn’t have it—just like she did. I know that she was afraid I’d become the target of my father’s wrath if he found out what I could do. I obeyed. And then one day… I came home to find her dead on the floor. My father had killed her. He was ranting and raving about how she had bewitched him into marrying her and was keeping him under her control. I ran away, terrified. When I had gathered my courage to return, he had hung himself.”

Nuala allowed her voice to break on the last sentence, and felt Deaglán’s warm hand caress her arm. It was almost true, except for the bit about her father. She had not run away, terrified. She had looked him deep in the eye and had, for the first and last time, shown him her power. It hadn’t been difficult to persuade her father that his life was meaningless, and that he’d be much happier swinging from the branch of the rowan tree that grew on the far edge of their land.

“You were not to blame for your father’s actions,” Deaglán said softly. “You have overcome the challenges of your background admirably.”

Nuala smiled and covered his hand with her own as they continued to walk together. “You are very kind,” she said. “We can only hope that the others feel the same way.”

Cedar was not in the mood for jokes. “Rohan, you’re not serious.”

“I
am
serious,” he said. “You’re the daughter of the last High King.”

“The last one who wasn’t a psychopath, at any rate,” interjected Finn.

“Yes, but that doesn’t matter. You told me the throne isn’t hereditary,” she said.

“It’s true that it isn’t
always
hereditary,” Finn said. “But unless there’s a good reason for the throne not to be handed down from parent to child, it often is.”

“But there
is
a good reason,” Cedar said. “They all think I’m human, remember? And I have no desire to be queen of Tír na nÓg or anywhere. Let’s go, I want to get back to Eden, and we need to talk to the others and make a plan. A
real
plan.”

They walked in silence, Rohan leading the way, while Cedar trailed behind, her mind a mass of slippery and contradictory thoughts. She was starting to wonder if coming to Tír na nÓg had been a mistake after all. Maybe she and Eden should return to Halifax. She knew that Finn would come with them if she asked—at least, she thought he would—but she also knew how committed he was to rebuilding his people and his land. She didn’t want to ask him to make that choice, and she could never live without him.… She also couldn’t bear the thought of giving Nuala the satisfaction of seeing her run away.

Maybe she could warn the world leaders in Ériu? But that was clearly no solution. She’d be dismissed as a crazy person and locked up in a psych ward. But what if she showed them what Eden could do? It would be definitive proof that another world existed. But no, she couldn’t,
wouldn’t
put Eden at risk like that.