Authors: Jennifer Fallon
The Dark Divide (23 page)
As soon as his knees hit the floor they were on him. He was pushed flat on his face, his arms jerked behind his back and secured with cold metal handcuffs. He cried out again when something was tightened around his bandaged ankle. The shouts kept on from other more distant rooms in the house — men shouting ‘clear!’ against a background of Kiva screaming at them to leave her son alone. They dragged Darragh upright and he discovered he was shackled hand and foot. The chains around his ankles allowed him only the smallest steps.
He hadn’t uttered a word, or had time to defend himself. These warriors of Rónán’s realm were exceptionally good at this, he realised. He was amazed that Brogan and Niamh had extracted his brother from their custody. Could they achieve the same feat a second time?
Another man, this one not wearing the dark uniform with ERU emblazoned across the back, walked in. Even if Darragh hadn’t known him from Rónán’s memories, he would have known him.
This was the detective Sorcha had knocked out in the car. The one who had captured Rónán at St Christopher’s.
He looked inordinately pleased with himself when he entered the living room to find Darragh already in chains.
This will be interesting
, Darragh thought.
This man knows I’m not Ren Kavanaugh
.
Pete studied Darragh for a moment and then turned him around. He grabbed his hands and forced Darragh’s palms open for a moment and then turned him back around and looked him in the eye.
‘You’re the other one,’ he said.
Darragh nodded. If this man was prepared to admit he wasn’t Ren Kavanaugh, then surely he must order his release?
Even knowing he hadn’t captured the right twin, it seemed he wasn’t going to admit it here. He simply eyed Darragh up and down for a moment and said, ‘Chelan Aquarius Kavanaugh, you’re under arrest for —’
‘Jesus wept! Look at that!’
Everybody in the crowded living room turned toward the ERU officer who had spoken so out of turn.
The man had lifted his goggles and was staring at the large, flat screen TV hanging on the wall over the ornamental fireplace. Darragh and Pete turned with everyone else, just in time to see a large commercial airliner flying into the side of an impossibly tall building, somewhere on the other side of the world.
‘It is a necklace fit for a queen,
Prionsa
.’
From her amethyst prison, Brydie snorted at that suggestion, and at Prince Torcán, who was bending over the table with an idiotic smile on his face, looking at the Indian-styled gem-encrusted collar. Staring into the stolen jewel in which the
djinni
, Jamaspa, had magically trapped Brydie.
The collar was intended for Anwen. It was — at Anwen’s suggestion — going to be Torcán’s wedding gift to his bride. Or so the goldsmith had informed his wife as they chatted in his workroom while he beat the metal into submission, and threaded the scores of polished stones onto fine gold wire.
Typical of Torcán
, Brydie thought,
to give his betrothed something fashioned from a stolen gem to cover up the disappearance of one of his mother’s court maidens.
And to give her something so pretentious. Even Álmhath didn’t swan about all day in a crown, and she was a queen.
It augured much for the future of their marriage. A gift fashioned from deception.
‘You have done well, Master Goldsmith,’ Torcán said, placing the collar back on the bench. Brydie was knocked off her feet by the careless way he dropped it. She scrambled upright, cursing Torcán. Not that it did any good. He couldn’t hear or
see her any more than the goldsmith who’d been working on the collar for days could see, or his wife, or even his large black hound who sniffed around the jewel a few times to see if it was edible, scaring the life out of Brydie as his massive pink tongue enveloped the stone.
That had been a close call. It was bad enough being stuck in here, doomed to see and hear everything happening on the outside but unable to take part. How much worse could life become if she was fated to spend the rest of her days stuck in a dog’s lower intestine?
Fortunately, the goldsmith had returned to his workshop and shooed the dog away, saving Brydie before she had a chance to find out, but the incident made her weep. She had not seen Jamaspa for days, not since the day Colmán had handed over the brooch to Anwen and Torcán. She concluded that the
djinni
didn’t know where she was. He knew where to find her when the jewel was set in Marcroy’s brooch, which she had left in Darragh of the Undivided’s bedchamber. But now that the stone had been removed, the gold melted down and the jewel set in an entirely different piece, Jamaspa may never find her again.
If he couldn’t find her, how could he release her from this purple-tinted prison? She was stranded. The jewel’s magic meant she wouldn’t age or need sleep or food or anything like it, suspended in her own private bubble of the present, as she was. And that meant she might be here for eternity.
Brydie was plunged back into darkness as the goldsmith and Torcán settled on the price for the necklace. Soon she was lifted up again and placed, much more gently, into a dark, beautifully embroidered bag. It was soft and thick and even through her purple-tinted lens, seemed a rich shade of emerald green. Bracing herself for an uncomfortable trip to the palace — on horseback — Brydie didn’t waste a single moment wishing she were Anwen. Torcán’s wife would have to put up with Torcán
for one thing, but with succession among the Celts often through the distaff line, even the prospect of one day becoming queen was by no means certain.
Trapped in the darkness of the soft green velvet bag, Brydie could only wait until Torcán decided to give his betrothed her gift. That could be days. Anwen and Torcán were not due to be married until
Lughnasadh
. If Torcán was planning to surprise Anwen on their wedding day, Brydie could be stuck in this smothering darkness for weeks.
Brydie had forgotten, however, that Torcán did little his mother didn’t either directly order, or approve. He took the necklace straight from the goldsmith’s shop to his mother’s private chamber in Temair and showed off his prize.
‘It’s rather … ostentatious, don’t you think?’ Álmhath remarked when Torcán unveiled the necklace for his mother’s approval.
‘Do you think so?’ Torcán asked. ‘The goldsmith tells me they’re all the rage among brides in the Gupta Empire.’
Álmhath frowned at her son. ‘This is not the Gupta Empire, Torcán. Next you’ll be suggesting I pay Anwen’s family a ridiculous dowry like the maharajahs do.’
‘Lucky she doesn’t have a family, then,’ her son pointed out.
Although she was out of Brydie’s line of sight, the queen sounded concerned. ‘Are you sure this is a good idea?’
‘Anwen said we must disguise the jewel in another setting,’ Torcán reminded her a little testily. ‘The thing is the size of a pigeon egg. The only way it won’t stick out like a beacon is if it’s buried among enough other gems for it not to draw attention to itself.’
The queen snorted at that. ‘I can hear a greedy jeweller talking there. Master Goldsmith must have seen you coming.’
Torcán did not appreciate his mother’s derision. He turned to her impatiently, tossing the necklace onto the table, again knocking
Brydie off her feet. ‘If you thought this was such a ridiculous idea, why go along with it? Why not just toss the jewel away, Mother, and be rid of it? That seems to me a far safer thing to do than risk Marcroy recognising the gem from the brooch he gave Brydie and demanding to know what happened to its former owner.’
For once, Brydie found herself agreeing with Torcán. He was absolutely right. She climbed to her feet, thinking it was stupid of Anwen to insist on keeping the gem if the queen was going to pretend she had no knowledge of Brydie’s whereabouts. She’d have been better ordering Torcán to toss it into the sea to be certain it could never be found again.
Brydie was extremely grateful Anwen hadn’t doomed her to an eternity trapped inside the jewel, lost and with no hope of rescue. But the queen of the Celts was nobody’s fool. Nor was she so strapped for material wealth that one amethyst — no matter how large or well-polished — would make the slightest difference to her one way or another …
Unless Anwen knows I’m here
, Brydie thought, sinking to the floor, letting that awful thought fester as Torcán and his mother argued on about the tasteless ostentation of Torcán’s wedding gift to his bride.
Does she know? How could she?
Álmhath was not a greedy woman. She obviously didn’t covet the gem for herself, and it had been Anwen’s suggestion to set the stone into something she could wear. But why not hide it somewhere safe and out of sight?
There were a thousand things Álmhath could have done with the amethyst rather than allow Anwen to flaunt it.
Maybe that’s what she’s doing
, Brydie wondered.
She’s not trying to hide the jewel because she’s sending Marcroy a message.
It was all too confusing. There seemed no rhyme or reason to the world these days. Not since Álmhath had tapped her on the shoulder in the sacred grove and told her
Danú
had a task for her.
Her job had been to seduce Darragh of the Undivided. She’d been sent to steal his seed. His bloodline was so precious that Álmhath and the
Matrarchaí
were afraid they would lose it when the power of the Undivided was stripped from RónánDarragh at
Lughnasadh
and passed on to the new twins Marcroy had found. Both Darragh and his missing brother would die that day and their line would be lost forever.
Brydie glanced down at her belly, wondering if she’d achieved her aim. Was there a child there, waiting to be born? There was no way to tell. While she was trapped in this jewel, nothing would change, nothing would grow, no child — even if one had been conceived — would come of her union with Darragh of the Undivided.
How long until
Lughnasadh
? It was hard to keep track of time, but Brydie thought it might be ten days or so until then. Even if she hadn’t escaped her jewelled prison by the autumn equinox, she hoped that when Darragh returned, he would find a way to stop the transfer happening. She’d liked the Druid prince — she liked him much more than she was expecting to like a young man she’d been ordered to sleep with for the express purpose of falling pregnant. He was smart and funny and — once he got over his first impulse to strangle her for being Álmhath’s spy — had a healthy lack of respect for his own importance. That had surprised Brydie most of all, because the Undivided were unique and raised to know it. She’d expected him to be much more full of himself.
‘Nobody will be paying attention to Anwen anyway,’ Torcán complained. The argument with his mother about the wedding necklace still raged in the background. ‘Not with the investiture of the Undivided heirs happening on the same day. I’m quite peeved about that, by the way. It should be our day.’
Álmhath rolled her eyes. ‘You are a fool, Torcán,’ she snapped.
‘Well, maybe we’ll get lucky,’ her son replied. ‘I hear reports from
Sí an Bhrú
that nobody has seen Darragh for days. Perhaps
the ceremony is keeping him away? Perhaps running away is his way of preventing the transfer from taking place? I mean, it’s a cowardly course of action, to be sure, but I suppose if he’s not prepared to die for his people —’
‘It won’t matter,’ Álmhath cut in. ‘Marcroy assures me the transfer will take place whether Darragh is there or not.’
‘Can he do that?’ Torcán asked in surprise.
‘The
Daoine sídhe
can do anything, it seems,’ the queen informed her son with a scowl. ‘I have asked that the ceremony be delayed until Darragh is here, so we can witness the transfer ourselves and be satisfied that it happens as planned. But I have been denied.’
‘Why?’ Torcán asked, looking confused. ‘There are Undivided heirs now. Surely it makes sense to give them time to settle into their new roles before burdening them with all that power. And they’re children, aren’t they? Small children, at that. Aren’t we sick of letting children sit on the Undivided throne?’
Álmhath nodded. ‘There are many Druids chafing under the ministrations of a divided Undivided. There are others who see a chance to grab power with two more Undivided twins requiring a regency, rather than Darragh who appears to be developing opinions of his own. There are Partitionists aplenty out there, too, who hope the whole system will fall apart if the power transfer fails, and a large number of
Tuatha Dé Danann
hoping for the same thing, I suspect, although allegiance to their oath to protect the Treaty of
Tír Na nÓg
doesn’t allow them to admit it.’
Torcán perked up as he realised what his mother was saying. ‘But if the transfer fails, then the Druids would lose their magic, yes?’
‘Not while RónánDarragh live,’ the queen said. ‘But if anything happened to them before new heirs were found, then yes … that would be the end of the Druids and their magic.’
‘But that’s a good thing, isn’t it? I mean … it would devastate them. The Druids would lose their power over us if they didn’t control the magic.’
‘And we will be destroyed along with them,’ Álmhath reminded him. ‘Once the
Tuatha
are no longer compelled to share their power with us, we will no longer be their allies. Worse, there will be an imbalance of power that will only be resolved when one of our races is destroyed. Think of that, my son, before you get too excited about losing the unbroken line of the Undivided.’
Torcán pulled a face. ‘Pity there’s not a way to have
Tuatha Dé Danann
magic without having to grovel to the
Tuatha Dé Danann.
’
‘Maybe there is,’ the queen said cryptically.