The Sword and the Song (27 page)

She would not cry.
Aine repeated the directive to herself over and over on Conor’s last day at Ard Dhaimhin. While he went about his final preparations below, she arranged for a simple supper, including a small jug of mead from the fortress’s dwindling stores. Her eyes stung from tiredness, not tears
 
—and she told herself that often enough that she began to believe it.

When Conor nudged her from sleep before first light, though, fear and grief slammed into her, crushing her beneath its unexpected weight. Still, she did not cry. Instead, she went through the motions that had become their routine. She held his clothes for him while he dressed. She buckled on his weapons. And the whole time she prayed: for his safety, for his success, that he would find some relief from his memories.

An eerie sense of sameness haunted her as she walked down the stairs to the clearing below the fortress. This time instead of ponies waiting, it was dozens of horses, packed with their individual supplies and kept calm by a clutch of young stable boys. She held tight to Conor’s hand, the baby’s flips in her midsection making her think the little one was as nervous as she was.

“Stay safe,” Conor whispered before he pulled her close
enough to kiss her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and refused to let him go until they’d been clinging to each other for an embarrassing amount of time.

“I have faith in you,” she said. “You may not be meant to be king, but you are the one about which Shanna’s prophecy was written: the sword and the song. And I know in my heart that you were meant to use both to finally end the danger to Seare. Do your duty and then come back to me.”

He lifted her hand to his lips, then crossed the clearing and mounted up with one easy motion, settling his weapons around him. The other men followed suit, clustering in their groups behind their respective leaders. Conor caught her gaze amid the activity and winked at her, his teasing grin giving a little lift to her heart.

Then he ordered his men forward, and the entire party churned into movement. Half of them went northwest out of the city and up the switchbacks through the burned forest. The other half moved south, where they would traverse the guarded pass into Sliebhan.

“He’ll come back,” Eoghan said lightly at her shoulder. “He always does. Usually after some dramatic spectacle he pretends not to understand.”

It so perfectly described the outcome of Conor’s missions, Aine laughed out loud. “He does tend to do that, doesn’t he?”

“Aye. Come, I’ll walk you back to the fortress. Iomhar is waiting for you at the top.”

Aine climbed the long staircase, with several brief rests on the way, to where Iomhar indeed waited on the landing. He greeted them each with a bow. “Sir. My lady.”

“See Lady Aine inside, please. I have responsibilities below.”

“Aye, sir. My lady.” Iomhar swept a hand ahead of him for her to precede him. “Where to today?”

“I think I’d just like to rest and read in my room,” she said. She’d promised she would stay in the fortress, where it was safe and controlled, but she’d have to figure out some way to bring other work to her. If all she could do for the next several months was read and embroider, she would surely go mad.

But for today, reading suited her melancholy mood. She curled up in their bed, covers pulled to her waist beneath one of Shanna’s journals, her mind divided between the writing and Conor’s party’s progress from Ard Dhaimhin. After several hours, she realized they had stopped. Conor was concentrating on something, but at this distance, she couldn’t pick up what.

Then his presence vanished from her mind.

She gasped, searching through the surrounding minds, picking up stray thoughts but nothing that could explain what she was feeling. Surely if they were under attack, she would pick up urgency or fear from the other men. If he’d been killed or injured, they would be sending someone back to the city. So why couldn’t she find him?

Her eyes fell on the small table that held all her possessions. Or at least it had. Her comb, mirror, and ribbons were still there. But the small jar of ink was gone, in its place a small vial.

She lifted the glass vial and turned it over, then uncapped the stopper. Just as quickly, she pulled it away. She recognized the distinctive, musty smell: hemlock. She had used it in small doses as a sedative, but there was enough here in this vial to kill a man. Why had Conor had it in his possession in the first place? Had he left it for her? Or was it something he’d been leaving behind? She almost reached out to him to ask before she understood the truth. He’d drawn the shield rune. He’d blocked her out.

Momentary panic welled up inside her before she could make herself think rationally. Why would he do that? On one hand,
it would be that much more difficult for the druid to track him. On the other, he would be unable to reach her with updates as they’d planned. Why would he sever his one main link back to Ard Dhaimhin?

Morrigan.

She shoved the book aside, leapt out of bed, and stormed out of her chamber without acknowledging Iomhar. He hurried to catch up. “What’s wrong, my lady?”

“I don’t know. That’s what I’m trying to find out.” She pushed past Morrigan’s guards and pounded on her door.

“Lady Aine?” Morrigan blinked innocently.

“Iomhar, with me.” She shoved her way into the room, earning a shocked look from Conor’s sister. She rounded on her. “What did you tell him?”

“I don’t understand.”

“You spoke with Conor last night. What did you tell him?”

“Ah. He took the rune, didn’t he? I thought he might. I just thought he’d deliberate for longer.” She sat on the edge of her bed, looking quite satisfied with herself.

“What did you tell him?”

“Nothing. He figured it out for himself
 
—how your connection with him was harming you and the baby.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Why do you think? Your love is blinding you, Lady Aine. He’s using you. They are all using you. Do you think they have you under guard because they care about you? You are their most valuable tool. They are protecting you only because they need you.”

“Then why on earth would you tell Conor that?”

“Because it was the right thing to do. Once you reflect on that, you’ll see I’m right.”

Aine paced a little path back and forth in front of Morrigan. “I don’t understand you. Have your experiences twisted you so
much that you trust no one? Have they completely skewed your perspective on humanity?”

“Skewed it? No. Made it clear to me.” Morrigan stood and took Aine’s hands to stop her pacing, her voice earnest. “Aine, you must understand, I did this for you. I know what it’s like to be tormented. You don’t deserve that. Your baby doesn’t deserve that. You’re finally free.”

Aine just stared at Morrigan as if she’d never seen her before. She was either a master strategist or a little mad. “You have no idea what you’ve done.”

She turned and marched out of the room, accompanied by Iomhar, who seemed confused by the whole exchange. “Where’s Eoghan?”

“I don’t know, my lady. He could still be down below.”

“I need him now.” She continued down the corridor, down the staircase, toward the Ceannaire’s office. Iomhar caught another brother passing in the hall and whispered a few words before he hurried after her. The chamber was empty, as she expected it to be, but she plopped herself in a chair to wait. Less than ten minutes later, Eoghan appeared.

“My lady, you summoned me?”

Aine flushed, realizing how high-handed the gesture had been. Eoghan was just too gracious to acknowledge it. “Conor has taken the shield rune. I can’t sense him anymore.”

He blinked at her. “Why would he do that?”

“He knows I’m dreaming his nightmares.”

Eoghan circled around and sat on the edge of the desk. “And so he thinks he’s doing you a favor.”

“Except now he’s making it so we can’t communicate in any way.” She loaded irritation in her voice so she didn’t have to acknowledge her very real fear.

“Well, let’s think about this a moment. It has the effect of
making him harder to track. And he probably knew you’d be upset if he told you ahead of time.”

“I thought the same. But Morrigan basically admitted to manipulating the situation. She thinks I’m being used against my will and that I’m being protected only because I’m too valuable to Ard Dhaimhin to lose.”

“Morrigan’s partially right. We do need you.”

“And the rest?”

“I won’t even answer that question. You know I’d see you protected if you didn’t have a single gift. You’re Conor’s wife, and even if you weren’t
 
—”

“I believe you,” she said before he could elaborate further. “But the fact is, I am important to the war effort, and she used Conor’s concern for me to make me basically ineffective.”

“Perhaps that was the idea,” Eoghan said grimly. “But she obviously doesn’t know we planned for this. My lady, I know it’s painful to be shut out, but as long as you can still monitor the other members of his party, there’s no reason to be concerned. They have the doves if they need to convey anything of importance.”

His measured demeanor only highlighted how emotional her reaction had been. If she were honest with herself, wasn’t it more hurt over his pushing her away than real concern for the mission? She sighed. “How do you manage to be so calm about everything?”

“I’m not. I just know that some things are out of our control. Some things we just have to entrust to our Maker. And no, He hasn’t shown me how this turns out. My decisions would be a lot easier if He actually did show me the future.”

She pushed herself to her feet, feeling suddenly foolish. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”

“It is my pleasure, my lady.” He gave her a formal little bow and nodded to Iomhar to escort her from the room.

She felt a little foolish for her tirade as they climbed back up the stairs to her chamber. Somehow having faith seemed easier when she could assure herself that he was alive and well anytime she wished it. But if she could entrust him to Comdiu moment to moment, she could learn to trust Him without her involvement.

Eoghan limited his interactions with Aine in Conor’s absence, even if he kept an eye on her activities through the reports of her guards. It didn’t take long for her to chafe at the necessary restrictions on her movements, wandering the halls at all hours with Iomhar by her side. Eoghan authorized her requests immediately
 
—herbs for her healing concoctions, fabric for a baby’s cap and gown, even the odd bit of embroidery thread
 
—though he had a feeling they were all merely distractions.

After about a week of such reports from Iomhar, Eoghan couldn’t stand it any longer. Aine must feel as if she were in a prison after having the freedom to roam the entire city. Despite his vow to leave her be while Conor was gone, despite the possibility he might have buried ulterior motives, he devised a way to get her into the fresh air while still keeping her safe.

Iomhar’s eyebrows lifted when he showed up at Aine’s door. Eoghan ignored the silent indictment and rapped softly. As soon as the door opened, before she could voice her surprise, he asked, “Would you care to join me for a game of King and Conqueror?”

Her eyes brightened for a moment and then her expression shuttered. “Thank you, Eoghan, but I think I will decline.”

“Even if it means you’ll get some fresh air?”

“How?”

He smiled and gestured for her to follow. “Come and see. You, too, Iomhar.”

Curiosity apparently overtook her suspicion, because she followed him down the stairs toward the Ceannaire’s office. Before he reached it, he made a quick turn and opened a door. They stepped into a blast of cold afternoon air from the balcony where Liam had always come to think. Eoghan had already set up a small table and two stools with a game board between them and a pile of furs on the ground beside them.

“Compromise,” he said, sweeping his arm out. “You get out of the fortress, but you’re practically guaranteed safety.”

A smile lifted the corners of her mouth, and the answering twinge in his chest was immediately followed by a rush of guilt. He could pretend he would do the same for anyone else, but even he knew that for a lie. Too late now, though.