The Becoming, page 21
“Do you sit on the council?” Breen asked.
“I do. Though I was not born in Talamh, I was given this honor, this duty. We are seven, and with the taoiseach and Tarryn as his hand, nine.”
Breen saw roads splitting off from the main as the main climbed the rise toward the castle with its many shades of gray stone, its battlements and towers and turrets.
On the topmost, the banner snapped in the wind so the red dragon seemed to fly against the white field. He carried a sword in one claw, a staff in the other.
She saw Cróga glide over the castle, and a boy—a winged boy— rode on his back. The boy’s joyful laugh spilled down like sunlight.
They came to another stone bridge, another gate. A fountain shot water clear as crystal toward the sky. It fell in rainbows. Gardens spread and speared in islands of texture, in rivers of color. More flowers flowed over walls of terraces and balconies that graced the castle. Beyond them and the roll of green stood a forest, thick and deep.
She heard the cry of a hawk, saw a stunning sweep of butterflies rise like a wave. They swirled around her, once, twice, a third time, before flying as one toward an island of blooms.
“They welcome you,” Minga said with a smile.
“That was wild.” Marco’s own smile dimmed as he studied Breen’s face. “Did they scare you, girl?”
“No, no, just surprised.”
And scratched the surface of some memory. Riding in front of her father, gulping in all the sights like water with the castle rising and spreading, the banner snapping, the fountain spewing and spilling. Those first sounds of waves slapping rock on the cliffs.
And butterflies swirling. How she’d laughed and lifted her arms so they’d land on them. Her father’s laugh as he’d kissed the top of her head.
Dragon Hearts, like your hair.
She knew Minga spoke about the falcon mews, the cliffs, the gardens as Keegan led them around to the side and back of the great stone building. She barely listened as she tried to hang on to the memory.
But it faded away as riders began to dismount around her.
Mahon walked up to take her reins. “They’ll see to the horses and have your things taken up. Minga will show you to your chambers— and anywhere else you want to go or see, as Keegan and Tarryn will be busy for a while yet. You’ve time before the Leaving to rest or wander, have some food. One of us will come fetch you, or find you if you go out and about, when it’s time.”
“I expect you’d like to walk a bit after the long ride.” Minga gestured. “We’ll go this way, and in through the doors to the entrance hall.”
“It’s big,” Marco commented as he craned his neck up. “And tall.”
“It’s all of that, but home nonetheless. I think you’ll be comfortable in the rooms Tarryn chose for you. Right next to each other, they are.”
“The gardens are beautiful. You said there was a falcon mews?”
“Aye.” Minga nodded at Breen, gestured again. “Down this path, a school for training as well—both hawks and students. Other training areas for horses and horsemanship, for archery, for combat. If you walk or ride down to the village, there are shops for trading. Fabrics and jewelry, leather goods, ironworks, tools for magicks, cobblers and tailors. Pubs for food and drink and music.”
She led the way around, winding through the garden, along stone paths, over wide terraces, and to the steps leading to massive double doors.
“The gates are only closed during times of defense. These doors are only barred at such times.”
Minga pressed her hand on the dragon image carved in the stone by the doors, and they opened.
They walked into a towering hall with stone floors polished smooth, with tapestries and bronze works gracing the walls. Archways opened up in all directions, and the sun spilled through the glass dome in the soaring ceiling.
Fabric-covered benches and high-backed chairs offered seating, flowers more beauty, and a fire, snapping in a hearth she could have stood in, warmth.
“It’s beautiful. I thought it would be more …fortified.”
“When necessary, it is. Those stairs?” She nodded toward the staircase—stone, but wide and straight rather than the curving pie shape Breen had seen in ruins and restorations in Ireland. “When the gates and doors must be locked, they … I have to find the word.”
Minga paused, closed her eyes. “Ah, they go …” She smoothed her hand in the air.
“The treads go into the stone, make a platform. A steep one.”
“This. But now, the grand stairs are convenient.”
“And pretty freaking grand,” Marco added.
As he spoke, a young woman in snug pants and a green sweater raced down. Her dark hair coiled to her shoulder blades; her dark eyes sparkled against gold-dust skin.
“Mama!”
Though she didn’t use full speed, Breen recognized elfin blood.
“You’re home! You’re home.” She threw her arms around Minga. “I was minding Gwain’s children when I heard you were riding through the village. And here you are!”
“Here we all are.” Minga hugged hard before drawing her daughter back. “My daughter, Kiara. Make your welcome to Breen Siobhan and Marco.”
“You’re most welcome! How exciting to meet you. Oh, your hair is wonderful! Both!”
“Our Kiara has a talent for hair,” Minga told them. “They’ve traveled long today, my precious. Come, help me show them their chambers.”
“They’re so pretty! I peeked when Brigid and Lo were doing the linens and flowers.”
As she chattered, they started for the stairs. And the vision glided down them.
Her silvery blond hair fell in long, loose waves to her tiny waist. Her eyes were tawny like a cat’s and sparkled with the faintest of glitter on the lids. Her lips, pink and perfectly carved, curved in a smile in a face narrow and delicate and impossibly lovely.
She wore a tawny tunic to match her eyes, belted with gold at that tiny waist, over pants that followed every curve down to tall boots.
She smelled, Breen thought, seductively of wild things that grew in the forest.
“Minga, welcome home. You’ve been missed.” She sent Marco a flirtatious flutter of long, dark lashes before turning that smile on Breen. “And is it Breen Siobhan? Your arrival has been much anticipated.”
“This is Shana,” Minga began. “Daughter of Uwin, who serves on the council as I do, and Gwen. Breen, daughter of Eian, granddaughter of Mairghread, brings her friend, Marco, from the other side.”
“I haven’t yet traveled to your world. But now I see I must.” She offered Marco a hand in a way that invited a kiss.
He shook it instead. “If you make it to Philly, I’ll show you around.”
“Sure and now I will for certain. Have you just arrived then, and I’m keeping you standing? Minga, if you wish to rest or see the rest of your family, Kiara and I can show the guests to their chambers.”
“That’s kind of you, but the taoiseach requested it of me.”
She led the way up and up, explaining various rooms as they went. A vast library, a contemplation room, a kind of nursery area for young children, a room for magicks, another for crafting.
They took, single file, the pie-shaped winding stairs to the next level. Rooms for music, for dance instruction, for art.
Another set of stairs, and Minga led the way down a corridor.
“Your room, Marco.” Minga opened the door.
The tall bed had four soaring posts, and the drape of a blanket in midnight blue. The two moons floated over a quiet sea on the chest at its feet. A tray of fruit, cheeses, bread, decanters sat on it. A wide wardrobe that gleamed from a recent polish, a winged chair and footstool, a table where flowers graced a deep blue vase all offered a strange sort of sophistication.
His harp stood on the table with the flowers.
Doors opened to a terrace with views of a pretty courtyard and, to the east, the rolling sea.
“This is a view and a half.”
“I hope you’ll play for us.” Shana walked over to the harp, trailed her finger over the strings. “I’ve heard you’re very musical.”
“I’m still learning to play the harp. Breen bought it for me.”
Shana turned. “What a fine friend.”
“And your fine friend is in the next room.” Minga took her daughter’s hand, moved back into the corridor and down. “As with Marco, if anything doesn’t suit your needs, you’ve only to say.”
She had the big bed, but this with a gauze canopy that sparkled like stars. The fire simmered; the flowers scented the air.
She had a desk as well as the wardrobe and chest—hers painted with a meadow in full flower. On the desk that faced the side of the room toward the sea, sat her paper, her pen.
Unable to resist, she opened the doors to let the sea air flood in, and saw the terrace wrapped around the corner.
“It’s beautiful, inside and out. Thank you, Minga.”
“I’m pleased, as will Tarryn be, that you like it. Now, we’ll let you refresh after the long journey. If you have a need or a wish or a question, you’ve only to ask. Come now, come, let’s leave them in peace.”
Minga pointed the others out, closed the door behind them.
“This rocks it out, back again, then out one more time.” So saying, Marco flopped on Breen’s bed. “How about we have ourselves a snack and some wine? Then I want to clean myself up, because I’m hoping to find Brian.”
Breen poured wine for both of them. And wondered why the gorgeous elf—she’d caught that—with the perfect face despised her.
She’d caught that, too.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Keegan spoke with the families of the fallen, the most miserable duty he held. When he’d finished, he went out to check on the arrangements for the Leaving. As taoiseach, he would send the fire himself and provide the families of the lost with the urns for the return of the ashes.
Once satisfied, he went down to the dungeons to be certain the bindings on those who would be judged held fast.
They slept, each and all, under the same spell they’d used on the child they’d meant to kill. The sleep would hold, he determined, until they faced him, their magicks bound, the next day.
He went up again, wishing for nothing more than an ale, a fire, and a soft bed for an hour.
Shana waited for him near the grand stairs.
“Taoiseach. If I could speak with you.”
“I’ve little time now,” he began.
“For my apology.” She looked up at him, looked deeply.
“There’s no need.”
“For me, there is need. Please, a few moments only, as I know you have important matters. In the air, Taoiseach. Grant me this.”
“A few moments,” he agreed, and thought longingly of the ale, the fire, the bed. And the quiet.
She wound her way through to the courtyard near the seawall, which to his mind ate up unnecessary time when he had so little. But they’d ended things badly, he reminded himself. And some of the fault had been his own.
She stepped out, breathed deep. “First I want to say I know you fought well and bravely, and I know you grieve for the fallen, as we all do.”
She laid a hand on his heart, the other on her own.
“My own friend Cullin O’Donahue is one who goes to the gods.”
“I’m sorry. He was a strong warrior, and true.”
“He was.” Tears sparkled in her eyes as she took Keegan’s hand. “And now I will say I’m sorry, and shamed, for what I said to you when we last met.”
“We misunderstood each other, and part of that blame is mine.”
“No, it’s mine alone. You made no promises.” She brought his hand to her cheek. “I wanted what I knew you didn’t, and I struck out at you. I was angry because I built a dream, and you never shared it. And never pretended to. Will you forgive me?”
“There’s nothing to forgive, Shana.”
She lowered her eyes because those words flashed fire into them. “I would be friends again, if you’d have it.”
“Friends we were, are, and will be.”
She took a moment more before she looked up, put the flirt back in her eyes. “Sharing a bed with you is a very fond memory, for you’re skilled. I would invite you back into mine, but—” she said quickly, because she read refusal, rejection on his face, “I’m with Loren Mac Niadh now.”
“I’m glad of it,” he said simply, and enraged her. “He cares for you, and always has.”
“He does.” She toyed with one of the baubles at her ears, which Loren had given her. “And though I haven’t pledged to him, I will, I think. In time.”
“When the time comes, he’ll be fortunate. I wish you happy, Shana, in all choices. In all ways.”
“I know you do, and always have, so I’m only the more sorry for my angry words. I wish you the same, Keegan. Are you happy?”
“I’ll know true happiness when peace holds in Talamh.”
“So speaks the taoiseach.” She used a smile with those words, though they lay bitter on her tongue. “But is Keegan happy? I’m told you’ve a taste now for red hair.”
When he looked blank, she felt a rise of hope. “The O’Ceallaigh’s daughter. The one you brought with you from the valley. She’s a quiet one, and some say the quiet ones hold the most fire.”
“She’s not always quiet, but she holds fire enough for any. She needs more time and more training, and neither of us can waste that time on …flirtations.”
“Ah well. From what I know”—she tapped a finger to his cheek— “she doesn’t suit you. But I wish you happy, Keegan, whatever and whoever brings it to you.
“A kiss to seal it,” she added before laying her lips softly on his. Sighed. “And an admission that I’ll miss finding you with me in the dark. Blessed be, Keegan.”
As she glided back inside, she flicked a quick glance upward and congratulated herself on her timing when she saw Breen standing on the terrace of her room.
She wouldn’t need to trick Kiara into gossiping about a tryst between herself and Keegan now. The woman she fully believed stood in the way of all she wanted had seen for herself.
Keegan didn’t get the ale or the fire. As a falcon arrived with reports from the south, he called a council meeting.
“Time’s short before the final preparation for the Leaving,” Tarryn told him as a few helpers scrambled to set cups and pitchers of water on the council table.
No spirits were consumed during council meetings, though by the gods, Keegan thought, that’s when he wanted them most.
“Everything is at the ready, Ma, and this won’t take long.”
“You’ve yet to wash off the travel dust and change.”
“I was detained. No more fussing now.” He gave her an absent pat on the arm before he walked to the window he’d opened so he could breathe.
“Until the council convenes, I’m just your ma, and my boy is tired.”
“So’s my ma, isn’t she? So let’s make this quick and done.”
Minga entered first, along with the representative from the Trolls. Bok wore a black band in honor of his granddaughter, who’d fallen on the beach in the south.
The others came quickly enough, talking and muttering among themselves as they entered the room with its murals and map of Talamh, its tapestries depicting all the tribes of the Fey.
Each stood behind the tall chair of their place at the long table. Keegan escorted his mother to hers at one end, then strode to his at the head.
“Greetings and blessings, and my thanks to all for their counsel.”
When he took his seat, the others followed suit. “We ask, as always, for wisdom in all choices made here, and that all choices strengthen the peace of Talamh and all who dwell within it.”
“So ask we all,” the council answered.
With that formality done, Keegan held up a hand. “I know there’s much to discuss, but the time is short before the Leaving. Tomorrow is for the Judgment, and the Welcome. Between those duties, we will meet again. But I’ve asked you to come now for only this. The battle in the south is won, but at great cost. Every life leaving us is a cost to all. More, a great many more, would have been lost through the treachery hiding behind robes and folded hands, for those who took our tolerance and forgiveness for weakness.”
“They will be judged for it,” Bok said.
“Aye, they will be judged. The Pious, as before in the dark past, used their Prayer House to hide their true purpose in false piety, and within walls deemed sacred and holy, tortured Fey, made blood sacrifice to Odran.”
He saw the flash and heat in Flynn’s eyes, and knew an ally in the friend of his father’s, and the representative of the Sidhe.
“Taoiseach.” Uwin, Shana’s elfin father, spoke up. “You cannot be certain of this.”
“I am certain of it. As the child they stole and bespelled and planned to offer to Odran will testify tomorrow. As I myself, in the guise of an old holy man, was to be offered.”
“For the stolen child, they must be judged.” Rowan of the Wise spoke up. “For bespelling her, they must be judged. But can there be judgment on what was not done, even through intervention?”
“This is for tomorrow. I say now and here, she would not have been the first. I tell you, in walking through that unholy place, I felt the deaths that came before, I heard the echoes of chants to Odran. This will not pass. This will not stand. And neither will stand the unholy place. It will be razed.”
“Taoiseach!” Uwin held up both hands. “This strikes as vengeance, and justice rarely follows vengeance. Not all, surely not all, of the Pious took part in this.”
“Not all.”
“Then we must allow them their choices, their place of contemplation and good works.”
“If I may speak.” Tarryn did so, softly, as arguments erupted around the table. “We did not destroy the Prayer House in the valley where the Pious once lived, prayed, did those good works, then turned to persecution, blood magicks, torture. This was long ago, long before any here took first breath, but the Fey remember. The Fey forgave, and gave the Pious their place in the south. And in repayment for forgiveness, they used what remains of it, near the God’s Dance, near the graveyard where Eian O’Ceallaigh’s ashes lay, and the ashes of many loved and lost, to stir the spirits trapped within. The sacrificed, and those who sacrificed them. To stir them to walk free on Samhain, through the thinning veil.”
