Holder of Lightning

Now you know. . Eilis’ voice whispered in her head.

Now you know. .

Somehow, impossibly, Jenna was standing on the grass above the falls, in the sunlight. The cloch was no longer in her hand. There was no ring on her ringer. She felt at the waist of her skirt: there it was, the familiar lump of cloch, and circular hardness alongside it: Eilis’ ring.

Someone was crying, weeping in pain, and she realized it was her.

"Jenna! There you are! We’ve been calling… By the Mother-Creator, girl, you’re soaked through! What’s the matter?" Maeve came running up to her. Jenna sank into her embrace.

"My arm. ." she cried. "It hurts so much, Mam." Sharp, red agony stabbed at her, radiating from her hand downward and into her chest. She shivered with cold, the wind biting at her drenched clothing. Her vision was colored with it, like a veil over her eyes. With Jenna leaning against her mother, they moved down away from the falls. As they turned, Jenna glanced down.

The falls flared white as the water cascaded over the edge of the ravine, and the mist touched her face like tears.

Chapter 13: Smoke and Ruin

A STRIPE later, new wrappings with Seancoim's poultice slathered on the cloth and a mug of the anduilleaf brew had dulled the pain enough so that Jenna could ride. The wan fall sun had dried her clothes somewhat. She told the others that she'd slipped and fallen on the arm- the story appeared to satisfy them, and if she seemed wetter than the mist alone could have managed, no one mentioned the fact.

It was nearing midafternoon when they returned to the High Road. "A long lunch," Mac Ard said worriedly when they finally were riding north again. "It will be dark before we reach the ford at this rate. We still may not reach Ath Iseal tonight."

Jenna was silent on the ride. Again Mac Ard and Maeve rode together, and O'Deoradhain remained behind with Jenna, but his attempts to draw her into conversation failed. In truth, she barely heard him or saw the landscape as they approached the ford of the Duan. She held the reins of the horse loosely in her left hand, trusting the mare to keep to the road, and stared down at her bandaged arm, letting the fingers stretch and close, stretch and close. She traced the patterns of the scars with her gaze, feeling them even though they were hidden under folds of cotton.

Her thoughts were on Lamh Shabhala. The other times she had tapped the stone's power, she had felt no control of the process. But now. . Even without holding the stone, she could touch it with her mind, as if she and the cloch were linked. She could place her thoughts there and imagine herself sinking into the unguessed depths of the cloch. She could see power flaring between the crystalline structures within the stone, and she could direct that force: she could send it flaring outward and control where it went, what it touched, what it did.

And she could see, at the center of the stone, a hidden well of another power, one that was as yet half-filled, and when she looked there with her mind, she could feel gossamer, invisible threads running away from Lamh Shabhala into the world. At the end of those threads, she knew, lay the other clochs na thintri, the stones of lightning, waiting for Lamh Shabhala to restore their power.

She could not imagine how she would handle that huge reservoir, if the energy that already ran through Lamh Shabhala hurt her so much already. At the same time, she knew that she could not throw the stone away or give it to someone else. Lamh Shabhala wouldn’t allow that. She would not allow it. Even contemplating that action made her arm throb through the veil of anduilleaf. She had opened the stone, but Lamh Shabhala had also opened her.

She could no more easily abandon the cloch now than she could dis-card her heart.

"I don’t know how Tiarna Mac Ard feels," she heard O’Deoradhain saying though her musings,

"but I don’t like this. There’s been no one on the road with us all day. The west isn’t as well traveled as the east side of the lough, but still we should have seen a few others by now. Actually, I was surprised no other travelers stopped at the falls in all the time we were there."

Jenna nodded. She might have glanced at him, but Lamh Shabhala overlaid the sight. He may have continued to talk, but she was lost inside the stone, peering at its secrets.

By evening, with the sun sending long shadows eastward as it touched the treetops, they approached a crossroads where the lough road met with the High Road traveling up to Ballintubber and crossing over to the Duan. On either side of the road, oak trees overhung the stone fences; to the west, the outskirts of Doire Coill huddled close by across an overgrown field. Mac Ard suddenly pulled back on his reins to bring his horse to a halt, standing up in the stirrups and peering around them. "Can you smell that?" he asked.

The question brought Jenna out of her reverie.

She sniffed, and the smell brought with it unpleasant memories. "Woodsmoke," she said, then frowned. "And something more."

"Too much wood smoke," Mac Ard commented. "And an awful reek within it. I was past here a dozen days ago, on my way to Ballintubber. Where the roads meet there was a tiny village: a tavern and three or four houses." His face was touched with worry as he looked back over his shoulder. "And I share your concern about the quiet on the road, O’Deoradhain. I think we should ride carefully and slowly, and keep an eye about us. Jenna-"

Jenna started at the sound of her name. "Aye, Tiarna?"

"You should be most careful of all." His dark gaze held her, moving from her face to her arm. "I think you understand my meaning."

She closed her fingers around the hidden cloch. "I do, Tiarna."

A nod. "O'Deoradhain, you and I should ride ahead, I think."

They rode on, Mac Ard and O'Deoradhain several feet ahead of them.; Jenna noticed that the tiarna swept his cloca back away from the hilt of his sword and that she could also see the leather-wrapped hilt of. O'Deoradhain's knife. Alert now, they approached the crossing. The aroma of smoke hung in the air, and the odd scent underlying it grew stronger. The walls on either side of the road spread out suddenly, and in the clear space ahead of them, she could see a cluster of buildings. In the twilight, they seemed wrapped in a strange, dark fog, then she realized that the structures were roofless, the windows and doors gaping open like dead mouths, and that the fog was tendrils of smoke from still-smoldering timbers.

The scene was eerily deserted. No people moved in the midst of the rubble, no birds, no dogs.

Nothing.

She also knew, then, what the other odor must be, and she swallowed hard. "The fires were set a day ago or more, by the look," Mac Ard said, almost whispering. His face was grim. None of them wanted to speak; loudly here; it seemed disrespectful.

"That worries me-I didn't think the Connachtans would stay this long, or be so bold as to strike this close to Ath Iseal with its garrison. Those who lived here no doubt fled, the ones who weren't killed, but why they haven't returned by now is what worries me more."

"Tuath Connachta, was it?" O'Deoradhain asked. "You speak as if you've met them, Tiarna. Are the Tuatha at war?"

Mac Ard glanced back at O'Deoradhain but didn't

answer. "Let's see what we can learn here. Carefully!!

They moved closer to the ruins. Jenna could see now that all that was left of the houses were the

tumbled down stone walls, blacked with smoke. A few fire-blistered timbers leaned forlornly, with wisps of gray smoke lifting from them. The ground was littered with broken crockery and scraps of cloth, as if the village had been torn apart before the fires were set. As if, Jenna realized, the attackers had been looking for someone or something. There were no signs of the residents of this place, though Jenna saw dark shapes within walls of the houses that made her look away.

Mac Ard reined up his horse before the ruins of the largest building- the inn, Jenna decided. He walked carefully over the stones and timbers, his boots crunching through the wreckage and sending plumes of ash up with each step. Once, he stopped and bent down, then came back out.

"There are two dead in there," he said. "Maybe a few more that I can’t see. Some, perhaps most, I hope, ran before the fire and are still alive." He looked around. "There’s nothing we can do here. I’ll feel safer once we reach Ath Iseal."

"If it hasn’t been attacked as well," O’Deoradhain replied but Mac Ard shook his head.

"There weren’t that many here, by the signs. A dozen, perhaps a few more. This is the work of marauders, not an army."

As Mac Ard spoke, Jenna closed her eyes for a moment. The cloch burned in the darkness behind her eyes, and she could see the webs of connection to the other clochs na thintri. One of those connections, she suddenly realized, snaked over to Mac Ard, and another. .

She opened her eyes. Against the ruddy western sky, on a bare knife — edged ridge half a mile away, she could see a rider. "Tiarna," she said, pointing, and as Mac Ard turned to look, the rider turned his horse and vanished. A faint voice called in the distance, and others answered. Mac Ard muttered a curse and mounted.

"Ride!" he cried. "And let’s hope that the crossing is still open."

They urged their horses into a gallop in the growing dark, moving quickly while they could still somewhat see the road ahead of them. At the juncture of the roads, they turned east toward the river, a few miles ahead. Jenna kept looking back over her shoulder at the road behind, expecting to see riders coming hard after them, but for the moment the lane remained empty. As they left the village, the walls closed in again to border the road, and they moved into a wooded area. There, night already lurked under the trees, and they had to slow the horses to a trot or risk being thrown by an unseen root or hole. By the time they'd emerged from the trees, the sun had failed entirely, the first stars emerging in the east. The waxing moon-now nearly at a quarter-lifted high above the west and painted the road as it swept down in a great curve over low, flat lands. Far ahead, a row of trees ran nearly north to south across their way, marking the line of the river, which sparkled just beyond. Across the Duan, the road lifted again; on the banks of the hills beyond, yellow light gleamed in the windows at Ath Iseal.

And between the four of them and the river stood three horsemen, moonlight glinting from ring mail leathers laced over their tunics. They didn't appear to see Jenna and the others yet, against the cover of the trees. Behind, from the direction of the village, Jenna could hear hooves pounding and men calling.

Mac Ard pulled his horse up "Trapped," he said, "and it's no good cutting across the field when the ford is ahead. Jenna?" Mac Ard looked back at her. "Can you. .?" He didn't finish the question, but Jenna understood. Wanly, she shook her head. Her arm already hung cold and heavy; she could not imagine what it would feel like to use the cloch again so soon. "These are the same people who killed the people in your village, who killed people you know, who burned your house and ran down your dog," Mac Ard reminded her, and Jenna lifted her head.

"If I must," she said wearily. She reached for the cloch, but Mac Ard stopped her hand.

"Not yet. If we can cut the odds down somewhat, we may not need to reveal what we have. O'Deoradhain, it's time to see how useful that knife of yours is. Maeve, Jenna, as soon as we have them engaged, ride on past. Go off the road around them if you need to. We'll follow as soon as we can. Now, let's see what we can do before they realize we're here."

He reached back and pulled the bow from the pack slung behind his saddle. Hooking a leg over one end of the weapon, he bent the bow and strung it, then nocked an arrow in the string. "I'm not much

of a bowman but a rider’s a large target."

He drew the bowstring back and let the arrow fly. Jenna tried to follow its flight but lost it in the darkness. But there was a cry from the riders, though no one fell. She could see them looking around, then one of them pointed toward the group and they came charging up the road toward them. Mac Ard nocked another arrow, letting them approach as he held the bow at full tension. Jenna could see muscles trembling in his arm. Then he let it fly, and one of the horses screamed and went down, the rider tumbling to the ground as the other two rushed past. "Now!" Mac Ard shouted, tossing the bow aside and drawing his sword. He kicked his horse into a gallop. "Ride for the ford!"

Maeve and Jenna both urged their horses to follow, but as Jenna kicked the mare’s sides, O’Deoradhain’s hand reached out and grabbed her reins. Mac Ard was already flying down the road with sword raised and a loud cry that they must have heard in Ath Iseal. Maeve’s horse was close be-hind. "Let me go!" Jenna cried. Her horse reared, but O’Deoradhain held last. Jenna tried to wrench the reins away from him, and reached for the stone, a fury rising in her.

"Wait!" he said. "It’s important-"

"Let go!" she shouted again. Maeve had realized that Jenna hadn’t fol-lowed and was stopped in the middle of the road between Jenna and Mac Ard. Jenna heard the clash of steel as Mac Ard and the riders met. O’Deoradhain continued to hold her. Jenna’s fist closed around the cloch.

Her arm was ice and flame. Lamh Shabhala seemed to roar in her ears with anger as she brought it out. "Get away!" she screamed at O’Deoradhain, and at the same time, she opened the cloch in her mind, releasing just a trickle of its power. Light flared from between the closed fingers of her right hand, and a jagged beam shot from her hand to smash against O’Deoradhain, lifting him out of his saddle and throwing him against the fieldstone wall. He slumped down, but Jenna didn’t stop to see what had happened to him. She was free, and Lamh Shabhala threw shimmering brilliance over her, as if she were enveloped in daylight. "Ride!" she called to her mam, and kicked her own horse forward.

Ahead, Mac Ard fought, but he was in desperate trouble without O’Deoradhain, the two horsemen flanking him. Jenna saw him take a blow to his sword arm, and his weapon went clattering to the ground. She clenched Lamh Shabhala tighter, lifting her hand. "No!" she screamed as swords were raised against Mac Ard, now weaponless and injured.

She imagined lightning striking the two riders. She visualized savage light darting from cloch to riders.

It happened.

Twin lightnings flared in searing lines from her fisted hand, slicing around Maeve and Mac Ard without touching them. The riders' swords shattered, molten shards exploding in bright arcs as hilts were torn from gloved hands and flung away. The lightning curled around the riders, lifting them in a snarling coil of blue-white and hurling them a hundred feet into the fields as their horses screamed and fled.

Behind them, there were shouts of alarm. Jenna turned. Four more riders had come from under the trees. Jenna waved her hand, and the earth exploded at their feet, a line of bright fireworks erupting before them as horses reared and bucked. The riders turned and fled back the way they'd come. Jenna saw O'Deoradhain, back on his horse, riding wildly south across the fields and away.

She let him go. The angry glare faded in her hand, and Jenna screamed, this time with her own pain, as every muscle in her right arm seemed to — lock and twist. She bent over in her saddle, fighting to stay conscious. You can do it. Breathe. Keep breathing. You can't stop the pain, no, but put it to one side. . The voice inside didn't seem be hers. Riata? She fought the inner night that threatened to close around her, pushed it away, and forced herself to sit up in the saddle. She rode to her mother. "Mam, are you all right?"

Maeve nodded, mute. Her eyes were wide and almost timid as she stared at her daughter. "Jenna.

" she breathed, but Jenna shook her head.

Cradling her right arm in her lap, she flicked the reins with her left hand, going to Mac Ard. He was standing, his sword now held in his left hand, the point dragging on the ground, a spreading pool of dark wetness soaking his cloca at the right arm. Another cut spread a fan of blood across his forehead.

"You look awful," she said to him. "Padraic."

A fleeting smile touched his lips and vanished.

"You haven't seen your-self, Jenna. I can ride, though. And we need to do that before those other riders decide to come back. Where's that bastard O'Deoradhain?"

Jenna pointed away south, where a distant rider pounded away across the moonlit fields. Mac Ard spat once in the man's direction. Maeve came riding up, holding the reins to the tiarna's horse. She dismounted and went to Mac Ard. "We're binding this first," she said. "Riders or not, you're losing too much blood, Padraic. Jenna can watch for the attackers."

She looked up at Jenna, who nodded. "I'm. . fine for now, Mam," she said, hoping it was true. The edges of her vision had gone dark, and her arm radiated agony as if the very bones had been shattered. She took deep, slow breaths of the cold night air-keep the pain to one side-and forced herself to sit upright. If the riders returned, she wasn't sure she could use the cloch again. She thought of the anduilleaf in the pack: As soon as we get to the town, you can have some, and that will keep the pain away. . "Go on. But you need to hurry, Mam. ."

Maeve tore strips from her skirt hem, bandaging Mac Ard's arm and strapping the arm to his chest. "That will need to be stitched when we reach town, but it will do for now. Can you mount, Padraic?"

In answer, Mac Ard grasped the saddle with his left hand, put his foot in the stirrup and pulled himself up with a grimace. Astride, he looked around them: the empty-saddled horses now standing a hundred yards down the road, the bladeless hilts on the road, the broken bodies of the two men sprawled in the awkward poses of the dead in the field, the black furrow torn in the ground up the slope from them.

"So much for keeping this a secret," he said.

Chapter 14: Ath Iseal

JENNA could not imagine a city larger than Ath Iseal. To her eyes, which had seen only Ballintubber, the town was vast, noisy, and impos-sibly crowded, though she knew that Lar Bhaile, to the south on the east side of Lough Lar, was the size of several Ath Iseals put together.

They ran into a squadron of men in green and brown, hurrying across the ford and up the road, having seen the lightnings and heard the fight-ing. On meeting Tiarna Mac Ard, three of the soldiers accompanied them across the ford, while the rest of the small force rode west in pursuit of the Connachtans. Tiarna Mac Ard, Maeve, and Jenna were taken to the Ri’s House-lodgings reserved for the RI Gabair should he come to Ath Iseal-and healers were sent for. Servants brought food and drink, and baths were prepared.

Jenna slept more soundly that night than she had since they’d left Bal-lintubber: only six days ago now, though it seemed far longer to her. When she awoke the next day, the sun was already high in the sky, masked by scudding gray rain clouds. She stood at the window, a blanket wrapped around her, shivering and yet delighting in the sharp cold and the fresh smell of the rain. The Ri’s House had been built on top of the river bluff, and from her window, Jenna looked down on the clustered town. She’d never seen so many buildings in one place, all crowded to-gether as if desperately seeking each other’s company, the streets between ’ them busy with people moving from place to place. A market square was just off to her left and down, packed with street vendors and buyers, bright with the awnings of the stalls. The sound of vendors’ calls and high-pitched bartering came to her on the air.

For a moment, looking at the untroubled life below, she could almost forget the events of the past fortnight. But a twinge of pain from her arm brought back the memories, and she stepped away from the window again. She must have cried out, for someone knocked at the door to the room. "Young miss, are you awake? May I come in?"

"Aye," Jenna answered. "Come in."

The door opened, and a young woman no older than Jenna entered, bearing a tray with a steaming pot, a cup, and tea. A tentative smile was on her plain face, but there was also caution in her eyes as she set the tray down on the bedside table and bustled about the room, pulling clothing from a

chest at the foot of the bed. She kept looking at Jenna as if Jenna" were some sort of mythical beast, or as if she were afraid that Jenna might suddenly order her head lopped off.

"Here, Bantiarna. This will be good; see how the brown matches your eyes? The tiarna's already been to breakfast, and the other bartiarna, too-she's your mam, isn't she? I think she's very lovely, not at all like my own mam-but they asked that you come to them when you wake. The healer will be back here in just a bit to look at your arm again; I'll make sure someone runs to find him as soon as I leave you. That arm of yours must hurt, the way it's wrapped. Did it give you problems sleeping? You've evidently been through a terrible fight, from what I've heard. Goodness, the rumors that have been flying around here all morning. ."

As the woman spoke, all seemingly in one gigantic breath, Jenna felt her arm cramp and tighten, her hand clenching involuntarily into a fist. She felt for the cloch-it was still there, hidden, and the feel of it caused her hand to relax, though the pain still radiated through her shoulder and into her chest. The servant was looking at her strangely, her mouth open though the words had stopped spilling out for the moment.

"Leave me," Jenna said abruptly before the young woman could take another breath and begin another monologue. "Those clothes are fine; I won't need your help."

The servant blanched, her face going white. "Young miss, if I've of-fended-"

Jenna waved her good hand to stop her. "You haven't. I just… I'd prefer to dress alone. Tell my mam and the tiarna that I'll be down shortly." She opened the door. "Please," she said, gesturing.

With a nod and bow, the servant left. Jenna closed the door behind her. She went to her pack, sitting at the side of the bed, and rummaged through it until she found the pouch of anduilleaf. She crumbled a bit of the herb and set it steeping in the teapot, then sank down on the bed. The bittersweet scent of anduilleaf wafted through the room, and that alone seemed to ease the pain a bit. For long minutes, she simply lay there, eyes closed, feeling the pain slowly lessen until she found she could move the fingers of her right hand again, then she went and poured her-self a cup of the brew. As she drank, she pulled

Eilis’ ring from the pocket, looking at it and turning it in her hand. She needed to know more, but she didn’t place the ring on her finger, uncertain. The specter of the an-cient Holder had seemed so bitter, so fey. Not someone Jenna would vol-untarily choose as an adviser. Come to where a Holder’s body rests, or touch something that was once theirs, and they can speak with you, if you will it. With the memory of Eilis’ words, Jenna sat up. She finished the anduilleaf tea, dressed quickly, and left her room.

She found her mam and Mac Ard in a parlor room leading out into an interior garden court, though when Jenna-directed by another servant- passed through it to get to the tiarna’s room, she found most of the plants were now brown and dead. The doors were shut, and a fire was roaring in the hearth. Mac Ard was standing near the fire, one arm still bound to his body and another bandage over his forehead. Maeve was sitting near him.

They had evidently been conversing, but both went silent as Jenna entered.

Food was laid out on a table near them, and Mac Ard waved at it with his good hand as Jenna entered. "Have you eaten?"

"I’m not hungry," she answered. "What word is there on the Connach-tans or O’Deoradhain?"

Mac Ard shrugged with one shoulder. "None. Three of the Connach-tans are dead-I know their faces, and the Ri Connachta won’t be pleased, as two of them are his cousins-and the others fled west, evidently leaving the High Road when it turned north. I sent men to the farm where we met O’Deoradhain-it wasn’t his land at all, it seems. There’s been no sign of him, and no freelander in the area knows him at all. I had someone find the Taisteal and speak with Clannhri Sheehan, who said that O’Deoradhain had come into the camp only a few hours before us. He was proba-bly a Connachtan as well."

Three are dead, and two of them you killed. . Jenna swallowed hard, trying to keep her face from showing anything of her feelings. "There’s talk all through Ath Iseal about mage-lights, clochs, and the Filleadh," Mac Ard continued. "The sooner we get to Lar Bhaile, the better. I’d like to set out tomorrow, if you’re able."

The thought of more travel made Jenna grimace,

but she nodded. "Whatever you think best. Whatever keeps us safe."

"You'll be safe now," Mac Ard told her. "From here, I can promise that. The Connachtans won't dare come this far east. I never offered you my gratitude, Jenna," Mac Ard said. "But I do now. That's the second time you've saved my life. It's a debt I'll do my best to repay."

"There's no debt," Jenna answered. "The first time, what happened was out of my control, an accident. This time. ." She took a long breath. "I did it to save myself and my mam."

"And me?"

"Aye, and you. Because-" Jenna stopped, looking at her mam. Mac Ard's followed the gaze, his dark eyes glinting in the firelight. He nodded, as if he saw something in her face that he expected to see, and pushed himself away from the mantle.

"The cloch of yours," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "I thought it was a clochmion, one of the minor clochs, one of the least. I think we both know better now. I think I could name the cloch you're holding."

Jenna hurried to answer. "I didn't know, Tiarna Mac Ard. I just found it, that's all. I didn't know what it was."

"If you had, would you have given it to me? Would you give it to me now?"

Jenna didn't answer. She took a step back from him.

"You don't have to say anything," he said. "I can see the answer in your face." His eyes held hers for a few breaths longer before he looked away. "I have a dozen things to attend to if we're leaving tomorrow. Jenna, I'm glad you're feeling somewhat better. If you'll excuse me, Maeve. ."

He left the room, passing close by Jenna. She could feel the breeze of his passage.

"Come here, darling," Maeve said as he left the room. She opened her arms, and Jenna sank into the embrace as if she were a small child again. As Maeve stroked her hair, tears came, surprising Jenna with their sudden-ness. She sobbed against her mother's breast as she hadn't done in years, and

Maeve crooned soft words to her, kissing the top of her head. Finally, Jenna sniffed back the tears and pulled away, rubbing at her eyes with her sleeve. "How are you feeling this morning?" Maeve asked softly. Her eyes, concerned, glanced at the bandages around Jenna’s arm. "You used anduilleaf again," Maeve said.

"I had to," Jenna answered. "It hurt too much."

Maeve nodded. "You should know, Jenna. Padraic and I-"

"You don’t need to say anything," Jenna told her.

"I understand, and if this is what you want, then I’m happy for you. Just don’t let him hurt you, Mam."

"He won’t," Maeve answered emphatically. Certainty tightened her face. "We talked for a long time. I know what he can do and what he can’t do, and I’m comfortable with that. I understand his position; he understands mine. We’re. ." Maeve stopped and Jenna saw a broad smile spread across her face, twinned with a blush. "We’re well suited for each other."

Jenna hugged her again, and Maeve stroked her hair. "Padraic is wor-ried about you, Jenna," she said.

"Padraic doesn’t need to worry." Jenna used his first name scornfully, as if she hated the taste of its familiarity. "This seems to be my problem, not his."

"He’d take the cloch and its burden from you, if he could."

Jenna’s eyes flashed at that, and she stood abruptly, taking a step away from her mam. In the hearth behind her, a log crashed in a whirling cascade of sparks. "He can’t have it. It’s mine."

She pushed away from Meave, who let her go. "That’s what he said you’d say, that you wouldn’t, that you couldn’t, willingly give it up now, even though it hurts you." Maeve smiled sadly. "I wish you could. I would do anything to stop you from being in pain, Jenna. I wish. ." She looked away to the fire, then back to Jenna. "I wish you’d never found the stone. I wish Niall, your father. ." She stopped.

"What about my da?" Jenna asked.

Maeve shook her head. "Nothing. He said nothing of this to me, but in looking back on how it was, I think he was always waiting for that cloch himself. I wonder now if he didn't bring it to Ballintubber himself, from Inish Thuaidh or wherever he came from before. If he'd lived, it would have been him who was up on Knobtop that night, not you."

"And then Tiarna Mac Ard would have come."

Her mam gave Jenna a knowing smile. "I loved your da, Jenna. But it's possible to be in love more than once in your life. It's even possible to be in love with two people at once, even if it's dangerous and even though you know that those feelings will inevitably cause everyone pain. One day you'll realize that. I'll always love your da, and always cherish my time with him. After all, he gave me you."

"And I'm all that's left. All the rest that we had is gone. I have nothing." Her voice was wistful and sad.

"Most of it is gone, aye, except for a few things of his I took before we left. Wait here a moment." Maeve rose from her chair and left the room for a few minutes, returning with a small wooden carving in her hand. "Remember this?" she asked, holding it out to Jenna: a block of pine fitting easily into her palm and poorly carved into a representation of a 'seal and painted a bright blue, though wood showed through at several places where it had been scratched.

"Aye," Jenna said. "The seal I used to play with when I was a baby." She looked at Maeve. "Why that?"

"Your father carved it, before he left for Bacathair. When you lost inter-est in it, I kept it because it was his last gift to you. I’d forgotten I still had it until I was trying to find a few things to take when we fled. Here… it isn’t much, but you should have it back now."

Jenna held it in her left hand as memories surged back: sitting on her mam’s lap at the table and laughing with her mam as the seal bobbed in a pan of water; tossing it angrily across the room one night because she was hungry and tired, chipping a crockery bowl in the process-she’d never told her mam that, letting her think the bowl had been chipped some other time. "Da made this? I never knew."

Maeve nodded.

. . touch something that was once theirs, and they can speak with you, if you will it…

"Mam, may I keep this?"

Maeve smiled at her. "It’s yours, Jenna. It was always yours."

She did nothing until after the evening meal, when she was alone again in her room.

The sun had sunk behind the hills. The night was dark, the moon and stars hidden behind a screen of clouds. The air seemed heavy and cold. Jenna had dismissed the servant for the night and sat in a chair near the fire, feeding it peat until the blue flames rose high and the light touched the far wall of the bedroom. She took the carving of the seal from the stand by her bed and set it in her lap, staring at the fire for a time. Then she took it in her right hand.

She stared at the carving, at the marks her da’s knife had made shaping the wood, and seeing in her mind’s eyes the shavings curling away under the blade. She could almost hear the sound of the dry scraping of sharp iron against soft wood--

No. She could hear it.

She turned. Near the window, a man sat in a plain chair, holding a block of wood in one hand and a knife in the other. Shavings were piled in his lap.

She could see the wall behind through the ghostly

image. His face. . Jenna gasped, realizing that the man who sat there, hair the color of fire, was the same she'd glimpsed when she'd found the stone. "Da?" she whispered.

He looked up. "Who. .?" he asked. He seemed confused, looking around. "Where am I? Everything looks so pale. . Maeve, is that you? You're dressed so strangely, like a Riocha."

Jenna walked toward him, holding the battered, chipped seal out so he could see it. "I'm Jenna, Da. Your daughter. Seventeen years old now." He shook his head, wonder and fear and confusion all mingled in his gaze. His reaction was so different from that of Eilis, but then Eilis had held Lamh Shabhala when it was active and knew that the cloch contained its old Holders. When her da possessed Lamh Shabhala, it had been dead, just an ordinary stone wrapped in legend. Her da would have had no experience of the cloch's abilities.

"Wait," Jenna said. She imagined her memories opening to him, as if they were gifts that she could hand him, letting him see within her as Eilis had, only this time she directed the sharing, choosing what she allowed him to know. She could feel his gentle touch on her memories, and as he comprehended them he gasped, the knife and seal falling from his grasp. They made no sound, vanishing before they reached the floor.

"I'm dead. A ghost."

"Aye," she told him softly. "Or neither dead nor ghost, only a moment caught forever, like a painting. I don't really know, Da. But Eilis, the lady in the falls, told me that Lamh Shabhala carries its Holders. Which means you were one, too, even though the mage-lights weren't there for you. Here, do you remember?" She took the cloch out and held it so he could see the stone. He started to reach for it, then let his hand drop back.

"I remember, aye. I carried it with me, everywhere. Then, on Knobtop one day, I lost it. I was never sure how that happened. I go up there and look for it, all the time, still. Did I. .?"

"No, Da. You never found it, but I did, the night the mage-lights came."

The wraith of Niall nodded. "So the stone truly was Lamh Shabhala. I never knew for certain; for all I knew, it was just a colorful pebble, though I'd always been told it was a cloch, and supposedly the cloch, the Safe-keeping. But it was dead-or waiting for the mage-lights-when I had it." He sighed. He looked at her for a long time, a slow smile touching his mouth. "You look like her. You have Maeve's eyes, and her hair."

"She always says I have your nose, and the shape of your face."

He laughed. "I remember her saying that, not long after you were born." He was silent for long moments after that, his face somber. "Why did you call me here, Jenna? If I’m dead, why did you rouse me? Why didn’t you leave me to rest?"

"I wanted. ." Jenna stopped. Now that she had called him, she wasn’t sure what she wanted. There was so much. "I need to know what you know about the cloch. I need you to help me."

He stood and came toward her, reaching out his hand. She extended her own hand for his touch. She expected to feel his skin, or perhaps a waft of chill air. She felt nothing. Her fingers went through his as if they were mist. Is that what would have happened with Eilis? She seemed so real, so whole, but she was trying to scare me… Jenna felt disappointment, and the figure of her da drew back, sighing. "You’re a dream. Not real."

Jenna shook her head. "No. I’m real. It’s you who aren’t."

He may have believed her. He made no protest.

"If this is death, why is it so… ordinary? Why don’t I remember dying? Why do I seem to be still in our house, and you standing before me like a ghost?"

"I don’t know," Jenna answered. She looked at the carving in her hand. "Though this wasn’t with you when you died, and it’s all I have of yours. Maybe that’s the reason. There’s so much I don’t know, Da. The stone was yours for a while-tell me why. Tell me how you came to have it. Tell me everything. Help me as you would have helped me if you were still alive."

He clasped his hands together, staring at them as if marveling at their solidity. "If I were still alive, I would have Lamh Shabhala," he answered. "Not you. I would have been on Knobtop that night."

"But I have it now, Da. Your daughter."

He looked at her. "My daughter," he said. "I never expected to have the gift of a daughter. For that matter, I never expected to fall in love at all… "

Chapter 15: Niall’s Tale

MY mam, your great-mam, was the one who took the cloch. No, that's not quite true. Actually, it was your great-da who stole it from where it rested. .

"No, let me begin again. It's easier to start farther back. Let me tell you the story as my mam used to tell it to me…

"She was born on Imshfeirm, an island just off Inish Thuaidh. Inish-feirm's best known for the Order of Inishfeirm, with their white stone buildings set high on the peak. From what my mam said, there weren't many residents of Inishfeirm outside the Order; of those few, most were fisherfolk, her family included. They knew the Brathairs of the Order, though. Couldn't help it, since the Order dominated what social life there was on the island. They'd meet them in the streets or in the market, buying fish for their table or some of the greens that came over from the big island.

"My mam's name was Kerys Aoire. The Aoires weren't Riocha, just plain folk, but well enough off and one of the main families on the island, from what Mam told me. They were often invited by the Maister to dine at the Order Hall on the feast days. The Order was a contemplative one, devoted to the Mother-Creator. In the last decades of the Before, the Order was known for its cloudmages, but when the mage-lights failed, so did their prominence. By the time my mam was born, they were a curiosity from another age, a place to visit and hear the old tales, to see the spectac-ular scenery of Inishfeirm, with its buildings clinging like lichens to the steep cliff walls of the mountain peak that formed the isle, with the bright parapets of the Order, built five centuries before, standing proud at the summit. Once, the cells of the Brathairs were crowded; now, half of them were empty, though the Order still attracted occasional acolytes from Inish Thuaidh, young men sent to serve by wealthy families, mostly, and even a few from among the mainland Riocha, primarily from Falcarragh in Tuath Infochla.

"One of the acolytes, a boy of eighteen summers named Niall, caught my mam's eye. Aye, that's my name as well, and I'm sure that tells you some of what happened next. I don't know much about my da. Mam always claimed that she wouldn't tell me his family name because she wanted to protect him, but I'm not certain she ever knew it. I suppose it

doesn’t matter. They fell in love, or at least lust. My mam was probably your age, sixteen or seventeen, and naive. It wasn’t the first time a Brathair of the Order and a local girl had become lovers; I’m sure it wasn’t the last, either, though afterward I’ll bet the Maister watched things more closely than before.

"One of the treasures of the Order of Inishfeirm was its collection of clochs na thintri. Once, the Order’s founders had even held Lamh Shabhala, and three of the other Clochs Mor had been theirs, as well as several of the minor stones. But when the mage-lights failed, Lamh Shabhala was given away or lost, though they retained the other clochs. Over the centu-ries, they had accumulated more stones reputed to be clochs na thintri, though of course no one could know for certain with the mage-lights long dead. Some of the clochs had been handed down through families for generations; others were purchased or found, and as to their lineage and the truth of the claims made for them. . well, no one knew.

"Some two hundred years before my mam’s birth, the Order acquired a stone that was reputed to be the long-lost Lamh Shabhala. I don’t think anyone actually believed that tale. Mam said that she’d seen the collection a few times when the Moister would order it brought out for the admira-tion of his guests, and some of the clochs were gorgeous stones: gleaming, transparent jewels of bright ruby, midnight blue, or deepest green, faceted and polished, some of them as big as your fist. The one called Lamh Shabhala looked puny and insignificant alongside them, at that time wrapped in a cage of silver wire as a necklace. Even the necklace was plain: simple black strands of cotton. The Moister seemed somewhat skep-tical about the claims. You know how tales grow and change with each telling, and by that time it had been four centuries and more since the clochs were alive with power, so it’s no wonder that no one knew for certain what Lamh Shabhala had looked like.

"The Brathairs were contracted by their families for life to the Order.

Marriage was forbidden to them. When Mam twice missed her monthly bleeding, she told Niall. She was afraid that he would go to the Moister, confess, and be forbidden to see Mam again, and Mam would be left to the shame of a bastard child. Certainly that had happened before, and there were women on Inishfeirm who were pointed out as local

scandals. Now Mam thought she would be one of them, a cautionary tale to Inish-feirm girls who looked with love on one of the Brathairs.

"But Niall was true to her. He promised Kerys that he would go away with her, that he would take her to one of the Tuatha where they might be married. And to prove that his promise was in earnest, he gave her a token of his love and also of his rejection of the Order. He stole what he perceived as one of the least of the clochs, and gave it to my mam.

"Aye, the very cloch you hold now.

"They managed to steal away at night, taking a small currach that be-longed to my mam's family. Though the moon was out when they started, my mam said, they chose the wrong night, for a quick storm came thun-dering out of the west and south after they passed the last island and were nearly across to Tuath Infochla. A currach is fine in a calm sea; in the storm, in the huge wind-driven waves, only a very lucky and very experi-enced sailor could have kept the tiny craft afloat and neither Niall nor Kerys were experienced or lucky. The currach foundered just off the coast. Both Niall and Kerys went over-Mam, at least, could swim well, and she knew to rid herself of her wet clothes before they dragged her down. She said she never knew what happened to Niall. She heard him call once, but in the storm and night, she never saw him again.

She called for him, called many times, but only the thunder and the hissing of rain answered her. She was certain she would die, too.

"But she did not. When Mam told the tale, she always said that a pair of large blue seals came to her, and kept her above water, her arms around their bodies as they swam toward shore. I don't know if that's true at all; in the midst of the storm and the terror, who knows if what you remember is true. What is true is that, gasping and choking on the cold salt water, she found herself on the rocky shore, naked and shivering.

"Around her neck, somehow, the necklace Niall had given her was still there.

"Mam saw a light high on the hill behind her, and she walked to a cabin. The shepherd family there took her in, set her by the fire, and gave her clothing and blankets. If the storm hadn't thrown Kerys ashore at that place, where there was a

sparse shingle of beach and a house close by, she would have died anyway, of cold and exposure. She always wondered whether some faint power still lurked in the stone, that it brought the seals and found the beach and saved her so it would not be lost. Again, I don’t know if that’s true or not. Certainly the stone never did anything else for her… or for me. But I get ahead of my tale.

"The next day, the shepherd, his wife, their two children, and my mam went back down to the beach. They found shattered pieces of the currach, but nothing else. Niall’s body wasn’t ever found; he drowned, most likely, and his body was dragged to the bottom by the weight of what he wore, or tossed to the shore at the foot of one of the wild cliffs nearby and never seen.

"Kerys stayed with the shepherd family, whose name was Hagan, and I was born that winter. I don’t know what tale she gave the Hagans regard-ing that night-for all I know, it may have been simply the truth. The Hagans kept to themselves, rarely going into the nearest village, and Mam said they told the villagers that she was a cousin who had come to stay with them. When the shepherd’s wife died the next spring in childbirth, my mam remained, and eventually married Conn Hagan, my stepfather. They had two other children of their own. I can say little but good about Conn Hagan-he treated me as well as he treated his own children. If it was a hard life, it was no harder for me than for his own.

"There’s not much more to tell. When I was sixteen, I felt the need to see more of Talamh an Ghlas than the few acres of our farm. When I left, Mam gave me the cloch and told me the tale about her and Niall. I set off north and came to Falcarragh, and sailed from there over to Inish Thu-aidh, and lived on the island for a few years. I even visited Inishfeirm, though I didn’t tell anyone who I was. I visited the Order, and they told me about the Before and the clochs na thintri and Lamh Shabhala, the Stone of Safekeeping.

"I played the stranger with them, saying that I’d heard the Lamh Shabhala was also there at the cloisters, but they said ’no.’ Many years ago, they told me, a cloch had been stolen from the cloisters, and though some had claimed that the stone was Lamh Shabhala, the Moister was unconcerned about the loss because the claims regarding the cloch were almost cer-tainly false. If the stone was a

cloch na thintri at all (and the Moister doubted it) it had been no more than a clochmion, a minor stone. No one knew where Lamh Shabhala was, they told me. That cloch was lost.

"But I learned a lot about the clochs na thintri from the Order of Inish-feirm and from other places, and I always wondered. Many of those I talked to spoke of the Return, the Filleadh, for they believed that the mage-lights would return soon, maybe within my lifetime. I thought that if this cloch was truly Lamh Shabhala, then I would be the First Holder. I would hold the renewed stone. I wandered more, leaving Inish Thuaidh and traveling the High Road south until I came to Ballintubber.

"And I found a new and more enduring type of enchantment in Maeve, and I stayed…"

"What happened to the cloch, Da?" Jenna asked. "How did you lose it on Knobtop?" The phantom of her father glanced up from his chair, where he seemed to have fallen into a reverie after his tale.

He shrugged.

"I lost it, or it lost me," he said. "I don't know which. I wore the necklace all the time. I walked often on Knobtop while in Ballintubber-I seemed to be drawn to the mountain, or perhaps it was the cloch that drew me there. After I married your mam, I'd take the flock up there nearly every day. One night, not a month after we married, I returned from grazing them there, and when I took off my shirt that night, I saw that the silver cage that had held the stone was empty. The wires holding the stone had moved apart enough for it to fall through.

I looked for the stone for the next year, almost every day, combing the ground while the sheep grazed. I never found it. But I know if I'd seen the mage-lights over Knobtop, I'd have come running. But from what you've said, it seems I never had the chance." He seemed distraught and upset. "I wonder," he said finally. "I wonder if the cloch did it all: brought itself to Knobtop because it knew that the mage-lights would come there, pulled itself away from me so it could stay there. Or maybe that was just all coincidence. Maybe the mage-lights would have found the cloch wherever it was. I don't know."

As her da talked, Jenna became aware of light moving against the walls, colorful, swirling bands. She glanced at the balcony door; outside, the night sky was alive with the mage-lights, sheets of brilliance flowing as if in some unseen wind, dancing above her. "Da!" she cried. "There! Can you see them? Da?" She looked behind; he was gone. The wraith had vanished.

The cloch called to her, still in her hand from when she had shown it to her father’s spirit. Jenna went out onto the balcony, into the chill night, into the blazing shower of hues and shades. She lifted the cloch to the sky, and the mage-lights coalesced like iron filings drawn by a lodestone. She could hear people in the streets below, shouting and calling and pointing to the sky and to the tower on which she stood, and behind her, her mam and Mac Ard hurried into her room.

"Jenna!" Maeve called, but Jenna didn’t turn.

The first whirling tendril of the mage-lights had closed around her hand and the cloch, and the freezing touch seeped into the patterns etched in the flesh of her arm: as Maeve and Mac Ard rushed toward her and stopped at the balcony doors; as the people below exclaimed and gestured toward her; as the mage-lights enveloped her, encased her in color as energy poured from the sky into Lamh Shabhala; as Jenna screamed with pain but also with a sense of relief and satisfaction, as if the filling of the cloch’s reservoirs of power also fulfilled a need in herself she hadn’t known existed. She clenched her fist tight around the stone while billows of light fell from the sky and swept through and into her, as she and Lamh Shabhala shouted affirmation back to them.

Then, abruptly, it was over. The sky went dark; Jenna fell to her knees, gasping, holding the stone against her breast. Lamh Shabhala was open in her mind, a sparkling matrix of lattices, the reservoir of power at its core stronger now, though not yet nearly full. That would come, she knew. Soon. Very soon.

"Jenna!" Her mam sank to the balcony floor in front of her, hands clutching Jenna’s shoulders. "Jenna, are you all right?" Jenna looked up, seeing her through the matrix of the stone. She shook her head, trying to clear her vision. She blinked, and Lamh Shabhala receded in her sight. The full agony of the mage-lights was beginning now, but she would not lose consciousness this time.

She was stronger. She could bear this.

"Help me up," she said, and felt Maeve and Mac Ard lift her to her feet. She stood, cradling her right arm to her. She shrugged the hands away, and took a few wobbling steps back into her room, with the tiarna and her mam close beside her. She sat on the edge of her bed, as her mam bustled about, shouting to the servant to bring boiling water and the anduilleaf paste. Mac Ard knelt in front of her, reaching out as if to touch her arm. Jenna drew back, scowling.

"It wanted me, not you," she told him. "It's mine now, and I won't let you have it. I won't ever let you have it."

She wasn't sure what she saw in his eyes then.

"I'm sorry, Padraic," she said. "I didn't mean that. It's just the pain."

He stared at her for long seconds, then he nodded. "I'm not a danger to you, Jenna," he said, his voice low enough so that only Jenna could hear him. "But there are others who will be. You'll find that out soon enough." He stood then.

"I leave her to you, Maeve," he said, more loudly. "I'll send for the healer. But I doubt that he has anything that will help her now."

PART TWO: Filleadh

(Map: Lar Bhaile)

Chapter 16: Lar Bhaile

IF Ath Iseal felt large and crowded to Jenna, Lar Bhaile was immense beyond comprehension. The city spread along the southeastern arm of Lough Lar, filling the hollows of the hills and rising on the green flanks of Goat Fell, a large, steep-sloped mountain that marked the end of the lough. Along the summit of Goat Fell ran the stone ramparts of the Ri's Keep, twin walls a hundred yards apart, opening into a wide courtyard where the keep itself

stood, towering high above the city. Behind those walls lived RI Gabair, whose birth name was Torin Mallaghan, in his court with the Riocha of Tuath Gabair gathered around him.

Jenna could well imagine how Tiarna Mac Ard could have seen the mage-lights over Ballintubber from those heights, flickering off the night-clad waters of the lough.

She looked up those heights now from the market in what was called Low Town along the lake’s shore, and they seemed impossibly high, a distant aerie of cut granite and limestone. Jenna judged that it had taken her at least a candle stripe and a half to ride down from the heights in Tiarna Mac Ard’s carriage; it would take two or more to wend their way back up the narrow road that wound over the face of Goat Fell.

But that was for later. Now was the time for business.

Jenna glanced at the trio of burly soldiers who accompanied her. Nei-ther the Ri nor Tiarna Mac Ard would allow her to leave the keep alone. At first, she hadn’t minded, not after the escape from Ballintubber. But in the intervening two months, the initial feeling of safety had been replaced by a sense of stifling confinement. She was never alone, not even in the rooms the Ri had arranged for her at the keep-there were always gardai stationed outside the door and servants waiting just out of sight for a summons. The cage in which she found herself was jeweled and golden, plush and comfortable, but it was nonetheless a cage.

"For your own safety," they told her. "For your protection."

But she knew it wasn’t for her protection. It was for the protection of the cloch.

Since she’d been in Lar Bhaile, the mage-lights had appeared here a dozen times. Each time, they had called her; each time, she had answered the call, letting their power fill the cloch she carried, now encased in a silver cage necklace around her neck, as it had been once for her da. Soon, she knew, the well within Lamh Shabhala would be filled to overflowing and the stone would open the way to the mage-lights for the other clochs. Everyone else knew it, also, for she saw that the Riocha were gathering here in Lar Bhaile, and many of them wore stones that had been in their families for generations, stones that were reputed to be clochs na thintri. They waited. They smiled at her the way a wolf might smile at an injured doe.

The Alds had been consulted, old records pored over, tales and legends recalled. They knew now that Jenna held Lamh Shabhala, and they also knew the pain the First Holder must endure when Lamh Shabhala opened the rest of the clochs na thintri to the mage-lights. They seemed content to let Jenna be the First Holder.

She thought most of them also imagined themselves the Second Holder, though at least Padraic Mac Ard didn’t seem to be among them. Wherever she went, there were eyes watching, and she knew that the gardai whis-pered back to the Riocha.

Jenna could sense that the gardai didn’t like where she’d brought them. They scowled, and kept their hands close to the hilts of their swords. The four of them were at the end of the market square; the stalls were small and dingy and the crowds thin.

Just beyond, a narrow lane moved south: Cat’s Alley, where the houses seemed to lean toward each other in a drunken embrace, leaving the cobbled lane in perpetual twilight. The central gutter was foul with black pools of stagnant water edged with filthy ice, and a frozen reek of decay and filth welled out into the square from the open mouth of the lane. Jenna grimaced: this was where Aoife, the servant she trusted most, had told her that she would find a man named du Val, who kept potions.

"Back in Ballintubber," she’d told Aoife, "we had a woman who gathered herbs and knew the old ways. You know, plants that can cure headaches, or can keep a young woman from getting pregnant, things like that. Where would I find someone like that here?"

Aoife had smiled knowingly at Jenna. "1 do know, mistress," she said. "Down in Cat’s Alley, no more than fifty strides from where it meets Low Town Market. You’ll see the sign on your right.

Jenna counted the steps, trying to avoid the worst of the muck on the ground. Before she reached forty, she saw the weathered board with faded letters: Du Val, Apothecary & Herbalist. She couldn’t read the words, but the tutors Tiarna Mac Ard had assigned to her had taught her the letters

and she could compare then with the note Aoife had given her. "Stay here," she told her escorts.

"Mistress, our orders. ."

She'd learned quickly how to deal with the objections of gardai. "Stay here, or I'll tell the Ri that you lost me in the market. Would you rather deal with that? I'll be careful. You can stay at the door and watch me, if you'd like." Her words emerged in puffs of white vapor; she wrapped her cloca tightly around her. "The sooner I'm done here, the sooner we can get back to the keep and some warmth."

They glanced at each other, then shrugged. Jenna pushed open the door. A bell jingled above. In the wedge of pale light that came in through the open door, she saw a small, windowless room. The walls were lined with shelves, all of them stuffed with vials of glass and crockery. Ahead of her was a desk piled high with more jars, and beyond into dim shadows were cabinets and cubbyholes. There was a fireplace to the right, but the ashes looked cold and dead. "Hello?" Jenna called, shivering.

Shadows moved in the darkness, and Jenna heard the sound of slow footsteps descending a staircase behind a jumble of boxes and crates. A short dwarf of a man peered out toward her, squinting, a hand over his eyebrows. "Shut the door," he barked. "Are you trying to blind me?"

"Shut it," Jenna told the garda, then when he hesitated, added more sharply, "do it!"

The door closed behind her, and as Jenna's eyes adjusted, she saw that some light filtered in through cracks in the doors and shutters, and that candles were lit here and there along the shelves. The little man shuffled forward to the desk with an odd, rolling gait. He was dressed in a dingy, shapeless woolen tunic and pants, held together with a simple rope. His face reminded her a bit of Seancoim's-the same bony ridge along the eyebrows, the flattened face. She wondered if there wasn't Bunus Muintir heritage in him somewhere. He glanced up and down at her appraisingly. "What can I do for you, Bantiarna?" he asked.

"Are you du Val?" He sniffed. Jenna took that for an affirmative answer.

"I’m looking for a certain herb that none of the healers in the keep seem to know," she told him. "I was told that you might have it."

"The healers know shite," du Val spat. "They forget the lore their ances-tors knew. What are you looking for?"

"Anduilleaf."

Du Val said nothing. He came from behind the desk and stood in front of her. He was no taller than her chest. He stared up at her face, then let his gaze travel over her body. He saw the cloth wrapped carefully around her right arm and took her arm in his hands. Jenna didn’t protest as he unknotted the cloth strip and rolled it back. When her hand was exposed past the wrist, he turned it over and back, examining the skin with its mottled, scarred patterns. Then, with stubby hands that were surprisingly graceful, he wrapped the arm again.

"So you’re the one? The one who calls the mage-lights?" Jenna didn’t answer. Du Val sniffed. "You don’t have to tell me; I can look at your arm and see it. I’ve seen the mage-lights swirling around the keep and heard about the young figure that stands on the keep’s summit at their bidding and swallows them. I’ve heard the name Lamh Shabhala bandied about. I’ve heard the rumors, little ones and big ones, and I know more about the truth of them than some of the Riocha up in the keep. I’ve seen the Riocha come to Lar Bhaile all of a sudden with bright stones around their necks, and I know that the eye of the Ri Ard in Dun Laoghaire looks this way as well, and he’s also very interested in what’s going on. And the goons outside-I suppose they’re here to protect you and stop me from taking the cloch from you."

Jenna felt a shiver not born of cold run through her. "They’re fast and strong, well-armed and mean, and they will kill you if you so much as scratch me," she told du Val. He seemed unimpressed. He scratched his side.

"Vermin," he said. "You can’t get rid of them. Not here in their natural habitat: the city. How long have you been taking the leaf?"

"Almost two months now."

"Regularly?"

"Almost every day." In truth, it was every day.

Sometimes twice. On the really bad days, the days after the mage-lights, even more. Du Val stroked his chin.

"You know that anduilleaf's addictive?"

Jenna shrugged. "It takes away the pain."

"So it does, so it does-though your healers would tell you that the leaf has no known pharmacological properties, if they recognize the herb at all. They wouldn't know where to find it, wouldn't notice it growing.

That knowledge's lost to them. The Old Ones knew, the Bunus Muintir. The few of them who are still around know, too. They also know how careful you have to be with the leaf, if you don't want to end up needing it forever."

"If you're planning to talk me to death, I'll go elsewhere," Jenna told him speaking to him in the tone she'd heard the bartiarnas use with their servants. "I have another source." She turned to go, hoping the bluff would work. She could feel tears welling up behind her eyes and knew that she couldn't hold them back once she closed the door behind her, no matter what the gardai might think. She was scared: lost in the need for the relief from pain the herb brought, lost in a level of society she didn't understand. There was no "other source"-she had no idea how she could find Seancoim again, or how she would find her way to Doire Coill with-out having to explain it to the Ri and Mac Ard.

"All right," du Val grunted behind her, and she wiped surreptitiously at her eyes before turning back to him. "I have the leaf. 'Tis expensive." He almost seemed to laugh. "But considering who you are, that's probably not a consideration, is it? Who else knows you're dependent on it?" When she didn't answer, he did laugh, a snorting amusement that twisted his swarthy, broad face. "If you're afraid that I'll use the information to black-mail you, forget it. You have worse worries than that."

He went to the back of the room, rummaging around in the shadowy recesses of a leaning, bowed case of shelving. He returned with a glass jar half-filled with brown leaves. "This is all I have," he said. "'Tis old, but still potent." Jenna reached for the jar, and du Val pulled it back to his chest, scowling up at her. "First, it's two morceints."

"Two morceints?" Jenna couldn’t keep the shock from her voice. Two morceints was more than a good craftsman made in a year. Back in Ballintubber, that might have been more money than the entire village together saw in the same time.

’Two morceints," he repeated. "And don’t be complaining. There’s few enough of us who would even know how and where to find this, and it grows in only one place anywhere near here."

"Doire Coill," Jenna said.

If du Val was surprised by her knowledge, he didn’t show it. "Aye," he said. "The dark forest itself, and only in special places there. Two morceints," he repeated, "or you can check your ’other source.’" He smiled at her, with black holes where several teeth should have been.

All right," she said. She fumbled in the pouch she carried. At least Tiarna Mac Ard wasn’t stingy with his money; she had the two morceints and more. She counted out the coins into du Val’s grimy, callused palm, then reached again for the jar. He wouldn’t release it.

"Does someone know you’re taking this?" he asked again.

"Aye," she answered. "My mam." It was a lie. The truth was that no one knew, unless Aoife suspected it.

He nodded. "Then tell your mam this: take the leaf no more than once a day, and for no longer than a month. Start with four leaves in the brew; cut the dosage by one leaf every week, or you’ll be back here again in another month, and the price will be four morceints. Do you understand that?"

"Aye," Jenna answered.

With the word, du Val released the jar and closed his fingers around the coins. He jingled them appreciatively. "A pleasure doing business with you, Holder."

"I’m certain it was."

He snorted laughter again. "I’ll see you again in a month."

"I don’t think so."

"The magic you're trying to hold is powerful, but also full of pain. There's no cure for it. You can look for ways, like the leaf, to dull it, or you learn to bear what it gives you. Either way, it will always be there. Better to accept the pain as it is, if you can."

"Do you charge for your platitudes, also?"

Du Val grinned. "For you, I can afford to give the advice for nothing."

"And that's exactly what it's worth," Jenna retorted. "I won't be back."

She immediately hated the way the words sounded, hated the intention to hurt that rode in them: she sounded too much like some of the Riocha at the keep, the ones she despised for their haughtiness. If du Val had shown that her words stung, she would have felt immediate remorse. She would have apologized. But the dwarf shrugged and moved away behind the desk. He puttered with the flasks and vials there, ignoring Jenna. Finally, she turned and went to the door. When her hand touched the rope loop that served as a handle, du Val's voice came from behind her.

"I'm sorry for you, Holder. I truly am."

She took a breath. She opened the door, nodded to the relieved glances of the gardai, and closed the door behind her again.

She spent another candle stripe or so in Low Town Market, desultorily pretending to shop as an excuse for the trip. The wind began to rise from off the lake, and she could see storm clouds rising dark in the west beyond the roofs of the houses, and finally told the gardai to fetch the carriage for the ride back. The carriage moved slowly through the twisting maze of narrow lanes, heading always up toward the stone shoulders of Goat Fell and the keep high above. Jenna lay back on the seat, eyes closed, listening to the sounds of vibrant, crowded life around her: the strident, musical calls of the vendors; shouts and calls from the windows of the houses she passed; the laughter from the pubs, seemingly on every corner; the sound of a fine baritone voice lifted in song. . "Stop!" Jenna called to the driver.

The carriage jolted to a halt, and she got out, the gardai hurriedly following her. She could still hear the voice, coming from the open door of a tavern

just down the street. She strode down the lane to the pub, squinting into a hazy darkness fragrant with the smell of ale and pipe.

So over the sea they sped

From Falcarragh where the mountains loom

From home and bed

To Inish and their doom. .

She knew the tune: the Song of Mael Armagh. She had heard it once before she left Ballintubber. And she knew the voice as well.

"Coelin!"

The song cut off in mid-verse, and a familiar head lifted. "By the Mother-Creator. . Jenna, is that you, girl?"

"Aye. ’Tis me, indeed."

Laughing, he set down his giotar and ran to her.

He took her in his arms and spun her around, nearly knocking over a few pints. He set her down again, holding her at arm’s length.

He kissed her.

"I thought you were dead, Jenna. That’s what everyone was saying. The damned Connachtans killed the Ald, and Tom Mullin, too, when he tried to stop them. Then there were the killings down by your old house, and the fires…" Coelin was shaking his head; Jenna’s finger still touched her lips. Now she placed the finger on Coelin’s lips.

"Shh," she said. "Quietly. Please." That, at least, she’d learned from the Riocha: you never knew who might be listening to your words.

Coelin looked puzzled, but he lowered his voice so that only she could easily hear him against the murmuring conversations of the pub. "Any-way, the Connachtans went off in a fury, and we heard they were looking for you and your mam, and that tiarna-what was his name? Mac Ard? — but everyone figured you’d either been burned up in your cottage, or lost in the bogs." He stopped, looking at her closely, and glancing behind her at the trio of soldiers who watched carefully from the doorway. Coelin’s eyes narrowed a bit, seeing them. "All the rumors were wrong, obviously, and by the looks of you, you’re hobnobbing with the Riocha.

And your arm-you have it all wrapped up. You owe me a tale, girl."

He was smiling, and she could still feel the touch of his lips on hers. "What about you, Coelin?" she asked. "How did you come to be here? And softly…"

He shrugged, grinning, but he kept his voice low. "If you remember, that tiarna of yours said I was good, that I should be singing to larger audiences than poor little Ballintubber could give me, so after things set-tled down, I thought I'd take his advice." He touched her cheek, though his gaze went quickly to the gardai. "After all, you were gone. Ballintubber just didn't seem to be where I wanted to be anymore."

"You still have the gift of words, Coelin Singer," Jenna told him, but she was smiling back. "Pretty and beguiling and too charming."

"But not false," he answered. "Not false at all."

"Hah!"

His face fell in mock alarm. "You don't believe me, then? I am hurt." He laughed again, and gestured at the corner where his giotar rested, a few copper coins in the hat placed near it. "Can you stay and listen? Maybe we can talk more? I wasn't joking when I said that you owe me the tale of your adventures."

Jenna started to shake her head, then stopped. "I have a better idea," she said. "Come with me. I'm on my way back to the keep. You can sing for the Riocha there, and we can talk. Tiarna Mac Ard will remember you." She gestured at the hat with its coins. "And the pay's likely to be better."

"To the keep? Really?"

"Aye. Mam would love to see you again. We knew some of what hap-pened in Ballintubber, but the Ri didn't want it known that we were here, not after what happened, and so it's been kept quiet. Mam will ask you a hundred questions, or more likely a thousand. Will you come?"

He smiled. "I could never refuse anything you asked, Jenna," he said.

Chapter 17: The Ri’s Supper

"COELIN!"

Maeve sounded nearly as glad to see him as Jenna had. She clasped the young man to her, then held him out at arm’s length. "When did you leave Ballintubber?"

Coelin’s gaze wouldn’t stay with Maeve. It kept wandering past her to the rich embroidered tapestries on the walls of their apartment within the Ri’s Keep; to the expensive, dark furniture; to the glittering trinkets set on the polished surfaces. "Two hands of days ago," he said. "By the Mother-Creator, I’ve never seen-"

"You have to tell me everything," Maeve said, pulling him toward a chair near the fire. Jenna laughed softly, watching Coelin marvel at the surroundings. "Start with the day the Connachtans attacked. ."

Coelin told her, spinning the tale with his usual adroitness, and-Jenna suspected- a certain amount of dramatic license.". . so you can see," he finished, "I barely escaped with my life myself."

That may still be the case," a voice said from the doorway. Tiarna Mac Ard stood there, frowning at the trio gathered near the fire. His dark beard and mustache were frosted with ice, and the furs over his cloca were flecked with rapidly melting snow.

"Tiarna," Coelin began. "I’m-"

I know who you are," Mac Ard interrupted. "What I don’t know is why you’re here." He took off the furs, tossing them carelessly on a chair. As he did so, he grimaced-the wound he’d taken on the road to Ath Iseal hadn’t completely healed yet, and his right arm, Jenna knew, was still stiff and sore, its range of motion limited. He was dressed in riding leathers, and a short sword hung heavily from his belt. His left hand rested casually on the silver pommel of the hilt.

"I brought him here, Tiarna," Jenna said. "I happened to see him in the city, and we started talking, and I knew Mam would want to hear about Ballintubber, so. ." She stopped, her eyes widening. "Did I do wrong?"

"Aye," Mac Ard answered, though his voice sounded more sad than angry. "I'm afraid that you did, Jenna."

"The boy isn't to blame, Padraic," Maeve said. "Or Jenna. She only did what I would have done, had I seen him."

"That may be," Mac Ard answered. "The deed's done, in any case. What we do now depends." He stopped.

"Depends on what?" Jenna asked.

"On whether Coelin Singer knows how to keep his mouth shut about certain things." Mac Ard strode up to the boy. He stood in front of Coelin, staring at the young man's face. "For various reasons, we've been careful to make certain that it's not common knowledge in the city that a certain two people from Ballintubber are here, or to know the circumstances under which they left the village. If I suddenly start hearing those rumors, I'd know where to place the blame and how to deal with the source. Am I understood?"

Coelin's lighter eyes held the man's burning gaze, though he had to clear his throat to get his voice to work. "I can keep secrets, Tiarna. I know that certain songs should never be sung, or only in the right circum-stances."

Mac Ard took a long breath. He rubbed at his beard, melting ice falling away. "We'll see," he said. "It's a hellish evening out there," he added. "Cold, and full of sleet and snow. A fine end to the year.

But a song or two performed well might be welcomed at the Ri's dinner tonight. Are you prepared to sing for a Ri, Coelin?"

Coelin's face broke into a helpless grin. "Aye," he nearly shouted. "For the Ri? Truly?"

Mac Ard seemed to smile back. "Truly," he answered. "Though you'll need to look better than you do now. Where's that girl? Aoife!" he called, and a young woman came out from one of the doors, curtsying to Mac Ard.

"Tiarna?"

"Take this lad and get him proper clothes for the supper tonight with the Ri. He'll be singing for us.

Go on, then, Coelin, and practice until you’re called for."

Coelin grinned again. "Thank you, Tiarna," he said. His gaze strayed to lenna, and he winked once at her. She smiled back at him.

"You can repay me by keeping quiet," Mac Ard told him. "Because if you don’t, I will make certain you never talk to anyone else again. I trust that’s clear enough for you."

The grin had fallen from Coelin’s face like a leaf in an autumn wind. "Aye, Tiarna" he said to Mac Ard, and his voice was now somber. "It’s very clear."

"Good." Mac Ard glanced from Coelin, to Jenna, and back again. "I would not forget my place and my task, if I were you, Coelin Singer."

Coelin nodded. He left the room with Aoife, and did not look again at Jenna.

The Ri’s suppers were in the great Common Hall of the keep, a loud and noisy chamber with stone walls and a high, dim ceiling. A trestle table was set down the length of the hall. Torin Mallaghan, the Ri Gabair, sat with his wife Cianna, the Banrion, at the head of the table, jeweled torcs of beaten gold around both of their necks.

Arrayed down either side of the table before the royal couple were the Riocha in residence at the keep.

Not surprisingly, there was a delicate etiquette involved in the seating. Immediately to the Ri’s left was Nevan O Liathain, the first son of Kiernan o Liathain, the Ri Ard-the High King in Dun Laoghaire. Nevan’s title was "Tanaise Rig," Heir Apparent to the Ri Ard. He had come to Lar Bhaile at his father’s request, as soon as the rumors of the mage-lights had reached the Ri Ard’s ears.

Padraic Mac Ard sat at the Ri’s right hand next to Cianna, a sign of his current favor, and Maeve and Jenna were seated after him. There were Riocha from most of the tuatha present as well, and many of them wore prominent necklaces with stones that were reputedly cloch na thintri, though none of them knew for certain. Jenna knew, however. She could open her mind to the cloch she held, and see the web of connection from her cloch to theirs. A good number of the stones were simply pretty stones, and those who owned them would be

disappointed when the Filleadh came. But some. . some possessed true clochs na thintri. One of them was Mac Ard, even though the cloch he held was never visible.

Farther down, below the salt, were the ceili giallnai-the minor Riocha — then the Ri's clients and a few prominent freepersons of Lar Bhaile.

Jenna hated these suppers, and usually pleaded illness to avoid them.

She hated the false smiling conversations; hated the undercurrents and hidden messages that ran through every word; hated the way Ri Mal-laghan sat in his chair like a fat, contented toad contemplating a plate of flies before him; hated when his eyes, half-hidden in folds of pale flesh, regarded her with an appraising stare, as if she were a possession of his whose value was still in question. She wanted to dislike Cianna, the Ri's ailing wife, whose eyes were always hollow and sunken, ringed with dark flesh, but she couldn't, more out of pity than anything else. Cianna was as thin as the Ri Gabair was corpulent yet she wheezed constantly, as if the exertion of moving her frail body about was nearly too much for her. Cianna, unfortunately, seemed to have fastened on Jenna as a fellow suf-ferer and talked to her often, though she treated Jenna like an addled child, always explaining things to her in a breath scented with the mingled odors of cinammon and sickness. She leaned toward her now, bending in front of Mac Ard and Maeve, the torc around her neck swinging forward, glinting in the torchlight. Her dark, haunted eyes fastened on Jenna's. "How are you feeling today, dear? Did that healer I sent to you from Dubh Bhaile help you?"

"Aye, Highness," Jenna answered. "The arm feels a bit better today." Actually, Jenna had endured the man's prodding and poking, and had thrown away the potion he offered, taking instead some of the anduilleaf she'd bought that morning. She could feel it easing the pain in her arm.

Cianna looked pleased. "Good," she said. "He's certainly done much for me, though I still can feel the pain in my back."

Jenna nodded. The Banrion had gone through three new healers in the two months they'd been at the keep; each time the Banrion seemed to get a little better, but then she inevitably slumped back

into illness and the current healer was dismissed and another summoned. If her back was hurting now, this healer would be leaving before another fortnight. The Rl himself never seemed to notice-he'd perhaps seen too many healers already, and no longer inquired after his wife's health. She'd borne him a son and a daughter early in their marriage; both were away in fosterage- the son to Tuath Infochla, the daughter to Tuath Eoganacht. The Banrion Cianna had performed her duty and could keep her title. As to the rest. . well, the Rl had other lovers, as Jenna already knew from keep gossip. For that reason, she was careful when the Rl smiled at her-two of the Ri's current lovers were as young as Jenna.

The Tanaise Rig, Nevan O Liathain, had evidently been listening to Cianna's conversation with Jenna. He looked across to her as the servants set the meat trays on the table. "Perhaps the pain will lessen when the other clochs are opened, Holder," he said. "Or perhaps there is another way to use the mage-lights that wouldn't cause a Holder so much.

agony." Jenna could hear the words underneath what he said: Perhaps you are too stupid and too common to be the First. Perhaps someone of the right background would be better able to use it… O Liathain smiled; he was handsome, with hair black as Seancoim's crow Denmark, and eyes of glacial blue. Thirty, with a body hardened by training and an easy grace, his wife dead two years now leaving him still childless, he turned the heads of most of the available women in the keep, even without the added attraction of his title. He knew it, also, and smiled back at them indul-gently.

But not at Jenna. Not at Maeve. Jenna had overheard him talking to the Ri one night, a few days after his arrival. "Why do you keep them?" he asked the Ri, laughing. "Listen to them. Their accents betray their commonness, and their manners are, well, nonexistent. 1 can't believe Mac Ard would be consort-ing with that stupid cow mother of the Holder-if I were going to take one of them to my bed, as disgusting a thought as that is, I would have chosen the girl, who's at least trainable. Better to have left them back scrabbling in the dirt, which is all they're suited for. One of us should take the cloch from this Jenna now, before she truly learns to control it, and be done with the charade… "

She hadn't heard the Ri's answer. She'd slipped away, steeling herself to fight for the possession of

the cloch that night if she had to, trying to stay awake lest the Ri’s gardai enter her bedroom, but eventually exhaus-tion claimed her and she drifted off to sleep, awakening the next morning with a start. But the cloch was still with her, and the Ri Gabair, if anything, seemed almost conciliatory toward her when she saw him later that morning.

She smiled at O Liathain now across the table, but her smile was as artificial and false as his own. "Each cloch tells its Holder the way to best use it, as the Tanaise Rig might learn one day should he actually have a cloch of his own." Her smile widened on its own; O Liathain wore what he thought was a cloch na thintri around his neck; while it was certainly an expensive jewel worthy of a Ri, it pleased Jenna to know that it was simply that, not a cloch na thintri.

O Liathain frowned and fingered the polished facets of his stone on its heavy gilded chain. He looked as if he were about to retort, but the Ri guffawed at the exchange. "You see, Nevan," he said to O Liathain. "The Holder is more than she appears to be. She has an edge on her tongue."

"Indeed, she does," O Liathain replied. He inclined his head to her. ’My pardon." There was a distinct pause before the next word. "Holder," he finished.

Mac Ard speared a piece of mutton with his knife and set it on his plate. "The Tanaise Rig is gracious with his apology," he said, but Jenna and everyone else who heard it knew the tone of his voice and the hard stare he gave O Liathain added another thing entirely: and it was necessary if you didn’t want me to take offense. Maeve touched Mac Ard’s arm and smiled at him. Mac Ard, at least, seemed protective of them, though Jenna noted that while he might spend the night with Maeve, he also hadn’t offered to legitimize the relationship.

Mac Ard was playing his own game. They were all playing their own games. She had already learned that words and actions here were carefully considered, and often held more than one meaning. Jenna was already weary of ferreting out those meanings, especially since she seemed to be the prize at the end of the contest. She wanted straightforward talk again, the easy conversations she’d had back in Ballintubber with her mam or Aldwoman Pearce or the other villagers, words that were simply gentle and kind speech.

Mac Ard smiled at O Liathain; O Liathain smiled

back. Neither one of them meant the gesture. Jenna would have made an excuse, as she often did, that her arm troubled her and she needed to retire. But Maeve leaned toward her. "Patience," she whispered. "Coelin will be singing in a few minutes."

Jenna brightened at that. She endured the barbed conversations around her until the doors at the end of the hall opened and Coelin walked through with his giotar. Mac Ard cleared his throat and leaned toward the Banrion and Ri. "I heard this young man in the village where the mage-lights first appeared, and he recently came to the city. He trained with the Songmaster Curragh, who came here now and again, if you remember. He really has an extraordinary voice, Highnesses. I thought you would enjoy hearing him."

'Well, then, let's hear him," the Ri said. He gestured to Coelin, and pointed. "Stand there, and give us this voice of yours."

Coelin bowed low, his eyes catching Jenna's as he did so. "Is there a song your Highnesses would like to hear?" he asked. "A story that Song-master Curragh used to sing, perhaps?"

The Ri seemed amused by that. "Are you saying your voice is the equal of your Songmaster's, young man?"

Coelin shook his head but the charming grin remained on his face. "Oh, no, my Ri. Songmaster Curragh always said my voice was the better."

There was a moment of silence before the Ri laughed, the rest of the table following his lead a moment later. "He seems to have a healthy ego, at least, Padraic. I suppose that's good. But we'll be the judge of his talent. Give me The Lay of Rowan Beirne, young man."

Mac Ard sniffed, as if the choice surprised him, and Jenna glanced at him curiously. Coelin strummed a chord on his giotar, his eyes regarding the ceiling of the hall as if the words to the song were written there. "A fine choice, Ri Mallaghan. Songmaster Curragh taught me that one, not long before he died. Let me think a moment, and bring back the verses Aye…" Coelin's gaze came back down and he nodded his head to the Ri. "I have it now," he said. His gaze caught Jenna's again, and he winked. He began to sing.

On the cusp of summer Rowan came forth

Bright armor on his chest, around his neck the stone

He saw the army on Sliabh Bacaghorth,

The banners of the Inish waving as Rowan stood alone. .

"Have you heard this song before?" Cianna whispered, leaning toward Jenna. Jenna shook her head.

"I don’t believe so, Banrion," she answered. She wanted to add. . and 1 still won’t have heard it, if you talk to me, but held her tongue.

Cianna glanced at Mac Ard, next to her. "He knows it," she said. "Don’t you, Padraic?"

"I do, Banrion," Mac Ard answered, his voice gruff and low.

"And do you enjoy it?"

"I think ’enjoy’ is too strong a word, Banrion. I find it… illuminating. And an interesting choice for the Ri."

"Indeed." Cianna leaned back then. Jenna puzzled over the exchange for a moment, but then Coelin’s rich voice drew her back, and she re-turned her attention to him, smiling as she watched him perform.

Jenna had indeed heard portions of the tale once or twice, though greatly altered and changed in the retellings. She had heard folktales of the hero Rowan, who had a magic stone-though she hadn’t realized until now that the stone was supposedly the one she held now, or that Rowan was anything other than a mythological figure. What Coelin sang now, though, gave the full background of the tales, and it was a history Jenna had never suspected. Rowan Beirne had been a Holder of Lamh Shabhala more than five centuries before, and the last Holder from Talamh an Ghlas. From the opening stanza on the eve of Rowan’s last day of life, the lay moved backward in time to the hero’s youth, to his first triumphs on the field of battle, to the unsurprising extolling of his skill with the sword and his prowess in battle, and to his consolidation of the smaller tuatha that were numerous around Tuath Infochla at the time.

But that wasn't what startled Jenna. Early in the lay, the verses gave the lineage of Rowan, and it was then that Jenna sat back in her chair, stunned, no longer even hearing Coelin's voice. Rowan's mam was a woman named Bryth, and she held Lamh Shabhala before Rowan. Bryth's surname, before she married Tiarna Anrai Beirne of Tuath Infochla, was Mac Ard.

A Mac Ard once held Lamh Shabhala. . Jenna barely heard the rest of the song: how Rowan foolishly allowed himself to be drawn north out of Falcarragh to a supposed parley with the Inishlanders, where he was ambushed and murdered by assassins in the employ of the Inish cloud-mage Garad Mhullien; and how Lamh Shabhala was taken from Rowan's body and brought to Inish Thuaidh. She barely reacted when Coelin fin-ished the song to the applause of the table, or when the Ri handed Coelin a small sack of coins and told him to return again four nights hence to entertain his guests at the Solstice Feast.

She sat clutching at the stone on its chain around her neck. She couldn't look at Mac Ard, and she fled the table as soon as she could make an excuse.

Chapter 18: Secrets

"WHY didn't you tell us that your ancestors once held the cloch, Padraic? I don't understand…"

Maeve's voice trembled, and Jenna could tell that her mam was on the verge of tears. Mac Ard, standing near the fireplace of their chambers, made as if to move toward her, but she lifted her head and he stopped with a shrug.

"Maeve, would you have trusted me if I had?" he answered. "Or would you have thought that I'd come only to take it from Jenna?" He glanced at Jenna, seated next to her mam and still clutching the stone.

"I don't know what I would have thought," Maeve answered. "Because you never gave us the chance to know. Why would you have come at all, if you didn't want the stone?"

"I did want it," Mac Ard answered. "I won’t deny that. Had I found the cloch on that damned hilltop, aye, I would have kept it for myself. I wanted to be the Holder of Lamh Shabhala. I thought. ." He took a breath and let it out in a nasal snort. "When I saw the mage-lights-here, so close to me-I thought that it was a sign that it was my destiny to bring the cloch back to my family. But Jenna already had it, though I didn’t know it. And when I did. ." He raised his hands, let them fall. "If you remember, I did hold it once, after Jenna killed the riders, and I gave it back. Maeve, have I done anything, anything, to make you feel threatened, or to cause you to feel that I’m a threat to your daughter?"

Jenna watched her mam shake her head slowly.

"Have I made any attempt to take the stone from Jenna, even though I had the opportunity, even though I once actually held it in my hands, before she knew how to use it?"

"No," Maeve admitted. She touched Jenna’s bandaged arm. "Though sometimes I wish you had."

"Then forgive me for not telling you all of the history I knew, but believe me when I say it was because I was afraid that you wouldn’t trust me, and because I was afraid that you would think that I lied when I told you I loved you."

"Padraic," Maeve began, but the tiarna interrupted.

"No, let me tell you all now, so there aren’t any more secrets. There isn’t much to tell." He pulled a chair close to the two of them and took Maeve’s hands. His attention was on her; he glanced quickly at Jenna and looked away again before returning his gaze to her mam. "All this took place five centuries ago, so I-don’t know what’s true and what’s been changed in all the telling and retellings over the years. That’s too much time, and details change every time the story gets told. So I’m simply going to give you the bare, dry genealogy without any embellishment: Sinna Hannroia-a Riocha from a small fiefdom-once held Lamh Shabhala, and she fell in love with the Ri of another small fiefdom named Teador Mac Ard, my several times great-da, and married him. The two of them had a daughter named Bryth and a son named Slevin. Sinna passed Lamh Shabhala to Bryth before her death, and as you know from Coelin’s song tonight, Bryth later

married Anrai Beirne-a purely political alliance, from what our family history tells us-and eventually became the mother of Rowan Beirne, who lost the cloch to the Inishlanders. In any case, I'm not of Bryth's direct line, which is dead now: Bryth had only Rowan, and Rowan left no children that anyone knows about. The Mac Ards of today, like myself, trace our lineage back to Bryth's younger brother Slevin. So, aye, once someone of my blood and my name was the Holder of Lamh Shabhala, but it was long, long centuries ago in the Before. I have hand upon hand of cousins with the Mac Ard name who can say the same. There are many tiarna, as well as people of more common blood, who can say the same because there have been numerous Holders over the years. If you're going to be afraid of all of those who share the same surnames, you're going to be fearful of half the Riocha. You can't blame me for history, nor hold me accountable for it." He kissed the back of her hands, lifting them to his lips.

"That's the extent of it, Maeve. Don't be afraid of my name. Don't be afraid of me."

He smiled at her, and Jenna watched her mam smile in return. Then Mac Ard leaned forward and kissed Maeve. "I need to see the Ri," he said. "The Ri rarely does anything without a reason, and I wonder why he ailed for that song tonight. I think he and I should have a conversation. If you'll pardon me…"

"Go on, Padraic," Maeve told him. She continued to hold his hands as he stood. "And thank you. I do understand."

He kissed her hands again. "I'll see you later, then. Jenna, I hope you also understand," he added, and left the room. As he did so, Maeve placed her hands over her abdomen, pressing gently. Jenna's eyes narrowed, and she must have made a sound, for Maeve glanced back over her shoulder and Jenna saw that she noticed where her daughter's gaze lay. Maeve looked down at her hands herself, then back to Jenna, shifting in her chair so she faced her daughter.

"Aye," she told Jenna.

"You're certain?"

"I've not bled for two moons, and I've been ill the last several mornings. But it's far too early to feel the quickening and know for certain." Jenna saw a slow satisfaction move over her mam's face. "But it

"Have you told the tiarna?"

"No. Not yet. I’ll wait until I can feel the life. Then I’ll tell him." She paused. "You’re supposed to ask if I’m happy," she said.

She went to her mam and hugged her fiercely.

"Are you happy?" she whispered, burying her head in her mam’s scented hair.

"Aye," Meave answered. "I’m happy. I want you to be happy, too."

For a time, the two held each other, saying nothing. Finally, Jenna pulled away with a kiss to Maeve’s forehead. "Will Padraic give the child his name, and you also, do you think?"

For a moment, Jenna saw uncertainty in her mam’s eyes. "I don’t know, Jenna. I don’t know how the Riocha do things. I don’t know all that Padraic can do and what he can’t. It doesn’t matter, though, as long he doesn’t change the way he feels toward me."

"But it does, Mam," Jenna replied earnestly. "Everyone will know it’s Padraic’s child, and if he won’t acknowledge it, they’ll laugh at you, Mam. They’ll give you their meaningless smiles and then snicker at you behind their hands. You know they will. It won’t be Mac Ard who’ll have to bear all that; it’ll be you." Jenna knelt in front of Maeve, her hands in Maeve’s lap.

She knew she shouldn’t say it even as she spoke the words. "Mam, if this isn’t what you want, well, Aoife knows an herbalist in Low Town. He’ll have potions, like Aldwoman Pearce… "

"Jenna!" Maeve said loudly, and Jenna stopped. "I don’t need your herb-alist," her mam continued, more softly. "I don’t want the herbalist."

"I know, Mam, but if after you tell him, what if he!!

"Jenna-"

. . what if he isn’t as he seems? What if he’s angry, or if he abandons you, or you find that the love he says he feels is just another Riocha word? She couldn’t finish it. She didn’t want to finish it. She didn’t want to believe it herself.

Instead she forced herself to smile, to lift up and give her mam another kiss and place her own hands on Maeve's stomach. Inside, there is life. A brother, or a sister. .

"I trust him, Jenna," Maeve said. "I love him."

Her face was so peaceful and content that Jenna nodded. "I know," she said.

Jenna didn't see Coelin after his singing. She heard through Aoife that he'd left the keep late that evening, and that he had asked after her. She thought he might send word the next day; he didn't. The mage-lights came again that night, and after taking in their power, she was too ex-hausted to care about anything but fixing a brew of the anduilleaf to blunt the pain. At least, that was what she told herself.

More Riocha were arriving at the Keep each day as word spread that Lamh Shabhala had a Holder and that she was in Lar Bhaile. Most of them wore the green and brown of Tuath Gabair, though there were a few with the red and white of Tuath Airgialla, or the blue and black of Tuath Locha Lein. None wore Tuath Connachta's blue and gold. They were men, mostly, and a few women, with rich clothes and rich accents and bright jewels around their necks, and some of those jewels, aye, were clochs na thintri. She was introduced to them and as quickly forgot their names and titles, though she could feel them watching her as she wandered about the keep, staring at her, whispering about her, and pointing at her band-aged arm.

Waiting. Waiting for Jenna to give them the power they wanted.

"Jenna…"

She heard Cianna's voice as she walked along one of the deserted upper hallways, trying to avoid the eyes. Jenna stopped and turned: the Banrion stood at the end of the hall, with two of her ladies. Jenna curtsied and dropped her gaze as she'd seen the Riocha do in the woman's presence. "Banrion," she said. "Good morning."

"Please, no courtesies here. Not between us. Is it a good morning for you, or are you simply being polite?" Cianna asked. She cleared her throat, a phlegm-rattled sound. "None of them seem good to me lately. I think the new healer's a fraud, like all

"I’m sorry to hear that, Banrion."

Cianna laughed, a sound that ended in a series of coughs. "It’s what I expected, my dear. I’m not quite as stupid and self-involved as some would have you believe. I know that I’m deluding myself-I don’t think any healer can cure what’s inside me.

But I feel I have to try. Maybe, maybe one of them…" The Banrion’s eyes glittered with sudden mois-ture, and she caught her lower lip between her teeth. She sniffed and shook her head, and the mood seemed to pass. She waved her hand at her attendants.

"Leave me," she told them. They scurried away, glancing at Jenna. "They’re supposed to be here to help me, but they’re really just the Ri’s eyes,"

Cianna said to Jenna, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. "They tell him everything they see. Come with me for a few moments, before they rush back to tell me that the Ri insisted they return. We should speak somewhere where no eyes watch or ears listen."

Cianna took Jenna’s arm. The Banrion seemed to weigh nothing; her hand looked that of a skeleton, poking from under the lace of her leine. She led Jenna along the hall and down a corridor, through a door and up a small flight of stairs. Taking a torch from one the sconces, she opened the door at the top of the stair, which led into a musty-smelling gallery. There were shelves along the gallery, and on them were items, most cov-ered in gray layers of dust. Their feet left marks in the film of it covering the floor, and cloudlets rose wherever they stepped. Jenna sneezed. "Ban-rion, this can’t be good for your lungs."

"Hush," Cianna answered, tempering the word with a smile. "Do you know where we are?" Jenna shook her head. "This is the Hall of Memo-ries," Cianna continued. "These are artifacts from the long history of Lar Bhaile. Not many come here-my husband isn’t one for sentiment and history. He dismissed the Warden of the Hall, whose task it was to pre-serve these things and clean them, and since then the hall hasn’t been opened in years. Previous Ris, though, were rather proud of it and brought visitors here so they could view the artifacts."

"Remembering the past is important." She said it politely, wondering why Cianna had brought her here.

"Is that something you believe?" Cianna asked.

"Is it true, Holder, that you can bring the dead Holders of that cloch back to life and speak with them? That's what Tiarna Mac Ard tells me. He said he thought you had done it once, with an old Bunus Muintir Holder."

"Aye, that's true, Banrion," she told Cianna. She'd never told Mac Ard or her mam about the others: the Lady of the Falls and her own da. She still had Eilis' ring and Niall's carved seal back in her room. She'd never tried to bring Eilis back again, but she had talked to her da several times. It had been disappointing, for he stared at her as if he'd never seen her before, and she had to explain all over again who she was. The dead, it seemed, did not retain the memory of being dragged back into this exis-tence by Lamh Shabhala. "If I'm near to where a Holder rests, or if I touch something that was once theirs I can speak with their shade. At least that's what I've been told."

"Then come here…" Cianna gestured at one of the shelves. On it was a torc, the hammered gold incised with swirling lines that made Jenna glance at her bandaged arm. "Do you know why my husband chose to have that singer give the Lay of Rowan two nights ago?" Jenna shook her head. Cianna started to speak, then coughed a few times, patting at her mouth with a lace handkerchief. Jenna could see spots of blood on the ivory cloth. "This cough… it gets worse. Damn that healer. This is the way it is for us, Jenna. They let us suffer, me because I've already given the Ri what he wanted and now he no longer cares; you because they think you're weak and they can take what they want from you later, when it's less dangerous" She coughed again, nearly doubling over with the racking spasms.

"Maybe we should leave this room, Banrion," Jenna suggested, but Ci-anna drew herself up, her haunted, umber-circled eyes widening.

"No. Listen to me, Jenna. There is talk. I hear it, though they think I don't listen or care. But I do. They want you for one thing, Jenna, and one thing only: to open the other clochs to the mage-lights. They know that the First Holder always suffers more than the Holders who follow- they're content to let you take that pain for now, even though some of them intend to take the cloch you hold, once you've opened the others."

"Who?" Jenna asked. "Who wants it?"

"Some I know for certain," the Banrion answered. "Nevan O Liathain, the RI Ard’s son, covets Lamh Shabhala-he’s made no secret of that. My husband does, as well; he’s more ambitious than you might think. Galen Aheron, the tiarna from Infochla who arrived a few days ago, has said things that make me suspect he would try for it as well. And even Padraic Mac Ard… "

"You’ve heard him talking?" Jenna asked, her eyes narrowing. "Tiarna Mac Ard?"

Cianna shook her head. "No, in truth, though I think that’s why the Ri called for the song, because he knew that Mac Ard had said nothing to you regarding his ancestors’ history with Lamh Shabhala. The Ri is always careful with Mac Ard, because he knows that a Mac Ard was once Ri and that Padraic could contend for the throne of Tuath Gabair. My husband and Padraic aren’t enemies, but they also aren’t entirely allies. Mac Ard’s said nothing against you that I’ve heard, but when he rode away from the keep weeks ago, when the mage-lights first came, I know he was eager to find the cloch. And if you were. ." Cianna paused. Coughed.". . no longer the Holder, aye, I believe he would try for the cloch himself."

Jenna’s right hand, the fingers stiff and painful to move, closed around Lamh Shabhala on its necklace. Cianna noticed the gesture, and her fin-gers touched Jenna’s. "Your skin there is so cold and so hard, like the scales of a snake." She touched her cheek. "And so warm and smooth here." The Banrion smiled gently. "You’re so young to carry such a bur-den, Jenna. But I was a cycle and more younger when I was sent to marry the Ri and was a mam by the time I was your age. Women often carry their burdens early." She smiled again. "And long."

Cianna picked up the torc from the shelf, brushing away the dust with a hand and pursing her lips to blow away the rest, though the effort cost her another fit of coughing. She held out the golden artifact to Jenna, though Jenna only looked at it, puzzled. "We have nothing of Rowan’s or of Bryth’s, but this torc was Sinna Mac Ard’s, great-mam of Rowan Beirne. I don’t know if she could give you answers to the questions you might have, but you may try. Take it, use it if you can."

"Banrion, I can't. ."

"If anyone asks why you have it, tell them to come to me. That's all you need say. Keep it." She gestured around her, at the gray-covered shelves, at the dim recesses filled with hundreds of unseen items. "You can see how much the past is revered here." She reached out and touched the cloch where it rested between Jenna's breasts. "But they will grab for what they see as the future," she said. "And some of them are quite willing to kill anyone who would get in their way."

Chapter 19: An Assassin's Fate

SHE could feel the strong tingling of a presence when she held the torc, and she knew that Cianna had spoken true-this had once 'been a Holder's beloved possession. But even though she found herself alone in the apartment when she returned, Jenna didn't let the cloch call the pres-ence forth. The experience with Riata had been frightening at first yet ultimately rewarding, but the ghost of Eilis had scared and nearly killed her and as for her da… seeing him hurt too much and left her unsatisfied and feeling more alone than ever.

She doubted that Sinna's specter could help her at all.

She placed the torc among her clothes where Aoife was unlikely to find it, thinking that she might use it that evening. But the mage-lights came again and she went to them, and afterward Jenna was in too much pain for anything but anduilleaf and bed.

After Maeve had fussed over her for a bit (with Mac Ard hanging in the background at the door of the room, staring at her, Jenna thought, strangely), she lay in her bed, holding the cloch in her hand and staring into the darkness of the ceiling, seeing not the room but Lamh Shabhala. She gazed into the crystalline matrix of the cloch, seeing the nodes gleaming and sparking with the stored power of the mage-lights, flickering tongues of blue-white lightning arcing between the facets. She let herself drop deeper into Lamh Shabhala's depths toward

the seething well at its heart, and she seemed to stand on a precipice, looking down into a maelstrom, a thunderstorm so bright that it nearly blinded her. The well was nearly full now-no more than three or four more nights, and it would overflow, filling the cloch. .then. .

She knew what was supposed to happen, knew that Lamh Shabhala was to "open the other clochs na thintri." But she didn't know how, didn't know what that would do to her, how it might feel or how it might hurt her or what it would be like afterward. She wondered if Tiarna Mac Ard might know, but she couldn't-or wouldn't-ask him. She was grateful to him for what he'd done to save her and her mam, and she knew that Maeve loved the man and seemed to be loved in return, yet she found herself holding back when she might speak to him. There was no one she trusted enough to ask that question who would know the answer.

There were the dead Holders, of course. Riata she might ask, but she had nothing of his to bring him back; Eilis was too fey. Her da she'd already asked, but he had never held Lamh Shabhala while it was alive-he knew less than she did.

She trembled, looking down into the depths, at the raging energy trapped there. She ached to know, she needed to know, if only to steel herself for the ordeal.

She let go of the cloch, and the image of it faded in her mind, leaving only the darkness of her room.

She threw aside the bedclothes, shivering in the cold, and went quickly to the chest holding her clothing, pulling out the tore Cianna had given her. Her hands tingled with the feeling of the presence within it, and she thought she heard her name called, a yearning summons. They feel you just as you feel them. .

She went back to her bed, wrapping the quilts around her and snug-gling her toes under the heated plate of cotton-wrapped iron Aoife had placed beneath the covers to warm the bed. She placed the torc around her own neck, grimacing as the cold, burnished metal touched her skin.

Sinna. .?

Torchlight swam in the darkness.

Sinna, come to me. .

Jenna trembled, tugging the blankets tightly around her. She was in her room, but the portion in front of her was overlaid with a hazy image of another time. There, the fireplace was roaring; torches were set in their sconces along the walls, and embroidered hangings covered stone walls no longer plastered and painted. In the shadows, someone moved, a woman with plaited, long gray hair, wearing a leine of yellow under a long cloca of green. Around her neck was the torc Jenna wore and from Under the gold a fine chain held Lamh Shabhala. She stepped forward into the firelight, and Jenna saw that her movements were slow, her pos-ture stooped, her face lined with the furrows of age. Her right arm was marked to the elbow with swirling curves of scars, in the pattern Jenna knew all too well.

"Ahh," the specter said, looking around. "I remember this room, though it’s much changed. So it’s happening to me, now-new Holders are calling me back." The smile was bittersweet. "I’m to be used as I once used others." Jenna felt the touch of the woman’s mind on her own, and at the same time Jenna reached into her. "You’re Jenna. . and a First."

"Aye. And you’re Sinna."

The woman nodded. "Aye. And long dead, it would seem. Nothing more than dust and a memory. Have you called me back before?"

Jenna shook her head, and the apparition sighed. "Good," she said. "At least I’m not replaying an old scene. I always hated that, myself, having to explain again who I was and what I knew. No wonder the dead are often so angry and dangerous. You’ve already learned to keep most of your mind closed off, so I assume at least one of us has given you a nasty fright before. And the cacophony of voices within the cloch…" She shivered and yawned. "It’s summer here, and I’m still cold, and every joint in my body is aching. Being old is worse than being dead…" She shook herself out of her reverie and peered at Jenna again. "You’re young, though-have they married you off yet, Jenna? Is that why you’re here in Lar Bhaile’s Keep?"

"No," Jenna answered. "And they won’t marry me against my will. I won’t allow it."

Sinna laughed at that, her voice husky. "Then you do live in a different age. In my time, you were

fortunate if you married for love. I was lucky enough to have loved once: my dear, poor Ailen, who gave me this." She lifted the cloch, and at the same time, Jenna felt Lamh Shabhala pulse on her own chest, as if the cloch remembered the touch. "But the second time. . Well, a Holder is a political prize, and Teador Mac Ard was Rl."

It gave Jenna a strange satisfaction to learn that Sinna hadn't fallen in love with Teador, as Padraic had told them, that it had only been a mar-riage of convenience. "You were the Holder of Lamh Shabhala. How could they make you marry him?"

Sinna shrugged. "I suppose they couldn't, not if I utterly refused. But a Holder who is a woman must also know how to play the game, if she wishes to stay the Holder. A Banrion is a powerful thing, too, and to be both Holder and Banrion. ." Sinna smiled. "Teador and I found love elsewhere, but we were well suited to be Ri and Banrion. What we had wasn't love, but we understood each other well enough, and for the most part we both wanted the same things. That was enough. And when my daughter was old enough, we used her to strengthen an alliance." She sighed and smiled inwardly, then her gaze focused on Jenna, who saw hat one eye was cloudy and white with a cataract. "Why did you call me back First Holder? What is it you wanted to ask me? Ask, and let this ghost go back to sleep."

Jenna flipped away the bed quilts. Suppressing a shiver as the cold air touched her, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and walked to where the old woman stood. "I'm First, as you said. And the other cloch na thintri aren't yet opened. I want… I want to know what will happen when Lamh Shabhala is full and wakes the other stones."

"No one has told you?"

"They hint, but they don't say. Or perhaps they truly don't know," Jenna answered. "I've even talked to the Ald here. He says he doesn't know-it's been so long since the mage-lights came that the knowledge is lost."

Sinna sighed. Her hand lifted as if she were about to touch Jenna, then dropped back. "So they do use you," she said. Her voice was soft. "Your time isn't so much different, then. I wasn't a First, Daughter. When I held Lamh Shabhala, the clochs had been active for generations and genera-tions, nearly all the way back to when the first Daoine came to this

land. I can’t help you with that…" She stopped, turning slightly from Jenna and holding her hands out to the image of the fire, as if warming them. "Tell me, did I give the cloch to Bryth, or did someone else take it?"

"No," Jenna answered. "Bryth was the next Holder, and her son after that, your grandson."

Sinna nodded, firelight reflecting on her wrinkled skin and over the coarse gray hair. "That’s good to know," she said. "It’s a comfort, even though I’ll forget as soon as you release me. I’m going to Tuath Infochla in a fortnight to meet her, and I intend to pass it to her then. So it seems I manage to do so."

"Another Mac Ard would like to hold Lamh Shabhala now," Jenna said, and with that Sinna turned back to her. "Ahh. ." she breathed. "So the line continues."

’Not Bryth’s," Jenna told her. "Your son’s. Slevin."

Her face changed with that, as if she’d tasted sour fruit. "Slevin," she said, and the word sounded harsh and bitter. "Strange how distant we can become from our own children. ." She stopped. "Jenna, do you feel that?"

"What?"

Sinna turned, her half-blind eyes peering toward the south window of the room. "Perhaps I can teach you something after all. See with the cloch, Jenna. Imagine. . imagine that your skin is alive with its power, that it’s like a shell around you, expanding, and you can feel everything that it touches, can see the shape of it as the power within you wraps around it. Can you do that?"

"Aye. ." Jenna breathed. "I can." Perhaps it was because Lamh Shabhala remembered Sinna’s touch, perhaps it was because Sinna’s mind and hers were open to each other, but Jenna could feel her presence expand, filling the room so that in her mind she could see everything in it as clearly as if it were day. She let it expand farther, moving her awareness outward.

And stopped with a gasp.

"Aye," Sinna said. "Even the dead can feel that threat."

Outside, on the wall, a dark form crept upward in

the night, hands already on the balcony and death lurking in his heart. The intruder pulled himself silently over the rail-with her eyes, Jenna saw nothing but the closed doors leading to the balcony, shut against the night and the cold air. But with the cloch, she saw the man crouch, then stand, and she saw the small crossbow in his hand and the quarrel smeared with brown poison.

"You see," Sinna said softly. "Lamh Shabhala can do more than throw lightnings. Watch; let me use the cloch. ."

One of the balcony doors swung open, and a night-wrapped form slipped in with a breath of cold wind. At the same time, Jenna felt the stone around her neck respond as the ghost of Sinna moved forward, her body changing as Lamh Shabhala’s energy surged through her, her shape suddenly that of Jenna herself, young and brown-haired, the torc gleam-ing around her neck. "You!" Sinna shouted, and the intruder turned, firing the crossbow in the same motion. The quarrel went through Sinna's chest, burying itself in the plaster behind her. Sinna laughed, and she was herself again, an old woman. Behind the dark wrapping of the assassin's head, his eyes were wide, and he looked from the ghost of Sinna to Jenna, standing near the bed. A knife flashed in his hand, but before he could move, Jenna felt Sinna's mind close over her own and-like a skilled teacher's hand guiding a student's-she let energy burst forward from the cloch, shaping the force as it flew, and the assassin was picked up as if in a giant's hand and slammed against the wall, grunting in pain and shock. A wisp of the cloch's power ripped the cloth from his head, so that Jenna could see his face.

"Do you recognize him?" Sinna asked.

Jenna shook her head-his features were those of a stranger.

"Then he was hired, and he has a name to tell you." The man was struggling, trying to push away from the wall and move, but Jenna held him easily. "There, you have him," Sinna said, and Jenna felt Sinna's mind leave hers.

'I'll tell you nothing," the man grated out, writhing in the grip of the cloch. His gaze kept slipping from Jenna to the ghostly image of Sinna.

"No?" Sinna said. "Tighten the power around him,

Jenna. Go on. Squeeze him, Jenna. Make him feel you."

Jenna did as Sinna instructed, imagining the tendrils of Lamh Shabhala’s energy snaking around him, pulling tight like a noose. The man gri-maced, the lines around his eyes and forehead deepening, and he spat defiantly.

"Good. I like defiance," Sinna said. "It increases the pleasure when he finally gasps out the name we want. I wonder if he’s ever felt his ribs crack inside him, snapping like a dry branch into a dozen knives of bone. I wonder if he’ll whimper like a kicked dog when the eyes pop from his skull, or scream as his ballocks are crushed and ruined."

Sinna/Jenna yanked at the cords of energy, pulling them tighter still. The man moaned, and Jenna glanced at Sinna. "I can’t-" she began, appalled, but with the shift of attention, the assassin momentarily pulled away from his invisible bonds. Before Jenna could respond, the knife still in his hand moved. With a cry, he plunged it into his own chest. Blood welled around the wound, and flecks of red foamed at his lips. He wailed, his eyes rolled upward.

He fell. The wind from the balcony brought the fetid smell of piss and bowels.

Sinna sniffed. "Not a common assassin, then, but a loyal and devoted retainer, to kill himself rather than talk," she said. Her voice sounded eerily emotionless. "I would guess that someone’s becoming impatient."

Jenna gaped in horror at the foul corpse on the floor. "Would you have done that, what you told him you would do?"

Sinna laughed. "If he had come to me, in my time, rather than to you? Aye, I would have done that and more to stay alive. I have done it. And so will you, Daughter, if you want to remain the Holder."

"No, I won’t," Jenna said, the denial automatic. Sinna only smiled.

"Jenna!" Maeve’s voice called from outside the room, and she heard footsteps pounding toward her. Jenna pulled the torc from her neck, and Sinna vanished as Maeve and Mac Ard rushed in, Mac Ard with his sword drawn. He stopped at the doorway, gazing at the crumpled body of the

assassin. He hurried over to the man as Maeve went to Jenna. He prodded the assassin's body with the tip of his sword, then knelt and pressed his fingertips against the neck just under the jaw, grimacing at the smell. She saw him glance at the small crossbow on the floor near him. "Dead," he said, rising again. "And by his own hand, it would seem. Jenna, are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she answered, trying to keep her voice from trembling. Her arm ached, burning cold, and there was ice in the pit of her stomach, making her want to vomit, but she forced it down, forced herself to stand erect and pretend that she was calm. Later, she could allow herself to cry at the remembered fear and the death. Later, she could run to the anduilleaf and its relief. But not now. .

"What happened here?"

Jenna pointed to the open door to the balcony, then to the quarrel embedded in the wall. "He climbed up from outside and shot that at me, but… " She paused, considering her words. She pulled away from her mam's embrace. "I knew he was coming," she said, more strongly, "and I swept the bolt aside with the cloch, then held him. He killed himself rather than be captured; if I'd suspected he would do that, I would have stopped him, but I was too late. No doubt he didn't want me to know who hired him." She watched Mac Ard's face carefully as she spoke- certainly it wasn't Padraic, not after all he's done. He's had a hundred better opportunities if he wanted them. . Yet she watched. Mac Ard was frowning and serious, but she had seen him speaking with the Ri and knew that he could keep his thoughts hidden from his face. She couldn't stop the para-noia from creeping back into her mind. He could easily tell an assassin where and when to find me.

"You 'knew he was coming'?" he said, his head tilted, one eyebrow raised.

"Lamh Shabhala can do more than throw lightnings," she stated: Sinna's words. . His eyes narrowed at that; his mouth tightened under the dark beard and he turned away from her. He went to the quarrel and pulled it from the wall, sniffing at the substance daubed over the point. "Aye, 'tis poisoned," Jenna told him.

There was anger and fury in Mac Ard's face, but Jenna didn't know if it was at the attempt, or at the

failure of it. "The garrison will comb the grounds, and those on watch tonight will be punished for allowing this to happen," he said. "I’m sorry, Jenna.

I will have gardai sent here immedi-ately. This won’t happen again."

How convenient that would be… to have his own people around me all the time. "Thank you, Tiarna, but I don’t need gardai," Jenna said firmly.

"Jenna-" Maeve began, but Jenna shook her head.

"No, Mam, Tiarna," she insisted. "Get rid of… that." She pointed at the body. "Call the servants in to clean up the mess. But no gardai. I don’t need them." She lifted Lamh Shabhala. "Not while I hold this."

Chapter 20: Love and Weapons

"SO far," Jenna said, "they tell me that they think the assassin was sent from Connachta."

"Jenna. ." Coelin's arm went around her shoulders at that. For a moment, Jenna tensed, then she relaxed into the embrace, moving closer to him as they walked slowly along the garden path. The planted array in the keep's outer courtyard rustled dry and dead in the winter cold, and a chill wind blew in off the lough, tossing gray clouds quickly across the sky and shaking occasional spatters of rain from them.

Coelin had arrived early for the feast celebrating the winter solstice, the Festival of Lafuacht, to be held that night. Aoife had come running into Jenna's apartment, bursting with the news that the "handsome harper" was in the keep and asking about her, and Jenna had sent Aoife to fetch him. Jenna could feel the warmth of Coelin's body along her side, and it felt comfortable and right. She knew there were eyes watching them, and that tongues would be clucking about the Holder and a lowly entertainer (and no doubt saying how "common blood will tell"), but she didn't care. You sound as if you don't believe them," Coelin said.

"I don't," Jenna said firmly. "What good would it do for Connachta to have me killed here, where someone else would simply become the Holder? That makes no sense unless the assassin himself was to be the I Holder, yet he wasn't from the Riocha families."

But how else could someone from Tuath Connachta get the stone? You said none of the Riocha from Tuath Connachta are here. If that assassin was so loyal that he'd kill himself rather than be caught alive, he might be loyal enough to take the cloch to his employer without keeping it himself."

"Maybe. That's what Tiarna Mac Ard said, too." Jenna shivered as the wind shook water from the bare branches of the trees. "I don't think so. I think he was hired by someone here."

"Who?" Coelin asked.

"I don’t know. But I’ll find out."

"Finding out could be dangerous."

"Not finding out is more dangerous, Coelin." She stopped, moving so that they stood face to face, his arm still encircling her shoulder. His face seemed bewildered and innocent with all she had told him, and she knew that she would have looked the same a few months ago, thrown without warning into this situation where agendas were veiled and hidden, and the stakes of the game so high. Looking at him, she saw reflected back just how much she had changed in the intervening months. He is a harper, and nothing more-right now singing is enough for him and all that he thinks about. If he has ambition, ’tis to be a Songmaster like Curragh, who plucked him away from a life of servitude.

"Jenna, you should leave the investigation to Tiarna Mac Ard and the others."

"One of the others may have sent the man in the first place." She hesi-tated, not wanting to say the rest. "I can’t even rule out Tiarna Mac Ard."

His eyebrows lifted, widening his sea-foam eyes.

"I thought he and your mam-"

"They’re lovers, aye," Jenna said. "But I’m not my mam, I’m not his blood, and I hold what he was searching for when he came to Ballintub-ber. Wouldn’t it have been convenient, for him to be the first to find my body? He could have plucked the cloch from around my neck before anyone could have stopped him."

"You don’t know that, Jenna, and I don’t believe it."

"You’re right, 1 don’t know that and honestly, 1 don’t believe it’s true, either," she answered. "But I don’t know. I don’t know."

He was looking somewhere above and beyond her, as if he could find an answer written on the stones of the keep. He shook his head as if to some inner conversation. "Jenna. ." he began. "This is so. ."

Jenna reached up, twining the fingers of her left hand in the curls at the back of his head. She gently pulled him down to her. The kiss was first soft and tentative, then more urgent, her mouth opening to his as he pulled her against him. When at last it ended, she cradled her head on his chest. He stroked her hair. "Jenna," he said. "How can I help you?"

"I don't know yet," she answered. "But I will. And I'll ask when the time comes."

"And I'll be there for you," Coelin answered. He brought his head down hers again, and she opened her mouth to his soft lips and his hot, sweet breath and when his hands slid up to cup her breasts, she did not stop him.

"I can tell you this much about the assassin, Holder," the Ri Mallaghan told her, his trebled chins shaking as his mouth moved. Nevan O Liathain stood at the Ri's right shoulder, frowning appraisingly at her as the Ri spoke and stroking his thin beard. "He was not a Riocha that anyone here recognizes. I have people who would know such making inquiries in Low Town to see if he's a local, but I don't think so. We may never know who he was. I know that's of no comfort to you, but I assure you that the gardai here will be more…" He paused, and a smile prowled his face for just a moment.". . vigilant from now on," he finished.

Jenna knew that the gardai on watch that night had been imprisoned, and the sentry assigned to the north side of the keep nearest Jenna's room had been executed in front of the others as an example. The punishment had been exacted before she could protest and without her consent. She suspected that it never occurred to the Ri to inquire about her feelings-it was his domain, and he did as he wished.

It's also true that dead men don't talk, if they'd been told to look the other way and their knowledge of who gave them the order was now a danger. The Ri Gabair has the money and the knowledge and the desire, as much as anyone here.

She smiled blandly back at the Ri. "I appreciate your efforts, Ri Mal-laghan. Your concern for my well-being is gratifying."

The Ri laughed at that, his body shaking under the fine clothing. There, you see, Nevan-as fine a response as any Riocha could have fashioned.

Tiarna Mac Ard has taught the girl well."

Jenna gave the Ri the expected smile, resisting the impulse to retort. Tiarna Mac Ard may have helped, but I taught myself more by listening to the

lies I hear around me every day, she wanted to say. But she curtsied instead, as a Riocha would, and continued to smile.

"The RI Ard is also concerned with your well-being," O Liathain said before Jenna could escape. "I have put the Ri Ard’s garrison here in Lar Bhaile at Ri Mallaghan’s disposal."

"That is kind of you, Tanaise Rig," Jenna answered. "Some good has come of this incident, though. I’ve discovered that the stone I hold has greater and more varied powers than I’d thought. I may be able to dis-cover who my enemies are on my own." She touched Lamh Shabhala with the scarred, patterned flesh of her right hand, looking from O Liathain to Ri Mallaghan. "And I’m certain the Ri and the Ri Ard would allow me to exact my own retribution. Wouldn’t that be interesting?"

The smile on O Liathain’s face wavered and for a moment Jenna won-dered if she’d gone too far, but Ri Mallaghan also frowned. "The laws are the laws," Ri Mallaghan intoned. "An accusation would need proof-and proof that I as Ri can see."

Jenna inclined her head. "I’ve heard that the Ri Mallaghan has excellent methods for obtaining proof when it’s needed," she responded.

The Ri snorted. "Taught well, indeed," he commented to O Liathain. Cianna drifted over to them before he could say more, with Tiarna Galen Aheron of Tuath Infochla accompanying her. Cianna touched Jenna’s shoulder and nodded to O Liathain’s abbreviated bow.

"The servants tell me we should begin moving toward the table soon, my husband," she said, her voice too fast and colored with a slight wheeze. "Let me take the Holder for a few minutes before we sit. Here, Tiarna Aheron wishes to speak with you."

"Certainly," the Ri answered. "Holder, I will speak with you later." Jenna curtsied to the Ri and O Liathain again, and let Cianna guide her away. O Liathain’s head moved toward the Ri’s ear before they were a step away, as Galen Aheron bowed to the Ri..

"What did you say to the Tanaise Rig?" Cianna asked quietly as they moved through the crowd. "Poor Nevan looked as if he’d swallowed a fish bone."

"I simply suggested to him that Lamh Shabhala might have ways of uncovering treachery," Jenna said. Cianna laughed at that, the laughter trailing away in a cough. She stopped, drawing Jenna into a corner of the hall.

"I would be careful with what you claim, Jenna," she said. "It's not good to put an enemy on alert with a bluff."

"I don't know who my enemies are, Banrion," Jenna answered. "I thought that I might find out-and I wasn't entirely bluffing."

"Ah," Cianna said thoughtfully, nodding. She gestured at the room. "They're all your enemies, every one of them here," she said. "Even me, Jenna. Any of us would take the cloch and become the Holder, if we thought it would gain us power."

"I think I can trust you, Banrion. Or you wouldn't have said what you just said."

Cianna smiled. "Thank you, Jenna. But look at them. There are more plots there than leaves in the forest, and many of them concern you. In the last cycle, my husband was nearly killed himself when one of the ceil giallnai decided that he might increase his standing by allying with one of the Connachtan families. He managed to actually draw his blade at the table before he was cut down, not five feet from the Ri. Trust is a rare commodity here, Jenna. Don't take it lightly, and don't believe that it's eternal, either. Allegiances shift, friendships fade, love is ephemeral. Be careful."

Jenna glanced worriedly at the throng, at the faces overlaid with smiles and politeness. "How do you stand it, Banrion?" she asked. "Doesn't it drive you mad?" The crowd parted momentarily, and through the silken rift, Jenna saw Tiarna Mac Ard across the room, with her mam at his side and a quartet of the Riocha women also surrounding him. Maeve looked uneasy in the midst of the other women, her smile lopsided as her atten-tion went from one to another of them, all of them obviously much more at ease and more skilled at the game of flirtation. Maeve's hand cradled her abdomen more than once. Jenna felt Cianna's gaze shift, following her eyes.

"There are rules even in this, Jenna. You've already learned some of them; if you want to keep the stone and also stay alive, you must continue to learn. You think Padraic Mac Ard doesn't

understand how our society works? He does, all too well. That’s why he doesn’t marry your mam-because marriage to him is another weapon, one that often can be used only once, so he won’t unsheathe it lightly."

"He uses my mam, then," Jenna said heatedly.

Cianna coughed, though it might have been a laugh. "I don’t doubt that Padraic also loves her, or he wouldn’t be so openly with her-he knows that his relationship with your mam dulls the blade of the marriage weapon, because it says that his true affection is elsewhere. He does love your mam, and that may have saved you as well, Jenna."

You said to trust no one, and I wondered… I wondered if Tiarna Mac Ard sent the assassin."

Jenna felt more than saw Cianna shake her head. "Mac Ard would take Lamh Shabhala if he could, I agree. But I know him well, and his person-ality is more suited to the frontal attack. He can be subtle when he needs to be, but when action must be taken, he prefers to do it himself and openly. I wouldn’t entirely trust him, if I were you, but I also doubt that the assassin was his man."

Jenna wasn’t certain she was convinced, but she nodded her head in the direction of the Ri, still in conversation with O Liathain. "The Tanaise Rig, then," Jenna said, and watched Cianna purse her lips.

"Possibly," she said. "Hiring someone to do his killing for him is more his style, certainly-he wouldn’t want to bloody his own hands. And through the Ri Ard, he has the money and connections; the assassin could have come from the east rather than the west. The Ri Ard used an assassin himself to kill his predecessor-or at least that’s the rumor-and Nevan is more ambitious than even his father. Holding Lamh Shabhala and being Ri Ard: that would place him in a very powerful position indeed."

"You think it was him, then?"

Cianna shrugged. "Possibly," she repeated. "Maybe even probably. But there are other contenders here: my husband is certainly one; Tiarna Ah-eron, whose uncle is Ri of Infochla and who has been snatching any re-puted clochs he can find, buy, or steal, is another. Jenna, any of the

Riocha here could be the one."

Jenna's head whirled. She'd taken anduilleaf a few hours ago; the effects were already starting to fade, and her arm throbbed with a promise of pain to come. She looked out at the crowd and saw skeletons and ghouls underneath the fine clothing and polite speech.

A gong rang. "There, we're being called to table," Cianna said. "Come, walk with me. You will sit next to me tonight-we'll let Padraic move a seat farther down."

"Banrion?"

Cianna smiled. "Just a little object lesson, Jenna. Everyone will notice your elevation, though no one will say anything until afterward when they're alone. Even Mac Ard will gracefully make the shift, but he'll also see the message in it: that the Holder is now more important than the one who found her, and that what happens to you will be of intense concern to me." She coughed, and cleared phlegm from her voice. "That also means no one will question too much what you do, even if you should decide to consort with a simple harper."

Jenna felt her cheeks flush. "Banrion, I… "

"Oh, he's handsome enough, I'll grant you, and has talent for what he does. A little dalliance with him won't hurt you as long as you take the proper precautions-I'll make sure the healer sends a packet of the right herbs to you. But he can't help you, Jenna, not in this. Tell me, is it true you knew this Coelin in Ballintubber?"

"Aye, Banrion."

Cianna nodded. "Convenient that he should arrive here in Lar Bhaile just at this moment, don't you think?" she asked, but she gave Jenna no chance to ponder that question or to try to answer. "Come. All the tiarna are seated by now. Time to give them something to contemplate… "

"You were wonderful. The Ri and the Banrion were rapt-did you notice?"

Jenna could see the grin tugging at the corners of Coelin's mouth as she complimented his performance. "Aye," he said. "I did. I thought I might forget some of the words, but they came back to me in time. The captain said that I might be

asked to sing again at an entertainment for the Tanaise Rig in five days, and he gave me a gold morceint for the evening. That's more than I saw for months in Ballintubber." The grin spread, and Jenna impulsively reached up and kissed him. She started to pull away, but his arms went around her and he brought her close, cup-ping his hand around the back of her head. The kiss was long and deep, and Jenna wanted more, but it was late and the carriages were already waiting at the gates of the keep to take the extra servers and entertainers back down into the town. "Jenna, when can I see you again?"

Stay, she wanted to say, but she remembered Banrion Cianna's admoni-tions, and there would be her mam's questions, and the pain in her arm was getting worse. . "The day after tomorrow," she said. "You know the market in Low Town? I'll meet you there, when they ring the bells after morning services at the Mother-Creator's temple."

"I'll be there," he promised. He kissed her again, quickly this time, and held her hand-her left hand. He didn't touch the right. His fingers pressed against her. "The day after tomorrow will seem like forever before it comes," he said, and walked quickly away toward the gates across the courtyard. Jenna watched until he reached the gates and the gardai there pushed the inner door open. He went through, and she could hear that he was whistling. She smiled.

As she turned to go back into the keep, she saw movement at one of the windows: a shutter swinging closed. She glimpsed a face in the win-dow just before the shutters pulled tight, shadowed in the dim light of the moon and the torches around the courtyard.

Tiarna Mac Ard's face.

Chapter 21: A Familiar Face

"YOU will stay here with the carriage," she told the quartet of gardai Tiarna Mac Ard had sent with her. The protest was predictable, but when she

invoked the Banrion’s name, they went sullenly silent. You see, she wanted to tell Cianna. You taught me well. I can play this game, too.

Low Town Market was crowded today. Wagons had come in from the surrounding farms. There was little produce-the fields had long ago been harvested, but there were horses for sale, sheep brought in for slaughter, milk and eggs, pickled vegetables, dried herbs. A spice vendor in from the port at Dun Laoghaire had set up a display, and exotic aromas from the distant lands of Ceile Mhor and Thall Mor-roinn wafted through the chill air. The sun beat down, driving away the worst of the chill. There was little breeze, and the respite from the cold had brought out most of the townsfolk. Jenna was surrounded by the movement and noise, the color and odors. Some of the tiarna from Upper Town were here as well, and they nodded to her as they passed, no doubt wondering why the Holder was walking unescorted through the city.

Jenna moved through the market, looking among the crowds for Coe-lin. The temple bells had rung as the carriage arrived at the market, but it would be easy to miss someone. She was beginning to wonder whether Coelin had forgotten her, and she closed her right hand around the cloch, remembering how Sinna had helped her. She let her awareness drift out-ward with the stone’s energy, seeing the crowd with the power and look-ing for the spark that would be Coelin. She could sense him, close by, and started to turn even as she heard his voice.

"Jenna!"

She turned to see him hurrying toward her. With a grin, he swept her and spun her around once, kissing her as she laughed. "I’ll bet you thought I’d forgotten," he said, wagging a finger in front of her face. She pretended to bite at it.

"I did not," she answered. "I had perfect confidence in you."

He snorted. "Hah! I saw your face when you turned." He glanced around. "I’m surprised they let you come here alone. I expected to see your mam, or servants at least. Armed and surly gardai, most likely, after what happened in your bedroom."

"Armed gardai I had," she answered. "But I sent them away." No, they’re following. . The energy she’d released before was fading slowly, but within the expanded shell of awareness she could feel one of them. She turned her head, and saw a garda ducking quickly behind the spice ven-dor's stall. "Though they don't obey well. Don't look yet, but near the spice vendor's stall… "

"Here, let's look at this cloth. ." Coelin took her arm and guided her over to the nearest stall, pretending to show her the dyed wool there. "Ah, aye. I see. You have a shadow, but not a very good one. Ring mail and leathers makes one conspicuous. Do you really want to lose him?"

Jenna nodded, and Coelin took her left arm.

"Come on, then," he said.

With Coelin leading, they moved behind the stalls and into one of the alleys. Jenna could sense the garda's sudden consternation and feel him start to move through the crowd toward the stall where they'd been, but Coelin was running through a space between two houses, across a narrow courtyard, and on into another street. He paused, looking up and down the street and behind them.

"You've lost him," she said to him.

"How do you know?"

"I know," she answered.

He didn't question that. He simply smiled at her and kissed her again.

We're alone, then." He glanced around at the people moving along the cobbled lane, most of whom were staring openly at Jenna, too well-dressed to be an occupant of one of these small, shabby dwellings. Away from the market square, the city had turned drab and dirty and crowded.

The central gutter was choked with refuse, rotting garbage and excrement, and the fetid smell wrinkled Jenna's nose. The people were as shabby as their surroundings, dressed in rags and scraps of clothing. A child stared her from a nearby door, her feet wrapped in muddy rags, her hair matted and wild, though her eyes were dark and clear. She smiled tentatively at Jenna, who had to force herself to return the gesture. "Well, at least we're not where anyone knows you," Coelin finished. He gave a mock, sweeping bow. "And now where would you have me take you?"

"Somewhere other than here."

Coelin glanced around, and she realized that he saw nothing unusual: these were the streets where he lived, too, and he didn’t see the contrast, because he hadn’t lived as she had for the last few months. Jenna could feel herself recoiling in instinctive disgust and revulsion. She could not imagine having to live here-she would rather call on the power of the cloch and destroy it, to cleanse the earth in fire and storm. And she won-dered: Is this the way Tiarna Mac Ard felt, when he first walked into our little cottage back in Ballintubber? "There’s an apothecary I need to see," she told him. "Du Val, in Cat’s Alley."

He glanced at her curiously, then shrugged. "Let’s go this way, then, to avoid the market."

They approached du Val’s establishment from below the market. Jenna half expected to see one of the gardai standing outside the tiny shop, but none of these men had accompanied her on her first visit. A few dozen strides from the sign, she saw a man, dressed as a freelander, come out the doorway and turn away from her toward the market.

She stopped, her hand on Coelin’s arm. "What?" he asked.

"That man…" She knew him. Without seeing his face, she recognized the walk, the posture, the feel of him: Ennis O’Deoradhain, whom she’d last seen fleeing through the fields just across the River Duan near Ath Iseal. Jenna held her breath, wanting to duck into shadows and suddenly wishing that she hadn’t dismissed the gardai. Her hand went around Lamh Shabhala; if the man had turned, if he’d seen her and started toward her, she would have used the cloch and struck him down.

But he didn’t turn, didn’t seem to notice her at all.

"What about him?" Coelin asked. "Who is he?"

Jenna shook her head. O’Deoradhain was hurrying away, already at the end of the lane where it opened into the Low Town Market. "When…after we left Ballintubber, we met that man. I think he was part of the group of Connachtans who were pursuing us." And if he’s here in Lar Bhaile, if he’s snooping around after me, then chances are he’s the one who sent the assassin. .

"Well, let’s go after him, then," Coelin said, starting to pursue O’Deoradhain, but Jenna held

him back.

"No " she told him. "He's already too far away, and he may have friends with him. Let's talk to du Val."

The shop was as pungent and dark as before, but du Val was in the front bent over one of his tables with a mortar and pestle, grinding a small pinch of plant material into a powder. The dwarfish man glanced up as Jenna and Coelin entered, and grunted.

"It's not even been a month," he called out without preamble. "Well, this time the price is four morceints, as I told you. And six the next time."

Jenna was glad for the dimness of the shop, so that Coelin could not see the flush that crept up her neck. "I hear you," she said. "Just get it."

Du Val sniffed. He set the pestle on the table with a loud clunk. His ugly, craggy face seemed to leer at her for a moment, then he turned and went back into the recesses of the shop. Jenna wondered what Coelin was thinking, seeing her spend four morceints without a thought when he had been ecstatic to have received one the other night. She didn't dare look at him while they waited. Du Val returned in a few minutes with a pouch, which he extended to Jenna, palm up. When she reached to take it, he pulled his hand back. "Five morceints," he said.

"You told me four."

One robed shoulder lifted and fell. "1 changed my mind between then and now. Maybe the price will make you change yours about taking this, but if not,

I might as well line my pockets with your foolishness."

Jenna felt the words like a slap, her cheeks reddening. "All I have to do is whisper to the Ri or Banrion, and they will have you in irons before the evening bells ring."

Du Val snorted and tossed the pouch of anduilleaf into the air and caught it again. "And if you do that, what happens when this is gone?" He gave her a lopsided leer. His glance went to Coelin. "I notice that you don't have your usual escort with you, only someone who makes his living singing for coppers and ale. Seems to me that you're being careful not to let anyone know you've come to see me, so I think I'm fairly safe from your threats, Holder."

’Jenna," Coelin said behind her. "Let’s just leave. This man is a thief. I’ve seen the type of people who come in here."

No," Jenna answered. She turned back to du Val. "Fine, I’ll give you the five morceints, but you’ll also tell me something in return. There was

a man who came from this shop just before we arrived. What did he want?"

Du Val sniffed. "I’m not in the habit of talking about my customers," he answered. "I’d also think that’s something you’d be pleased to hear, Holder."

"His name is Ennis O’Deoradhain."

Du Val’s lips pursed and he waggled his head. "So you do know him. Interesting."

"Why was he here?" When du Val didn’t answer, Jenna’s hand went to the cloch, with du Val’s black gaze watching the movement. "The man’s a danger to me, du Val. I’ll do what I need to do to protect myself, even if means killing someone."

Du Val blinked, then cleared his throat and spat on the floor. "Brave words, Holder. I love the way you lift your chin and look down at me when you say that. It’s so haughty and practiced-you’ve obviously been watching the Riocha around you. I also believe that’s another bluff. I don’t think you’re capable of striking a man down without provocation. Not yet, anyway. Tell me, Holder, how did it feel, when you killed the as-sassin?"

"I didn’t kill him. He killed-" Jenna stopped. "How did you know that?"

"I hear the things that run through the underbelly of this city. That’s one of the reasons people come to me."

"Like O’Deoradhain."

Du Val just stared at her.

"He sent the assassin, didn’t he?"

The dwarf shook his head, like a parent disappointed in a child. "Holder, you have no concept of who your real enemies are. Or your real friends. That makes me wonder if you will be holding Lamh Shabhala for much longer." He held out his left hand palm up and waggled his fingers. "Four morceints," he said. "I’m giving you a

discount for not talking about O'Deoradhain."

Jenna untied a pouch from under her cloca and counted out the coins into du Val's hand. He gave her the pouch of anduilleaf, but held onto it for a moment as her fingers closed around it. "Holder," he said, his voice gravelly and low. "Please. You can't continue this. The leaf will consume you. It will change you. It's already begun."

Jenna snatched the bag away. "I won't be back," she told du Val. "If I need to, I'll find another source."

"You'll need to," du Val said somberly.

As they left the shop, Coelin stroked her hair and she stopped, leaning against him. "Coelin. ." she whispered. She lifted her face to him, unable to stop the tears now that she was outside. She wasn't sure why she was crying: fear, or du Val's harsh words, or simply the confusion that whirled in her mind. Coelin's thumb gently blotted the tears, and he kissed her eyelids, then her mouth.

"What's the matter, Jenna?" "Everything," she answered. "And nothing."

"Is it this O'Deoradhain? Are you scared of what he might do?"

She nodded. It was as good an answer as any.

"Then I'll find him," Coelin said. "I have my sources, too. If he's down here in Low Town, I can uncover him. I'll find out where he lives, find out what he's asking. And you can send the Ri's gardai after him." He smiled down at her. "See?" he said. "You do have friends you can trust." He kissed her once more, his hand moving across the mound of her breast, and she felt herself yearn for more. "Come with me now, Jenna," he whispered. "Let me love you."

"I want to, Coelin. I want to so much."

"But. .?"

She opened her mind to the cloch, feeling the city around her with its power: her gardai were moving through the square, searching for her. One was close by, moving toward Cat's Alley. "I've been away too long already. I have to go back."

"Ah." The word held a bitterness in its tone. He

"Coelin, it's not that," she protested. "I do want you. I miss you every day."

"Then when, Jenna? When will we be together?"

"When you come to sing next. Afterward. I'll make arrangements."

He smiled at her and kissed her again. She pulled him close, not want-ing to let go yet forcing herself to push him away. She nodded toward the far end of the lane. "They're coming for me now," she said.

"Go that way."

"Jenna. ."

"Hush," she said. "Don't say anymore. Go. Find O'Deoradhain for me. We'll be together soon. I promise."

He took a step backward, still looking at her, then turned. She watched him go, then turned herself and walked toward Low Town Market Square.

Chapter 22: Proposals

THE mage-lights came that night and Jenna caught their power, crying out in mingled longing and agony. Afterward, the anduilleaf dulled only the worst of the pain, and, following a troubled sleep, she took it again early in the morning. The arm was still throbbing, a steady pulsing mirrored by a nauseous headache as she and Aoife moved toward her apartment from the common room, where she'd breakfasted with the Ban-rion.

"Holder, if you have a moment. .?"

Nevan O Liathain called to Jenna as she passed the door of his apart-ments. She stopped, closing her eyes before glancing inside as a wave of pain swept over her: the Ri Ard's son was standing near the fireplace. Rich, dark hangings adorned the walls, gleaming with bright colors; a woven carpet softened the varnished wood of the floor; the tables and chair were carved and expensive, unlike anything she’d seen in the keep. She suspected that most of the furnishings had traveled with O Liathain from Dun Laoghaire. O Liathain looked as rich and as handsome as his surroundings, his raven-black hair oiled, those strange, light blue eyes regarding her.

Jenna saw no way to politely decline. She nodded to Aoife and went to the doorway. "Good morning, Tanaise Rig. Of what service can I be to you?"

O Liathain glanced significantly at Aoife, and Jenna waved to the ser-vant. "Wait in the hall for me," she said. "I won’t be but a few minutes." She hoped that was true; she didn’t know how much longer she could hear the headache, and she longed for another cup of the leaf. Aoife curtsied and continued down the hall; Jenna took a step inside the apartment.

"The door, please, Holder," O Liathain said. "Too many ears and eyes " Jenna pulled the door to, and O Liathain took a few steps toward her stopping an arm’s reach away. He moved with the ease of a dancer or a well-trained fighter. "This is most improper, I know," he said. "Yet I would speak with you privately, without curious ears listening." Another step She could see his lips twist upward in a momentary smile. "I would like to suggest something to you that would be to our mutual advantage."

"And what would that be, Tanaise Rig?"

Another vanishing smile, gone like frost under a spring’s sun. "I will forgo delicacy here, Holder," he answered. "Let me be blunt. It’s come to my attention that your mam is carrying Tiarna Mac Ard’s child. No, you needn’t protest or try to deny it-we both know it’s true. I also know that for the moment Padraic is unlikely to legitimize the child or his relation-ship with your mam. Yet if he did so, if he took your mam to wife, and acknowledged you as his own daughter as well. . well, then that would make you a Riocha, wouldn’t it?"

Jenna sniffed. "I am evidently not quite so awed by that possibility as you, Tanaise Rig. While I would like to see the Tiarna Mac Ard acknowl-edge my mam and his child by her, if that’s the case, I have no interest in being named his daughter."

A nod. An appraising, sidewise glance. "I believe you miss the implica-tions, Holder," he continued.

"If you are Riocha, then you are a peer to anyone here. And if, let us say, the Holder of Lamh Shabhala were to marry, especially someone with power himself, why, that would be an alliance to be reckoned with." O Liathain spread his hands wide.

"I hope I make my intentions clear enough for you."

He did. Jenna could feel a fist grasping her stomach and twisting as he watched her, and for a moment the edges of her vision went dark with the pounding in her temples and her right arm. She struggled to show nothing on her face. She lifted her hand to the cloch around her neck, and he stared at the patterns of scars on her flesh with a flat gaze. He wants the power you hold. He will take it any way he can, through marriage if he can. He will try this, but if it doesn't work, he will try another way. He may have already tried another way. Jenna knew what Cianna would tell her, that this was part of the game, and she must play the card as well and as long as she could. What she must not say was "no."

It would not be good Politics to have the heir to the Ri Ard's throne as an open enemy.

Holder?" he asked, tilting his head. The gold-threaded patterns on his gray cloca shimmered as he took another step toward her. His hand reached out and took hers. He looked at Lamh Shabhala, cupped in her palm, the chain taut around her neck. "So small, this stone. And yet so many lust for it." His finger moved over the smooth surface, trapped in its silver cage, but his blue eyes held hers. "I understand that feeling."

He let the stone drop back to her chest. "Listen to me, Holder," he said. "I can apply enough pressure to Mac Ard to make him do as I say with your mam. I'm a reasonable person, Holder, and, I'm told, not unhand-some for a man of my age. I believe it is possible we could come to love each other in time, but if not. ." He shrugged. "I would not expect fidelity of you any more than you would expect it of me, and as long as tongues aren't wagging throughout the tuatha, I would not care who you see."

Jenna could feel that her eyes were wide, that she must be showing the sick fright she felt inside. O Liathain nodded, as if what he saw on her face was what he expected. "I don't ask for an answer now, Holder. But soon I must. I would have you remember that there are… other ways. You may have thwarted the first attempts, but others might come, more difficult to prevent. Or perhaps a more

efficient tactic would be not to attack you, but rather those you love."

"Tanaise Rig, are you threatening me?"

O Liathain put his hand to his throat in theatrical horror. His eyes widened almost comically. "Me? Certainly not." Then his hand dropped, and his handsome face went serious. "I’m simply pointing out your vul-nerabilities to you, Holder. And offering you a solution to effectively ne-gate them. Think about my offer." The fleeting smile returned. "I leave to return to Dun Laoghaire in three days. It would be best to have an answer by then, so I might speak to my da, the RI Ard. I assume you know not to speak of this to anyone."

He brushed past her then, going to the door. His hand closed around the brass handle. "You’ll be at the fete the RI and Banrion are giving for me in two nights?"

Jenna nodded, silent.

"I will look forward to seeing you then, and perhaps speaking privately at that time." He swung the door open, and gestured toward the corridor. "Have a good morning, Holder."

She managed to hold her stomach in check until she and Aoife had turned down the corridor toward her apartment.

Jenna spoke to no one, though the encounter with

O Liathain troubled her all day and most of the next. She remained in her rooms, letting Aoife bring her meals with the excuse that she was too tired and in too much pain to dine with others. Cianna sent word that she would like to see her at dinner that night, and Jenna told Aoife to let the Banrion know that she would be there.

She could not hide forever, and perhaps Cianna would be a confidante. Her mam had already gone down to the common room with Mac Ard when the bells rang the sunset and Jenna left her room, Aoife accompany-ing her as she had her own duties in the kitchen. They were nearing the stairs when she heard her name called.

"Holder!"

"Tanaise Rig." She gave him a perfunctory curtsy; Aoife dropping nearly to the floor with hers, as was proper. O Liathain was accompanied by a tiarna

she'd seen at the table, well down from her. His cloca was a somber gray, the color of Dun Laoghaire, and he remained back as O Liathain approached her.

"Are you on your way to supper? Good. We will walk with you, then." o Liathain extended his arm to her; Jenna hesitated, but there seemed no graceful way to refuse. She placed her left hand in the crook of his elbow, and he smiled at her. "Come then," he said.

They walked on, the other tiarna and Aoife a few paces behind.

"Have you thought of what we spoke about yesterday?" he asked.

"Truthfully, I've thought of little else."

"Has an answer come to you?"

"No, Tanaise Rig. Not as yet."

His lips pursed, pushing out from the chiseled, perfect lines of his face. "Ah, I suppose that's what I would say in your place. But, as I said, I expect to hear from you before I leave Lar Bhaile to return home."

His face inclined toward her, he smiled, but the gesture never touched the rest of his face. The eyes were as cold as the waves of the Ice Sea as they approached the stairs leading down to the hall. "I…

I shall have an answer-"

A cry-"Stop!" — and an answering wail cut off her words. O Liathain pushed Jenna to one side of the corridor and with the same motion, drew the sword girded at his side. Jenna moved back again, trying to see past the man and reaching instinctively for Lamh Shabhala. Her awareness went streaming out with the cloch's energy, and she felt someone die: a spark guttering out in the web.

"Aoife!" Jenna cried. She pushed past O Liathain's sheltering body and stopped. "No. ."

Aoife lay sprawled on the flags of the corridor, bright blood streaming from a gash torn in her side. Her eyes were wide, her mouth open in her dying wail. O Liathain's tiarna was standing over her, his short blade held back at the end of the killing stroke, the honed edges dripping thick blood. "What have you done, Baird?" O Liathain roared at the

man, his sword now pointing at his companion. Jenna could hear footsteps pound-ing up the stairs toward them, shouts of alarm, and the ringing of un-sheathed metal.

Baird lowered his sword. "She intended to attack the Holder," he said. A booted foot prodded Aoife’s limp arm. "Look-the dagger’s still in her hand. She started to rush at your backs; I called, then I cut her down before she could reach you."

"No!" Jenna cried again. She went to Aoife, sinking down on her knees beside the body. She looked at Baird in fury, her right hand tight around the cloch, and the man backed away from her, his eyes widening in fear.

"Holder, no! I swear-"

"Jenna!" Mac Ard’s voice snapped her head around. Padraic was stand-ing, sword in hand, at the top of the stairs. Half a dozen other people crowded the landing behind him, Jenna’s mam among them. Mac Ard pushed through them and came up to Jenna. "Do nothing with the cloch," he said to her. "Not here."

Jenna pointed at Baird. "He killed Aoife," she shouted. "How dare you tell me to do nothing!"

Baird dropped his sword; the blade clanged discor-dantly on the stones.

"Tiarna Mac Ard," the man wailed, "Don’t let her kill me."

O Liathain stepped forward. He had sheathed his own sword, and went to Mac Ard, placing a hand on the smaller man’s shoulder. "Baird did as he had to," he said. "The girl tried to kill the Holder, and perhaps me as well."

"That’s not true!" Jenna shouted. "Aoife wouldn’t do that!"

"See for yourself, Tiarna," O Liathain told Mac Ard. "My man is blame-less in this."

Mac Ard gave O Liathain a dark look, then stepped forward and went to one knee alongside Jenna. She was trembling, her hand quivering around the stone, and she could barely hold back the power, wanting to unleash it at someone, anyone. "Calm yourself, Jenna," Mac Ard whis-pered to her as he knelt. "We both need to be very careful here." He leaned over, taking the

dagger from Aoife's hand and turning it before his face. The blade was long, the leather-wrapped hilt ending in a knob of yellowed whalebone carved as a twisted knot. "This was made in Con-nachta," he said, loudly enough so everyone could hear. "I know the hilt design-it's one they use in the ironworks of Valleylair."

"Then our cousins in Tuath Connachta have much to answer for," O Liathain said. "I'll give this news to my father, and tell him how they threatened my life and the Holder's."

"No doubt the Rl Ard will send a strong letter scolding the Ri Connachta in Thiar," Mac Ard responded, getting to his feet. He put Aoife's dagger in his belt; O Liathain watched, but didn't ask for the weapon. His face remained somber, but Jenna saw his eyebrows lower as he stared at Mac Ard.

"The Ri Ard will do what is within his power," O Liathain said. "This was a cowardly act; we can't condone it."

"Indeed," Mac Ard answered. He held his hand out to Jenna, still kneel-ing alongside Aoife's body. Jenna ignored the offer. Instead, she reached out and closed Aoife's eyes, then got to her feet by herself. She strode to o Liathain and stood before him, staring into his face. He returned the stare placidly, unblinking.

"I'm going back to my rooms," Jenna said: to O Liathain, to Mac Ard, to her mam and the others watching. "If anyone follows me, I will use the cloch. I, too, can do what I need to do." She spun on her toes and stalked down the corridor away from the carnage.

Baird shrank away to the wall as she passed. Behind her, there was only silence.

The Banrion first sent her handmaiden, who was visibly trembling when Jenna opened the door, holding a mug of anduilleaf brew. "The Banrion asks permission to visit the Holder in her chambers," the woman said. Her eyes flicked upward once to Jenna's face; otherwise, her gaze remained fixed on the floor, as if fascinated by the parquet pattern there. Jenna sighed.

"When?" she asked. "My mistress waits just outside."

Tell the Banrion that I'm only a guest here and

these are after all her rooms, not mine. She may come in if she wishes."

Jenna drained the mug of its bitter contents; the handmaiden curtsied and fled. A few moments later, the door opened again and Cianna entered in a rustle of her ornate, silken cloca, her torc gleaming golden around her neck. As Jenna watched, she took a seat near the fire. She said nothing, only watched Jenna as she paced back and forth across the rug.

He had her killed," Jenna said at last. "He didn’t care that he was killing a person. She was just… an illustration to me of what he could do- A warning."

Cianna continued to sit quietly. Jenna plopped into the chair across from the Banrion, not caring about the lack of etiquette. Cianna raised an eyebrow, but otherwise didn’t move. "I don’t know what to do now," Jenna said.

"We are talking about the Tanaise Rig?" Cianna asked, stirring finally. Jenna nodded. "I thought so. He departs in a few more days, and he grows impatient. Do you know why he leaves?"

Now it was Jenna who sat silent. She moved her head slowly from side to side, trying to keep back the headache that threatened to engulf her, starting to feel the brew send its welcome warmth through her body.

"Tuath Connachta is gathering an army on its borders," she said. "They have demanded erratic-blood payment-for the death of Fiacra De Derga. Padraic tells me you may not remember that name, but he was the tiarna you killed in Ballintubber when the power of Lamh Shabhala first came to you. The erratic is the excuse for their aggression, and my husband has already sent back word that they may wait for their payment forever. Of course, what they really want is you. ." Cianna stopped. She seemed to sigh. "Or more precisely, what you hold. We may be at war very soon, and the Ri Ard doesn’t want his son and heir caught up in that collision. The Ri Ard knows he must stay above feuds between the tuatha if he wants to remain on his throne."

"The Tanaise Rig wants me to marry him," Jenna said.

Cianna held her hands out to the low flames of the peat fire, rubbing them softly together. She didn’t look at Jenna. "Does that surprise you? If I were

Tanaise Rig, I would have made that suggestion to you, too-just as soon as I had decided that it was too dangerous to take the stone from you myself."

"He threatened to do this. He hinted that to make me accept the offer he'd attack the people I loved. Aoife was to let me know that he meant it. That wasn't her dagger-I'm sure of that. That man probably handed it to her, then immediately killed her. I wasn't watching; she was behind me, both of them were." Jenna couldn't speak. The tears choked her throat and blurred her vision, the headache threatened to overwhelm her. If Cianna had opened her arms then, if the Banrion had called to her, Jenna would have sunk into her embrace like a child searching for the comfort of her mam. But the Banrion only watched, wheezing slightly as she breathed and hugging herself as if cold.

"You could do much worse than the Tanaise Rig," Cianna said. "I told you before, marriage is a weapon. Now I'll tell you that once it's in your hands, you'll find the edge can cut for you as well as O Liathain."

That brought Jenna's head up and dried the tears. "You can't be se-rious."

"I am. Very much so.

"He killed Aoife."

"You killed Mac Ard's cousin De Derga and those with him. You killed two Connachtans more near Ath Iseal, I was told. And there was the assassin."

"All of that was different," Jenna protested. "With De Derga, I literally didn't know what I was doing. And the men near Ath Iseal-that was pure self-defense. They would have killed us had I not acted. The assassin was suicide; I was only trying to capture him."

"So he could be tortured and tell us what he knew, and then be killed." Cianna gave Jenna a wan smile. "I blame you for none of that, Jenna. You did what you felt was necessary, and you didn't worry that you were killing someone's son or brother or father or friend. That's as it should be, to protect yourself. But I would argue that's also what the Tanaise Rig did, if he was responsible for Aoife's death."

"I didn't threaten the Tanaise Rig. He wasn't in danger from me."

"The Tanaise Rig, the Ri Ard, as well as Ri Gabair or Ri Connachta or most of the Riocha for that matter, always feel threatened by a perceived stronger power. That’s what you represent with Lamh Shabhala around your neck. If you aren’t their ally, then you’re their enemy. That’s the way they see the world, in cold black and white. You are on their side or you are against them. There is no middle ground." Cianna lifted a finger against Jenna’s burgeoning protest. "And your saying that it’s not so doesn’t change that perception. I know that’s not your vision of the world. It’s not mine, either. But it is theirs."

"I don’t love him. I never could."

"What does love have to do with marriage? Do you think I love my husband?" Cianna gave a bitter, short laugh that ended in a barking cough. For a moment, she spasmed, leaning over as a series of coughs racked her body. Then she sat up again, wiping her mouth with a lace handkerchief, blotting away the blood on her lips. "Or that he loves me?" she finished. "It is enough that the two of you work together, with what he can do as Tanaise Rig and eventually Ri Ard, and you with Lamh Shabhala."

’To do what?" Jenna asked.

Whatever you can." Cianna closed her eyes, as if in pain. When they opened again, she smiled at Jenna. "You can’t say ’no’ to him. Not yet. But if it’s not what you want, you can also delay, and see what tomorrow brings."

Jenna pounced on that, like a drowning person grabbing a stick ex-tended from the bank. "How? How can I delay?"

"The Tanaise Rig must leave, but you can tell him that you are in too much pain to travel-that much at least is close to the truth, and he knows it. You can tell him that once Lamh Shabhala has opened the way for the other clochs to feed on the mage-lights and you no longer have that burden on you, then you’ll come to him in Dun Laoghaire and be his wife. Until then, you will stay here under Ri Gabair’s protection. That’s a reasonable compromise, and he won’t be able to refuse it." Her shoulders lifted under her cloca. "And who knows what might happen in that time."

Relief flooded into Jenna, the tension slowly receding. She went to the Banrion and knelt before her chair, taking the woman's hand in hers. "Thank you, Banrion. You are a friend where I did not expect to find one."

Cianna's face gentled, and with her free hand, she stroked Jenna's hair. "I'm pleased you feel that way," she said. "It's what I would want."

Chapter 23: Answers

JENNA was escorted to the fete by Mac Ard and her mam. As Maeve walked down the stairs, her cloca moved against her body, and Jenna could see the slight swell of her abdomen. She wondered if others saw it as well; she wondered most if Mac Ard had noticed, and what his thoughts might be.

The Banrion had sent Jenna one of her own cloca to wear, trimmed in gold thread and in the colors of Tuath Gabair. The cloca left her arms bare to the elbow, and Jenna had not let her mam bandage the right arm. "Let them see it," she'd told her. "Let them see what Lamh Shabhala does to its Holder." The stone itself she also let show, bright against the darker cloth. As a gem, it was plainer than any of the gems at the throats of the tiarna below, but its very plainness spoke of its power.

She'd taken a large draught of the anduilleaf before they left. The herb roiled in her stomach as they descended the staircase in the Great Hall toward the sound of pipes, bodhran, and flute, all eyes on them. Most of the Riocha were already there, the ceil giallnai in their finest, the higher-ranking Riocha already talking in polite circles, watching the stairway for the Ri and Banrion who would enter with O Liathain, their entrances as carefully choreographed as the seating arrangements.

Halfway down the stair and looking at the faces upturned to them, Jenna spotted Coelin, standing with his giotar near the other musicians at the end of the hall. He had a broad grin on his face, and she smiled back at him. Maeve noticed the exchange, for she saw her mam's focus shift for a moment and a brief frown cross her face. "Jenna," her mam whispered, leaning toward her. "Coelin has no importance here. Don't make a fool of yourself."

"You needn't worry. I'm not with child by him," Jenna answered. Her mam's hiss of hurt and irritation made Jenna immediately regret her words, but she made no apology. It's the pain talking, Mam, not me… They walked down the rest of the stairs in silence. They were immediately engulfed, several of the tiarna surrounding them, smiling and nodding. Jenna found herself torn away from her mam, who remained with Padraic as several of the unmarried women came up to him.

Tiarna Galen Aheron of Tuath Infochla, resplendent in his cloca of green and gold, with a leine of fine white cloth underneath, was suddenly next to her. He was a burly man, muscular now in his prime, but Jenna suspected that the burliness would turn to fat soon enough, leaving the tiarna huge and slow. She also remembered that Cianna had named him as one of those who coveted Lamh Shabhala himself. She could easily imagine those thick fingers drop-ping a purse of gold morceints into the palm of a paid assassin.

"Good evening, Holder," he said, his breath scented with mint. "A fine party for the Tanaise Rig, don’t you think? A shame he’ll be leaving. Have you ever given any thought of going to Dun Laoghaire yourself?" He asked the question with a slight incline of his head, and with enough emphasis that Jenna wondered if he might not know or at least suspect, what O Liathain had asked of her. If it hadn’t surprised the Banrion, then others of the Riocha would certainly have suspected it as well.

"I would like to see Dun Laoghaire sometime," she answered, trying to return the smile. "Perhaps I shall, one day."

"Soon, possibly? After all, I would think-" Aheron paused as the mu-sicians suddenly stopped playing and gave a loud, ornate flourish, his gaze going past Jenna’s shoulder and up. "Ah, here comes the guest of honor now…"

The Riocha gathered in the Great Hall turned as one, applauding po-litely. Jenna turned to see the Ri and Banrion at the top of the stair, with Cianna holding to both the Ri’s and O Liathain’s arms. O Liathain’s eyes caught Jenna’s for a moment; she looked down and away as Aheron glanced appraisingly at her. When the trio reached the foot of the stair, the Riocha closed around them, everyone talking at once. Jenna held back; she looked over her shoulder at the far end of the hall to where Coelin stood. He nodded to her. He seemed nervous and excited, his eyes wide, and she realized that he saw none of the underlying complexity-he was awed simply to be here. His naivete almost made her smile.

"Good evening to you, Holder."

Jenna turned back quickly. O Liathain was standing before her, a cadre of tiarna behind him.

He smiled at her, his gaze wandering past her for a

moment to where she'd just been looking. She lowered her head, but he stopped her automatic curtsy by picking up her right hand. He held it, looking at the pattern of scars mottling her skin.

"No bandages tonight," he said. "That's as it should be. A warrior should be proud of the scars of battle. There's no shame in them." He kissed her scarred hand. She tried to smile, feeling everyone watching, listening. "By the way, I was thinking of asking that young singer-the one from your village-to come to Dun Laoghaire and entertain us there. He has an excellent voice."

"Aye," Jenna answered, keeping her eyes downcast. "That he does."

"I wonder," O Liathain continued, "if you would have a moment to speak with me later this evening? More. . privately." Jenna looked up; his blue eyes pierced her, demanding.

"As the Tanaise Rig wishes, of course," she answered.

"Good." The corners of his mouth lifted. "I will look forward to that. In the meantime, I must speak to these good people I must leave behind tomorrow morning. Until later, then…" He kissed her hand once more, then released it, turning to the other Riocha. Jenna heard laughter, and O Liathain's rich voice starting another conversation. Someone spoke to her, and she smiled back politely, but she paid little attention to the words. She could feel the touch of O Liathain's lips on the back of her hand, and she was afraid to touch the stone around her neck.

The fete seemed interminable. Jenna wandered from conversation to con-versation, occasionally finding her mam, Mac Ard, or Banrion Cianna, but without a chance to speak with any of them. The musicians began playing again, and she was asked to dance by the Ri-a request she could not decline-then afterward by Tiarna Aheron. Coelin seemed to have van-ished; she could not find him in the crush of people. A stripe and a half later by the clock-candle near the stairs, the cold of the Great Hall was seeping into her bones despite the fires and the crowd and the dancing, and she could feel the old pain tingling in the fingertips and joints of her right hand. Jenna knew that she'd need to return to her room for more anduilleaf before the end, and she wondered how she could manage to leave without being noticed.

"Holder?"

Baird, O Liathain's man, was standing before her. Jenna could feel her face tightening as she glared at the man who had murdered Aoife. Her voice was frost and ice. "What do you want?"

"The Tanaise Rig asks if you would come with me. He said to remind you that you promised him an answer and that he awaits you in a side chamber to hear it."

Jenna’s stomach turned over and she could feel the acid burning in her throat. Baird had already turned to go. "This way, Holder. ." She fol-lowed him down a side aisle of the hall. He knocked on a door near the south end.

"Enter," a muffled, familiar voice answered. Baird opened the door and gestured to Jenna to go through, closing it behind her and remaining outside.

O Liathain was seated on a chair, his legs propped up on the stone flags of the fireplace, his boots off. He gestured to a chair next to him. "Please," he said. His voice was oddly gentle, almost tired. "It’s weary, standing and dancing all night, and I’m sure your feet are as sore as mine."

"Thank you, Tanaise Rig." Jenna settled into the chair, feeling the wel-come warmth of the fire wash over her. Neither of them spoke for several minutes. Jenna was content to have it that way, trying to think of what she might say to the man. When he finally did speak, his voice made her start.

"Have you reflected on our previous conversation?"

"I’ve thought of little else, Tanaise Rig," Jenna answered truthfully. "After all, you. . emphasized with Aoife just how important my answer was to you."

A look almost of pain played over his face in the firelight. "You are blunt, Holder. That can be an asset, if you use it in the right circum-stances. But at the wrong time. ." He let his voice trail off.

"And which is this-the right time or the wrong?"

He sat up in his chair, turning so that he faced her. "Here, we can speak openly, since there are just the two of us and my man holds the door."

"Aye. He seems to be a man who would kill someone if you ask him to do so, even if that person was entirely innocent of wrongdoing."

The right side of O Liathain’s mouth twitched as if with some inner amusement. "Innocent? Let me

speak frankly now, Holder. Did I order the girl killed? Aye, I did. Was the-well, shall we call it a lesson? — intended for you? Only partially. There was another who was even more distressed by the incident and it was mostly for that person's, ah, benefit, that I told Baird to do as he did. The girl was hardly innocent, Jenna. She may have been your servant, but she was doing the bidding of another. I happen to know that Aoife told that person's assassin where and when he could find you."

Jenna knew the shock of that statement showed on her face. "I don't. that. Aoife wouldn't have betrayed me that way." "It's true, nonetheless."

"Show me the proof. Tell me who this 'other person' is." O Liathain took a long, slow breath. He put his feet back on the hearth, slouching again in his chair. "I will. In time. When I know you and I are of one mind. Until then, you will have to trust me and trust my intentions. Did I order Aoife killed. Aye, I did. Did I do it only to demon-strate to you how far I would go to have you as my wife?" His lips pursed, his hands lifted palms up from his lap and fell again. "That was, I'll admit, a secondary consideration. But only secondary. I had Aoife killed to tell those who would harm you that you are under my protection, to show them that I knew more than they believed and that Dun Laoghaire has long arms." He looked over to her, the blue eyes reflecting fire. "What is your answer to me, Holder? Aye, or nay?"

"I…" Jenna's throat convulsed. She remembered Cianna's advice; it was all she had. She could not look at him and say no-he would kill her mam or Coelin. "You made another promise to me-that Mac Ard would also marry my mam and make her Riocha."

O Liathain nodded. "That he will do, when I put pressure on him. The Tanaise Rig will not marry a commoner."

"Then your answer is aye," she said finally. "But Tanaise Rig, I can't go with you yet."

His burgeoning smile transformed to a frown, darkly. "Why not?" "You don't know how Lamh Shabhala 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. "Lamh Shabhala will open the other clochs na thintri soon-no more than four or five appearances of the mage-lights from now. I need to stay here until that happens-I /eel that. Lamh Shabhala 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 Lamh Shabhala opens the other stones. When that happens, then I will come to you in Dun 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." 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 RI no doubt hopes for Lamh Shabhala 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 appalls 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. "Lamh Shabhala 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 Ri 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 Ri 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 Ri 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 his chair and extended his hand to Jenna. "Let us make our en-trance," 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 leine.

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 Ri and Banrion accepted the news with nods and smiles and Cianna nodded once to Jenna when the Ri and the Tanaise Rig 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 now 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 wid-ened, 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 cloca 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 anduilleaf. 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 anduilleaf, 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 anduilleaf 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 Rig 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’Deoradhain. 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.