Oath of the Brotherhood (9 page)

He leaned forward and kissed Aine’s cheek as she had done in this room not long ago. She rested against him for a moment, and he could feel her hesitation as she searched for something to say. Finally, she just gave his hands a squeeze and slipped out the door. Conor watched her go, his heart in his throat, but there was nothing left to say.

When he returned to his chamber, he told Dolan, “I’m leaving Lisdara tomorrow. No one must know of it until I’m well into Seanrós. Once I’m in Fíréin territory, they won’t be able to touch me.”

“Are you sure this is what you want? There are other ways
 
—”

“No.” Conor shook his head. “There is no other way. Will you help me?”

“Of course,” Dolan said, but his brows furrowed with concern.

Conor lay in bed that night and stared at the ceiling.
Comdiu, am I doing the right thing? Labhrás told me to find Riordan if something should happen to him. He’s never steered me wrong. But if that’s true, why is this so difficult?

He didn’t really expect an answer, so he wasn’t surprised when
he got none. His swirling thoughts settled, though, and exhaustion took over. Only a single memory resurfaced before he was lost to sleep: the warmth of Aine against him and the sweet smell of her skin as he brushed his lips across her cheek.

The following day,
while Dolan made preparations for his departure, Conor opened his writing box.

To his highness, my uncle Fergus,

I heard the terrible news of my father’s death. I will be coming home with all haste to mourn him properly, provided I can convince the Mac Cuillinn to give an adequate escort.

I hope we may discuss this arrangement my father made on my behalf. I cannot question his judgment, but I fear he may have been unduly influenced by those who do not have Tigh’s best interests at heart.

I know the former king looked upon me with disappointment. During my time at Lisdara, I have come to see those flaws as weaknesses as he did. I beg of you the opportunity to prove myself worthy of the Mac Nir name. Perhaps I can restore some of the honor that was lost to our clan.

Please also tell Master Diarmuid I have matters I wish to discuss if he is still willing.

Humbly, your nephew, Conor Mac Nir.

He nearly choked on his disgust as he sanded and sealed the page, impressing a blob of blue wax with the Mac Nir seal. A silver coin accompanied the letter into a page’s hand to ensure its speedy departure. Once the letter was away from the palace, he requested an audience with Calhoun.

“Please sit,” the king said when Conor entered his chamber. He gestured to a chair. “How are you?”

Conor perched stiffly on the edge of the seat. “I’d like to see my father interred with our ancestors.”

“You know why that’s not possible.”

“Because I’m a hostage.” Conor let his shoulders slump, as if he had not expected that answer.

“Because it would be irresponsible to allow you to leave, given the circumstances. I took an oath to keep you safe at Lisdara. Nothing has changed.”

Conor hardened his expression, even though his heart ached. “You’ll forgive me if oaths don’t mean as much to me as they once did. By your leave.”

Calhoun bowed his head, his expression sympathetic. “You may go.”

Conor didn’t answer as he trudged from the room. Disgust churned inside him. The king didn’t deserve to be treated with such disrespect, but it was necessary to his plan. Calhoun would need to offer Fergus a plausible explanation for his disappearance. By the time the king understood the reason for his behavior, he would be long gone.

Conor spent the evening pacing his room, thinking about his last and most difficult task. After the movements of the palace
stilled, and the night sounds faded to silence, he crept into the music room. He lifted the harp from its spot and began to play Aine’s song. The rough edges of his composition melted away as he played his emotions into the notes. All this time, he’d thought they were due to the harp, when in reality the rough edges had been his.

Aine appeared at the door within a handful of measures, cast in shadow by the candlelight. She had been waiting, just as he had hoped. He stopped in midsong and put aside the instrument.

“You’re leaving?” she whispered, her voice hoarse.

He nodded.

“They’re saying you argued with Calhoun, but I didn’t believe it.”

Conor rose from his chair. “You’re going to hear a lot of things in the next few days. You know the truth.”

Aine wrapped her arms protectively around herself and stared at the floor. For a moment, he considered abandoning the plan and trusting in Lisdara’s protection. But the druid wouldn’t hesitate to destroy Calhoun and his family should they shield him.

He lifted Labhrás’s charm from around his neck. “I want you to have this.”

Her eyes widened. She touched the runes with a shaky hand. “Where did you get this?”

“Lord Labhrás gave it to me for protection. Will you wear it?”

Aine nodded, and he slipped the chain over her head. She fingered the charm reverently and tucked it beneath her shift.

“I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. You shouldn’t wait for me.”

“I would, you know.” She lifted gleaming eyes to his face.

The rest of his thoughts spiraled away, and it took a moment to gather them enough to speak. “I know. But I want you to live your life. You deserve to be happy.”

A single tear slid down Aine’s cheek. He reached out and caught it on his finger. He should just say good-bye and be done with it, but he couldn’t leave without showing her how he felt about her. He brushed her hair from her face with both hands so he could look at her one last time.

Aine rose up on her tiptoes and hesitantly pressed her lips to his. It was all the encouragement he needed. He pulled her close and felt her tremble as she melted against him, her arms sliding around his neck. Something fell into place in his heart, a sense of rightness, the deep conviction they had been brought together for a reason. This would not be their last moment together.

He broke the kiss first, but he still held her tight against him. He couldn’t stop the words from spilling out. “If it’s in my power, I’ll come back to you.”

She disengaged herself from his embrace, her cheeks flushed and her eyes shining. “I’ll keep the charm safe for you until then.” Before he could say another word, she was gone.

Conor let out a long breath and dragged his mind back to the final step of his plan. He blew out the candle and hurried back to his chamber, where Dolan waited with a bulging leather saddlebag. “Said your good-byes?”

Conor sighed and scrubbed his hands against his face. If he thought of Aine, he wouldn’t be able to make himself leave. “It’s time.”

No one marked their passing as he and Dolan crept down a back staircase and made their way to the stables. When Conor began to blanket and bridle his mare, however, a stable boy poked his head from the hayloft. “Hey, what are you doing?”

“It’s okay, boy,” Dolan said soothingly. “An early morning errand is all. Grab a few more minutes of sleep while you can.” He looked at Conor. “You know where you’re going?”

“As well as I can.” They had pored over the maps,
determining the best place to cross the boundaries of Fíréin territory. Once there, Conor would be under the brotherhood’s protection or their judgment. Conor didn’t want to think about what would happen if Labhrás had been wrong.

“Ride fast and don’t look back.” Dolan took a breath, as if he would say more, then just clapped Conor on the back.

The servant took him as far as the gate, where he handed the guard on duty a slip of paper. Dolan had said he would take care of this part, though Conor couldn’t fathom how anything short of an order from Calhoun would get him out before sunrise. The guard scrutinized the paper, then Conor, before at last giving the order to crank open the gate.

Conor mounted his mare and rode through the narrow opening. For the first time, he grasped the enormity of his undertaking. The horse sensed his nervousness and danced sideways. “Easy, girl,” he murmured. “We have a steep road to travel in the dark.” He cued the animal forward and began the descent from Lisdara.

By the time Conor reached the tree line, the first touch of morning light brightened the horizon. Despite Dolan’s warning, he turned back to drink in the dark silhouette of the keep for the last time, and his resolve wavered. Then he imagined Labhrás, walking to his death with his head high, giving himself to his destiny without complaint.

Conor turned the horse and plunged into the trees.

The outer forest was young and widely spaced, and thick underbrush grew in the dappled shade. Conor threaded a path between the trees, aware of every creak and crackle in the steadily growing light. It was too quiet for a time when the birds should be awakening and the deer foraging for their breakfast.

Still, he pressed on until the slender saplings gave way to the giant trees of Seanrós, too large for a man to reach even halfway around. Here, the tangled branches formed a nearly impenetrable barrier, stopping the dawn in its progress. The light touch of magic tickled his senses, not unlike what he had felt from Meallachán’s harp. A ward of some sort, perhaps. Did that mean the Fíréin now knew of his presence?

Conor dismounted. He removed a small canvas pack containing a single change of clothing, some food, and a pouch of small coin from his saddlebag. Then he rearranged the contents so it appeared nothing was missing.

When he unsheathed the knife on his belt, he hesitated. It had to be his blood. If the druid demanded evidence of his death, he would use magic to determine if it belonged to Conor. He laid the blade across his forearm, gritting his teeth against the pain. Blood welled from the cut. He smeared it across the horse’s blanket and quickly bound his stinging arm with a strip of linen.

“Sorry, girl,” he murmured to the mare, stroking her soft nose. “This is as far as you go. Off with you now.” He slapped the horse hard on the rump, and she took off like a carelessly loosed arrow, galloping back to her comfortable paddock at Lisdara.

With the horse out of sight, Conor became aware of how alone and vulnerable he was on foot with only a dagger at his belt.
All right, Comdiu
.
This is where I find out if I’ve understood Your wishes. Please, guide me.

He shouldered his small pack. Even though he possessed no wildcraft, he took a heading the best he could and set off south. His footfalls thudded in the otherworldly quiet. If there were any Fíréin nearby, they could not help but notice his stumbling, crashing progress through their forest.

A breeze rustled the trees like a breath, lifting the hairs on the back of Conor’s neck. He spun, but he saw only the shadowy shape of vegetation through a fine layer of mist. He shivered in a sudden chill.

Conor.

The voice. He had been foolish to think they wouldn’t be waiting to devour him as soon as he left the protective circle of Lisdara’s wards. He cast a panicked glance over his shoulder just before he stumbled into an object in his path.

“Are you all right?” Hands reached down and lifted him to his feet.

“I’m fine,” Conor said automatically. His eyes moved to the speaker, and his mouth went dry.

He had been spellbound by Niamh’s beauty when he first saw her in Lisdara’s hall, but she did not compare with the woman who stood before him. She glowed in the shadowy forest, slender and pale, clad in a diaphanous green gown.

“Are you lost?”

Her voice was so melodious Conor could barely resist throwing himself at her feet. He shook his head.

“Then would you mind if I walked with you?” She smiled, and Conor struggled to think clearly, enwrapped in the wonder of her beauty.

No. This wasn’t right. Why would a woman be alone in the old forest?

Magic crawled over his skin, sinuous and seductive, yet somehow repellant. The voice in the mist. She had been waiting for him to leave behind the charm. She had him now. He was powerless against her.

He choked back a sob of terror.

The sidhe can’t harm us. They can only try to deceive us, and we see more clearly than some.

Dolan’s words cut through the spell and exposed Conor’s thoughts as a lie.

“Go away,” Conor said. “You won’t deceive me. I am a child of Comdiu.”

Her lips curled into a malicious smile. “Dear naive boy. Do you think your god holds power here? This is our forest. He gave it to us. The only power here is me.”

Conor wavered. Didn’t Treasach say Comdiu had relinquished the earth to the fallen Companions?

No. That was a lie, too. The only power she had over him was the power he gave her.

“Leave me,” Conor said, gathering strength in his voice. “In the name of Comdiu and His son, Balus, be gone from here!”

Her expression turned feral. Then her shape shimmered, and she winked out of sight. Conor fell to his knees and began to laugh. Dolan was right. The sidhe had only the power granted to them. How close had he been to believing her lies?

Conor shouldered his bag, about to rise, when a quiet voice said in his ear, “Don’t move.”

Only then did he see the bright blade at his throat.