"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.