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."