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?"