"The Holder seems to have no lack of courage in speaking her mind," he said. "That is good-a ruler should know the true feelings of those under him. I assume the Holder realizes that when the Ri asks for an opinion, she may give it. And when he issues a command, she will obey it. Without any question at all."
The malice she felt in him increased, a dark arm swirling around her in cloch-vision. She knew he wanted submission now. He wanted her to drop her head, perhaps even to fall to her knees to beg forgiveness for her audacity in questioning him. Instead, she touched Lamh Shabhala, letting a trace of its cold energy seep into her to fill her voice. "Is the Ri giving me a command, then?" she asked, and the words were edged like a blade, filled with a warning and menace. "Does he believe the Holder to be like a ficheall piece that he can move about the board? If so, I would remind him that the Holder is the most powerful of all his pieces and that it might even strike the hand that tries to move it to the wrong square."
Jenna could see the Ri scowl at the words, saw him blink and take a step backward while the fury brought color to his cheeks. Tiarna Gairbith put a hand to the hilt of his sword; she knew that if the Ri ordered it, that blade would flash out toward her. Mac Ard's hand was also on his weapon and in the cloch-vision his own emotions were chaotic and ambivalent: Jenna couldn't tell what he might do. Jenna clutched Lamh Shabhala, and all three men watched her fingers close around the brightening stone.
Mac Ard stepped out between Jenna and the Ri. "Jenna, the Ri is an excellent ficheall master, both in the game and in war. You need to trust his hand, for he wouldn't put a piece as important as you in needless jeopardy. Believe me in this. I have been with him all my life and my Parents served him also. He won't ask more of you than you can give. All We are doing here is looking at the alternatives available to us for this threat. Nothing more. Ri Connachta has yet to make an irrevocable move. There is still some hope they will not."
Behind the Ri, Gairbith laughed again at that assessment.
In the cloch-vision, the Ri was a thunderhead ready to spew lightning and wind and hail. Jenna knew that she had just pushed the man as far as he could be pushed-the Ri was accustomed to obedience and defer-ence, at least on the surface.
He had known nothing else; he would toler-ate nothing else. Whether she would do his bidding or not when the time came, she couldn't defy him now without using the cloch. And afterward. . even if she walked out of this room still the Holder, what then? She would be a fugitive, a dangerous animal to be hunted down and killed.
Jenna's fingers loosened around the stone. They watched her hand drop back to her waist, watched her cradle the stiff, aching flesh to her abdomen.
"I'm sorry, my Rl," she said, lowering her gaze so that she stared at the man's fat, sandal-clad feet below his cloca and hoping that her words sounded sufficiently apologetic. "I spoke too harshly. I… I'm still frightened by what happened yesterday, the attack by the Banrion's gardai."
"Ah, that. ." The Ri nodded; his stance relaxed and his voice was now gentle. "An unfortunate occurrence, to be certain, but one that shows me that you are learning to use the cloch, eh?"
She nodded. "Aye, my Ri."
"Good," he said. She thought that he might pat her with a fatherly hand. The malice in her cloch-vision hadn't diminished, though; this was a man who would take her without a thought if he believed it to be to his advantage. There was no affection for her in his tone; only the satisfaction that came from watching her submit to his will. "Then we'll make our plans appropriately. Tiarna Gairbith will be in contact with you regarding the plans and I know Tiarna Mac Ard-" the Ri's gaze flicked over to Padraic and at the same time, Jenna saw the two of them in the cloch-vision, entangled in mutual webs of ambition and deceit "-will be help-ing us as well. I hope you understand, Holder Jenna, that we hold you in the highest esteem, and that everything we do here is for your benefit."
He said the words with compassion gleaming in his voice and decep-tion in his heart.
Jenna smiled at him and nodded.
The mage-lights swirled in the night sky over the keep, and Jenna went to them. The bright communion was at once painful and joyous, and afterward Jenna staggered back into her room from the balcony, clutching her arm to herself, and half-fell into Maeve's arms. Her mam helped her back to her bed, where she sat, eyes closed, feeling only the power surging through her. "Anduilleaf," she managed to croak out. "Quickly."
The water was already boiling, the leaf already crushed in the bottom of the mug. Jenna heard her mam pour the water and smelled the aroma of the leaf wafting through the cold air. "Here," Maeve said, and Jenna felt a warmth pressed against her left hand. She took the mug and lifted it to her lips, sipping noisily against the heat of the brew.
"How many times more, Jenna?" There was a weary concern in her mam’s voice.
"Is that what he wanted you to ask me?" Jenna answered. "Is he getting impatient to be a cloch Holder himself? You can tell him that it will be soon: two more appearances. Three, at most."
Maeve ignored Jenna’s scornful tone. "And what then?"
"I don’t know" Jenna answered heatedly. "If I did, I’d tell everyone so they’d stop asking these stupid questions of me."
She glanced up to see her mam bite her lower lip, looking away with hurt in her eyes. "I ask because 1 hate to see you in pain, Jenna," Maeve answered, her voice trembling with the sob she held back.
"I’ve been hoping that once the other clochs were open, you wouldn’t be… in so much. ." Maeve couldn’t finish. She covered her mouth with a hand, tears spilling over her eyes. Jenna wanted to go to her, to comfort her mam as she had comforted Jenna a thousand times over the years, but she couldn’t make herself move. She hid herself behind the mug of leaf-brew, sipping and inhaling the steam as she watched her mam sniff and blot her tears with the sleeve of her leine.
Jenna could see the swelling curve of her mam’s belly. She could feel the life inside, glowing like a banked fire in a hearth.
"Maybe," Maeve said, "Padraic should be the Holder." She wouldn’t look at Jenna. "Maybe that’s what should have happened."
"Is that what Da would have wanted?" Jenna retorted. "Or have you already forgotten him and the fact that Lamh Shabhala was once his?"
Maeve turned, her cloca flaring outward with the sharp motion. "I will "ever forget Niall. Never. And
I can’t believe that you’d be cruel enough to even suggest that."
Guilt made Jenna momentarily forget the throbbing coldness in her arm. "Mam, I’m sorry…"
There was a tentative knock at the door and one of the servants stuck her head in. "Pardon, m’ladies, but Coelin Singer is here asking to see the Holder."
Maeve was still glaring at Jenna. "Tell him he may
come in," Jenna said. "In here, Holder?" the servant asked.
"Do you not have ears?" Jenna snapped. "Aye, here. If the Tanaise Rig doesn’t like it, then he should have left his own people to stand guard."
The servant looked at Maeve, who shrugged. "The Holder obviously doesn’t care to have anyone else suggest what she should do or question her commands."
The servant fled.
"Mam-" Jenna began, but then the door opened again and Coelin entered. His face was full of concern and question, but he seemed startled when he saw Maeve.
"Oh, Widow Aoire," he said, nodding to Maeve and glancing once at Jenna questioningly. "I don’t mean to disturb…" He gestured at the door. "I can wait in the outer room."
"Stay. Maybe you can talk some sense into the girl," Maeve said to Coelin. "I obviously can’t tell my daughter anything. She would rather learn from her own mistakes, I suppose. Just see that you’re not another one, Coelin Singer." Maeve didn’t turn back to look at Jenna, but walked out of the room. The sound of the door closing was loud in the apartment.