She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of a response. Her head was pounding, her arm ached, and there was a fury inside burning to be unleashed. "Fine. Now get out of my way. I'm going back to the keep."
"Holder. ." He held out his hands, as if in supplication. "This isn't the way. You're angry, and you have reason to be. But you don't know the cloch well enough yet. There are too many people there, too many to confront."
Jenna coughed a single, bitter chuckle. "I thought you told me to go back and use the cloch."
"Not the way you're thinking of using it right now." He gestured to the tower of the keep, which could be seen rising above the rooftops. "I wanted you to know that the Riocha up there can't be trusted, that's all. I wanted you to use the cloch to see the truth in them."
"And you can teach me how to do that."
Aye." He said it firmly. "1 can. Come with me. Come with me now."
Her pulse pounded against the sides of her skull like a hammer; her arm seemed to be sculpted from ice. She couldn't think. She needed to get home.
Needed to get anduilleaf. Needed to think. Needed to find a way to vent this rage before it consumed her entirely.
Get out of my way, O’Deoradhain." Jenna started walking toward him.
She intended to push him out of the way, not caring about his size or the knife at his belt, ready to blast him dead with the cloch if she needed to do so. But as she reached him, he stood aside and let her pass, the two maids scrambling quickly after her.
"Holder, this is madness!" he called after her. "Please don’t do this. Jenna, I can be your ally in this if you’ll let me."
She didn’t answer.
Chapter 27: Bridges Burned
HER fury had gone cold and flintlike before the carriage reached the keep. Through the headache, through the agony in her hand and arm, the events of the last few months kept roiling in her mind and she could make no sense of it. They were all trying to use her; they were all lying to her: the Ri Gabair, the Tainise Rig, Mac Ard, the Connachtans, Tiarna Aheron, even O’Deoradhain by his own admission.
They all had their agendas. She could understand that, yet it left unan-swered the question of who was actively trying to kill her. Why would Mac Ard try to assassinate her and at the same time send Coelin to her? In any case, he could have taken the cloch easily before she knew what she possessed. What would the Tanaise Rig gain by her death when he believed he could have Lamh Shabhala for his use by marrying her? Would Ri Gabair be willing to risk the enmity of the Ri Ard and those of the other tuatha by killing her?
I’d take the stone from you if you gave it to me, aye. If you’d died the other day in my room, I’d have taken it then, too. In that, certainly, O’Deoradhain was no different. Mac Ard might not strike against her, but Jenna had no doubt that her mam’s lover would race to pluck Lamh Shabhala from her neck if she fell. Or the Ri or the Tanaise Rig or Aheron or any of the tiarna.
Yet both assassination attempts required that someone know the keep, that they know the details of the society behind the massive walls, that they know Jenna's movements. Who had known her and the keep that well? Who would have had the connections and the money to hire an assassin, to buy the loyalty of the gardai?
Jenna's next breath was a gasp as the carriage wheels struck the cobbled surface of Deer Creek Bridge. A suspicion started to grow, one that left her feeling breathless and sick. By the time Jenna stepped down at the High Gates with an admonition to her chambermaids (that she knew would be useless) to say nothing about what they had witnessed, she had already made a decision. And after you've been there and returned to the keep, use the cloch, O'Deoradhain had told her.
She would do that, then. She would do exactly that.
She hurried to her rooms.
"Jenna, what's the mat-" her mam asked as she rushed into the apart-ment, but Jenna hurried to her bedroom and slammed the door shut. She locked it, then went to the door leading to the servants' hall and locked that one as well.
Her mam knocked and called, but Jenna ignored her. She set water to boiling for the anduilleaf and dug under the clothes in her chest until she found the torc of Sinna. She placed it around her neck and let Lamh Shabhala open…
. . and there Sinna was again, the old woman with the plait of gray hair, dressed in her leine and cloca, the fireplace blazing with a remem-bered fire, the walls of the room overlaid with its older structure. Sinna turned as if surprised and Jenna opened her mind to her, letting her see what Jenna wished her to see. "Ah, Jenna," Sinna said, her voice quavering with age, "so I've met you before." A sad smile. "But of course I don't remember. I'm just a ghost."
"I need your help," Jenna told the old woman.
"Of course you do. Isn't that why we Holders always call back our predecessors? The dead can't rest when the living desire an answer." She sighed. "But your time will come, when your spirit won't be allowed its peace, either. How can I help you, Jenna First Holder?"
"I have been told that Lamh Shabhala can see the truth in someone. Can that be done?"
Sinna's gray head nodded. "Aye. With Lamh Shabhala that's possible, though not with the other clochs na thintri. If you know how to listen through the cloch, you can hear truth, though a person who holds another cloch can still hide truth from you. It's better if you learn to trust your own judgments. There are all sorts of truths, and not all of them are worth knowing."
"Show me."
Sinna smiled sadly. "Listen to me first. Sometimes it’s not good to see the truth, Jenna. I can see anger and hurt and confusion in you already Your thinking is clouded by that and by the potions you’re taking. Jenna, sometimes you will find that you’d rather not know all the things that could be revealed to you." She gave a mocking, self-deprecating laugh. "1 discovered that, too late." "Show me," Jenna insisted.
"And what do you do when you discover the truth, Jenna?" "If you want peace, if you want me to let you rest, you’ll show me." Another nod, accompanied by a sigh. "All right, then," she said. "This
is how I was taught to truth-see…"
"Banrion!"
Cianna turned as Jenna strode through the door to her chamber, two of the Banrion’s attendants skittering nervously alongside her. Cianna waved the maids away. "Jenna," she said soothingly. "I’m glad to see you. There are rumors simply darting through the keep right now."
Jenna ignored that. The anduilleaf made her want to sleep and the walls around her seemed slightly hazy, as if she walked in a mist. Her hand closed around the cloch, the sleeve of her leine falling down to show the scars of her arm. She forced herself to focus. "I need to ask you this, Banrion-do you know who sent the first assassin?" she asked. "Do you know who told Labras that he was to kill me?"
Cianna coughed. Her eyes widened as if she were shocked by the ques-tions, and her gaze was on Jenna’s hand. "Of course not, Jenna. If I’d discovered that, I would have told you."
The words sounded sincere and almost sad. But even through the anduilleaf fog, Jenna could hear the broken, hidden tones, the umber notes that Sinna had shown her to be the signature of a lie. Jenna struggled to control her own face, to keep her voice calm even though she wanted to cry out her anger. She hadn’t wanted her suspicions confirmed; she’d continued to hope that the certainty that had
settled in the pit of her stomach since she'd spoken with O'Deoradhain was a sham-for if it was not, then she could no longer trust her own judgment. "Why would you ask, Jenna?" the Banrion continued. "You know that I would keep nothing like that from you. Who have you been talking with that filled your head with such notions?"