Jenna shrugged. Focus… "I overheard a most distressing conversation between two tiarna, and one of them was insisting that you were the one who hired the assassin."
Jenna watched the Banrion's face carefully as she gave her the fabrication. Cianna's face took on an expression of shocked disbelief. Her hand went to the torc around her neck and she coughed in quick spasms. "Surely you don't believe that, Jenna," she gasped. "I would never have. . No, my dear, that's simply not true."
Yet it was. Jenna could hear it. She knew it.
It was Cianna who would kill her to hold Lamh Shabhala.
"Who are these tiarna? I will have them brought here this instant to answer to me," Cianna fumed. She rose from her chair, steadying herself as another coughing fit took her.
"No, you won't," Jenna told her.
For a moment, Cianna glared at Jenna. "You cannot take that tone with me-" she began, then seemed to catch herself. She smiled. "Jenna, I can see that you're upset. Let me call for some refreshments…" She lifted her hand, reaching for the bell rope near her chair.
"No," Jenna said again as she took Lamh Shabhala in her hand, allow-ing more of its energy to surge forth. Cianna started to cry out in alarm, but Jenna squeezed her right hand around the cloch, imagining the cloch's energy closing itself around Cianna's throat at the same time. The Banrion gave a choking gasp, her hands going to her neck as if to tear away invisi-ble fingers. Her face went dark red, her mouth opened as she tried to draw in air.
"There can be no more lies between us, Banrion," Jenna told her. "Lamh Shabhala can hear the truth, and I know who sent* the first assassin-when you knew that I would be in my room, when you thought I might be weak or distracted by trying to
speak with the ghost of Sinna. After that attempt failed, after you came so close to being discovered, you were too frightened to try again until I stupidly played right into your hands by asking for your gardai. I can imagine you thought that incredibly convenient-kill me, kill O’Deoradhain, then blame my death on him while Labras brings you back your prize before anyone else has the chance to claim it. I can’t believe that I was so naive as to believe you afterward."
Cianna’s face had gone purple. Through the anger and the haze of anduilleaf, Jenna realized that the woman was near unconsciousness and death. She relaxed her grip on the stone, and Cianna took a deep, rattling gasp of a breath. "Why did you want the cloch so badly, Banrion?" Jenna asked. "What made it so valuable to you that it was worth my life? Answer me, and I might let you live."
"Kill me," Cianna managed to grate out, her voice a harsh croak. "Go ahead. You’re no better than any of the rest of them. I’ve heard them, all along. ’Poor Cianna. Such a weak, pathetic creature. She’s given the Ri all she could, and now she’s useless. It’s a shame she doesn’t die, so he could _ marry again.’ And you-do you think I couldn’t see the pity and disgust in your face? ’Poor Cianna. .’ Well, with the cloch, no one would be saying that."
"I never-" Jenna began.
"You want more of this truth, Holder?" Cianna spat out, interrupting. "Well here’s more: The Ri and Damhlaic Gairbith have planned more than just the defense of Gabair. When the Connachtans attack, the Ri will take you with him, let you use the cloch, then-when you’re weak and hurt and exhausted and the cloch is empty of power-you will be unfor-tunately ’killed in the battle.’ You’ll receive all the plaudits and honors you desire, but you’ll be dead and the Ri will be wearing Lamh Shabhala.
You see, he’s no different than me. And as to Nevan
O Liathain, do you really think the Tanaise Rig would have an interest in someone as common and plain as you if you weren’t the Holder? Do you honestly believe he doesn’t have his own plans to take Lamh Shabhala from you? You’re a stupid, common child, and you don’t deserve what you possess."
The rage was flooding Jenna’s mind, a foaming, wild flood that swept away reason before it. She shouted back at Cianna, a wordless, guttural scream lost in the din of the fury. She lifted the cloch on its chain, her hand a trembling fist, and Cianna began a cry that suddenly choked into silence. Jenna's fist tightened. There was a sense of unreality to her action, as if it were someone else moving her hand, and it was not only Cianna's image that she choked-she imagined doing the same to Coelin, Mac Ard, the Ri Gabair, and the Tanaise Rig and Tiarna Aheron and everyone who stared at her and whispered against her.
But they were not here. Cianna was.
Jenna felt something break inside the woman. A bloody froth bubbled on the Banrion's lips and she fell as Jenna turned away, stalking out of the room. The maids shrank back against the wall as the doors slammed against their stops with Jenna's thrust, and she strode across the anteroom and out into the corridors of the Keep.
Behind her there was a scream and a cry of alarm.
Jenna paid it no attention. She stalked through the wing toward her own rooms, pushing open the doors. "Jenna!" Maeve called as she en-tered. "What's happened?"
Silent, Jenna pushed past her into her bedroom. She grabbed the pouch of anduilleaf, placed the torc of Sinna Mac Ard around her neck. She pulled her traveling pack from its shelf, and stuffed some clothing in it.
She put on her old coat, the one she'd worn in Ballintubber. She turned to leave.
Her mam was standing in the doorway, one hand at her swelling belly, the other on the thick, polished wood of the doorframe. There were tears in her eyes. "Jenna, talk to me," she said. "Darling, you look so. ." She stopped.
"Get out of my way, Mam," Jenna said. "I'm leaving."
"You can't."
"I have to. I just murdered the Banrion."
Maeve gave a cry that was half-sob. She swayed, the hand on the door-frame going to her chest and Jenna pushed past her. As she started across the parlor, the door opened and Mac Ard entered, his dark face grim. He saw Jenna and his hand went to
his sword. For a moment, Jenna blinked, seeing him.
"Don't do it," Jenna told him. It sounded like someone else's voice. "Show me a hint of steel, and I'll kill you where you stand, even if you are the father of my mam's child."
"Jenna," he said. "Listen to yourself. Look at yourself. If Lamh Shabhala or the anduilleaf has driven you mad-"
"Then you'll gladly take the cloch," Jenna finished for him. "So kind of you, Tiarna. Why don't you tell my mam all of your kindness, like the way you arranged for Coelin to come here to be my lover when you knew he was married to Ellia and she was with child. Tell her about that. Now move out of the way."
"I can't let you go, Jenna. I can't. I love you as my own daughter, but I also have my duty and my word."
"Move!" Jenna shouted at the man. The word tore at her vocal cords, a shriek.
"I can't," Mac Ard repeated.
Jenna screamed again. Her vision had gone dim, a red haze over every-thing, and she could see only what stood in front of her: Mac Ard. She lifted Lamh Shabhala, and it flared in her hand as her mam shouted be-hind her. Lightning crackled, wrapping around Mac Ard and lifting him. Jenna gestured and the man was flung across the room, his body slam-ming against the wall. He collapsed with a groan. Maeve ran to him, crouching down alongside him and cradling his head in her lap. He was moaning as blood poured from a cut along his forehead. Maeve wept, tears sliding down her face. "Jenna! Stop this. . Please, darling, you must!"
Jenna spoke with a strange calmness in the midst of the red fury. "I can't stop it, Mam. I can't. It's too late for that. I'm sorry. ." She tore her gaze away from Maeve, went to the door, and left the room.
She could hear footsteps pounding up the stairs. She sent lightning crack-down the long hall toward the sound and flames sprang up where bright fingers touched. She ran the other way, to the back stairs the keep's help used. She ran down winding stone steps, scattering the few servants who were on them, and emerged into the courtyard. A tiarna was