The keep dripped. Jenna could hear the rhythmic, echoing splat of water striking the stone flags, as if the gods were keeping time to the Ri’s welcoming speech.
Ri Ionhar MacBradaigh of Inish Thuaidh was not an impressive speaker or an impressive man. His complexion was pallid, his voice mild, his physique potbellied and flabby. Jenna could understand why they called him the Shadow Ri behind his back; already it had been made clear to her that the true negotiations would take place with the Banrion and the Comhairle of Tiarna. It was also clear to her that the alliance of the Inishlander Riocha was a fragile thing that might-and often did-break apart at any moment. Already, half a dozen of the tiarna and bantiarna to whom she’d been introduced had leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially to her that they wished to speak with her in private, intimating that they were the true power behind the throne. There was Kyle Mac-Eagan of Be an Mhuilinn, short of stature and wide of girth, but whose eyes blazed with a sharp intelligence and piercing awareness; Bantiarna Kianna Ciomhsog of An Cnocan, a dark-haired woman whose beauty and grace was still untouched in her third decade, and who, Ennis whispered in Jenna’s ear, was the match of any of the men with a sword.
There was also Aron O Dochartaigh of Rubha na Scarbh, whose cheeks were as flaming red as his hair and who towered a full head above Ennis. He was also Banrion Aithne’s brother, and the da of Banrion Cianna. He glared at Jenna with undisguised animosity, and she knew that she already had at least one open enemy in the court.
There were other rulers of other townlands among the thirteen chief-tains of the Comhairle whose names had already slipped Jenna’s memory. They stood before the throne, watching her as the
Rl spoke and the rain dripped through the roof of Dun Kiil Keep. Behind the Comhairle stood the minor Riocha and the ceil giallnai-a hundred or more people gath-ered under the cold, seeping stone vaults of the keep.
After the first day, Jenna was already weary of the politics and begin-ning to despair of the chances of the Inishlanders' ability to hold off a concerted attack. Moister Cleurach must have sensed her thoughts, for he inclined his head toward her through the Ri's droning speech. "We Inishlanders come together quick enough against a common foe, First Holder," he said. "And when there's no outside foe, we make do with ourselves."
"… and so we bid welcome to the First Holder, who has brought Lamh Shabhala back to Inish Thuaidh, where it belongs." The Rl finished with a nodding bow to Jenna, and there was polite applause from the gathered Riocha. Aron O Dochartaigh made no pretense at alclass="underline" he simply glowered.
The Rl stepped down from the steps of the throne as servants began to circulate through the room with trays of drinks and appetizers. The sound of conversation obliterated the softer tink of falling droplets. The Rl ap-proached Jenna, Ennis, and Moister Cleurach, and Jenna curtsied. "No, no," Ionhar clucked, lifting her back up. He smiled, and Jenna had a sense that this was a gentle man, someone who would be more comfortable with a book or a goblet of wine in his hand than a sword. His hands were soft and uncallused; the hands of a scholar, nor a warrior. Under the rich cloth of his cloca and leine, the muscles of his arm sagged.
'I should be bowing to you, Holder, since it's through you that the Banrion was returned to me. Such awful treachery, and from someone I trusted." He shook his oiled and well-coifed head. "This is an ill omen, I'm afraid. I would like to speak with you at length, Holder. Your tale, what I've heard of it, is a strange one, and I thought-"
"You thought that you would keep the Holder from her well-deserved rest, my dear?" Banrion Aithne came up behind Ionhar in a rustle of silk "This has been a long and difficult day for her. The tale should wait for another time, I think. Besides, I wanted to steal Lady Aoire away for a bit and thank her myself. I have a gift for her."
Aithne, smiling, detached Jenna from the Ri's attention, leaving Ennis and Moister Cleurach still talking with the man. Ennis' gaze followed her as she moved away, her arm through the Banrion's as the older woman escorted her through the throng in the Hall. It wasn't only Ennis who watched; Jenna could feel the gathered nobility's appraising eyes on them. The Banrion maneuvered them to a small door hidden in an alcove. A garda stood there; silent, he opened the door for them, closing it again behind them. Jenna found herself in a smaller, comfortable chamber, the air warm with a blazing fire in the hearth and bright tapestries covering the walls with golds, reds, and browns.
In the room, also, were Kyle MacEagan and Kianna Ciomhsog. The two flanked the fireplace. MacEagan nodded his head to Jenna; Bantiarna Kianna simply lifted her glass goblet. "Would you like some wine, Banti-arna Aoire?" the woman asked.
"That title doesn't fit a common sheepherder from Ballintubber," Jenna said. "I'm not Riocha, Lady. Please call me Jenna, or Holder, if you prefer."
The woman simply smiled. "That's simple enough to remedy. I don't think we'd allow the First Holder to remain common. Do you, Banrion?"
Aithne smiled at Jenna. "Hardly." She gestured to one of the chairs before the fire. "Please sit, Holder."
She brushed her fingers against Lamh Shabhala, hoping none of them would notice the quick grimace of pain as she let the cloch's energy drift quickly out. She immediately felt two holes in the field where Banrion Aithne and Kyle MacEagan stood: attempts at shields. The hole around Banrion Aithne was strong; the one about MacEagan much smaller. Tiarna MacEagan has a clochmion and the Banrion has a Cloch Mor that she didn’t t have on the ship. Where did she get it? Jenna wished now that she'd used Lamh Shabhala in the main hall to see how many more of the clochs na thintri were gathered here. Does Aron O Dochartaigh also possess a clock, like his sister?
Jenna smiled, letting her hand drop away, and took the offered chair, the Banrion took her seat opposite her, though the other two remained standing where they were. "I said I had a gift for you. I do. Here. ." She reached under her chair and brought up a small packet wrapped in paper and secured with a ribbon. Jenna untied the ribbon
and unwrapped the paper. A familiar smell wafted out as she did so, and she stared down at the pile of dried, brown leaves there. "On the ship, I saw the cost of using
Lamh Shabhala, so I asked my healer what the ancient Holders used to ease their pain. He said some of them used this, an herb that the Bunus
Muintir knew. You grind the leaves and make a tea
!!
"I know," Jenna said, perhaps a bit too harshly. "Anduilleaf. Thank you. I’ve. used it in the past."
It would be pleasant to use it, just once again, to fed all the pain and cold leave your body for a time. . She set the packet on a table next to her chair.
You’ll leave it there. You won’t pick it up. You won’t use it again… At the thought, pain shot up her arm again, and she grimaced. They watched her, reminding her of crows standing on a tree limb watching a dying rabbit. They’d take Lamh Shabhala from you in an instant, if they thought they could… "I assume there’s another reason I’m here, Banrion."
Aithne smiled; the other two chuckled as if sharing a secret joke. "Evi-dently Moister Cleurach has already told you that while my husband may have the title, the Comhairle actually reigns. And we three… we hold the Comhairle. Four more tiarna and bantiarna on the Comhairle have pledged their votes to us when needed. The Ri will sign what I place before him. So what we decide here-" her hands spread wide-"becomes law." Aithne glanced at MacEagan, and Jenna saw a look pass between them, an affection that made Jenna wonder whether there was more be-tween the two than simple concern for their land or friendship.