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Authors: C. E. Laureano
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born with her gifts.
“I think you’ve told me everything I need to know for now, Lady Morrigan. You’ll wish to dress for the Conclave. I imagine the summons will come shortly.” Aine pushed herself up from her chair and then swayed on her feet as if dizzy. Morrigan’s hand shot out, and she clamped her own over it.
In that instant, she thrust out her awareness into the other woman, searching for anything that would indicate a spell, a gift, something to explain why she had not been able to pick up a single thought from her the entire time they had been speaking. Morrigan’s eyes widened, and she let go of her hand abruptly.
“Lady Aine,” she said shakily, “I do believe that you are far less innocent than you let on.”
“Perhaps so, Lady Morrigan.” Aine nodded politely and turned toward the door. “I do have one last question. How did you know I had spent time in Aron?”
“I think you’re far better known that you realize, my lady. Have a care you don’t reveal too much.”
It felt like a warning, an acknowledgment that Aine had tipped her hand. But at least she had found out something very important in return.
Morrigan was indeed spelled.
Somehow, in the course of half a day, everything had changed.
When Eoghan passed through the hall on his way to the practice yard for his morning workout with Conor, Gradaigh and Dal stopped their conversation to stare at him. So Conor had been right. Rumors of the way he had seized control from Conor had gotten out, and now they were waiting for him to make an official statement.
Was this what you had in mind, Comdiu? Was this Your plan all along?
But that implied that Comdiu had tricked Eoghan into doing something he didn’t want to do. Like it or not, he had taken command of the situation voluntarily. The weight of responsibility fell on him suddenly. Heavy. Suffocating. Aye, he had been trained for this, but trained to take over the brotherhood, not this blend of kingdom men and Fíréin that the city had become.
Yet when faced with the potential threat that their newcomer posed, he’d been absolutely convinced of his path. That could only be due to Comdiu’s guidance.
Aine had said she would seek Meallachán’s presence to confirm Morrigan’s story, and she was probably preparing to visit Morrigan at this very moment. If anyone could get to the truth, it would be her. He somehow didn’t think she would need her mind powers to determine whether Morrigan was being honest or not.
Unfortunately, that thought brought with it warm feelings that were better left unexplored. No wonder Conor was angry with him. Not only had he just usurped Conor’s role in the city —one that Eoghan had insisted he didn’t want —he also had feelings for his wife, never mind the fact that he would never steal her away, could not even if he tried. It was just a miracle that Aine wasn’t perpetually angry with him too.
When he reached the private practice yard, Conor was waiting. For a change, he didn’t greet him with a scowl, just tossed him a practice sword and began his own warm-ups. Perhaps it was the easing up of their animosity, or perhaps it was a result of the late night, but they both held back their usual aggression as they started into the bout. Eoghan knew Conor well enough to see he was testing his own weaknesses, looking for flaws in his technique, probably trying to figure out how he had lost the last time.
Finally, Conor stepped back and swiped a sleeve across his forehead. “You’re right. I’m just slow. And lazy.”
Eoghan felt a pang of guilt over his earlier taunt. “No. Not lazy.” The fact was Eoghan had put more time into his sword work this fall than ever before. If he were honest, he’d needed to prove to himself that there was one area in which Conor couldn’t overshadow him.
Now it seemed their roles were reversed.
He put up his sword. “Conor, I’m sorry.”
“For what? For telling the truth?”
“For what’s
“I think you’ve told me everything I need to know for now, Lady Morrigan. You’ll wish to dress for the Conclave. I imagine the summons will come shortly.” Aine pushed herself up from her chair and then swayed on her feet as if dizzy. Morrigan’s hand shot out, and she clamped her own over it.
In that instant, she thrust out her awareness into the other woman, searching for anything that would indicate a spell, a gift, something to explain why she had not been able to pick up a single thought from her the entire time they had been speaking. Morrigan’s eyes widened, and she let go of her hand abruptly.
“Lady Aine,” she said shakily, “I do believe that you are far less innocent than you let on.”
“Perhaps so, Lady Morrigan.” Aine nodded politely and turned toward the door. “I do have one last question. How did you know I had spent time in Aron?”
“I think you’re far better known that you realize, my lady. Have a care you don’t reveal too much.”
It felt like a warning, an acknowledgment that Aine had tipped her hand. But at least she had found out something very important in return.
Morrigan was indeed spelled.
Somehow, in the course of half a day, everything had changed.
When Eoghan passed through the hall on his way to the practice yard for his morning workout with Conor, Gradaigh and Dal stopped their conversation to stare at him. So Conor had been right. Rumors of the way he had seized control from Conor had gotten out, and now they were waiting for him to make an official statement.
Was this what you had in mind, Comdiu? Was this Your plan all along?
But that implied that Comdiu had tricked Eoghan into doing something he didn’t want to do. Like it or not, he had taken command of the situation voluntarily. The weight of responsibility fell on him suddenly. Heavy. Suffocating. Aye, he had been trained for this, but trained to take over the brotherhood, not this blend of kingdom men and Fíréin that the city had become.
Yet when faced with the potential threat that their newcomer posed, he’d been absolutely convinced of his path. That could only be due to Comdiu’s guidance.
Aine had said she would seek Meallachán’s presence to confirm Morrigan’s story, and she was probably preparing to visit Morrigan at this very moment. If anyone could get to the truth, it would be her. He somehow didn’t think she would need her mind powers to determine whether Morrigan was being honest or not.
Unfortunately, that thought brought with it warm feelings that were better left unexplored. No wonder Conor was angry with him. Not only had he just usurped Conor’s role in the city —one that Eoghan had insisted he didn’t want —he also had feelings for his wife, never mind the fact that he would never steal her away, could not even if he tried. It was just a miracle that Aine wasn’t perpetually angry with him too.
When he reached the private practice yard, Conor was waiting. For a change, he didn’t greet him with a scowl, just tossed him a practice sword and began his own warm-ups. Perhaps it was the easing up of their animosity, or perhaps it was a result of the late night, but they both held back their usual aggression as they started into the bout. Eoghan knew Conor well enough to see he was testing his own weaknesses, looking for flaws in his technique, probably trying to figure out how he had lost the last time.
Finally, Conor stepped back and swiped a sleeve across his forehead. “You’re right. I’m just slow. And lazy.”
Eoghan felt a pang of guilt over his earlier taunt. “No. Not lazy.” The fact was Eoghan had put more time into his sword work this fall than ever before. If he were honest, he’d needed to prove to himself that there was one area in which Conor couldn’t overshadow him.
Now it seemed their roles were reversed.
He put up his sword. “Conor, I’m sorry.”
“For what? For telling the truth?”
“For what’s
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