DISTANTC CLOUDS
CHAPTER 7
The morning of this early summer day was pleasantly warm, the sky for once a clear, bright blue as Ardagh stood in the doorway of his guesthouse. All around him bustled busy human life, the usual tangle of visiting dignitaries, various courtiers, and the horde of servants scurrying about with sacks of grain or buckets of water and taking care of the hundred little tasks necessary to keep a fortress this size running smoothly. But the prince’s house, positioned well, stood in a small circle of blessed quiet.
Thank you, King Aedh, for that.
Since there was no one to watch the lapse of dignity, Ardagh threw back his head like a child to let the sunlight pour down on his upturned face. One of the nicer things about this Realm was the sunlight—rare enough in a climate that often seemed as much mist as air—though he’d been warned by just about everyone not to let the sun shine too brightly or too long on his fair skin. Well, it didn’t seem to be doing him any harm, though his skin was gradually taking on an odd golden tone. Intriguing, Ardagh mused, looking down and turning a hand this way and that to study it. Rather attractive, in a way. The women here seemed to like it well enough, too, Fothad’s prudish warnings notwithstanding.
Ah yes, Fothad. Ardagh let his hand drop to his side, tranquility shattered. Fothad, with his endless fund of information, his wonderfully satisfying music—and his odd, odd questions. “Are you happy here?” Happy here? Had he ever known happiness, truly known it, even back in the Sidhe Realm?
Ae, and wasn’t this ridiculous? In his native Realm, he’d had a rightful place, a purpose. Here, in this alien place, he was lost, and between the poet and his warnings and Father Seadna with his “you are a lonely man” it was no wonder they had him confused and—
Bah, he shouldn’t be worrying about what humans thought! Oh, they had their points: a love of laughter and music, a gift for metalwork that was nearly the equal of anything of Sidhe-work. But at best, they were hardly a study in logic, and at worst a mass of unpredictable contradictions. That woman, now, that Sorcha ni Fothad, Fothad’s sharp-tongued daughter… any woman of the Sidhe would have understood he’d only been jesting with her the other day, flirting to make her smile. But she’d thought he had genuinely been out to seduce her!
As if I’d risk complications with her father. Even if I were attracted to such a—a prickly woman.
No, no, all these folks were confusing! Monasteries, now: From what Father Seadna had told him, monasteries dotted Eriu; the man came from one of them himself. According to him, the places were centers of learning, which was a good thing—but Ardagh had teased out of Fothad the information that they were also independent, sternly managed little cities containing (with a few odd exceptions) nothing but male clerics.
How can humans possibly believe that men and women are separate creations, one superior to the other? And why do they make such a ridiculous fuss over something as natural and joyous as mating?
Ah well. He could not expect humans to be as advanced as the Sidhe. But, like it or not, frustrated and confused and out-and-out bewildered though those humans made him, he must learn to live among them.
I’ve been here… what, perhaps a month of their time, and what have I accomplished? Gathered a few pretty tales of Doorways that don’t give me the slightest clue as to how to get home, learned some facts about the people and customs of this land…
Honesty made him admit that a month wasn’t long in which to study an entire culture. And even a Sidhe could only absorb so much knowledge at a time. But how, the prince mused, was he going to use that knowledge? Oh yes, the High King would almost surely give him sanctuary for as long as Ardagh requested. But what honor was there in being a mere idler? The prince suddenly rubbed a hand over his eyes.
Curse it to the Darkness!
Fortunate humans, able to lie even to themselves. He, however, couldn’t hide from the fear forever nagging at his mind: was this Realm weakening him? Was it changing him? Would it, at the last, make him forget who and what he was?
Of course not! It’s the lack of magic in this cursed Realm that’s bothering me. If only I could find some good strong source of Power! Yes, oh yes, how wonderful it would feel if only he could cast some genuine spell, no matter what or why, just to shake his senses, just to remind him of himself!
The sound of swords clashing together brought the prince sharply back to his surroundings. Every morning, Cadwal and his warriors exercised in the grassy field behind the royal keep, within sight of Ardagh’s guesthouse, practicing their weaponry in the unromantic, matter-of-fact fashion of men whose lives depended on those skills. Watching them now, the prince felt his own hand close reflexively about an imaginary hilt. He’d gone without his own weapons practice too long—not a wise thing when the edge of a blade was the best weapon available to him.
I wonder what they would say if I asked to practice with them. Or is the thought of a prince dueling with common mercenaries so outlandish they’d be mortified? There’ve been enough misunderstandings already. I don’t want any—
The prince whirled at a sudden sound to his left, then froze in utter astonishment. A child! By the Powers, a child! A human child, a small girl, standing as frozen as he, staring at him with wide, astonished eyes. Ardagh crouched down to his unexpected visitor’s level, studying her in wonder. Look at this, look at the perfection of the small face, the delicate lashes and charming little nose! The Sidhe being the barely fertile people they were, he’d only seen children twice in his life, and never this close. Oh, what a marvelous thing, this beautiful, perfect new youngster!
“Now, who may you be, little one?” Ardagh asked gently.
She continued to stare, thumb going nervously to her mouth. Ardagh sat back on his heels in dismay. Didn’t she understand him?
“Can you talk?” he asked doubtfully, not at all sure when intelligence first showed in human children. “Are you old enough for that?”
She lowered the thumb in contempt. “Course I can. I’m five.”
“Oh, I see.” The prince bit back a delighted laugh. “Forgive me, my lady. I didn’t mean to insult you.”
She accepted his apology with a wave of a chubby hand.
“But how is it my humble home is graced by so charming a visitor?” No, that was far beyond the little one’s understanding. “What are you doing here?”
The child hesitated, then said firmly, “Running away.”
“I see. But why?”
“It’s Niall’s fault.”
“Niall,” Ardagh repeated blankly.
“Uh-huh. He’s always teasing me. Says I’m just a baby. But I’m not a baby.”
“I know, I know,” Ardagh assured her, struggling to keep his voice solemn. “You’re five. A grand age, indeed. But who is this bothersome Niall?”
Her contemptuous stare told him he didn’t know anything. “My brother.”
“Do you mean Prince Niall?” Ardagh asked in sudden comprehension. “Yes? That means you must be Princess Fainche.”
“Course I am.”
Ardagh got to his feet and bowed deeply. “I am honored. But you don’t really want to run away, do you?”
“Yes, I do.”
But she didn’t sound very sure. Ardagh crouched down again. “It’s a big, lonely world out there,” he told her solemnly. “The nights are quite dark, and full of wild animals.”
Her eyes were very big. “Don’t care.”
“You’re very brave. I suppose even a raging boar wouldn’t frighten you. There are many of them in the woods, you know. Wolves, too. And bears. You really are very brave. So brave, indeed, that no silly brother like Niall is going to bother you!”
She nodded fiercely.
“Well, then,” Ardagh said, getting to his feet, “there really isn’t any reason for you to run away, is there? If you do, Niall will never be able to see just how brave you are.”
She eyed him warily, then nodded again.
“Good!” Ardagh exclaimed. With any luck at all, no one would have noticed yet that the child was missing, and he could put her back where she belonged before anyone had a chance to panic. “Come, we’ll go back together so you can tell Niall you won’t let him tease you anymore.”
To his utter delight, she put her small, warm, slightly sticky hand trustingly into his. How perfect it was, each tiny finger tipped by a precise little nail! Did humans appreciate the wonder of their own young? Or did they, easily fertile creatures that they were, take children as a matter of course?
Ardagh’s nocturnal prowlings had made him familiar with every way into the royal keep. If they slipped in by this out-of-the-way entrance, he should be able to get the child back to—
No.
“Fainche!” Queen Eithne came rushing forward, flanked by half a dozen flustered servants, and the prince sighed. The little girl pulled back at her mother’s cry, but Ardagh wouldn’t let her go. “Come, my brave one,” he whispered. “You must prove just how brave you are.”
He heard Fainche’s soft little intake of breath. Then she slipped her hand from his. Fighting back a grin, Ardagh saw her march as proudly as any ruler to her mother, who looked plainly torn between the urge to slap or hug her wandering daughter. At last Eithne drew the little girl fiercely into her arms, staring over Fainche’s head at Ardagh like a wild thing defending her young. Stung, the prince assured her, “She’s unhurt.”
Eithne ushered the child into the arms of the servant women, who scurried off with Fainche into the keep. But the queen remained. “What were you doing with her?”
“I?” Ardagh said in surprise. “Seeing her back home. I believe she was running away.” Smiling at the memory, he added, “The child told me quite emphatically that she wasn’t a baby, no matter what her brother said.”
Eithne showed not the slightest trace of a smile. “But why was she with you?”
“I found her standing just outside the guesthouse. Probably trying to figure out what she wanted to do next. The little one wasn’t too enthused at the thought of—” Ardagh broke off in sudden horror, staring at the grim-faced Eithne. “You don’t think I would have hurt her, do you? What manner of folk am I among? Who would ever hurt something as precious as a child?”
Eithne’s fierce gaze never wavered. “Not hurt her, Prince Ardagh. Steal her. That is what your people do with human children, isn’t it? Steal them away?”
Ardagh let his expression go absolutely blank. “My people?”
“The Sidhe, Prince Ardagh. The Fair Folk, the People of Peace, whatever you want to call them.” Eithne stopped short, as though longing to hear him argue with her, to deny the whole thing.
“For what it’s worth,” Ardagh said, “I have never stolen a changeling in my life.”
“Don’t mock me.”
“I wasn’t. Merely stating a fact. Have you told anyone else your suspicions?”
She shook her head, eyes wary. “Who would believe me?”
“Who, indeed?” Feeling her flicker of fear, he added, “What I told your husband is a fact, too. I really am a prince, I really do have an older brother on the throne, and I really am in exile to, among other things, preserve the security of the Realm. And,” he added, “I really do appreciate this sanctuary.”
“But you are of the Sidhe. Y-you aren’t human.”
Ardagh sighed. “Yes. I am, indeed, of the Sidhe. No, I am not human. But I assure you, that does not make me a monster, either.” He paused, studying her. “Now, I wonder, are you going to be as honest with me?”
“I… don’t…”
“Come now, Queen Eithne. If no one else here has doubted I am from far-distant Cathay, why are you the amazing exception?”
“I guessed the truth. I am good at—”
“Oh, please. Even I can tell that’s a lie.”
“What of it? I am not honor-bound to tell you anything.”
“Such melodrama. I’ll make a pact with you, Queen Eithne: you keep my secret, I keep yours.”
“My—”
“Secret, yes. Magic calls to magic, if one has the ears to hear.”
“That’s ridiculous! I don’t—I’m not—”
“I think I know why you hide your Power. Father Seadna has cornered me often enough to lecture me about the Christian faith. It does not take kindly to magic, does it? And your husband’s reign is sanctified by the Church. How awkward it would be should the High King’s wife prove to be a—”
“I am a good Christian!”
“Queen Eithne, it hardly matters to me what you are or are not, what you practice, what you believe. I simply don’t want to have to watch my back every waking moment.”
“What are you trying to say?”
He smiled without humor. “What do you think? As I told you, I’m offering a pact. A royal treaty, if you would. I will keep your secret if you say nothing of mine.”
“That is nothing short of blackmail!”
“Call it, rather, practicality.” He paused, watching her stunned, furious face. “So. Have we that pact? I would much rather have an ally than an enemy. What about you?”
She was silent a long time, then suddenly burst out, “First you must swear, on your honor as a prince, that you mean no harm to my family or any of my people.”
Ardagh frowned. “I have already given that vow to Fothad.”
“Not to me!”
“Humans! If it will soothe your mind, I do so swear to you as well: I mean no harm to you and yours nor to any of your people. Though of course,” he added darkly, “I will defend myself if attacked.”
She never flinched. “Fair enough.”
“So. The oath is sworn. And my people never lie.”
“S-so I’ve heard.”
“Enough games!” the prince snapped. “Look you, I really would appreciate having one soul in this place of humans with whom I don’t have to pretend. And I suspect you feel the same.” He watched her gaze flicker. “Well? Are we agreed? Are we allies?”
Eithne sighed. “What choice have I? Yes, Prince Ardagh, for the moment at least, we are allies.”
The prince cocked his head in a sudden burst of Sidhe curiosity. “Now that we have that matter settled, perhaps you can tell me what’s bothering you.” He permitted himself a quick grin. “Besides me, I mean.”
“I don’t—”
“You can hardly hide it from me. There’s an aura of uneasiness dark as a cloud over you.”
“You sense that, do you?” Eithne’s shoulders sagged. “The maddening thing is that I don’t know what’s bothering me.” She glanced sharply up. “And please don’t say something soothing; it’s not just my imagination.”
“No. Your Power is too true for that”
“I suppose I should thank you for that.” Eithne shuddered, hugging her arms about herself. “I’ve been feeling the vaguest sense of a premonition for some time now. I thought it had vanished after the assassination attempt, and I told myself, ‘That’s it, the danger’s over.’ But the premonition hasn’t faded. Something is going to happen, something terrible, and I—I don’t know what it is or how to stop it.”
Ardagh stood rigid, refusing to show anything of the sudden panic he felt. Anything that was perilous for the humans would probably be perilous for him, as well.
But only humans panicked over What Might Be. “Precognition was never one of my best abilities,” the prince admitted, “even in the Sidhe Realm. But you have an ally now. Whatever happens, remember that.”
For whatever good it did in this magic-poor Realm.
###
This seemed to be his day for seeing children. Not at all displeased, Ardagh, on his way back from his newfound and unexpected royal alliance, paused to one side of the grassy central court as a whole horde of shouting, laughing youngsters scurried by. All boys, they ranged from barely older than little Fainche to nearly adult. The royal hostages, the prince realized suddenly.
Hostages, maybe, but they didn’t look abused in any way. A bit overwhelmed by all their young energy, Ardagh stood watching them, still laughing and roughhousing, settle into groups sorted by general age and size. Ah, they were here for weapons practice; Aedh was plainly taking his host responsibilities seriously. And by making their lives here so pleasant, the prince thought, wise in the ways of royal politics, he’s also raising a whole generation of important allies who will think fondly of him.
But not all the youngsters were out there on the practice field. Ardagh noticed a slender figure hovering wistfully to one side, not far from where he stood. A boy—no, a young man—no, a boy, Ardagh finally decided, a skinny youngster just at that age when it was so difficult to decide whether a child had quite reached adulthood.
“Aren’t you supposed to be out there with the rest of them?” the prince asked, and the boy gave a little gasp of surprise and whirled, revealing a face too finely drawn, too pale for human health, and blue eyes far too weary for a boy.
“P-prince Ardagh.”
“You recognize me, lad, but I’m afraid I don’t know you.”
“Oh, I—I’m Breasal mac Donnchadh. My father is king of Clonach.”
“Yes, I know that much.” Ardagh dipped his head in an amused little salute. “Pleased to meet you, Breasal mac Donnchadh. But why aren’t you at weapons practice?”
“I… cannot.” It was the merest whisper. “I haven’t the strength. The last time I tried, I—I… fainted.”
“I see,” Ardagh said helplessly. The Sidhe, with their low rate of fertility, had their share of sickly children, but those either began to thrive as their magic matured or simply died as babes. What did one say to a nearly grown boy who looked frail enough to fall over at a push?
And yet, and yet, this was still a child, and as such to be cherished. The prince continued awkwardly, trying to find comforting words a human child would understand, “Ah well, swordplay isn’t the whole of life. Look at Fothad mac Ailin—he’s definitely not a swordsman, but he certainly is an asset to the king. And the scholar who’s the royal judge… ae, what’s his name…”
“Neasan mac Dubhan.”
“Exactly. Thank you. Neither of those men are warriors, but the court couldn’t function as well without them. Learn all the other lessons you’re being taught, and you’ll still prove an asset to your father.”
A shadow passed over the weary eyes. “My father does not care what befalls me.” It was said with such matter-of-fact calm that a shiver raced through Ardagh.
“Nonsense.”
“It’s true, Prince Ardagh.” Breasal shrugged slightly. “I would never have the strength to rule Clonach. I am no use to him.”
“B-but a parent doesn’t just abandon a child! Surely he at least sends you messages—”
“Your pardon, Prince Ardagh, but I haven’t heard a word from Clonach since the day I was brought here.” Color suffused the pale face as the boy added fiercely, “And please don’t feel sorry for me. King Aedh has been more of a father to me than my own blood kin, and I will be happy to stay here and—and serve him as well as I can for as long as he’ll let me.” Breasal broke off, gasping, but before Ardagh could move, the boy seemed to puff himself back under control, saying with desperate pride, “Now, if you will excuse me, Prince Ardagh?”
Watching Breasal hurry off, the prince shook his head in confusion. I will never understand humans, never, never!
Ae, but he still had a chance to learn something more about them, Ardagh remembered with a little jolt. Royal judge Neasan mac Dubhan was trying Fremainn legal cases today, and any of the nobility who cared to observe was welcome to attend; most did, finding attendance politic. With one last rueful shake of his head over human foibles, the prince started off for the king’s court of law.
###
Ardagh glanced subtly about. The court of law consisted of one rectangular hall, part of the royal keep, with the door on one end and three rows of seats along the remaining three sides. He had been seated on the left-hand side, the side reserved, so he’d been told, for higher nobility or visiting royalty.
The prince recognized most of the aristocratic lot near him. To his immediate left was young Eirnin mac Flainn, ruddy hair and face clashing splendidly with the brilliant blues and yellows of his tunic and brat. Amulets disguised as ornaments hung from about his neck and glittered on his fingers, but not one of them, Ardagh felt contemptuously, had a shred of Power to them.
He also has a most decidedly …slimy feel to him. If he were a merchant, Ardagh mused, he’d be giving short measure. If he wasn’t poisoning his customers outright.
Still, unpleasant fellow and superstitious fool though he was, Eirnin was still a kinsman to the warring brother-kings of Meath, which meant he must be granted respect.
The man to Ardagh’s right wasn’t much more appealing. This was Odran mac Daire, lean as a grey-haired hunting hound, his eyes grim and cold and devoid of humor, elegant in his more subdued violet and wine-red.
Unpleasant fellow. He, if I’m not mistaken, is every bit as nasty a soul as Eirnin: the sort who would arrange quiet “accidents” for his enemies.
But Odran was of the Ui Neill sept, which made him kin to King Aedh himself.
Human politics aren’t all that different from those at my brother’s court. Smile and keep smiling and never quite say what you’re thinking. Bah. I thought I was through with that nonsense.
Behind the prince in the second row sat several other men of varying degrees of distinction, all with close ties to this king or that important clan.
And not a one of them, I would guess, who doesn’t envy Aedh up there on his royal dais. I can feel enough ambition swirling among the lot to stun Ethenian the Jealous.
There at the head of the hall sat King Aedh on a slight dais, flanked by Fothad on one side and Father Seadna on the other. This once, however, the king sat behind someone: Neasan mac Dubhan, a quiet, competent, plain-featured man of middle years, who ruled the hall—at least in theory—while the royal law court was in session. Ardagh guessed that Aedh would be quick enough to intervene if he saw anything of which he didn’t approve, but so far there hadn’t been the slightest need to overturn any of the judge’s rulings. Neasan had cut right through the dozen or so minor cases before him without once even raising his voice.
I’m sure that everyone’s glad there are only minor cases to be heard today, Ardagh thought. But I doubt I would have been so patient about the whole affair.
A Fremainn worker brought suit against a carpenter because he had been injured by a splinter flying from the carpenter’s adze. Neasan had dismissed the case, mildly commenting that splinters flew where they would without any human malice being involved. The judge also ruled invalid a land contract made between two lesser nobles after witnesses swore one of the men had been drunk at the time, and ordered one guard to pay honor-price to another whose nose had been broken during a fight over a matter neither of them could recall.
At least I see that humans are capable of logic, the prince admitted, watching Neasan with grudging admiration. Sometimes. Ae, but these petty matters are hardly the stuff of great drama! All I’ve learned so far is that humans get muddled by drink and sometimes have short tempers. Nothing that I hadn’t already guessed.
Stealing a sly glance at King Aedh, Ardagh decided the man looked every bit as bored as he felt.
“If there are no more cases,” Neasan began.
“Your pardon,” cut in a woman’s voice, sharp as the call of a trumpet, and Ardagh sat bolt upright in surprise.
Sorcha ni Fothad came striding into the court, green gown swirling about her legs, to stop short before the judge with a curt bow and a deeper one for the king and her father. Ignoring Fothad’s scandalized whisper of “Sorcha! You shouldn’t be here!” she said fiercely to Neasan, “There is yet one case that has not been heard. I cry justice for one of my maidservants.”
A wild murmuring spread throughout the court, and a puzzled Ardagh took advantage of the confusion to ask Odran, “What is so unusual about her being here?”
That earned him a stern glance. “She is a woman!”
“Yes, obviously, but—”
“The testimony of a woman is not legal.”
“Whyever not?”
But just then, Aedh thundered out a commanding, “Silence!” In the sudden stillness that followed, Neasan said gently, “Lady Sorcha, you know this procedure is most irregular.”
“I also know that my maidservant has no living father to protect her. She is under my protection and, woman though I may be, she has no one else to speak on her behalf.”
Neasan hesitated a moment, plainly mulling over the laws. Aedh leaned forward impatiently, as though about to prod him, but the judge said, “There is precedent for women speaking in defense of the helpless. Tell us the crime.”
“Rape,” Sorcha said bluntly.
“Rape?” Ardagh whispered to Odran. “I don’t know the word.”
He received a second sharp glance and a hissed, “Forced fornication.”
Ardagh sat back in shock. What foulness was this? Powers, what manner of perverse creature could even dream of—
“Can you be more specific?” Neasan asked, seemingly unruffled.
Sorcha glared, hands on hips. “Must I name her? Surely the poor woman has been harmed enough already!”
Neasan paused, then shook his head. “Your concern for your servants’ well-being does you credit, Lady Sorcha. You may withhold the woman’s name for now. But I really must have more details.”
Sorcha took a deep breath. “Yesterday night, my maidservant felt faint and left her bed for a breath of air. It was foolish of her to go alone, perhaps. but she felt quite safe in the king’s fortress—wrongly, as it turns out! She was seized upon in a corridor by—by one I shall name in a bit. He made some attempts to woo her, she told me, but when she refused him, he took her against her will.”
“And yet she said nothing to you or anyone else till today?”
“She was too terrified to speak of it till this day! He was far above her in rank—and he threatened to kill her if she told a soul. It was only when I questioned her at length that the poor thing broke down and admitted what had happened.”
“And can you name her alleged attacker?”
“Oh, I can, indeed!” Sorcha snapped. “It was this man!”
Her finger stabbed at Eirnin mac Flainn. As the startled murmurings burst out again, the noble stiffened in outrage. “I protest! I have had nothing to do with a—a servant! And I will not be verbally assaulted by this woman or anyone else!”
And you, Ardagh realized in sudden disgust, are as guilty as the Darkness. I can feel the ugliness spilling from you.
“No one is assaulting you, my lord,” Neasan murmured. “Lady Sorcha, this is a harsh charge you’ve made. But I must ask if the woman in question made any outcry at the time.”
Sorcha winced. “Of the attack? No. She was too afraid.”
“I see.” The judge settled back in his chair with a sigh. “You know the law, Lady Sorcha. If she is assaulted while within a settlement, a woman is obliged to call for help.”
“Not if she’s afraid the man will kill her if she screams!”
“I’m sorry. That is the law.” Neasan paused. “Were there any witnesses?”
Sorcha’s shoulders sagged. “No.”
“Well, then, I am sorry, but…”
Powers! They’re actually going to let the creature escape!
Not if he could help it. “A moment, please,” Ardagh called out, and heads turned his way. “If I may be allowed to speak?”
At Neasan’s startled nod, the prince left his seat to stand beside Sorcha. “What are you doing?” she hissed.
“Trying to correct a wrong,” he hissed back. “Quickly, does the maid have any marks on her?”
“What—”
“Does she?”
“Y-yes. There’s a purplish birthmark, like a star, on her left thigh, but—”
“Excellent!” To Neasan, Ardagh said, “My lord, there is no such thing as this ‘rape’ in my… land. In fact, I find it difficult to believe such a crime can exist at all. But I do believe I can learn the truth of guilt or innocence for you, if I may.”
Neasan hesitated, frowning, then glanced back at King Aedh, plainly at a loss. Aedh, just as puzzled, hesitated as well, then nodded. “Go ahead, Prince Ardagh,” the judge said.
“Thank you.” He strolled over to where Eirnin sat. “My Lord Eirnin, in my land we have ways of determining guilt or innocence that may surprise you.” So much was quite true. “Why, some might say we need only stare into a man’s eyes.” Some might say anything.
“What nonsense is this?”
“No nonsense. You see,” Ardagh continued, skirting falsehood, “it just may be that we can read in those eyes exactly what has happened, and if that is so, then there is no way to hide that truth from us. Will you let me stare into your eyes, my lord?”
Eirnin’s face was nearly as red as his hair. “I—no! My Lord Neasan, I must object to—”
“Come, come, my Lord Eirnin,” Ardagh purred. “What harm in this? Surely you are innocent?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then let me stare into your eyes.” Ardagh stared, putting into that steady look every bit of Sidhe arrogance.
Eirnin stood the alien green gaze for a few tense moments, the fear radiating from him. And then he scrambled to his feet, one hand clutching at the amulets about his neck. “Sorcerer!” he shouted.
“I? But I have done nothing but stare, my lord. While you, I think, have done much more. Was it possible that I saw a woman in your eyes, my lord, her clothing torn?” No, it was not possible. But you don’t know that, human, do you? “Was it possible that I saw her lips move in entreaty? Ah, and was it possible that I saw a mark on her left thigh, one shaped most fetchingly like a star?”
“You couldn’t have known about that!” Eirnin shouted, then froze, realizing he’d just as good as confessed his crime. “But—but I am Eirnin mac Flainn! And it was only a servant!”
“No great person in herself,” Neasan agreed. “But a servant of Sorcha ni Fothad, which is to say of Fothad mac Ailin, Chief Minister and Poet to the Ard Ri himself.”
Satisfied, Ardagh glanced at Sorcha. But instead of the joy or relief he’d expected, he saw only tight-mouthed tension. “What is it?” he whispered.
“Not now!” she snapped back.
Of course no real harm could come to Eirnin; his rank was too high for that. “But you must pay an honor-price,” Neasan ruled, “equal to the honor-price of the woman’s guardian.”
“That cannot be another woman!”
“No,” the judge agreed. “The proper legal guardian in this case would be, perforce, the guardian of Sorcha ni Fothad, namely Fothad mac Ailin. Oh, and of course since the woman you have admitted raping is most surely of marriageable age, the law states that you must pay half her honor-price as well.”
Ardagh watched Eirnin’s mouth fall open in shock as he realized the extent of the two fines. Paying them—particularly matching the honor-price of the Chief Poet himself—would most certainly bankrupt the man. He would not dare return to his own estate, not with all knowing why he fled.
Instead he must stay here, totally dependent on King Aedh for charity. How nicely ironic.
Trembling slightly, Eirnin bowed to the king. “With your leave.” At Aedh’s cold nod, the man hurried off.
But now, Ardagh realized, all attention was on him. And not a few hands were surreptitiously making signs against evil. Oh, you superstitious idiots! He laughed sharply, the sound ringing out loudly in the suddenly quiet hall. “What,” Ardagh snouted, “did you think I used magic? All I did was use his own fear against him!”
“The birthmark,” Neasan said. “How did you know of the birthmark?”
“Powers, how do you think? The lady here told me!”
There was a new moment of confused silence. Then Aedh broke it with a hearty laugh. “Clever, Prince Ardagh, most clever!”
But the laugh sounded forced. I’ve made you a new enemy, haven’t I? Ardagh thought. Or at least sharpened an enmity that already existed. But what else was there to do?
At Aedh’s nod, Neasan mac Dubhan stated, “This court session is hereby declared closed.”
Before anyone could stop him, Ardagh maneuvered his way out through the bustle of folk leaving the hall and caught up with Sorcha ni Fothad.
“What’s wrong?”
She glanced quickly his way. “Don’t you know who Eirnin mac Flainn is?”
“Indeed. No deed is without its complications, is it? But you must have considered that before you made your attack.”
Sorcha sighed. “Yes. And… I… you…” She stopped short. “Well now, to be blunt, I didn’t expect any help from you.”
Stung, he asked, “Why not?”
“Why, because, Prince Ardagh, you are a—you—”
“I have never,” Ardagh snapped, “taken a woman against her will. Nor will I ever do so.”
She stared at him, eyes wondering. “You mean that.”
“Of course I do! Once and for all, Sorcha ni Fothad, I never lie! That creature was about to walk away from the perversion of something joyous into an evil act, and I—simply could not fail to act.”
For a moment more Sorcha looked up at him, her face just then open and defenseless, and Ardagh, with a pleasant jolt of surprise, found himself thinking, Lovely eyes. Lovely woman. When she isn’t on the attack.
As if she’d heard his thoughts, Sorcha reddened and looked away. “I thought I understood who and what you are. Apparently I was wrong.”
“Very probably,” Ardagh agreed with a wry little laugh.
“But what you are,” she added sharply, “that I haven’t decided. Watch your back, Prince Ardagh. Eirnin mac Flainn can make a deadly foe.”
“So,” Ardagh said, “can I.”
“I don’t doubt it. Oh, and… thank you.”
Before he could reply, Sorcha ni Fothad had hurried away.