Silver's Lure. Anne Kelleher

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ the door, Connla paused. There’d been no resolution about the silver. “I’ll expect the inventory of the Hawthorn Grove to match the inventory of that silver in the rolls at Ardagh.”

      Meeve cocked her head and pursed her lips. “You know, Connla, one might think you care more about your silver than you do for Deirdre or anything else. I’m starting to think that what people say is true.”

      Stung, Connla stiffened and tightened her grip on her staff until her knuckles turned white. “And what do they say, the people? And which people, exactly, do you mean?”

      “You need look for them no farther than these wards and halls, sister. They say that the druids care only for their dreams, for the pleasures of the sidhe, that they dally on the Tors while the Land grows cold and the trees die. They say the druids are losing their power. They say the druids are dying out, and as they go, the land dies with it.” Meeve shrugged and arched one brow. “And given that you’ve preferred to stay here and make trouble while there’s reports of blight and rumors of goblins and now my daughter—your own niece—believes her life to be in danger, I wonder if what they say might be true.”

      Connla bit back the hard retort that sprang to her lips. Have mercy, she told herself. Have mercy. Meeve’s dying and there’s more at stake than what anyone thinks of druidry. “All right, Meeve. I’ll do as you suggest. Doubtless your dying has had some affect upon the land. You should’ve told me sooner.” She turned to leave and then remembered the other piece of news she’d had that day. “I’ll plan on stopping to see Bran on my way through Pent—”

      “Don’t bother—I’ve already sent for him.”

      “He’s on his way here?”

      “As we speak.” Meeve narrowed her eyes. “I sent Lochlan after him two nights ago. What’s this sudden interest in Bran? He’s none of your concern—he’s not druid.”

      “He very well could be. I had a message from Athair Eamus.”

      “Oh, come. He’s never shown even the least sign—”

      “According to Athair Eamus, Bran appears to be a very strong rogue.”

      Meeve stared at Connla, then snorted. “You expect me to believe that?”

      “Why should you not believe it?”

      “Because Bran was duller than Morla as a baby, if that’s possible. He was happy with his rocks and shells for hours, lining them all up in row after row. He didn’t even start to talk until well after he was weaned. No one’s ever—”

      “According to Athair Eamus, he’s showing signs. He’ll be here soon? I’ll wait.”

      “Oh, no, you won’t. Let me be clear.” Meeve advanced on her, bright eyes fixed in her flushed face. “I don’t want you here, Connla. I don’t want any of you here. I want you to pack up—all of you—and take yourselves off to Ardagh or TirNa’lugh or wherever you will. The blight, the goblins—these are your province. If you’d do something to ease my passing, you settle this land before I die.”

      Connla stared at Meeve, anger surging through her, blinding all vestiges of her druid-sight. Her whole arm twitched a frantic tattoo against her side, and she gritted her teeth, striving for control. “Watch your back, sister,” she blurted before she could stop herself. “Briecru—”

      “Oh, enough,” Meeve waved her hand in dismissal, a look of disgust on her face, and before Connla could continue, the door opened and a young page peered in.

      “Great Queen? Lord Lochlan’s been spotted on the causeway—at least, we think it’s Lord Lochlan—in this rain it’s hard to see.”

      “Lochlan?” said Meeve. “How could that be? Is he alone?” She glanced over her shoulder at Connla. “He must’ve turned back—”

      “He’s got someone with him—someone riding one of your own roans.”

      Connla limped forward. “Pentland’s a full three days’ ride from here, Meeve—even if he got there by now, they could only have just left. You think it’s only coincidence they arrived here on the edge of a storm?”

      For a long moment Meeve stared at her, then turned to the page and said, “Set the watch for my son—Open the gates—have mead and blankets waiting. Tell them to draw hot baths and set fresh clothes warming. Go on now.” When the page had gone, she looked at Connla. “And you, too. I’ll order horses saddled and waiting. As soon as the weather breaks, I want you all on your way.”

      In disbelief Connla gripped Meeve’s arm. “I don’t think you understand what you could be dealing with, Meeve. This is all beyond your ken—it’s beyond mine, if that really is Lochlan and Bran. How’d they get here in less than half the time it should’ve taken?”

      Meeve stalked past her, and for a moment, Connla thought she might simply walk out of the room without replying. But with her hand on the latch, she said, “I’ll watch him and if he shows signs, as you say, I’ll send word.”

      Connla put a hand on Meeve’s shoulder and was struck by how thin it felt beneath the sumptuous silk tunic. “You send me the boy, Meeve. Promise me, or I won’t leave. That boy shows any sign at all of being druid, and you send him to me. To Ardagh, at once.”

      Meeve looked pointedly at Connla’s hand, then said, “Fine. Now allow me to go greet my son.”

      “I’ll see you at MidSummer, Meeve, and I’ll expect a full accounting of every dram of silver,” she managed to finish as Meeve shut the door with a hollow slam that reverberated through every one of Connla’s aching bones.

      She couldn’t just depart the castle, she thought. She couldn’t just leave Bran here, unguarded, untended. What to do, what to do, she wondered, gnawing on her lower lip, rubbing her right arm. Then she thought of the trixies in their hive under the Tor. She’d set them to mind him, she thought. That should divert their attention, and as long as he was here, they’d ground his magic so that he’d not slip into the OtherWorld by accident and be lost. Whether or not he’d be able to cope with them—well, they didn’t call them trixies for nothing. She’d set it as sort of a test for him, she thought as she limped out of the room, her old bones aching from the damp. If he wasn’t druid, he wouldn’t see them, wouldn’t be aware of them and, at best, would find their attentions a source of puzzlement and perplexity. On the other hand, a small voice cautioned, if he is druid, they can make his life a living torment. But that, she decided, was a risk she would have to take.

      4

      Faerie

      “So you see, Auberon, if we bring the crystals here, we won’t need the druids—we won’t even need mortals. Faerie will belong to us in a way it never did before. We’ll be able to make it everything—anything—we want it to be.” Timias sat back and noticed that the sky above the Forest House was slowly turning pink. He watched Auberon’s face, searching for some sign the stricken king had understood, or even heard what he’d said, for he asked no questions, made no response at all.

      Timias waited and wondered what the king would do or say if he knew that Timias was indirectly responsible for not only the queen’s death, but all the others, as well. A furrow had appeared between Auberon’s brows, his shoulders drooped, and he looked more like a stag than ever. The СКАЧАТЬ