Chapter 29
Chapter twenty-nine
The Engagement
It would be a night to remember. At least, that is what the people were promised.
The druid observed from the gallery; the rusted filigree framed the pomp and grandeur below, as if he were watching a golden pageant.
They came in jewels, they came in joy. The ladies wore velvet; the men donned their spaulders.
He could see all of the players in their positions.
There was the Sun Matron, with her maids in black veils.
There was the old rider, with his sword of iron.
There was the priest, with his face grim; Jor, the old king’s son, and Lady Cearnathán.
But he did not see the person he most required.
That was, until bootsteps echoed against the stone.
The Vaich approached, his chest laid bare and brand blazing; the circlet upon his head a gilded mirror to the druid’s silver diadem.
“You are late,” said the druid.
The Vaich appeared disinterested as he sidled up next to him. “It is my party,” he said, “I’ll arrive when I wish.”
“It is our party,” the druid corrected.
“Then let’s get this over with.”
The Vaich turned to go, but the druid drew him back. “Not yet. I must speak with you.”
“You said it yourself, we are late.”
“Then we will be later, still. It is no small thing I wish to say.”
A flicker of a smile curled the Vaich’s lips. “Dinnae tell me you’re in love with me.”
The druid’s nose wrinkled. “What?”
“Anything else and you’d have said it already.”
“It isn’t that simple!”
The Vaich smirked. “Oh, certainly.”
Impatient clamoring echoed up from the crowd below.
“It’s about the future of this country.”
“Its future?” The Vaich leaned close. “Now, what would you ken of that?”
“I know a great deal more than you. And it will be to your advantage to hear it.”
“It’ll be to my advantage to feed our guests. If they become too hungry, this will become far more unpleasant for both of us.”
Once more, the Vaich tried to leave, but the druid gripped his wrist, anchoring him. “You cannot excuse yourself from me forever. I have played your game and I have earned my place. Now you will listen to me.”
But before either of them could press the point, Medhin appeared at the landing.
“The ceremony must begin. The guests are getting restless!” Her raven gaze took in their stance, settling warily on their tethered hands. But the druid did not back away. Instead, the Vaich shook him loose, muttering beneath his breath.
“You still do not know your place.”
Medhin’s eyes followed as they passed—a hot prickle on the back of his neck. He grit his teeth and followed the Vaich to the hall beneath.
When first he came, the throne had been one. Now, it had become two. He settled oddly upon it.
The hall hummed with anticipation. Warriors, nobles, priests—all gathered, waiting for their king to speak. A hush spread and the Vaich cast a glance across the room before lifting his cup.
“Cullain, drink!”
A roar of approval rippled through the hall as the men brought their cups to eager lips.
“You sit before me now—my friends, my fighters, my advisors—as we celebrate what the gods, themselves, have wrought. Fate, or trickery, or some mighty jest.” He glanced at the druid. “In any case… we accept.”
He waved at the throne behind him. "A king must be many things—strong, wise, just. But he must also be well-fed, well-bred and well-endowed!”
Cheers and applause followed.
“Fortunately, tonight, I see before me a feast fit for a man of such esteemed virtue. And soon, a display of generosity so grand that even the gods might weep!”
Laughter spread, keeping the room warm. The Vaich leaned forwards, lowering his voice to make them listen closer.
“To those who bring me gifts, let them be great so that I might remember your names. To those who bring me nothing, the cliffs are but a stone’s throw away.
” A final burst of laughter. The king raised his cup, his grin sharpening.
“Now, drink deep, eat your fill, and let us see if any of you are as loyal as you claim.”
Raucous clapping sounded as the king settled back in his chair. The druid had not expected such vigor nor charisma, yet the words, he felt, were on purpose. It wasn’t what the Vaich had said in his speech, but rather all the things he had left out.
The druid said nothing. There would be no time to talk then, and thus, he coiled in waiting.
There came a procession of admirers—nobles eager to bestow gifts for favor.
It was an exchange, the druid was sure, but they made a great show of it.
Some brought wares—dishes, crockery or wine—others brought tapestries, carpets and twine.
They were soon piled high with oddments and clutter.
One man brought a great and beautiful sword; one lady offered the druid a capelet.
“If he will accept,” said she with a curtsy, “it is made of Drau silk. It would fetch a hundred gilds on the noble market.”
The druid did not see reason in such exorbitant clothing, but neither could he refuse what was offered. He nodded and the Vaich waved her forwards.
“The Queen would be pleased to wear such splendid things. Isn’t that right, darling?” The Vaich met the druid’s scathing look with a low chuckle. “The people should see us getting along. There’s merit in unity.”
“Is it not enough that we be wed? Must you also regard me as some plaything?”
“It is all mine to toy with.” The king gestured lazily. “That is what it means to be Chosen of the Sun. This land is my inheritance. And you within it.”
The druid stared. “How long do you intend to spin yourself these stories?”
The Vaich grinned.
Next came a man from the northlands who carried with him two small pups.
They caught the attention of the crowd as they squealed and squirmed, and the man let them down.
The Vaich was on his feet in excitement as the little beasts bounded up.
He came to the edge of the dais and spread his arms wide.
“What eager things!” he exclaimed as they rushed him.
“These are fine hounds,” said the man. “They’re young ’n wild now, but bred clever as they come. Good for huntin’ ’n more loyal than any man here.”
They came right into the Vaich’s arms, dark as soil and just as rich, howling in a frenzy of delight. He lifted one to lick his face. “A mighty gift, indeed.”
“Arl of Grunding, sire.”
“I will remember you, Arl.” The Vaich returned, leading the pups along and ordered a servant to bring them some bacon. “Will you say you do not enjoy them, druid?”
“They ought to be on the teat. They’re too young.”
“They’re braw, already.”
The druid shook his head. “It is a foul thing to keep a beast locked inside.”
Another irritable smirk. “Then be good and make sure you take them about.”
The druid wanted nothing but to peel that look off his face.
But the final guests to arrive did it for him.
At first, they seemed almost harmless—a brief glance did not give them away.
But the druid felt it—a darkness come over him, and his eyes lingered on their ghostly complexions.
Instinctively, his fingers curled, and the heart in his chest beat faster.
These men were Dunns.
The Vaich seemed to sense it at the same time, and straightened, watching as the group approached. They wore dark robes and had mantles made of ebon feathers and bird bones. It was faint amongst the savory scents in the air, but it hung in the druid’s nose…
They smelled of death.
“Riders from Dunn Kennigh,” said the Vaich. “How surprising to see you. Where is your laird, gentlemen?”
There were six in total, but only one spoke. He was gaunt in the cheeks and slight of frame, but his height rivaled the tallest amongst them. He said, “Master Dravoghan sends his regards. He wishes you a very productive night on the morrow.”
The Vaich’s lips pulled back in a sneer. “I’ll bet he does. My proclamation was for all lairds to be present for the Reaffirmation. I suppose he has good reason not to come?”
“The southlands are rife with sickness, my liege. Surely this isn’t the first you’ve heard?”
“If that is the case, I’ll send wagons at once. Supplies and medicine for your ill.”
“No need. Our Master has it under control. Do forgive his absence today.”
The druid drew back into his seat, a prickling fear crawling up from his toes. The man’s piercing eyes fell upon him, and he shivered.
The men of Dunn Kennigh were a vicious breed, more infamous to his kin than the An’Atherin.
It was a wickedness that festered in the south, a derangement that had captured them.
They had gone down from the west long ago, taking the druids’ teachings and distorting them.
They worshipped a primal spirit—a terror even his people refused to name.
And in their mockery of life, had become defilers.
The Vaich said with an edge of iron, “It is time my consort and I take our dinner seats. You are welcome to stay and feast. Come, druid.”
“Then it is true,” the man said. “You have taken a wildkin as bride.”
Both Vaich and druid shared a pulse in that moment, and it thrummed deep and went silent.
“Whether he is or he isn’t, that shouldnae matter to you,” the Vaich said severely.
“As I said, it is time we go.” He held out his hand, and before he could muster himself, the Vaich had pulled the druid out of his throne.
Down the dais they went together, the Vaich’s body a stone wall between him and the cold.
“Tell your Master,” the Vaich said more quietly, “I will meet with him soon. And I expect to be shown hospitality.”
“Aye,” the man muttered. “Aye, ye shall.”
Once more, the druid shuddered, letting the Vaich steer him away.
“Cré ma nighm!” the king hissed as the druid struggled to compose himself.
“Trouble in the south?” he questioned.
“Dinnae ye fash. That’s no matter that concerns you.”
The Vaich was dismissive, but in that moment, the druid felt that, for once, they claimed a shared enemy.