Chapter 22 #2
Senan had chosen an apartment directly below Ionáin’s, in a tower looking out west toward First Island and Erisen.
A long, richly carpeted hall led from the entrance to the main suite, a cluster of bright, beautifully appointed rooms leading off a central sitting room.
éadha was in the Keeper’s cubby, a plain, whitewashed room just inside the main door with one narrow west-facing window set deep in the walls.
The first thing she did was check there was a working lock on the door then, breathing in deeply, she focused on her thought-wall, making sure it was as strong as possible, with her gift buried far behind it.
Being quartered so close to Senan, she couldn’t afford a single slip.
She knew what he was like from First Island: the way he’d reveled in needling and humiliating her and the other Keeper girls.
She couldn’t let him get to her, she thought, not when she’d so much to hide.
From beyond the door she heard Senan’s drawl echoing down the hall.
“Of course you’re staying the full night at the ball. It’s the first night when they finally stop treating us like children and let us get our hands on the Fodder, all guaranteed young, all volunteers. You wouldn’t want to miss that, would you? You’re not going to be a prude, now are you?”
“No, of course not” came Ionáin’s voice. “I’m just not a big one for parties, that’s all.”
“Leave it to me. I’ll show you how to enjoy yourself in true Channeller style. Keeper, come here.”
At this last, Senan raised his voice. Reluctantly éadha made her way down to the central chamber.
Senan and Ionáin stood outside on a stone balcony jutting over the sea.
Waves could just be heard crashing at the base of the cliff far below.
White curtains billowed as the two stepped back inside.
Senan sat down at a desk inlaid with ivory and gold leaf, leaning back in his chair to stare at éadha.
Her skin crawled at the expression in his eyes, and even though she’d buried it as deep as she could, still she felt her power stir.
Ionáin moved away, pouring himself a drink from a beaten silver jug standing on a sideboard.
“Pour me one too,” said Senan. “I’m gasping still from that race earlier—who’d have thought Coll was such a neat sailor?”
éadha forced herself to stand silently in the center of the room until Senan turned back toward her.
“Keeper, you’ll have to lay out my clothes for the ball. My manservant is ill, but I told Master Joen you can fill in until a replacement arrives from Erisen. That’s right, isn’t it? You were a servant or goatherd or some such in Ailm’s Keep?”
At this éadha flushed red but held her tongue. Ionáin handed Senan a full cup.
It was the first time she’d been near Ionáin since the trials. Seeing him up close, her heart gave the leap it always did. He, though, didn’t look at her and went to stand again on the balcony.
“Now, Ionáin, don’t sulk,” Senan called after him. In a conspiratorial whisper he said to éadha, “Your little stunt quite took the gloss off his win at the trials. Everyone thinks you helped him by deliberately blocking my channel and I should’ve won.”
“But that’s not true,” she blurted.
Senan continued as if she hadn’t spoken.
“I volunteered to help Master Joen ensure you never forget your place again, and now here you stand, assigned to me. I hope you’re looking forward to it as much as I am.
” Though she’d already guessed as much, a part of her felt a fresh unease to hear Senan saying it out loud: she was someone he had permission to hurt.
Mostly though, she was focused on Ionáin, hurrying over to the steps leading up to the balcony. “Ionáin, I didn’t block Senan on purpose; it was an accident.”
“Uh-uh-uh, naughty” came Senan’s voice as Ionáin finally turned from staring out over the sea, no look upon his face that she could recognize.
Instead, for the first time in her life, she saw a resemblance to his uncle Huath, some hardening about the eyes and the mouth.
Staring into space, not meeting her eyes, he spoke distantly, formally.
“Keeper éadha. I appreciate in the past I’ve permitted familiarity of address because you’re a member of my father’s staff.
I must, however, remind you that here on Second Island, all Channellers should be addressed by their proper titles, both in public and in private. ”
éadha drew her head back as she stared up at him, half smiling as if to acknowledge the bad joke that this was, had to be. He’d never held a grudge in his life, couldn’t bear to stay mad with anyone. She was the harsh one, the one who had to be coaxed out of a sulk.
“Ionáin?” she said.
Ionáin said nothing. Took a long drink and came down the steps past her to join Senan by the desk. She swiveled as he passed, staring at him in disbelief.
She knew his face so well—so much better than her own.
All she needed was the slightest widening of his eyes, a sideways sliding glance as he passed her, and she’d know this wasn’t really happening.
But his features were frozen into a fine, tanned mask as he settled himself on a divan, flicking some imaginary dust off his pants.
“Lord Ionáin?” she said, still staring, mutely pleading until at last he raised his eyes toward her. Eyes that were just that, nothing more, shuttered and dark as he looked at her.
“I trust you’ll give good service to Lord De Lane during your time as his Keeper,” he said before taking another drink.
“Attaboy.” Senan chuckled delightedly. “Now, Keeper, run along. I’ll call you when I need you.”
éadha swung about on her heel and left, willing the tears back, tipping her head up so they couldn’t overflow down her face as she walked unsteadily down the corridor that was suddenly a hundred miles long.
In her room, her bag lay open on the bed.
Her eyes were caught by the soft gleam of amber, just visible beneath her spare tunic.
She pulled it out. It was the little tower Ionáin had given her for her birthday, more than half a year and over a lifetime ago, when he’d bowed to her, his face shining with laughter, and called her “my lady.” Holding it loosely in her hand, she sat in the bare space of her room and stared at the wall as she heard the outer door open and close. Ionáin was gone.
Buried beneath her thought-wall, her power churned in response to her hurt and her fear.
Ionáin had abandoned her, and now she was trapped in this apartment with Senan, having to bury every scrap of her power and her rage so as not to give him any excuse to hurt her or report her for further punishment.
In that moment, as her power roiled inside her, she wasn’t sure how she was going to do it.
Without thinking, she let some of it flow into the hand holding the little tower, the heat so intense the amber base started to melt.
That was how she was, she thought, staring down at it expressionlessly. She and Magret’s little book both, scarred by their time on Lambay. Maybe it was right the tower should be the same. Another marker of the damage this place was doing.
Senan shouted from down the hall, “Keeper—here!”
Killing the heat with a thought, she tucked the half-melted tower out of sight beneath her mattress before making her way to Senan’s bedroom, forcing herself to keep her eyes down as she entered.
He pointed to clothes laid out on his bed; she was to dress him.
A part of her wanted to recoil, but she pushed it down.
She would get through this. His outfit was elaborate, layers of fine cloth overlaid with an embellished tunic, heavy trews, and calf-leather boots.
With her aunt’s eye she could see the hours of skilled craftsmanship in every panel of the tunic.
He shrugged it on carelessly, tugging petulantly where it caught slightly around his waist.
éadha thought of Ionáin. He’d always been as light as a feather when they were smaller.
She’d been able to lift him for years until it became too much of an indignity for him to be given a boost up a tree or onto the cottage’s curved roof.
She loved the lightness, the spareness of him, the slender fingers, the elegant length.
Her chest hurt at the memory as she loosened the ties on Senan’s tunic until he was satisfied.
She was desperate for him to go. She knew her thought-wall was more vulnerable when she was upset like this.
But as he was leaving, he turned at the door and said, “Make sure this place is immaculate; I expect I’ll have people back later.
Oh, and before I drink too much to remember, you’re to report to the Fodder Hold tomorrow morning for your remedial training. Now, hold still.”
In the next instant éadha sagged as though from a blow to the stomach.
Swift as thought, Senan had channeled her, draining her energy so she sank to her knees in the sudden weakness.
She stared up at him, saw the pleasure in his eyes as he watched her fall to the floor, and she understood.
Yes, he’d chosen her as his Keeper because he knew he could hurt her, but no, it didn’t matter how good her self-control was or how carefully she avoided provoking him.
Because in the end someone like him didn’t need a reason, just the knowledge he could. Because she was no one.
“Just needed a little extra for the party,” he said as he strolled on out the door, leaving éadha sick and shaken on the ground.
For a few moments as she lay there, she thought she might be losing her mind.
If she’d known when she first thought of coming to Lambay to cover for Ionáin that this was the price, would she even have left Ailm’s Keep?
She lay still, staring at the pile of Senan’s discarded clothes on the floor, waiting for her strength to return.
As she did, though, she found herself remembering Gry’s words in the Keeper boat weeks ago, when he’d laughed up at the sky at the idea of letting Senan determine the choices Gry made.
He was right, she thought. She might be trapped as Senan’s Keeper for now.
But she would not let Senan be the reason she failed at what she’d come here to do.
That power he did not have. And so, slowly, painfully, she pulled herself to her feet. She would go on.