Chapter 13 #2
Suddenly Scáthach was overwhelmed by one of her last memories of Inga.
She had been five and Aife just a toddler—a very fussy toddler who seemed to do nothing but cry and whine.
Aife had been especially fussy that day, and Inga had snapped.
Scáthach had been trying to coax Aife to stop crying by showing her a butterfly she’d found.
Inga had snatched up Aife and slapped the butterfly from Scáthach’s hand, killing it.
As the toddler wailed, Inga had shrieked at Scáthach that it was her fault the baby cried all the time because Aife was afraid of her.
The memory was so strong Scáthach could smell the beer on Inga’s breath and feel the tightness in her stomach that had caused her to run from the room and vomit outside.
“Mama?” Uathach whispered.
Her daughter’s voice brought Scáthach fully to the present.
“Yes, that is definitely Aife.” She continued to study her half sister.
Her delicate features showed as much emotion as a mask.
She was dressed in a fine linen tunic that had been dyed to match the blue of her eyes.
The low bodice was embroidered with black dragons.
Her neck was draped in gold chains and her slender arms covered in gold bangles.
As Aife drew closer to her, Scáthach met her half sister’s gaze.
Those eyes! They were the exact shade of brilliant blue as their father’s, which had Scáthach’s stomach roiling.
Was there more of their father within Aife?
Had Geirr been mistaken about her because his Jarl had named Scáthach his successor and not Aife? Could she and her sister be allies?
“She looks like she’s a child playing dress-up,” Uathach whispered to her mother.
“Let us not underestimate or prejudge her,” Scáthach replied softly. “She commands an army and has convinced at least one southern tribe she has the ability to trade my head for Dunscáith. There is more to her than her doll-like appearance.”
“You are right to remind me.”
Aife and her retinue halted in the middle of the stone bridge, several yards away from Scáthach and Uathach, though not so distant that they would have to shout to be heard.
“Greetings, sister.” Aife’s smile was sweet and her voice was high and bright, furthering the illusion that she was a harmless little songbird.
Scáthach studied her carefully. She knew better than to believe illusions.
“Greetings, Aife. When I received word you had taken Dùn Dòbhrain, I came to ask your intentions.” Scáthach spoke calmly, as if she’d seen her half sister recently and this was simply another opportunity for them to reconnect.
“Why, sister, my intention has never changed. I intend to be crowned Queen of Lethra.” Her voice remained birdlike, but Aife’s sweet expression began to slide from her face like tallow from a burning candle.
Scáthach nodded. “That seems a reasonable intention, though I do not understand why you are here, in Alba, almost within a stone’s throw of my island while Lethra is in the distant northeast.”
“Oh, that is easily answered, sister mine. As long as you live, Lethra will not crown me queen. So I am here to bring about your death.” Aife’s smile became a feral baring of her small, white teeth.
Scáthach did not have to look behind her to know her guard had moved closer. Though she and Uathach carried no weapons, the Shadow Guard was heavily armed and could cover their queen and her daughter with shields and spirit them away before Aife’s warriors closed on them.
Scáthach’s tone remained placid and reasonable, still hoping that she and her sister might come to an understanding. “Aife, perhaps you are unaware that I have refused Lethra’s crown.”
“Oh, I am aware.”
“Then let me assure you that I will not change my mind. I am already Queen of Shadow. I need no other titles or kingdoms. I even encouraged Geirr to crown you with my blessing.” As Scáthach spoke, she watched Aife’s pale face flush a mottled red.
“I do not need your blessing to be queen of my own land! You are the one who left your people. I stayed. I deserve the crown.” Aife snarled the words.
The blue of their father’s eyes turned cold and sharp as a Norse winter and the sweet, songbird illusion shattered, revealing the serpent that lurked beneath.
Resolve hardened, Scáthach continued. “It’s true that my divine mother took me from Lethra when I was a child and yet Father still named me his heir.
” Aife’s lip curled into a sneer. “Regardless, I willingly gave my blessing for you to wear the crown, sister. I did so with no ulterior motive or enmity. Can we not find a truce? You lost warriors when your Drest came against my students and me. Imagine how many men you will lose when you must face my fully trained guard.”
“Queens must be willing to make sacrifices!” Aife shouted.
“Oh, Aife, I think you’re confused. A queen’s sacrifice is supposed to be made for her people and not of her people.” Scáthach smiled placidly. “Perhaps it is that confusion that has caused the majority of your people to reject you.”
Aife took a step forward, as if she would hurl herself across the bridge at Scáthach, but Drest’s big hand caught her arm, holding her at his side.
She shook off his hand and sneered at Scáthach.
“My people do not crown me because they are blinded by my father’s obsession with you.
He convinced Lethra that because of your divine blood, a simple accident of birth, you are the only choice to rule after him.
So I will eliminate you and thus eliminate the boulder in my path to Lethra’s crown. ”
“Our father,” Scáthach said. When Aife only blinked in confusion at her, Scáthach explained, her voice turning to iron as she spoke.
“Ardgeimm, Jarl of Lethra, was my father as well as yours, a fact that has made me loath to commit violence against you. I see now that I would be mistaken to continue to show you mercy for his sake. Father knew you were unfit to rule. I should have trusted his judgment.”
The mottled red of Aife’s face flushed to solid scarlet. She seemed on the brink of exploding when there was movement in the warriors behind her. Automatically, Scáthach shoved Uathach behind her. “Shadow Guard!”
Her guard responded instantly, moving swiftly up beside her and holding their shields at the ready.
But arrows didn’t fly. Spears were not hurled.
A single warrior jogged through the press of Aife’s people to bow low before her and then speak softly to her.
As she listened to him, Aife’s expression shifted.
Her face lost its flush and when she turned to Scáthach again, her songbird illusion was once again in place.
Her smile was sweet and pretty, her voice high and musical.
“I have just been informed that we have captured the warrior I came to this desolate place to find.” Aife’s laughter was girlish.
“And now our discussion has concluded, sister. There is something, someone I must see to. Goodbye, Scáthach. I doubt we shall ever meet again.” Aife turned and was swallowed by her wall of warriors as she hurried back into the fort.
Scáthach did not wait. She led her guard away from the fort and back along the loch at a gallop, and did not slow until she reached the spot where they’d launched the little fishing boat.
There she dismounted and began pacing along the bank of the loch, staring out at the water, hoping she was wrong.
“Mother, what is it? Aife sounded almost mad. Could she have lost her mind?” Uathach asked.
“I hope she is mad and delusional.” Scáthach stared out at the empty loch. “But I’m afraid the truth is much, much worse.”