Chapter Thirty
Alannah entered Glasny’s to find it empty save for his regular patrons.
He narrowed his eyes as she strode over to the counter. “Is everything alright?”
She shook her head, waiting until she could stand near enough they’d not be overheard.
“What is it? You look pale as a ghost.”
“I figured out who is trying to destroy the bridge,” she whispered. “It’s the bards.”
His pale green eyes shot open, his bushy brows raised nearly to his hairline. “What? But why? How do you know?”
Alannah told him everything she’d discovered, including their true identities, hating how bad it sounded.
Conan had lied to her not once, but twice.
And it was the second lie—the lie of omission about coming to Ath Luain to burn the bridge—that Alannah felt justified breaking her oath of silence.
When she finished he blew out a long, haggard breath.
“I still don’t understand why they’d do such a thing, though,” he sighed.
“They came here to do it,” Alannah replied, speaking aloud the only conclusion she’d reached. “Which means it has something to do with their king and his politics.”
It was the only explanation that made any sense, though she couldn’t imagine what a simple bridge had to do with anything important enough to merit their interference.
“I moved all their tinder, so they will need more time before they can light it. But we need time to come up with a way to stop them.”
Glasny nodded, his fingers working through his short, thick beard. “I’ll fetch everyone here for a meeting. Can’t risk it at the hostelry. We’ll decide then what’s to be done.”
“I’m going to go check in with Emer so she knows I’m alright.” Alannah called as she headed out the door. “I’ll be back soon.”
Alannah hurried from the alehouse and across the bridge. The watch on it hadn’t begun yet, though she knew the men would be there soon. Not wanting to risk running into them, she took the long way around the center of town. She wasn’t ready to face Conan, not yet.
When she reached The Hart’s Rest, Alannah found Emer tidying up two of the larger tables while folk finished eating at the rest. The moment her sister spotted her, she fisted her hands to her hips like an angry mama—all the more amusing since Alannah had been the one to help raise her.
“There you are!” Emer tsked. “Where have you been? I was getting worried. The men weren’t at dinner or breakfast, and now their cottage is empty of their things.”
Alannah didn’t stop walking until she reached her sister, pulling her into a hug. “I need to speak with you in the kitchen,” she whispered.
Emer’s dark eyes narrowed, but she complied. Alannah helped her carry a load of dirty dishes and dinner scraps back, setting everything down before she told Emer the same story she’d just shared with Glasny.
Her sister’s hand covered her gaping mouth, her brows furrowing deeper with every new detail. “But that cannot be,” she gasped. “They’ve been so kind.”
“I wish it weren’t true, believe me. But it is, and we can’t let them destroy it.”
Emer worried her lower lip, a sign that she knew something and wasn’t saying. Her dear sister couldn’t hide a single thing she thought.
“What are you not saying?” Alannah pressed. She needed to get back to the tavern.
“They left this,” Emer replied, walking over to the kitchen and pulling a dagger from behind her table.
Alannah went cold. “What?”
“I found it in their cottage, laid out like it was meant to be found,” she explained. “It didn’t seem odd to me then, but after what you’ve said—”
Alannah took the dagger into her clammy hands. It was beautiful. The gold handle was engraved with a deer curled up to sleep—the same picture as the inn’s sign. The Hart’s Rest. Turning it over, the other side held the image of a harp.
Deep in her bones, Alannah knew it was a parting gift. He’d said they were leaving soon, hadn’t he?
“They’re going to do it tonight.” Alannah didn’t have much time. “I need to go.”
With a quick farewell to Emer, Alannah sprinted back toward the bridge, praying a plan would form as she ran.
*
“What do you mean it’s gone?” Illadan growled at the three men hidden beneath the bridge.
“I mean that it is no longer here,” Dallan retorted. “There’s nothing. No sticks, no hay, no leaves. It’s as though we never did any of it.”
“Did it fall into the river?” Conan asked.
“No sign of it anywhere,” Ardál answered.
A sinking feeling settled in the pit of Conan’s stomach. “Someone must have found it.” And he thought he knew who.
Alannah had stumbled upon them collecting the last of the tinder. Perhaps Dallan’s clever excuse hadn’t been as convincing as they’d thought, even though they’d left some of the wood on her pile.
“You think she figured it out.” Illadan had clearly drawn the same conclusion.
“She caught us in the forest,” Conan said. “I don’t think it’s out of the question.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Finn interrupted. “No matter who moved it, we need to get this finished and get out of here.”
Illadan nodded. “Ardál, have a quick run up and down the nearby banks to see if you can find any of the tinder. You two get started lighting it from underneath.”
Ardál took off down the western bank. Finn and Dallan stepped toward the water and Conan followed Illadan onto the causeway. Then all hell broke loose.
Shouts erupted around them, followed by shadowed figures rushing the bridge. Three here, four there. Once they came close enough, Conan could make out the members of the watch that Alannah assembled to guard the bridge. The vengeful angel herself stormed toward him, dagger in hand.
Conan didn’t want to fight them. They were so few in number, though, that he and the Fianna could hopefully disarm them without doing much harm.
“So much for keeping our involvement a secret,” Dallan muttered from a few feet away. “At this rate, the entire town will be able to tell Cahill exactly what had happened to the causeway.”
“You will step away from the bridge and get out of our town,” Alannah demanded, loud enough for all to hear. She had no lack of bravery, he’d give her that.
“We cannot.” Conan’s chest felt as though it would shatter into a thousand tiny shards.
“Why?” she cried, her voice breaking. “Why must you destroy it? What cause could that possibly serve?”
Conan turned to Illadan. He wasn’t about to spill their entire plan without his leader’s approval, but he’d also sworn to Alannah that he wouldn’t lie to her again.
Illadan pinched the bridge of his nose. “You may as well just tell her.”
“Your king built the bridge as a blockade, not to help travelers cross the river,” Conan explained. “He did it to incite Brian to rash action.”
“And it appears he has succeeded,” Alannah shot back, crossing her arms.
“We were meant to remain hidden,” Conan swallowed. “Obviously, that has gone awry.”
“You have told me nothing but lies since the moment we met.” She took a step forward.
Conan caught her furious gaze. “And I deserve every ounce of your anger for it.”
“Will you not yield?” she begged. “You know how important this bridge is to our town.”
“I wish that we could, but we must destroy it.” Illadan lifted his voice, addressing the crowd at large that had gathered. “You should go home. We do not wish to harm you, and this is a fight you cannot win.”
As if to emphasize that point, Teague stepped over to stand beside Conan. “I’m sorry, Alannah, but this is a matter of great political weight.”
A hole opened in Conan’s chest when he saw the look of disbelief that washed over Alannah. But she recovered quickly, tightening the grip on her dagger and unsheathing her sword.
Conan swallowed hard, hesitating. The doubt that had begun when he first realized how much he cared for Alannah sprang up with renewed vigor.
Was he on the right side here? All oaths and lies aside, she made a fair point.
Was the political situation here actually more important than the impact of the bridge on the people of Ath Luain?
For the first time since he’d joined the Fianna, Conan felt that he stood on the wrong side of the cause.
Teague’s suggestion swirled through the chaos of his thoughts. Before he could think better of it. Conan walked over to Alannah and turned to face off against the Fianna.