Chapter Four
Adarian was the first to speak. “You seem to have forgotten you are already married.”
Blood spilled on white sheets, the pull of thread through skin, a claiming bite…
Aemyra clenched her fist over the promise mark.
“A marriage was conducted without my consent and in front of a false God. High Priestess Greer is in agreement that in the eyes of the Goddess, my marriage to Fiorean does not exist,” Aemyra said, throwing a scroll across the table.
Draevan snatched it up as Adarian protested loudly. Laoise looked worried he might offer up his own hand to Clan Leòmhann instead.
“If Laird Lonan has accepted these terms, then we are one step closer to putting what transpired during your captivity behind you. Uniting with the chimeras is in the best interests of us all,” Draevan said, finally sounding impressed.
Maeve seemed inclined to agree, and Iona clinked her goblet against Nell’s.
The promise mark was searing on her palm, and Aemyra kept her hands under the table.
Adarian thumped his walking stick on the floor, a little less intimidating than it could have been thanks to the plush rug.
“It is far too dangerous for you to go traipsing across Tìr Teine. If you desire a match with Clan Leòmhann, they should come here.”
“There is no time,” Aemyra said, gesturing for her twin to sit down. “The dragons can cover the distance in a matter of days. We will not be gone for long.”
“My scouts report the Covenanters are amassing in Edinbane, behind the thick city walls,” Maeve interjected. “We need only guard against small bands of raiders and vigilante groups of traitorous clansmen seeking revenge for Fyndhorn.”
A muscle flexed in Adarian’s jaw. “They wouldn’t be seeking revenge if your troops hadn’t massacred them.”
“We wouldn’t be alive if I hadn’t,” Maeve countered, almond-shaped eyes narrowing.
“We do not have the numbers to fight the clans who have declared for the True Religion and the Covenanters arriving via ship. Clan Leuthanach was just the first to convert. Fiorean might remain in àird Lasair, but he is moving power players across this territory from the golden throne.”
Draevan thumped the table. “Clan Leòmhann have at least a thousand warriors to spare, two hundred of whom are Bonded to chimeras.”
“We have two dragons while Fiorean has only one,” Adarian countered.
This time, Draevan’s temper snapped. “Have you forgotten Kolreath? How do you expect my dragon to fight when he can scarcely spark an ember through his injured throat? Would you send the sister you care so much about to battle an entire army alone?”
After three months of losses and stalemates, tensions were running high.
Gealach was still recovering from where Kolreath’s claws had punctured his throat and his wing membranes were badly scarred. Knowing how protective she felt over Terrea, Aemyra couldn’t imagine the worry Draevan had been concealing for his own beathach.
It was best if Kolreath died in the Deàrr Mountains and was never seen again.
“I will go to àird Caolas, and there will be no arguing the matter,” Aemyra said with finality.
Adarian’s sapphire eyes were pleading. “Laird Lonan is twice our age.”
Aemyra nodded briskly and his jaw hardened.
“Then I assume his brute of a son Thear will be your intended?”
Long fingers, skittering heat, calluses rasping against her own…
The memories knifed through her mind before Aemyra could stop them and she clutched the arms of her gaudily upholstered chair for support. She prayed her brother would keep his temper.
He didn’t.
Switching to the Seann, Adarian said, “I will obey my queen’s command, but I will let my sister know when she is making the wrong decision.”
Aemyra slammed her goblet down on the table, Laird Edouard flinching in fear for the polished oak surface.
“I have been waiting months for you to be angry about the choices I have made, so go ahead and hate me for it. I promise you it won’t be more than I hate myself,” Aemyra shot back, eyes widening around the table as she raised her voice.
Adarian clenched his fists. “You were forced into marriage once before. Look how well that worked out for you.”
The blood drained from Aemyra’s face, and Draevan held up one finger.
“That’s enough,” he said firmly.
But Draevan hadn’t raised the twins, and he was no expert in defusing a fight between siblings.
Had someone else spoken to her brother like this, Aemyra would have broken their nose. As it was, she felt Terrea encouraging her through the Bond. No man could speak to a queen in such a manner, not even her twin.
“I was forced into marriage with the man I thought killed our family. I spoke vows in a tower while I was held prisoner and abused by priests who think Dùileach power should be extinguished,” Aemyra hissed in the Seann, leaning forward in her chair.
No one knew where to look. Even if they didn’t understand the words, it was obvious the queen was furious.
“I have a choice now, and by the Goddess I choose the path that will allow me to win this war. If I have to shackle myself in marriage again, that is what I will do.”
Adarian’s lips were set in a thin line.
“I have watched you retreat into yourself and it isn’t grief for Orlagh, or Lachlann, or Pàdraig. What Alfred did to you—”
“What did he do to you?” Draevan interrupted, also in the Seann.
Aemyra cursed under her breath.
“What did Alfred do to you?” Draevan asked again, his voice low.
Anxiety squeezed Aemyra until she felt light-headed. She had sworn never to tell her father about the attempted mutilation, in case she had been damaged in ways she could not feel.
After all of Draevan’s planning, his line might still end with her.
“Aemyra,” Draevan pressed, his tone indicating that he was one step away from switching to the Cànan as a way to make her talk.
With a shaky breath, Aemyra turned to her father, glad that Riya had suddenly engaged Edouard in loud conversation.
“The night I killed Sir Nairn, the night I escaped…” she began, her fists clenching as she remembered being trapped in that room between Alfred and the captain.
“I was held down while a p-priest…I had only witnessed Orlagh use an instrument like that a handful of times. When there was no other way to save a mother,” Aemyra said, in a voice barely above a whisper.
Hoping she wouldn’t be asked to elaborate further, unsure of if she would even be able to, Aemyra looked up at her father and recoiled.
The look on his face promised death a thousand different ways, his eyes pits of green fury.
Aemyra flinched as Draevan abruptly stood, throwing his dagger down to the table with such force that it embedded itself in the wood. Nostrils flaring, he strode from the room with one hand already on Dorchadas.
Wisely, Maeve went after him before some unsuspecting guard bore the brunt of Draevan’s anger.
Poor Edouard looked like he would rather swim naked in the Forc than invite the Daercathians to reside in his city again.
Taking pity on Laoise’s brother’s delicate sensibilities, Aemyra pulled the dagger free of the table. Twirling it in her hands, she wished her father hadn’t found out like this.
Long fingers clasped over the pommel of a sword, blood matted into auburn hair, a dagger extended toward her…
Aemyra closed her eyes against the flashes of Fiorean she had been reliving in her nightmares for weeks. He had been everything she had needed in that moment, and more. She still didn’t understand how he could have sided with Alfred only a day later.
Taking a steadying breath, she broke the awkward silence.
“Edouard, dispatch three ships to intercept the dowager queen. She cannot be allowed to reach Tìr ùir. Clea, we need more air Dùileach stationed on the eastern hill, Terrea noticed a gap while flying earlier.”
They both nodded and rose from their chairs, looking relieved at the dismissal.
“I declare this council session adjourned,” Aemyra said tightly.
Sujaron burst from the fireplace with an echoing shriek, his long wings peppering the rug with soot. Laird Edouard made a despairing noise and fled the room in search of the housekeeper.
“I leave at first light for àird Caolas,” Aemyra said, her voice flat.
Striding from the council room faster than her brother could hope to pursue with his injured leg, Aemyra made it to her chambers before the panic took her.
Overcome with dizziness as she failed to draw breath into her lungs, Aemyra collapsed to the floor and weathered the waves of terror that shot through her chest. Fisting the silken sheets, furious tears escaped the corners of her eyes as she fought to gain control of herself.
When her heart began to thump irregularly, the panic increased and she unlatched the window. The fresh air breezing off the river cooled her flushed cheeks and her chest loosened enough for her to draw a full breath.
Palms flat on the window ledge, Aemyra ground her teeth. She couldn’t rule like this.
As if it was mocking her, the promise mark burned, and Aemyra looked out across the river to the north. She had half a mind to fly to àird Lasair with Terrea now and fulfill her promise to kill Fiorean. At least if she died in the attempt, she wouldn’t be forced to marry another stranger.
Goddess knows it hadn’t worked out well for her the first time.