Chapter Five #2
“Don’t let Edouard see you treating his books so casually,” Aemyra said. “I half suspect he wears gloves whenever he reads them himself.”
Eilidh stifled a laugh as she rounded the table. “The laird does not seem the type to get his hands dirty.”
Aemyra surveyed the space as she walked in, noting a single high window barely large enough to admit a silver swyft, and a small armoire on the back wall. Aside from a dusty pair of priestess robes, it was empty.
“Have you made progress with the translations?” Aemyra asked, dragging one of the chairs out from under the table.
Eilidh pointed to a crinkled, stained page with illustrations of poisonous plants in the margins.
“The Caillte is a lyrical language, and prone to embellishments, but if the Chosen can create chemical agents, I am certain we can figure out how to formulate an antidote.”
“Who taught you to read the Caillte?” Aemyra asked. “Most do not find it worth learning.”
Draevan certainly hadn’t. The twins had begun lessons in the Seann at six years old, but had never been tutored in the lost language.
“Kenna’s favorite books were in the Caillte. They were mostly children’s stories, but she would read them to me after a nightmare.”
“Perhaps you should read them to me,” Aemyra said with a small huff of laughter.
Eilidh frowned, as if she had never thought Aemyra capable of being scared enough to have nightmares.
“You must miss her,” Aemyra said softly. Kenna had been like a mother to Eilidh, taking her in after Aemyra had freed her from the back of Sir Nairn’s wagon.
Eilidh glanced at Brigid’s woven cross on the wall, the same outline that marked Aemyra’s palm. “She is feasting in the halls of the Goddess now, of that I am certain.”
A knock sounded at the door and Aemyra tensed.
“It’s just me,” Adarian said, entering the room. “I wanted to talk to you before you left.”
Aemyra could tell from his tone that Adarian’s temper, always a far slower burn than her own, had ebbed.
Eilidh hurriedly removed a pile of books from the other chair. “I must prepare the temple for morning prayers. Your Majesty, Your Highness.” She bowed to the twins in turn before scurrying off.
Adarian sat down, stretching his bad leg out under the table, and eyed Aemyra’s flying leathers.
“So you’re really going along with this?”
Aemyra fixed her twin with a look. “We need coin, and we need fighting soldiers. This is the quickest way to achieve both.”
Crossing his arms, Adarian looked at her in the same way he used to when Aemyra would blame the empty biscuit jar on him. Suspicious and judgmental.
“Let me do this,” Aemyra said stubbornly. “It is the logical solution.”
Adarian thumbed through the loose papers in front of him. “Kolreath was sighted two days ago.”
Ice crept up Aemyra’s spine. “Flying?”
Adarian nodded. “At the southernmost point of the Deàrr Mountains.”
It shouldn’t have been possible. Aemyra had been sure Kolreath had dragged himself off the battlefield only to die in his nest.
She had wanted to give the ancient beathach that dignity.
It was one of the many things she had been wrong about.
“An unBonded dragon is a liability we don’t need right now,” Aemyra muttered, seeking comfort from Terrea through their Bond. Her dragon was still asleep, her dreams a vivid watercolor of memories and emotions Aemyra could make no sense of.
“Another dragon could be of more help than an army of chimeras,” Adarian said quietly.
She wrenched herself out of Terrea’s head and back into the dusty room.
“Absolutely not,” Aemyra hissed. “You will not Bond to Kolreath, do you hear me?”
When Adarian didn’t answer, she felt the claws of panic wrap around her heart.
“By the order of your queen, you are forbidden from Bonding to Kolreath. I will not have you go as mad as Evander when we have no need of another dragon.”
Adarian looked hurt. “Surely amplifying my powers would be of use to you? My gift far outstrips what Evander was initially blessed with. I’m sure I could handle the amplification of power without sacrificing my mind. Terrea tolerates me well enough. I thought I might be in with a chance.”
Fighting to calm herself, Aemyra replied, “You will remain here and work on the antidote while Eilidh translates. Father does not believe in its importance, but I know this is the best use of your time.”
“And yours is being married off to Laird Lonan’s son? Thear’s trodach is full of the most bloodthirsty warriors in all of Clan Leòmhann, and I’ve heard he decorates his spear with the hair of the people he has killed,” Adarian said.
Surprisingly, none of this bothered Aemyra. “Good. If I’m marrying him for warriors, then they better be up to standard.”
Adarian tried again. “You don’t even know what he looks like.”
“No doubt he has a hairy back to match his furry beathach.”
At this, Adarian’s beard twitched. “You’re allergic to cats. It will never work.”
She assessed her brother across the table. “What do you want, Adarian?” she asked.
He sighed. “An end to this war, the freedom of our people from oppressive religion.”
“No. I mean for yourself.”
Aemyra had never felt more selfish than when her brother looked as though he had never entertained the idea. After a moment, he cleared his throat.
“I suppose, once the war is over, I would like to see more of the world. Perhaps be of use in helping other territories break free of the Chosen ideals. I could be your envoy,” he said.
Feeling a smile curve her lips, Aemyra replied, “Well, you can’t be my envoy if you are Bonded, can you?”
Happy that they seemed to be on the same page once more, Aemyra ran her finger down the painted leaves in the margin of the book.
“When you have crafted the antidote, I would like it to be widely distributed. To other territories as well,” she said.
Adarian shifted, his chair creaking. “We have to create one first.”
“We’ll get there. We already know that antidotes negate toxins within the body, or transform poison into something less potent,” she mused.
“Like how mulberry leaves boiled in vinegar will combat henbane, or dittany dissolved in wine works well for most insect bites…” Adarian added, leaning forward to get a closer look at the book.
Something niggled at the back of Aemyra’s mind as she thought of little Edwyn, poisoned with bitterberries and kept hovering on the cusp of death by Draevan’s spy.
Was the binding agent, by essence, a poison?
“In order to combat the effects of the binding agent, we need to know what it’s made from,” Aemyra said confidently.
“I’ve been gathering supplies for weeks,” Adarian said. “It’s hardly an apothecary, but we have enough to conduct a few experiments. All we need—”
“Is the binding agent,” Aemyra finished.
“Send Brodie. He is our swiftest rider and has a talent for blending in. If anyone can find a raiding party and bring back a vial or two, it’s him.
” She gestured to the haphazard collection of books.
“In the meantime, Eilidh will continue translating to find the magical component we are missing.”
When she stood, Adarian reached for her hand. “Don’t go through with this alliance unless Thear truly respects you as his queen.”
Aemyra squeezed his hand. “If I do this, then at least one of us will get the happy ending they deserve.”
Before Adarian could pry, Aemyra strode from the room envisioning him and Laoise traveling throughout Erisocia, changing the world for the better.
Her destiny began and ended with the crown of Tìr Teine, but her brother deserved more.
Feeling more hopeful than she had in months, Aemyra rushed through the temple without looking back.