Chapter Sixteen
Sorcha glared at Aemyra across the council room table the next morning.
“You don’t know what it was like for us when Balnain was attacked.
Every noble clan in this territory is predominantly Dùileach, and Bonding to your beathaichean gives you even more power than the rest of us.
Your plans always put the non-Dùileach into the line of fire. ”
Aemyra sighed, rubbing her tired eyes. She already regretted agreeing to this meeting. “Clan Leuthanach is noble and they aren’t—”
“Aren’t Dùileach, I know. Yet hundreds lost their lives when Draevan ordered Maeve to attack Fyndhorn, and we go up against Laird Maryk yet again in Dildain,” Sorcha continued passionately, gesturing to the maps strewn in front of Aemyra.
“You want to know why so many are converting to the Savior? It’s because the Chosen are offering non-Dùileach a way to have power over their own lives for the first time. ”
Adarian cleared his throat from his seat beside the queen. “Careful, Sorcha. I know the two of you have history, but don’t forget who you are speaking to.”
But Aemyra didn’t blame Sorcha. Nothing she had said was untrue, and Aemyra was only embarrassed that she hadn’t seen the sheer imbalance of power before now.
Sorcha lowered her voice, pulling her shawl more tightly across her shoulders. “You want to win this war? Be the queen all of your people need.”
With that, she stormed out of the council room, almost knocking Eilidh flying and the priestess scrambled not to drop the tower of books she had carried from the library.
With an exhausted sigh, Aemyra let her head thunk onto the table. Adarian managed a half-hearted pat on the back.
“Not a good time for me to explain magical binding receptors in the blood then?” he asked, pulling out a chair for Eilidh.
Aemyra groaned in response, another headache building.
Eilidh shuffled her scribbled pages of ink-stained notes littering the table beside the maps. “I keep seeing mentions of shared magic, or joined magic…whatever that means.”
Before Aemyra could ask for a reprieve, a horn sounded from the camp.
“Stay here where it’s safe,” Aemyra said, getting to her feet.
Letting her book fall to the table with a thud, Eilidh pouted. “Adarian was teaching me to use a dagger. I can look after myself.”
But as the twins hurried out of the council room and into the corridor, Eilidh remained dutifully where she was.
When she reached the caisteal gates, Aemyra felt a relieved smile work its way onto her face as the horn heralded lines of chimera warriors flooding into the town. A female peeled away in the direction of the caisteal, large paws and hooves eating up the ground.
“She doesn’t sound friendly,” Adarian muttered, stepping protectively in front of her.
But Aemyra knew that growl.
“I see absence doesn’t always make the heart grow fonder,” she called out.
A bronze head appeared from behind Dòiche’s horns and Thear dismounted, giving his beathach a casual pat.
Forgoing propriety, Thear pulled the queen into his strong arms.
Much to her surprise, Aemyra felt relief choke up her throat and wrapped her arms around Thear’s neck. Her curls caught in his crystal necklace and she struggled to pull away.
“You came,” she said, a little embarrassed at her outward display of affection.
Thear extracted himself from her hair with difficulty.
“You told me to be here,” he replied simply.
Attempting to compose herself, she stepped back.
“Well, at least one man in my life does as he’s told,” she replied with a sniff.
“You must be Prince Adarian,” Thear said, holding out his hand to her brother, who was nervously eyeing Dòiche. “A pleasure to finally meet you.”
Recovering his composure, Adarian’s smile was slow. “Likewise. Although I must admit, my sister hasn’t been entirely forthcoming about you.”
Thear’s amber gaze snagged on the white bandages now peeking out from the sleeves of her dress. “You were injured?” he asked.
The words caught in Aemyra’s throat. Thear’s appearance had been like an instant balm to her soul; she didn’t want to spark her panic again by recounting all that had happened.
Thankfully, Adarian butted in.
“Aemyra was struck by Fiorean’s fire while under the effects of the binding agent,” Adarian explained. “We have been working tirelessly on an antidote.”
“Fiorean was here?”
Aemyra shifted her feet while Adarian quickly filled Thear in on what had happened.
The longer her twin spoke, the more confusion deepened Thear’s frown, and he stepped closer to Aemyra. With the heat radiating off him like a furnace, she felt herself loath to back away.
“If Alfred has named himself Almighty, it coincided with several more massacres in the name of the Savior on the road, mostly Dùileach smallholdings,” Thear said quietly.
Aemyra exchanged a glance with Adarian, then cleared her throat. “I suggest we have this conversation somewhere more private.”
Adarian gestured to the lines of warriors still filing into the town.
“Your trodach may make camp in the field on the other side of the hill. Personal rooms have been made available for you, and your beathach if she prefers to remain by your side.”
Thear shook his head, bronze waves of hair rippling across his forehead. “Thank you, but Dòiche will stay with my men. She keeps them in line.”
Aemyra’s smile grew wider. “Maybe I was too hasty in my initial summation of her character.”
If it was possible for a chimera to glare at her, Dòiche did.
Adarian laughed. “I would say the two of you seem uncannily alike.”
Her twin flinched when Dòiche growled at him.
Aemyra felt the corners of her lips twitch. “Finally, a beathach who doesn’t immediately fall in love with you.”
Thear looped one large arm around Aemyra’s waist familiarly. The gesture would have seemed callous to anyone watching, but when he rubbed soothing circles on Aemyra’s lower back, she felt herself calm.
Adarian’s eyes were trained on the warrior. “I had quite forgotten my sister is betrothed.”
“No doubt the battle wiped all thoughts of our love from her head. She is quite besotted with me,” Thear said confidently.
Adarian raised one eyebrow, his sapphire eyes darting between his sister and the warrior with skepticism.
“Is that so?” he asked. “The last man who thought he had a claim on my sister ended up dead.”
Thear’s amber eyes flashed as though he was looking forward to the challenge, and Aemyra quickly stepped between them.
“If you are quite finished, we have work to do.”
Neither man backed down and even Dòiche let out a sigh Aemyra felt inclined to echo.
“The two of you are a perfect example of why Erisocia flourished under the matriarchy for so long,” she muttered, picking up her skirts and trudging back upstairs to help Eilidh conjugate tenses of a language she didn’t understand.
At least it would be preferable to watching male posturing.
—
Adarian and Thear continued sizing each other up through six courses at dinner.
“He’s only trying to protect you,” Draevan muttered from his chair beside her.
“Which one?” Aemyra replied, earning herself a smirk.
She raised the goblet to her lips and drained it in one gulp. The wine was full-bodied and delicious, from Laird Edouard’s personal stores, and the only enjoyable thing to come out of this meal so far.
Riya scraped up the last of the gravy on her plate with a hunk of bread. “It isn’t about Fiorean, it is how the Covenanters fought. They knew exactly where our camp was, where our defenses were weakest. Someone betrayed our location.”
“The timing does seem strange,” Edouard said with a deep nod.
“Well, it’s a little difficult to hide thousands of soldiers, and anyone could have seen the dragons flying west,” Iona supplied.
Draevan cut through the chatter by leaning closer. “You seem happy to have Thear join us. When I saw you at the burning I was worried you were grieving for your late husband.”
Aemyra’s mouth dried and she couldn’t bring herself to answer.
She was the reason Fiorean was wandering the Otherworld in eternal torment. Without a burning, his soul would remain in Hela’s grasp for eternity.
It was a fate worse than death.
“You were far too merciful,” Draevan said, picking a piece of date out of his teeth. “I would have made his death last days for what he did to you.”
She stared at the mark on her palm. She still felt a pull toward àird Lasair, as if Brigid was demanding she retake her throne. Now Aemyra could only hope that winning the war would restore her magic.
“I heard you sent Brodie to look for the princesses,” Draevan continued. “You came to care for them during your imprisonment, I assume?”
“I did,” she admitted carefully.
“Including the dowager queen?”
Aemyra’s stomach roiled with disgust. “No. Katherine conspired with Alfred to marry me to Fiorean, and Goddess knows what else. But the princesses are innocent, and I would spare them further pain.”
Draevan looked skeptical.
“They are no threat,” Aemyra said firmly.
Draevan lifted his chin, auburn hair spilling over one shoulder. “King Haedren told me that about Katherine once.” His eyes, mirrors of her own, were pensive. “I will send swyfts to Kilmuir. I have men tracking Kolreath’s movements, perhaps the princesses passed through.”
At the mention of the dragon, Aemyra tensed. “I want weekly reports on Kolreath. If he comes out of his nest to shit, if he so much as stretches his neck in àird Lasair’s direction, I want to know about it.”
Again, Draevan nodded.
The sound of knives scraping against plates and gentle conversation made Aemyra miss family dinners in their home in àird Lasair. With Orlagh hurriedly eating in between seeing patients, Pàdraig cooking, and Lachlann playing with his toys, it had always been noisy and filled with love.
Unfortunately her twin was still testing Thear.
“I look forward to seeing how your trodach do battle with the binding agent. A first experience with it can be disorientating,” he said.
Thear feigned surprise. “Your sister told me you were creating an antidote. Haven’t you found one yet?”
Adarian’s ears reddened and Laoise put a steadying hand on his thigh.
Coming to her brother’s rescue, Aemyra raised her goblet. “A toast to our alchemists and healers. They might end this war before our soldiers.”
“Or give us the advantage when we take Dildain,” Draevan interjected.
“Slàinte mhath!” echoed around the table as everyone raised their cups and drank deeply.
Sipping the delicious wine, feeling her cheeks flush, Aemyra hoped that would be the end of their bickering. She didn’t blame Adarian for being protective, but she was more than a match for Thear Leòmhann.
“Sorcha wasn’t particularly happy with you earlier,” Adarian commented slyly.
Aemyra gave him a warning look.
“Who?” Thear asked.
Adarian smirked. “Sorcha. She was a barkeep in àird Lasair and Aemyra’s lover for close to five years.”
Aemyra aimed a kick at her brother but had to stifle a groan of pain as she stubbed her toe on the table leg.
Riya was watching the exchange closely, and Aemyra avoided eye contact, praying the laird wouldn’t mention the state she had found her in yesterday.
Thankfully, Thear didn’t rise to the bait. “I hope Sorcha was not injured in the battle?”
His consideration surprised her, and Aemyra worked a smile onto her face. “Less than I was, at least. Sorcha is angry with me, but she raised some interesting points. Maeve is looking after her now.”
“And who is looking after you?” Thear replied.
Adarian stiffened at the insinuation. “My sister has been well taken care of while you journeyed here, I assure you.”
Thear gestured to the bandages and Aemyra’s narrow waist. “Really? She looks as though a stiff breeze might be enough to blow her away.”
Adarian’s grip tightened around his goblet. “Don’t pretend you have her best interests at heart, you sleekit dog. You have much more to gain from a marriage alliance than she does.”
“The queen needs our warriors and coin to win this war. She sought us out,” Thear replied, his jaw tense.
“Clan Iolairean pledged themselves without self-interest, fighting willingly for the queen the Goddess chose,” Adarian said obstinately.
Riya made a small noise of agreement in the back of her throat.
“I am perfectly capable of fighting my own battles,” Aemyra replied wearily.
Adarian eyed the bandages protruding from her sleeves. “Evidently not.”
Knowing Adarian was exhausted from brewing potions and tinctures all night, Aemyra rose from her chair.
“I am grateful to both Clan Iolairean and Clan Leòmhann for their support, as well as for the loyalty of every person at this table. But tonight your queen asks for a reprieve.” She turned to Thear. “Escort me to the gardens?”
His chair slid back and amiable conversation began flowing among the others as she led him from the room.
“Do I need to repeat my demonstration at the Cuith for your brother to respect me as a warrior and ally?” Thear asked, lips quirking.
In spite of herself, she smiled back. “It would be rather entertaining, but no. He’ll come around.”
Thear scanned her face. His long eyelashes were positively indecent and he twined her fingers with his own. “As a big brother myself, I know a thing or two about protectiveness.”
Aemyra glowered. “Adarian is not my big brother.”
“Regardless,” Thear said, his voice low, “it is time you took care of yourself.”
Aemyra frowned up at him. “And how do you propose I do that, lairdling?”
Thear’s only answer was a smile so roguish, it was devastating.