Valley of Silence
Page 5
He thought of all she might choose—a sword, a stake, an arrow. Then he knew. Not a weapon, not an instrument of war and death, but a symbol of hope and endurance. “A sun. To shed its light on the world.”
Surprise, with pleasure running just behind it, lit her face. “Aye. You understand my thinking, and the need. A gold sun on the white flag to stand for the light, the tomorrows we fight for. This sun, gold as glory, will be the third symbol of Geall, one I bring to it. And damned to her. Damned to her and what she brought here.”
Flushed now, Moira drew a deep breath. “You listen well—and I talk too much. You must come inside. The others will be gathering for supper.”
He touched a hand to her arm to stop her. “Earlier I thought you’d make a poor wartime queen. I believe it might have been one of the rare times I was wrong.”
“If the sword is mine,” she said, “you will be wrong.”
It occurred to him as they started inside, that they’d just shared their longest conversation in the two months they had known each other.
“You need to tell the others. You need to tell them what you believe about your father. If this is a circle, there should be no secrets to weaken in.”
“You’re right. Aye, you’ve the right of it.”
Her head was lifted now, her eyes clear as she led the way.
Chapter 2
S he didn’t sleep. How could a woman sleep on what was, in Moira’s mind, essentially the last night of her life? If in the morning it was her destiny to free the sword from its stone scabbard, she would be queen of Geall. As queen she would rule and govern and reign, and those were duties she’d been trained for since birth. But as queen on this coming dawn and the ones to follow, she would lead her people to war. If it wasn’t her destiny to raise the sword, she would follow another, willingly, into battle.
Could weeks of training prepare anyone for such an action, such a weight of responsibility? So this night was the last she could be the woman she’d believed she would be, even the queen she’d hoped she might be.
Whatever dawn brought her, she knew nothing would ever be quite the same again.
Before her mother’s death, she’d believed this coming dawn was years away. She’d assumed she would have years of her mother’s company and comfort and counsel, years of peace and study so that when her time came she’d be not only ready for the crown, but worthy of it.
A part of her had assumed her mother would reign for decades longer, and she herself would marry. In the dim and distant future, one of the children she bore would take the crown in her stead.
All of that had changed on the night of her mother’s death. No, Moira corrected, it had changed before, years before when her father had been murdered.
Perhaps it had not changed at all, but was simply unfolding as the pages of the book of fate were written.
Now she could only wish for her mother’s wisdom, and look inside herself for the courage to bear both crown and sword.
She stood now on the high reaches of the castle under a thumbnail moon. When it waxed full again, she would be far from here, on the cold ground of a battlefield.
She’d come to the battlement because she could see the torches lighting the playing field. Here the sights and sounds of night training could reach her. Cian, she thought, used hours of his night to teach men and women how to fight something stronger and faster than humans. He would push them, she knew, until they were ready to drop. As he had pushed her, and the others of the circle, night after night during their weeks in Ireland.
Not all of them trusted him, she knew that as well. Some actively feared him, but that might be to the good. She understood he wasn’t after making friends here, but warriors.
In truth, he’d had a strong part of making one of her.
She thought she understood why he fought with them—or at least had a glimmer of understanding why he would risk so much for humankind. Part of it was pride of which she knew he had abundance. He would not bow to Lilith. Part, whether he admitted it or not, was loyalty to his brother. And the rest, well, it dealt with courage and his own conflicted emotions.
For he had emotions, she knew. She couldn’t imagine how they struggled and whirled inside him after a thousand years of existence. Her own were so conflicted and torn after only two months of blood and death she hardly recognized herself.
What must it be like for him, after all he’d seen and done, all he’d gained and lost? He knew more than any of them of the world, of its pleasures, its pains, its potentials. No, she couldn’t imagine what it was like to know all he knew and still risk his own survival.
That he did risk it, that he was even now lending his time and skill to train troops, earned her respect. While the mystery of him, the hows and whys of him, continued to fascinate.
She couldn’t be sure what he thought of her. Even when he’d kissed her—that single hot and desperate moment—she couldn’t be sure. And getting to the inside of matters had always been irresistible to her.
She heard footsteps, and turning, saw Larkin coming toward her.
“You should be in your bed,” he said.
“I’d only stare at the ceiling. The view’s better here.” She reached for his hand—her cousin, her friend—and was instantly comforted. “And why aren’t you in yours?”
“I saw you. Blair and I went out to help Cian for a bit.” Like hers, his gaze scanned the field below. “I saw you standing up here alone.”
“I’m poor company, even for myself tonight. I only wish it were done, then there would be what happens next. So I came up here to brood over it.” She tipped her head toward his shoulder. “It passes the time.”
“We could go down to the family parlor. I’ll let you beat me at chess.”
“Let me? Oh, will you listen to him.” She looked up at him. His eyes were golden brown, long-lidded like her own. The smile in them didn’t quite mask his concern. “And I suppose you’ve let me win the hundreds of matches we’ve had over the years.”
“I thought it good for your sense of confidence.”
She laughed even as she poked him. “It’s confident I am I can beat you at chess nine times out of every ten.”
“We’ll just put that to the test then.”
“We will not.” Now she kissed him, brushing his tawny hair away from his face. “You’ll go to your bed and to your lady, and not spend these hours distracting me from my sorry mood. Come, we’ll go in. It may be the limited view of my ceiling will bore me to sleep after all.”
Surprise, with pleasure running just behind it, lit her face. “Aye. You understand my thinking, and the need. A gold sun on the white flag to stand for the light, the tomorrows we fight for. This sun, gold as glory, will be the third symbol of Geall, one I bring to it. And damned to her. Damned to her and what she brought here.”
Flushed now, Moira drew a deep breath. “You listen well—and I talk too much. You must come inside. The others will be gathering for supper.”
He touched a hand to her arm to stop her. “Earlier I thought you’d make a poor wartime queen. I believe it might have been one of the rare times I was wrong.”
“If the sword is mine,” she said, “you will be wrong.”
It occurred to him as they started inside, that they’d just shared their longest conversation in the two months they had known each other.
“You need to tell the others. You need to tell them what you believe about your father. If this is a circle, there should be no secrets to weaken in.”
“You’re right. Aye, you’ve the right of it.”
Her head was lifted now, her eyes clear as she led the way.
Chapter 2
S he didn’t sleep. How could a woman sleep on what was, in Moira’s mind, essentially the last night of her life? If in the morning it was her destiny to free the sword from its stone scabbard, she would be queen of Geall. As queen she would rule and govern and reign, and those were duties she’d been trained for since birth. But as queen on this coming dawn and the ones to follow, she would lead her people to war. If it wasn’t her destiny to raise the sword, she would follow another, willingly, into battle.
Could weeks of training prepare anyone for such an action, such a weight of responsibility? So this night was the last she could be the woman she’d believed she would be, even the queen she’d hoped she might be.
Whatever dawn brought her, she knew nothing would ever be quite the same again.
Before her mother’s death, she’d believed this coming dawn was years away. She’d assumed she would have years of her mother’s company and comfort and counsel, years of peace and study so that when her time came she’d be not only ready for the crown, but worthy of it.
A part of her had assumed her mother would reign for decades longer, and she herself would marry. In the dim and distant future, one of the children she bore would take the crown in her stead.
All of that had changed on the night of her mother’s death. No, Moira corrected, it had changed before, years before when her father had been murdered.
Perhaps it had not changed at all, but was simply unfolding as the pages of the book of fate were written.
Now she could only wish for her mother’s wisdom, and look inside herself for the courage to bear both crown and sword.
She stood now on the high reaches of the castle under a thumbnail moon. When it waxed full again, she would be far from here, on the cold ground of a battlefield.
She’d come to the battlement because she could see the torches lighting the playing field. Here the sights and sounds of night training could reach her. Cian, she thought, used hours of his night to teach men and women how to fight something stronger and faster than humans. He would push them, she knew, until they were ready to drop. As he had pushed her, and the others of the circle, night after night during their weeks in Ireland.
Not all of them trusted him, she knew that as well. Some actively feared him, but that might be to the good. She understood he wasn’t after making friends here, but warriors.
In truth, he’d had a strong part of making one of her.
She thought she understood why he fought with them—or at least had a glimmer of understanding why he would risk so much for humankind. Part of it was pride of which she knew he had abundance. He would not bow to Lilith. Part, whether he admitted it or not, was loyalty to his brother. And the rest, well, it dealt with courage and his own conflicted emotions.
For he had emotions, she knew. She couldn’t imagine how they struggled and whirled inside him after a thousand years of existence. Her own were so conflicted and torn after only two months of blood and death she hardly recognized herself.
What must it be like for him, after all he’d seen and done, all he’d gained and lost? He knew more than any of them of the world, of its pleasures, its pains, its potentials. No, she couldn’t imagine what it was like to know all he knew and still risk his own survival.
That he did risk it, that he was even now lending his time and skill to train troops, earned her respect. While the mystery of him, the hows and whys of him, continued to fascinate.
She couldn’t be sure what he thought of her. Even when he’d kissed her—that single hot and desperate moment—she couldn’t be sure. And getting to the inside of matters had always been irresistible to her.
She heard footsteps, and turning, saw Larkin coming toward her.
“You should be in your bed,” he said.
“I’d only stare at the ceiling. The view’s better here.” She reached for his hand—her cousin, her friend—and was instantly comforted. “And why aren’t you in yours?”
“I saw you. Blair and I went out to help Cian for a bit.” Like hers, his gaze scanned the field below. “I saw you standing up here alone.”
“I’m poor company, even for myself tonight. I only wish it were done, then there would be what happens next. So I came up here to brood over it.” She tipped her head toward his shoulder. “It passes the time.”
“We could go down to the family parlor. I’ll let you beat me at chess.”
“Let me? Oh, will you listen to him.” She looked up at him. His eyes were golden brown, long-lidded like her own. The smile in them didn’t quite mask his concern. “And I suppose you’ve let me win the hundreds of matches we’ve had over the years.”
“I thought it good for your sense of confidence.”
She laughed even as she poked him. “It’s confident I am I can beat you at chess nine times out of every ten.”
“We’ll just put that to the test then.”
“We will not.” Now she kissed him, brushing his tawny hair away from his face. “You’ll go to your bed and to your lady, and not spend these hours distracting me from my sorry mood. Come, we’ll go in. It may be the limited view of my ceiling will bore me to sleep after all.”
