Beyond a Darkened Shore(17)
He nodded. “Now where are your mother and sisters? I missed them terribly while I was away.”
I kept a smile on my face though his words pained me. My father never concerned himself with me, seeing me more as a fellow clansman than as his daughter. “They must have already left for the market.” I could almost see Branna and Deirdre’s crestfallen faces when they realized they’d missed áthair’s homecoming. They loved watching the clansmen parade through the bailey, áthair striking such a proud figure on his big dapple gray.
“How disappointing.” His horse stamped its hoof as though impatient to move on. “Well, come speak to me in the throne room. I would hear a full report on all that transpired.”
I hesitated for a moment, struggling to think of an excuse, but there was nothing so important that would allow me to ignore my father’s command. I dipped my head in acquiescence, and he rode away, giving orders to the clansmen to rest.
Before I could follow, I watched Conall move to meet my father as he dismounted from his horse. áthair bent his head toward Conall, and the two of them continued walking toward the castle keep.
It was Conall’s duty as much as it was mine to tell the king what had passed in the battle, but would Conall tell him of the Northman prisoner?
A sense of urgency nipped at my heels as I followed. If—no, when—my father discovered I kept the Northman prisoner in the cave, he would order him beheaded without question. In my mind, I saw the young prisoner and his younger brother, and a sort of desperation built within me. I winced as images of my sisters’ murders assaulted my mind. Forcefully, I pushed the terrorizing thoughts away. If the Northman knew something—anything—that could help me stop the crow’s vision, then I could not let him be killed.
Even if it meant facing áthair’s wrath.
I strode into the keep’s great hall, my soft leather boots barely making a sound upon the stone floor. The cavernous room was quiet, the rows upon rows of wooden benches empty. Ahead of me, my father made his way toward his wide wooden throne, elevated on a stone dais. He would expect me to stand before him and make my report on the battle like any other clansman. For a moment, I imagined what it would be like to have him express concern for me, to inquire about the battle with his face twisted in anxiety instead of calculation. Even as I thought these things, I shook my head. My parents had always kept me at a distance; imagining anything different would only cause me pain.
The first time I’d stood before his disappointed gaze in this very room, I’d been thirteen. It was after our first battle against Northman raiders, and my leg had been cut so badly I could barely walk. As I limped the length of the room, my father watched my slow progress dispassionately.
“You have the blood of a warrior, Ciara,” my father had said, his eyes intense on mine. “It’s been a year since you first discovered your extraordinary powers, and still you have not mastered them.” He glanced down at my leg. “That injury you bear will be the least of what you—and others—may suffer if you cannot gain control of them. But we cannot rely on chance battles and raids to train you.” He waved forward one of our clansmen, a superior fighter as strong as an ox. “You will have to learn to take over the minds of our allies so that you may be able to do so against our enemies in battle.”
I wish I could say I hadn’t wanted to. That I’d refused my father and learned to hone my skills some other way. But the truth was, while my abilities disgusted and even shamed me, in the midst of using them, I reveled in them. I felt invincible, all-powerful, and most of all, I felt useful. So while part of me shriveled in horror at what I did to men and boys I’d grown up with, the other rejoiced at the power I displayed.
But such things came at a price.
My steps slowed, echoing in the great hall, as I tried unsuccessfully to fight off a yawning feeling of loneliness. As a child, I could never have been described as affable, but I did have a handful of friends. Now, it was only my sisters who sought my company—and Fergus, on occasion. As a princess, my clansmen couldn’t shun me outright, but they avoided me, until some days I felt like I’d go mad from the isolation. A writhing remorse deep in my abdomen surfaced—for men, much older than I, who watched me with suspicion and flinched when I entered the room. Of Séamus, who had once been my closest friend, a boy I’d thought I loved, but who now despised me.
Demon, they called me in their minds. Changeling. Cursed. And every time I took hold of someone’s mind, I wondered if perhaps they were right.
Reaching his throne before me, áthair sat down heavily. When I stood before the dais, he glanced down at me and nodded. His elegant clothing looked dull—a fine layer of dust had settled upon his fur-trimmed cloak, his boots were scuffed, and his tunic was rumpled beneath his leather breastplate. For a moment, he looked so weary that I almost asked if he’d rather I came back later, but I knew drawing attention to any weakness of his made him bearish. As though sensing my thoughts, he straightened.
“You are to be commended for driving the pagans off,” áthair began, but I waited bracingly, knowing his compliments were almost always followed by a criticism. “However, I was informed that there were survivors.”
My heart beat faster in my chest. So Conall must have told him. I kept my gaze very carefully on his eyes, afraid I’d betray myself by looking anxiously at the door. “They retreated when their leader was defeated.”