Holder of Lightning

"It's not your decision," she told him angrily.

"It certainly is," he retorted. "I'm Moister of the Order, and if I'm to teach you, then you'll damned well listen to me."

"You're a frightened old man," she retorted. "Why should I listen to you?"

Ennis put his hand on Jenna's shoulder. "Jenna-" he began, but she shrugged him away.

"Don't, Ennis," she told him. "I know how you feel about him and the Order, but I don't. I don't." She pushed away the plate of sausages and bread in front of her. "I don't know enough about anything,"

she finished more softly.

"That you don’t know enough is something that we can all agree on, Moister Cleurach answered.

The argument didn’t seem to have affected his appetite. He gestured at Jenna with a fork full of sausage. "Limn Shabhala holds a shadow of all its old Holders, as it will hold a wisp of you after you die-an image of your personality, though not your true soul. Well, not all of the Holders were good people or entirely sane at the end of the Holding, and a lot of those Holder-shadows would laugh to see you fail because it would mean that you’re no better than they were, and any advice they give is poisoned with that attitude. As for Thall Coill none of the Daoine Holders-none of them, girl, not a single one- ever lived through Scrudu, if it is truly a test and not just some old Bunus Muintir fable. If you could read-" Moister Cleurach paused for emphasis, "then you might have seen what Tadhg wrote after Peria’s death. He thought that this ’Scrudu’ was nothing but a rumor circulated by the Bunus Muintir to gain some small revenge on the Daoines. There’s no test and no reward; opening Lamh Shabhala at Thall Coill, the center of the mage-lights, kills the Holder. That’s what he believed." He shoved the sausage into his mouth, talking as he chewed. "You can’t trust the Bunus. Those who do so are fools."

Ennis’ eyes widened, and he started to protest, "Urn, Moister. ." But Jenna had already pushed her chair back from the table, the legs screech-ing angrily. She stalked toward the door.

It opened before she reached it.

"Good morning, Holder. I trust you broke your fast satisfactorily." Banrion Aithne stood in the corridor. Next to her was a red-haired giant: her brother. The sight of Aron O Dochartaigh’s surly glower made Jenna’s throat close. She took a step back as the Banrion nodded to her attendants to remain outside, then swept past Jenna into the room. The tiarna en-tered behind her, and Jenna stood well aside. As casually as she could, she mentally opened the cloch at her throat. The wash of emerald energy spread out like a rushing tide and immediately broke on another cloch’s presence, sparkling and foaming.

Aron held a Cloch Mor. He’d also made no attempt to shield the stone from her cloch-vision. It gleamed in Lamh Shabhala’s vision under his leine.

'Moister Cleurach, Ennis, would you leave us for a moment, please?" the Banrion asked. Moister Cleurach bowed to the Banrion and left quickly; Ennis hesitated until Jenna shook her head slightly to him, then walked over to Jenna and embraced her.

“I’ll be just outside," he told her and kissed her, the Banrion watching with an amused expression as Ennis and Aron exchanged stares. After the door closed behind them, she sat in Moister Cleurach’s chair at the table.

^ “I don't believe you actually had a chance to meet Aron, Holder Jenna,"

He said. "I know he was very interested in seeing you."

Jenna let her hand drop from Lamh Shabhala, and the doubled vision of the cloch vanished, leaving the world momentarily washed-out and colorless. She could see hints of Cianna's features in her da's face: he was hearty and full where Banrion Cianna had been sickly and thin, but the sharp, straight nose, the high cheekbones, the set of his mouth echoed that of his daughter, and now that she knew to look for it, she could see it in Aithne as well.

Aron glared, towering over Jenna. His hands were clenched in fists cords of muscle standing out under the sleeves of his tunic. He didn't extend his hand; she would have been afraid to take it. She saw his gaze travel from her face to her right arm. "Did it make the Firs? Holder feel powerful," he asked, "to have Lamh Shabhala crush the life from someone as frail and ill as my daughter?"

The words brought a searing flush to Jenna's face, and for a moment, tears blurred her vision. She blinked angrily. "No," she answered. "It did not. But let me ask, Tiarna, does it make you feel proud to know that Cianna pretended to be my friend while she twice sent others to kill me?"

Now it was Aron whose face burned red. The hatred radiated from him, palpable, and Jenna realized that she'd made a mistake: this was a man who loved his daughter, as blindly and unconditionally as any parent. He would not-he could not-see any evil in her. He would have protected Cianna in life without thought; he would do the same in death. Jenna would forever and always be the cruel murderer who had stolen that love from him.