Holder of Lightning

But a song or two performed well might be welcomed at the Ri's dinner tonight. Are you prepared to sing for a Ri, Coelin?"

Coelin's face broke into a helpless grin. "Aye," he nearly shouted. "For the Ri? Truly?"

Mac Ard seemed to smile back. "Truly," he answered. "Though you'll need to look better than you do now. Where's that girl? Aoife!" he called, and a young woman came out from one of the doors, curtsying to Mac Ard.

"Tiarna?"

"Take this lad and get him proper clothes for the supper tonight with the Ri. He'll be singing for us.

Go on, then, Coelin, and practice until you’re called for."

Coelin grinned again. "Thank you, Tiarna," he said. His gaze strayed to lenna, and he winked once at her. She smiled back at him.

"You can repay me by keeping quiet," Mac Ard told him. "Because if you don’t, I will make certain you never talk to anyone else again. I trust that’s clear enough for you."

The grin had fallen from Coelin’s face like a leaf in an autumn wind. "Aye, Tiarna" he said to Mac Ard, and his voice was now somber. "It’s very clear."

"Good." Mac Ard glanced from Coelin, to Jenna, and back again. "I would not forget my place and my task, if I were you, Coelin Singer."

Coelin nodded. He left the room with Aoife, and did not look again at Jenna.

The Ri’s suppers were in the great Common Hall of the keep, a loud and noisy chamber with stone walls and a high, dim ceiling. A trestle table was set down the length of the hall. Torin Mallaghan, the Ri Gabair, sat with his wife Cianna, the Banrion, at the head of the table, jeweled torcs of beaten gold around both of their necks.

Arrayed down either side of the table before the royal couple were the Riocha in residence at the keep.

Not surprisingly, there was a delicate etiquette involved in the seating. Immediately to the Ri’s left was Nevan O Liathain, the first son of Kiernan o Liathain, the Ri Ard-the High King in Dun Laoghaire. Nevan’s title was "Tanaise Rig," Heir Apparent to the Ri Ard. He had come to Lar Bhaile at his father’s request, as soon as the rumors of the mage-lights had reached the Ri Ard’s ears.

Padraic Mac Ard sat at the Ri’s right hand next to Cianna, a sign of his current favor, and Maeve and Jenna were seated after him. There were Riocha from most of the tuatha present as well, and many of them wore prominent necklaces with stones that were reputedly cloch na thintri, though none of them knew for certain. Jenna knew, however. She could open her mind to the cloch she held, and see the web of connection from her cloch to theirs. A good number of the stones were simply pretty stones, and those who owned them would be

disappointed when the Filleadh came. But some. . some possessed true clochs na thintri. One of them was Mac Ard, even though the cloch he held was never visible.

Farther down, below the salt, were the ceili giallnai-the minor Riocha — then the Ri's clients and a few prominent freepersons of Lar Bhaile.

Jenna hated these suppers, and usually pleaded illness to avoid them.

She hated the false smiling conversations; hated the undercurrents and hidden messages that ran through every word; hated the way Ri Mal-laghan sat in his chair like a fat, contented toad contemplating a plate of flies before him; hated when his eyes, half-hidden in folds of pale flesh, regarded her with an appraising stare, as if she were a possession of his whose value was still in question. She wanted to dislike Cianna, the Ri's ailing wife, whose eyes were always hollow and sunken, ringed with dark flesh, but she couldn't, more out of pity than anything else. Cianna was as thin as the Ri Gabair was corpulent yet she wheezed constantly, as if the exertion of moving her frail body about was nearly too much for her. Cianna, unfortunately, seemed to have fastened on Jenna as a fellow suf-ferer and talked to her often, though she treated Jenna like an addled child, always explaining things to her in a breath scented with the mingled odors of cinammon and sickness. She leaned toward her now, bending in front of Mac Ard and Maeve, the torc around her neck swinging forward, glinting in the torchlight. Her dark, haunted eyes fastened on Jenna's. "How are you feeling today, dear? Did that healer I sent to you from Dubh Bhaile help you?"

"Aye, Highness," Jenna answered. "The arm feels a bit better today." Actually, Jenna had endured the man's prodding and poking, and had thrown away the potion he offered, taking instead some of the anduilleaf she'd bought that morning. She could feel it easing the pain in her arm.

Cianna looked pleased. "Good," she said. "He's certainly done much for me, though I still can feel the pain in my back."

Jenna nodded. The Banrion had gone through three new healers in the two months they'd been at the keep; each time the Banrion seemed to get a little better, but then she inevitably slumped back