Holder of Lightning

into illness and the current healer was dismissed and another summoned. If her back was hurting now, this healer would be leaving before another fortnight. The Rl himself never seemed to notice-he'd perhaps seen too many healers already, and no longer inquired after his wife's health. She'd borne him a son and a daughter early in their marriage; both were away in fosterage- the son to Tuath Infochla, the daughter to Tuath Eoganacht. The Banrion Cianna had performed her duty and could keep her title. As to the rest. . well, the Rl had other lovers, as Jenna already knew from keep gossip. For that reason, she was careful when the Rl smiled at her-two of the Ri's current lovers were as young as Jenna.

The Tanaise Rig, Nevan O Liathain, had evidently been listening to Cianna's conversation with Jenna. He looked across to her as the servants set the meat trays on the table. "Perhaps the pain will lessen when the other clochs are opened, Holder," he said. "Or perhaps there is another way to use the mage-lights that wouldn't cause a Holder so much.

agony." Jenna could hear the words underneath what he said: Perhaps you are too stupid and too common to be the First. Perhaps someone of the right background would be better able to use it… O Liathain smiled; he was handsome, with hair black as Seancoim's crow Denmark, and eyes of glacial blue. Thirty, with a body hardened by training and an easy grace, his wife dead two years now leaving him still childless, he turned the heads of most of the available women in the keep, even without the added attraction of his title. He knew it, also, and smiled back at them indul-gently.

But not at Jenna. Not at Maeve. Jenna had overheard him talking to the Ri one night, a few days after his arrival. "Why do you keep them?" he asked the Ri, laughing. "Listen to them. Their accents betray their commonness, and their manners are, well, nonexistent. 1 can't believe Mac Ard would be consort-ing with that stupid cow mother of the Holder-if I were going to take one of them to my bed, as disgusting a thought as that is, I would have chosen the girl, who's at least trainable. Better to have left them back scrabbling in the dirt, which is all they're suited for. One of us should take the cloch from this Jenna now, before she truly learns to control it, and be done with the charade… "

She hadn't heard the Ri's answer. She'd slipped away, steeling herself to fight for the possession of

the cloch that night if she had to, trying to stay awake lest the Ri’s gardai enter her bedroom, but eventually exhaus-tion claimed her and she drifted off to sleep, awakening the next morning with a start. But the cloch was still with her, and the Ri Gabair, if anything, seemed almost conciliatory toward her when she saw him later that morning.

She smiled at O Liathain now across the table, but her smile was as artificial and false as his own. "Each cloch tells its Holder the way to best use it, as the Tanaise Rig might learn one day should he actually have a cloch of his own." Her smile widened on its own; O Liathain wore what he thought was a cloch na thintri around his neck; while it was certainly an expensive jewel worthy of a Ri, it pleased Jenna to know that it was simply that, not a cloch na thintri.

O Liathain frowned and fingered the polished facets of his stone on its heavy gilded chain. He looked as if he were about to retort, but the Ri guffawed at the exchange. "You see, Nevan," he said to O Liathain. "The Holder is more than she appears to be. She has an edge on her tongue."

"Indeed, she does," O Liathain replied. He inclined his head to her. ’My pardon." There was a distinct pause before the next word. "Holder," he finished.

Mac Ard speared a piece of mutton with his knife and set it on his plate. "The Tanaise Rig is gracious with his apology," he said, but Jenna and everyone else who heard it knew the tone of his voice and the hard stare he gave O Liathain added another thing entirely: and it was necessary if you didn’t want me to take offense. Maeve touched Mac Ard’s arm and smiled at him. Mac Ard, at least, seemed protective of them, though Jenna noted that while he might spend the night with Maeve, he also hadn’t offered to legitimize the relationship.

Mac Ard was playing his own game. They were all playing their own games. She had already learned that words and actions here were carefully considered, and often held more than one meaning. Jenna was already weary of ferreting out those meanings, especially since she seemed to be the prize at the end of the contest. She wanted straightforward talk again, the easy conversations she’d had back in Ballintubber with her mam or Aldwoman Pearce or the other villagers, words that were simply gentle and kind speech.

Mac Ard smiled at O Liathain; O Liathain smiled