Holder of Lightning

The Riocha gathered in the Great Hall turned as one, applauding po-litely. Jenna turned to see the Ri and Banrion at the top of the stair, with Cianna holding to both the Ri’s and O Liathain’s arms. O Liathain’s eyes caught Jenna’s for a moment; she looked down and away as Aheron glanced appraisingly at her. When the trio reached the foot of the stair, the Riocha closed around them, everyone talking at once. Jenna held back; she looked over her shoulder at the far end of the hall to where Coelin stood. He nodded to her. He seemed nervous and excited, his eyes wide, and she realized that he saw none of the underlying complexity-he was awed simply to be here. His naivete almost made her smile.

"Good evening to you, Holder."

Jenna turned back quickly. O Liathain was standing before her, a cadre of tiarna behind him.

He smiled at her, his gaze wandering past her for a

moment to where she'd just been looking. She lowered her head, but he stopped her automatic curtsy by picking up her right hand. He held it, looking at the pattern of scars mottling her skin.

"No bandages tonight," he said. "That's as it should be. A warrior should be proud of the scars of battle. There's no shame in them." He kissed her scarred hand. She tried to smile, feeling everyone watching, listening. "By the way, I was thinking of asking that young singer-the one from your village-to come to Dun Laoghaire and entertain us there. He has an excellent voice."

"Aye," Jenna answered, keeping her eyes downcast. "That he does."

"I wonder," O Liathain continued, "if you would have a moment to speak with me later this evening? More. . privately." Jenna looked up; his blue eyes pierced her, demanding.

"As the Tanaise Rig wishes, of course," she answered.

"Good." The corners of his mouth lifted. "I will look forward to that. In the meantime, I must speak to these good people I must leave behind tomorrow morning. Until later, then…" He kissed her hand once more, then released it, turning to the other Riocha. Jenna heard laughter, and O Liathain's rich voice starting another conversation. Someone spoke to her, and she smiled back politely, but she paid little attention to the words. She could feel the touch of O Liathain's lips on the back of her hand, and she was afraid to touch the stone around her neck.

The fete seemed interminable. Jenna wandered from conversation to con-versation, occasionally finding her mam, Mac Ard, or Banrion Cianna, but without a chance to speak with any of them. The musicians began playing again, and she was asked to dance by the Ri-a request she could not decline-then afterward by Tiarna Aheron. Coelin seemed to have van-ished; she could not find him in the crush of people. A stripe and a half later by the clock-candle near the stairs, the cold of the Great Hall was seeping into her bones despite the fires and the crowd and the dancing, and she could feel the old pain tingling in the fingertips and joints of her right hand. Jenna knew that she'd need to return to her room for more anduilleaf before the end, and she wondered how she could manage to leave without being noticed.

"Holder?"

Baird, O Liathain's man, was standing before her. Jenna could feel her face tightening as she glared at the man who had murdered Aoife. Her voice was frost and ice. "What do you want?"

"The Tanaise Rig asks if you would come with me. He said to remind you that you promised him an answer and that he awaits you in a side chamber to hear it."

Jenna’s stomach turned over and she could feel the acid burning in her throat. Baird had already turned to go. "This way, Holder. ." She fol-lowed him down a side aisle of the hall. He knocked on a door near the south end.

"Enter," a muffled, familiar voice answered. Baird opened the door and gestured to Jenna to go through, closing it behind her and remaining outside.

O Liathain was seated on a chair, his legs propped up on the stone flags of the fireplace, his boots off. He gestured to a chair next to him. "Please," he said. His voice was oddly gentle, almost tired. "It’s weary, standing and dancing all night, and I’m sure your feet are as sore as mine."

"Thank you, Tanaise Rig." Jenna settled into the chair, feeling the wel-come warmth of the fire wash over her. Neither of them spoke for several minutes. Jenna was content to have it that way, trying to think of what she might say to the man. When he finally did speak, his voice made her start.

"Have you reflected on our previous conversation?"

"I’ve thought of little else, Tanaise Rig," Jenna answered truthfully. "After all, you. . emphasized with Aoife just how important my answer was to you."

A look almost of pain played over his face in the firelight. "You are blunt, Holder. That can be an asset, if you use it in the right circum-stances. But at the wrong time. ." He let his voice trail off.

"And which is this-the right time or the wrong?"