Bradán called, “Hallo the guard,” as they reined in outside the ráth.

The gate opened slowly. Fedelm was surprised by the gatekeeper, who was mumbling and drooling and let them through without asking their business. Bent-backed and far too old to man a gate, he waved them vaguely toward the feast hall where Mesgegra held court. Kathvar and his guards rode on, not giving the guard another thought. To them, he was nothing more than a symptom of the kingdoms’ strife. The best warriors had all left to fight the battle. Many had died in the shield wall; others were missing; the rest were yet to return. That left old men like this guarding the gate.

Fedelm stared at the veteran, wondering what would happen to the kingdoms after Gáirech. Kathvar’s oft-spoken prophecy about the Romans was a cause for concern. Should be a cause for concern, she amended. Will we recover in time?

Fedelm was still worrying as they gave their mounts to the stable hands and walked silently to the hall. Two old veterans stood outside the door. They showed as much interest in the visitors as the old man at the gate. Walking down an aisle, which should have been flanked by guards but was empty except for guttering braziers, she peered at the King of Leinster on his dais. Mesgegra stared down at them with undisguised loathing. Fedelm could feel the waves of hatred like heat from a hostel firepit. Uncontrollable. He had been defeated and was expecting reprisals, but that was not enough to explain the emotion she felt from him. Reprisals were the lot of a losing king. His captain and his army failed, so he had to pay. It had forever been the way of the warrior – the foolish way.

Mesgegra had hitched his team to Medb’s chariot on a promise of wealth. But Medb duped him as she duped the King of Munster, Daire mac Dedad. The fools could only blame themselves. For years, they followed Mac Nessa, taking his counsel and accepting the protection of his warband, only to fall under Medb’s spell and lose everything. Whatever loot they collected during the cattle raid was gone, their armies crushed, their kingdoms ravaged by rebel warriors. There was nothing left. Only pride.

“Why are you here?” Mesgegra blurted out as they arrived below him.

Kathvar bowed a greeting at the king. He took hold of his staff with both hands and appeared to be using it to hold himself up, the crutch of an aging weakling. Fedelm stared into the shadows and tried to keep her smile to herself.

“I am not as young as I was. Can we sit, Sire?” Kathvar asked, angling his head slightly.

“Do you really need a seat to exact reprisals from the defeated?”

“Reprisals. What reprisals? I am here to collect nominations for High King. If we are not diligent, Beltaine will be on us before we are ready. We cannot continue as independent kingdoms. Look at where it has brought us. Since High King Connery died, we have done nothing but squabble like errant children. It must stop. The Romans–”

“Yes, yes, the Romans are coming. But what is the well-being of the kingdoms to you of the Elder Council? Do you even come from the Five Kingdoms?”

“Some of the Council come from other clans, Sire, I will not deny it. But I am Irish to my core.”

“An Irishman or an Ulsterman?”

“Irish. None of which matters to the Romans. They will crush us if we are unprepared. Now, can I sit, or will you force my old knees to collapse?” Kathvar repeated.

“Sit if you must. I fail to understand why you elders are plaguing me.”

“I am not sure I am following you, Sire. Plaguing you how?”

“I have already taken Mesgegra’s nomination,” came a voice Fedelm knew. She beamed as the druidess Dornoll walked out from the shadows and nodded to her and Kathvar. “The king thinks we are here to demand reparations. I have already told him there are to be none. Only Queen Medb will be required to make amends for her folly.”

“You were hiding?” Kathvar’s eyebrows went up.

“No, I was visiting the midden.”

“I thought you were on Ynys Môn,” he said, staring into the recesses of the hall instead of at Dornoll. Another trait Fedelm found infuriating.

Dornoll ignored the slight, replying with a measured voice, “I was, but as you rightly pointed out, Beltaine is upon us. I felt a need to get things moving.

“Shall we sit?” she asked.

Without replying, Kathvar took the chair closest to the dais. Mesgegra snorted but joined them, acting like someone had pissed in his oats and mutton.

“Who is your nomination?” Kathvar asked, leaning his staff against the table in case he needed a crutch.

“I have–” the king started, only to be interrupted.

“Abradruad,” Dornoll said, holding up a hand. Kathvar’s eyebrows arched again, but he held his peace. “He is a prince of Leinster. Well thought of.”

“Why have I never heard of him?”

Dornoll shrugged as if to say Kathvar’s lack of knowledge was no one’s fault but his.

“I’ve heard of him,” Fedelm blurted, feeling a blush of embarrassment. “He is a nice boy. He will be amenable to the wishes of the Council.”

“But is he strong?”

“Is it not strength that brought us to this sorry state?” Dornoll asked, raising her own eyebrows in disagreement.

Fedelm felt a surge of pride. As leader of the Elder Council, Dornoll had always been able to handle Kathvar’s aspirations. Everyone knew he wanted to lead, and Dornoll outwitted him each time he tried to wrest control from her. She was too clever for him.

“No. It was weakness that brought us here. None of this would have happened if Connery had executed his brothers, as his own laws demanded.”

Silence impregnated the resulting pause. It was Dornoll’s turn to hold her peace, causing Fedelm to stare at her in surprise.

“Who would you propose, Graybeard?” Mesgegra asked with a sneer, making the honorific somehow insulting.

Fedelm expected the druid to lose his temper but was surprised when he smiled at Mesgegra’s impertinence.

“We need strength, and our strongest is Cú Chulainn,” Kathvar stated with authority.

The mere mention of her former lover’s name caused Fedelm’s heart to tumble and her guts to flutter. Her constantly telling herself she was over him didn’t make it true.

“He is just a boy,” the king scoffed.

“A boy who held the combined armies of Connacht, Munster, and Leinster at bay while the warriors of Ulster suffered their pangs,” Fedelm snapped and felt another blush when Dornoll glared at her.

The king’s mouth opened as if to reply, but he closed it after several moments without speaking. Fedelm knew no one at the table could deny what Cú had done. With raids into camp by night and challenges to single combat by day, the boy made the combined armies of the south appear foolish. Medb scoured the Five Kingdoms for champions to take the crossings he defended. From the ogre-like Nadcranntail to the devious and vindictive clan Cailidín ambushing him in the forest, they’d all failed. They’d all died.

“We are aware of his strength,” Dornoll mused. “But does he have the intelligence and patience to rule? What do you think, Fedelm?”

“What do I think?” she asked, surprised by the question.

She knew Kathvar was aware of their illicit relationship but had thought he was the only one. Looking at Dornoll, she was no longer sure. There was a twinkle in her eye as though she were toying. Dalliances during training were geis, and Fedelm’s relationship with Cú, if discovered, would have seen her severely punished. It was too late, but she still felt another flush of heat creeping up from her neckline. “He is not only strong but intelligent and canny. He can be gentle and frightening all at the same time.”

“So, Dornoll, there you have it. Cú Chulainn is both strong and wise, traits unusual in one so young. He is the best option.” Kathvar opened his palms, finalizing his argument.

Dornoll shook her head. “I am not sure I agree with your assessment, Kathvar. However, we must put it to the others and hear their thoughts. I have already been to Munster, and mac Dedad has no one to put forward. I suggest we return to Caer Leb with our nominations and let the Council decide.”

Fedelm put a hand over her mouth, holding in the words she so wanted to blurt. Surely, a woman as strong as Dornoll would have offered more opposition and pushed her nominee harder. But then, she thought, Cú is the sensible choice, which does not mean the coronation stone is already singing.

“I don’t think it will be that simple,” she said.

“What do you mean?” Dornoll asked.

“Cú Chulainn has retired to Dún Dealgan. He told me he wants nothing more to do with the politics of the Five Kingdoms. He will raise children and sheep.” With Emer instead of me, she thought while hoping her disappointment was not showing on her face.

“I am sure Kathvar will be able to convince him of his duty. He is so good at that,” Dornoll said, standing and beaming down on them. Is she happy to have failed? Fedelm wondered. “If there is nothing else, I shall return to Ynys Môn. Kathvar, a quick word with you before I go.”

Kathvar agreed, and they left together. The pair were talking in guarded whispers before they were out of sight, and Fedelm couldn’t help wondering what they had to say to one another.

***

“Danu forbid,” Fedelm hissed. She knew her horse had thrown a shoe. There was no misunderstanding of the change in gait, the whinny, and the toss of the mane.

“What is it?” Kathvar asked, pulling on his reins. He stared at her over his shoulder, his impatience showing in every strand of his grey beard and every crease of his aging face.

“My mare’s thrown a shoe,” she said as she swung out of the saddle.

“That is all I need.”

“All you need? You think I welcome it?” Fedelm snapped. Typical of the druid to think of nothing but his own needs.

He raised his eyebrows, and she felt another blush begin. She smiled an apology, pursing her lips, remembering he hated to be barked at by those he considered subordinate.

Kathvar turned away as he said, “Sorry, Fedelm, but I am in a hurry. I cannot afford to tarry.”

She couldn’t help but frown into the lengthening shadows before finally relenting. “We passed a hostel and farrier a short time ago. You go on. I’ll walk back and get a new shoe.”

“Night will be on us soon,” Kathvar frowned.

“You don’t need me in Dún Dealgan. I’ll stay in the hostel and meet you in Indber Colptha. On the headland above where Owen beaches his longship. Say, the second morning from now. We can sail in the Sea Wolf on the morning tide.”

“I cannot allow you to travel through the forest alone. It is dangerous. Bradán will stay and protect you,” Kathvar said.

It was all Fedelm could do not to stamp her foot. She didn’t need anyone to protect her. She didn’t need a protector with puppy dog eyes and a stick in his mouth, who had followed her around since the funeral. She’d joined Kathvar in his dash across the kingdoms, hoping to lose Bradán’s attention, only to learn the druid had hired him.

Besides, the warrior was pathetic.

Whenever she looked, he turned away, blushing at having been caught. Gods, but his attentions were not only unwanted but unskilled. He was like a young child the first time away from his mother.

“I’ve ridden on these roads all my life. I don’t need protection. Nor do I need anyone’s permission.”

“There has been a battle. The roads are full of unhappy warriors who did not receive the promised riches and who more than likely lost friends. They are violent and unpredictable. Hungry, too, probably. It is not safe.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“You forget yourself, Fedelm, I am your superior, and I am not going to have a discussion around the subject. You will take Bradán.”

“I think you mean you’re a man, and I’m a woman.”

“It has nothing to do with sex. I am a member of the Elder Council. You are training as a druidess. I am your superior. You will follow instructions or leave the order.”

She was tempted to tell him a handy place where he could stick his order. Opening her mouth to say it, she remembered her dream of becoming a seeress. It was a dream from her early adulthood, one that started just after her first bleed. She was not willing to risk being prevented from finishing her studies. Instead of the intended insult, she held up her hands, yielding and hoping Bradán was more adept with the blade than he was at wooing a girl.

“We meet at Indber Colptha.”

“Two mornings hence on the rise above Sea Wolf’s beach,” she reminded him as he turned his horse.

“Make it three,” he said. “I have another errand to run.”

Shaking her head, Fedelm knew the third day would be the day Owen’s ship, the Sea Wolf, would sail from Caer Gybi. The ship’s captain plied his trade between the two islands, sailing from each on opposite days. Unable to prevent herself from scowling, she conceded that it didn’t matter that she was forced to spend another night in a hostel. It was just frustrating.

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“The next sailing will be the fourth morning. Don’t be late. Owen can’t afford to wait.”

Kathvar nodded and dug in his heels, riding away without a word or a backward glance. His handful of guards followed, leaving her alone with Bradán. Taking the reins, Fedelm started to retrace her steps.

“I will walk if you want to ride,” Bradán said as he caught up with her.

“What is it you want from me?” She studied him as he walked beside her. “And what is it with those stupid sticks?”

The redness creeping up from his boiled leather armor answered her more clearly than words ever could. She wished he had chosen another time and another woman. Thrown horseshoes she could handle; the tears of unrequited puppy love from some stick-sucking eejit, less so.

“The Romans bring the sticks from the Inland Sea and trade them for Gaulish metalwork. The Gauls use the sticks as medicine. I like the flavor, and chewing them helps me think.”

“From the Inland Sea? The Romans bring them from the Inland Sea and trade them in Gaul?” she asked, wondering when Bradán had been to Gaul.

“Aye. Called licorys. Would you like to try some?”

Fedelm shook her head. “Why have you been peering at me with those doe eyes? Makes me uncomfortable.”

“I’m sorry. I know my timing’s off, Fedelm, but I’m seeking a new liege. I can no longer serve the Cailleach. Don’t trust her.”

“I thought you were the favorite to replace Mac Roth as the captain of her guards?”

“Aye, so I was. Then the Cailleach retired him in front of me.”

“Stabbed him in the throat with her bodkin,” Fedelm remembered.

“Exactly right. Not my idea of an ideal position.” She laughed. The look of sincerity on his face was so at odds with his words that she could not help herself. “You can laugh. She’s no doubt added me to her list of those soon-to-meet Donn. I’ve nothing against the god, would just prefer to join him in his mound as a doddering idiot, not in my prime.”

“I was told you were her favorite.”

“No. It was just a rumor. I am not good with all the warrior stuff. All the fighting and the blood.”

“Is it not every warrior’s wish to die with sword in hand on some battlefield?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.

“In fairness, Lady, that is horseshit. Most become warriors because they see it as a fast road to easy riches. When you hear them screaming for their ma with their guts in their laps and evacuated bowels, you will know the reality of it. War stinks. My dream is to die in my roundhouse in the arms of my lover.”

“You’re right. She’s probably added you to the top of her list,” Fedelm laughed again before frowning and saying, “You didn’t tell me what you want.”

“I did, though. I want to enter your service.”

“Are you not in service to Kathvar?”

“Aye, for now. It’s only a short commission, though. As soon as a High King is crowned, he’ll turn his power to thwarting his enemies and will need me no longer. So, do you need a warrior?”

“I thought that was a jest. I am no liege or chieftain, Bradán. I am a seeress. Or I will be when I finish my studies.”

“Aye, the best I ever heard. I was there on Mag nAí when you predicted the bloodletting. You had them in thrall. Even Medb was mesmerized.”

“That doesn’t explain the looks you’ve been giving me?”

“Building up the courage.”

“The courage?”

“To offer my sword, Lady.”

“I thought…” she trailed off, unsure how to voice what she thought.

His face was awash with confusion before he blushed again. “Gods, no, Lady. Not my style. My tent is pitched the other side of the palisade if you know what I mean.”

“Indeed, I do.”

Fedelm shook her head. It was not only the art of foreseeing she was still learning.

Bradán called, “Hallo the guard,” as they reined in outside the ráth.

The gate opened slowly. Fedelm was surprised by the gatekeeper, who was mumbling and drooling and let them through without asking their business. Bent-backed and far too old to man a gate, he waved them vaguely toward the feast hall where Mesgegra held court. Kathvar and his guards rode on, not giving the guard another thought. To them, he was nothing more than a symptom of the kingdoms’ strife. The best warriors had all left to fight the battle. Many had died in the shield wall; others were missing; the rest were yet to return. That left old men like this guarding the gate.

Fedelm stared at the veteran, wondering what would happen to the kingdoms after Gáirech. Kathvar’s oft-spoken prophecy about the Romans was a cause for concern. Should be a cause for concern, she amended. Will we recover in time?

Fedelm was still worrying as they gave their mounts to the stable hands and walked silently to the hall. Two old veterans stood outside the door. They showed as much interest in the visitors as the old man at the gate. Walking down an aisle, which should have been flanked by guards but was empty except for guttering braziers, she peered at the King of Leinster on his dais. Mesgegra stared down at them with undisguised loathing. Fedelm could feel the waves of hatred like heat from a hostel firepit. Uncontrollable. He had been defeated and was expecting reprisals, but that was not enough to explain the emotion she felt from him. Reprisals were the lot of a losing king. His captain and his army failed, so he had to pay. It had forever been the way of the warrior – the foolish way.

Mesgegra had hitched his team to Medb’s chariot on a promise of wealth. But Medb duped him as she duped the King of Munster, Daire mac Dedad. The fools could only blame themselves. For years, they followed Mac Nessa, taking his counsel and accepting the protection of his warband, only to fall under Medb’s spell and lose everything. Whatever loot they collected during the cattle raid was gone, their armies crushed, their kingdoms ravaged by rebel warriors. There was nothing left. Only pride.

“Why are you here?” Mesgegra blurted out as they arrived below him.

Kathvar bowed a greeting at the king. He took hold of his staff with both hands and appeared to be using it to hold himself up, the crutch of an aging weakling. Fedelm stared into the shadows and tried to keep her smile to herself.

“I am not as young as I was. Can we sit, Sire?” Kathvar asked, angling his head slightly.

“Do you really need a seat to exact reprisals from the defeated?”

“Reprisals. What reprisals? I am here to collect nominations for High King. If we are not diligent, Beltaine will be on us before we are ready. We cannot continue as independent kingdoms. Look at where it has brought us. Since High King Connery died, we have done nothing but squabble like errant children. It must stop. The Romans–”

“Yes, yes, the Romans are coming. But what is the well-being of the kingdoms to you of the Elder Council? Do you even come from the Five Kingdoms?”

“Some of the Council come from other clans, Sire, I will not deny it. But I am Irish to my core.”

“An Irishman or an Ulsterman?”

“Irish. None of which matters to the Romans. They will crush us if we are unprepared. Now, can I sit, or will you force my old knees to collapse?” Kathvar repeated.

“Sit if you must. I fail to understand why you elders are plaguing me.”

“I am not sure I am following you, Sire. Plaguing you how?”

“I have already taken Mesgegra’s nomination,” came a voice Fedelm knew. She beamed as the druidess Dornoll walked out from the shadows and nodded to her and Kathvar. “The king thinks we are here to demand reparations. I have already told him there are to be none. Only Queen Medb will be required to make amends for her folly.”

“You were hiding?” Kathvar’s eyebrows went up.

“No, I was visiting the midden.”

“I thought you were on Ynys Môn,” he said, staring into the recesses of the hall instead of at Dornoll. Another trait Fedelm found infuriating.

Dornoll ignored the slight, replying with a measured voice, “I was, but as you rightly pointed out, Beltaine is upon us. I felt a need to get things moving.

“Shall we sit?” she asked.

Without replying, Kathvar took the chair closest to the dais. Mesgegra snorted but joined them, acting like someone had pissed in his oats and mutton.

“Who is your nomination?” Kathvar asked, leaning his staff against the table in case he needed a crutch.

“I have–” the king started, only to be interrupted.

“Abradruad,” Dornoll said, holding up a hand. Kathvar’s eyebrows arched again, but he held his peace. “He is a prince of Leinster. Well thought of.”

“Why have I never heard of him?”

Dornoll shrugged as if to say Kathvar’s lack of knowledge was no one’s fault but his.

“I’ve heard of him,” Fedelm blurted, feeling a blush of embarrassment. “He is a nice boy. He will be amenable to the wishes of the Council.”

“But is he strong?”

“Is it not strength that brought us to this sorry state?” Dornoll asked, raising her own eyebrows in disagreement.

Fedelm felt a surge of pride. As leader of the Elder Council, Dornoll had always been able to handle Kathvar’s aspirations. Everyone knew he wanted to lead, and Dornoll outwitted him each time he tried to wrest control from her. She was too clever for him.

“No. It was weakness that brought us here. None of this would have happened if Connery had executed his brothers, as his own laws demanded.”

Silence impregnated the resulting pause. It was Dornoll’s turn to hold her peace, causing Fedelm to stare at her in surprise.

“Who would you propose, Graybeard?” Mesgegra asked with a sneer, making the honorific somehow insulting.

Fedelm expected the druid to lose his temper but was surprised when he smiled at Mesgegra’s impertinence.

“We need strength, and our strongest is Cú Chulainn,” Kathvar stated with authority.

The mere mention of her former lover’s name caused Fedelm’s heart to tumble and her guts to flutter. Her constantly telling herself she was over him didn’t make it true.

“He is just a boy,” the king scoffed.

“A boy who held the combined armies of Connacht, Munster, and Leinster at bay while the warriors of Ulster suffered their pangs,” Fedelm snapped and felt another blush when Dornoll glared at her.

The king’s mouth opened as if to reply, but he closed it after several moments without speaking. Fedelm knew no one at the table could deny what Cú had done. With raids into camp by night and challenges to single combat by day, the boy made the combined armies of the south appear foolish. Medb scoured the Five Kingdoms for champions to take the crossings he defended. From the ogre-like Nadcranntail to the devious and vindictive clan Cailidín ambushing him in the forest, they’d all failed. They’d all died.

“We are aware of his strength,” Dornoll mused. “But does he have the intelligence and patience to rule? What do you think, Fedelm?”

“What do I think?” she asked, surprised by the question.

She knew Kathvar was aware of their illicit relationship but had thought he was the only one. Looking at Dornoll, she was no longer sure. There was a twinkle in her eye as though she were toying. Dalliances during training were geis, and Fedelm’s relationship with Cú, if discovered, would have seen her severely punished. It was too late, but she still felt another flush of heat creeping up from her neckline. “He is not only strong but intelligent and canny. He can be gentle and frightening all at the same time.”

“So, Dornoll, there you have it. Cú Chulainn is both strong and wise, traits unusual in one so young. He is the best option.” Kathvar opened his palms, finalizing his argument.

Dornoll shook her head. “I am not sure I agree with your assessment, Kathvar. However, we must put it to the others and hear their thoughts. I have already been to Munster, and mac Dedad has no one to put forward. I suggest we return to Caer Leb with our nominations and let the Council decide.”

Fedelm put a hand over her mouth, holding in the words she so wanted to blurt. Surely, a woman as strong as Dornoll would have offered more opposition and pushed her nominee harder. But then, she thought, Cú is the sensible choice, which does not mean the coronation stone is already singing.

“I don’t think it will be that simple,” she said.

“What do you mean?” Dornoll asked.

“Cú Chulainn has retired to Dún Dealgan. He told me he wants nothing more to do with the politics of the Five Kingdoms. He will raise children and sheep.” With Emer instead of me, she thought while hoping her disappointment was not showing on her face.

“I am sure Kathvar will be able to convince him of his duty. He is so good at that,” Dornoll said, standing and beaming down on them. Is she happy to have failed? Fedelm wondered. “If there is nothing else, I shall return to Ynys Môn. Kathvar, a quick word with you before I go.”

Kathvar agreed, and they left together. The pair were talking in guarded whispers before they were out of sight, and Fedelm couldn’t help wondering what they had to say to one another.

***

“Danu forbid,” Fedelm hissed. She knew her horse had thrown a shoe. There was no misunderstanding of the change in gait, the whinny, and the toss of the mane.

“What is it?” Kathvar asked, pulling on his reins. He stared at her over his shoulder, his impatience showing in every strand of his grey beard and every crease of his aging face.

“My mare’s thrown a shoe,” she said as she swung out of the saddle.

“That is all I need.”

“All you need? You think I welcome it?” Fedelm snapped. Typical of the druid to think of nothing but his own needs.

He raised his eyebrows, and she felt another blush begin. She smiled an apology, pursing her lips, remembering he hated to be barked at by those he considered subordinate.

Kathvar turned away as he said, “Sorry, Fedelm, but I am in a hurry. I cannot afford to tarry.”

She couldn’t help but frown into the lengthening shadows before finally relenting. “We passed a hostel and farrier a short time ago. You go on. I’ll walk back and get a new shoe.”

“Night will be on us soon,” Kathvar frowned.

“You don’t need me in Dún Dealgan. I’ll stay in the hostel and meet you in Indber Colptha. On the headland above where Owen beaches his longship. Say, the second morning from now. We can sail in the Sea Wolf on the morning tide.”

“I cannot allow you to travel through the forest alone. It is dangerous. Bradán will stay and protect you,” Kathvar said.

It was all Fedelm could do not to stamp her foot. She didn’t need anyone to protect her. She didn’t need a protector with puppy dog eyes and a stick in his mouth, who had followed her around since the funeral. She’d joined Kathvar in his dash across the kingdoms, hoping to lose Bradán’s attention, only to learn the druid had hired him.

Besides, the warrior was pathetic.

Whenever she looked, he turned away, blushing at having been caught. Gods, but his attentions were not only unwanted but unskilled. He was like a young child the first time away from his mother.

“I’ve ridden on these roads all my life. I don’t need protection. Nor do I need anyone’s permission.”

“There has been a battle. The roads are full of unhappy warriors who did not receive the promised riches and who more than likely lost friends. They are violent and unpredictable. Hungry, too, probably. It is not safe.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“You forget yourself, Fedelm, I am your superior, and I am not going to have a discussion around the subject. You will take Bradán.”

“I think you mean you’re a man, and I’m a woman.”

“It has nothing to do with sex. I am a member of the Elder Council. You are training as a druidess. I am your superior. You will follow instructions or leave the order.”

She was tempted to tell him a handy place where he could stick his order. Opening her mouth to say it, she remembered her dream of becoming a seeress. It was a dream from her early adulthood, one that started just after her first bleed. She was not willing to risk being prevented from finishing her studies. Instead of the intended insult, she held up her hands, yielding and hoping Bradán was more adept with the blade than he was at wooing a girl.

“We meet at Indber Colptha.”

“Two mornings hence on the rise above Sea Wolf’s beach,” she reminded him as he turned his horse.

“Make it three,” he said. “I have another errand to run.”

Shaking her head, Fedelm knew the third day would be the day Owen’s ship, the Sea Wolf, would sail from Caer Gybi. The ship’s captain plied his trade between the two islands, sailing from each on opposite days. Unable to prevent herself from scowling, she conceded that it didn’t matter that she was forced to spend another night in a hostel. It was just frustrating.

“The next sailing will be the fourth morning. Don’t be late. Owen can’t afford to wait.”

Kathvar nodded and dug in his heels, riding away without a word or a backward glance. His handful of guards followed, leaving her alone with Bradán. Taking the reins, Fedelm started to retrace her steps.

“I will walk if you want to ride,” Bradán said as he caught up with her.

“What is it you want from me?” She studied him as he walked beside her. “And what is it with those stupid sticks?”

The redness creeping up from his boiled leather armor answered her more clearly than words ever could. She wished he had chosen another time and another woman. Thrown horseshoes she could handle; the tears of unrequited puppy love from some stick-sucking eejit, less so.

“The Romans bring the sticks from the Inland Sea and trade them for Gaulish metalwork. The Gauls use the sticks as medicine. I like the flavor, and chewing them helps me think.”

“From the Inland Sea? The Romans bring them from the Inland Sea and trade them in Gaul?” she asked, wondering when Bradán had been to Gaul.

“Aye. Called licorys. Would you like to try some?”

Fedelm shook her head. “Why have you been peering at me with those doe eyes? Makes me uncomfortable.”

“I’m sorry. I know my timing’s off, Fedelm, but I’m seeking a new liege. I can no longer serve the Cailleach. Don’t trust her.”

“I thought you were the favorite to replace Mac Roth as the captain of her guards?”

“Aye, so I was. Then the Cailleach retired him in front of me.”

“Stabbed him in the throat with her bodkin,” Fedelm remembered.

“Exactly right. Not my idea of an ideal position.” She laughed. The look of sincerity on his face was so at odds with his words that she could not help herself. “You can laugh. She’s no doubt added me to her list of those soon-to-meet Donn. I’ve nothing against the god, would just prefer to join him in his mound as a doddering idiot, not in my prime.”

“I was told you were her favorite.”

“No. It was just a rumor. I am not good with all the warrior stuff. All the fighting and the blood.”

“Is it not every warrior’s wish to die with sword in hand on some battlefield?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.

“In fairness, Lady, that is horseshit. Most become warriors because they see it as a fast road to easy riches. When you hear them screaming for their ma with their guts in their laps and evacuated bowels, you will know the reality of it. War stinks. My dream is to die in my roundhouse in the arms of my lover.”

“You’re right. She’s probably added you to the top of her list,” Fedelm laughed again before frowning and saying, “You didn’t tell me what you want.”

“I did, though. I want to enter your service.”

“Are you not in service to Kathvar?”

“Aye, for now. It’s only a short commission, though. As soon as a High King is crowned, he’ll turn his power to thwarting his enemies and will need me no longer. So, do you need a warrior?”

“I thought that was a jest. I am no liege or chieftain, Bradán. I am a seeress. Or I will be when I finish my studies.”

“Aye, the best I ever heard. I was there on Mag nAí when you predicted the bloodletting. You had them in thrall. Even Medb was mesmerized.”

“That doesn’t explain the looks you’ve been giving me?”

“Building up the courage.”

“The courage?”

“To offer my sword, Lady.”

“I thought…” she trailed off, unsure how to voice what she thought.

His face was awash with confusion before he blushed again. “Gods, no, Lady. Not my style. My tent is pitched the other side of the palisade if you know what I mean.”

“Indeed, I do.”

Fedelm shook her head. It was not only the art of foreseeing she was still learning.