Lying awake, staring at the stars through the gap in the canopy, Genonn thought he was the happiest he had ever been. There had been women in the past, but never in a meaningful way. Quick liaisons in Tuatha-forsaken holes were the best he had managed. The worst, a few coppers and a wretched woman in some space between ill-kempt blockhouses, furtive glances, a few rushed grunts, and little if any gratification from the ensuing explosion.

This was different. Genonn felt something for Fedelm. Despite being old enough to be her father, he felt some sort of bond developing. He hoped she was feeling it, too. But listening to her gently snoring beside him, he was unsure. Was she trying to ease his pain? Or maybe she was trying to ease her own? It could be a fleeting encounter meant to drive away her demons, and he would return to wanting her from afar when the sun rose over the forest canopy in the morning.

Oh, Tuatha, let it be more than that.

Whatever it was, he felt glory in it. Not the glory of battle, which, of course, did not exist, but glory in the act of love.

Admonishing himself, Genonn decided his preoccupation was foolish. He should not be wondering what tomorrow would bring in terms of love. Love could fend for itself. He needed to think about her revelation and decide what they should do. Whatever they had thought to do was now irrelevant.

Do I believe her now that things have changed between us?

He knew that if that were the case, he was being hypocritical at best. And then he suddenly wondered if Fedelm was trying to distract him—using the arts Biróg taught her over many summers. Was it all just part of the scheming between herself and Bradán?

No. Whatever else I do or do not believe, I cannot think that of her.

“Why are you not sleeping?” Fedelm asked from beside him, causing him to start guiltily.

“I cannot get my mind off what you told me,” he half lied.

“I would wager all my possessions I could get your mind off it.”

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

“But, I need to decide… we need to decide what to do.”

“Aye, we do, but not tonight. Tonight, there are more pressing needs to resolve,” Fedelm said as she eased herself above him.

Later, when he was in the zone of wakefulness but with sleep encroaching on the edges of his mind, blurring his reality, Fedelm had her head on his shoulder, drawing circles on his chest with her finger.

“I still need to talk to you,” she said.

“Hmm,” he hummed, not opening his eyes.

The finger that was drawing circles became a teasing slap. “Are you listening to me, Genonn?”

“I am. You need to talk, you said. See, I am listening.”

“It’s about your father—”

“I told you, I do not want to talk about Ráth Droma. It’s in the past. Forgotten about.” Only it was not forgotten about. How could anyone forget being betrayed by their father? It would be like asking a mother to forget the birth of her first child or asking a high king to forget when Lia Fáil, the coronation stone, sang out to support his crowning.

“You need to listen to me, Genonn. It’s important, so it is. You’ve to understand your father’s actions so you can forgive him. You need to accept he wasn’t working against you.”

“He threatened to have me hanged by a man just like Nechtan.”

“Will you listen to me? It’s time, it really is.”

He nodded but realized her head was on his shoulder, and she could not see. “I will listen,” he said.

And then she told him what his father had said about the woodsman Donncha’s rebellion. She told him Mathaman had sent a messenger to the Elder Council accusing Genonn of treason and how Kathvar had used the threat of a hanging to get him out of the blockhouse.

And when she finished, Genonn was not sure he believed the story. He knew Fedelm believed his father, but he would need more time to digest her words. He could not just abandon that which had defined his life for twenty summers or more. Believing the story would throw it all in the midden trench. Everything would have been for nothing.

“Genonn?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you all right?”

“Sleep. We will talk again in the morning.”

He stroked her hair, listening to the night noises until the torch guttered and went out, and her breathing settled into the steady rise and fall of one deep in slumber. He intended to lie there and think about it all, but the next thing he knew, light was streaming through a gap in the leaves. Birds were singing. He heard Bradán shout something to Conall, but the words were unclear, and the tone was one of jest.

Fedelm stirred and gazed up at him, smiling. Her eyes were radiant. She is happy. He breathed a sigh of relief.

“Come, let’s go and tell the others we’re going to Caer Leb,” she said, rising and pulling him to his feet with a laugh.