Morning light blazed through the settlement of Caer Leb. Genonn and Fedelm walked away from the stables and immediately went in search of Biróg. He could see two hares just the other side of the palisade, boxing for the right to breed, and smiled. His own boxing match had already been won. Turning Fedelm to face him, Genonn kissed her passionately on the lips.

“What was that for?”

“Just because I can.”

“Don’t lose the run of yourself, bodalán; just because I let you take me doesn’t mean you can steal kisses when the mood grabs you,” she said, pouting. He laughed. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

Genonn kept hold of her, unmoving. “You sure you want to do this? I can do it alone.”

“I’m as sure as I can be, Genonn. That aside, you need me. It’s your father she might have killed. All she did to me was betray me.” She shook her head in confusion. “If she did anything. We don’t know for sure. Lee was delirious.”

“You are right; we do not know,” he said, thinking he would be surprised if the druidess was not involved.

They found Biróg staring at her herb garden on her knees, hands clasped in her lap. Still holding Fedelm’s hand, he could feel her shaking with nerves at the idea of confronting her teacher. A woman who had been her supporter and a mother figure for many years. He put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a gentle squeeze.

“I wondered how long it would take you to get here,” Biróg said without looking at them. She seemed tired, the same redness in her eyes the day he brought Lee to the Council. Resigned to her fate. Her ruse had failed, and now she would pay the debt she owed.

“How did you know we would come?” Genonn asked, crossing his arms.

“When you took Lee, I knew a time would come when the boy would drop the barley sack and spill all the kernels. He’s a nice young one but prone to flightiness. Only to be expected in one so young.”

“Was a nice young one, you mean. You sent the boy to his death, old woman.” Fedelm took hold of his forearm, squeezing it, telling him to keep his temper. He nodded and looked away.

“He’s dead? Poor boy. What happened to him?” Biróg asked. Genonn heard something in her tone that did not fit. It was not a tone he had been expecting.

“He was murdered by an assassin,” Fedelm said. Genonn turned back just in time to catch Biróg’s genuine confusion. It was apparent she had no idea about Nechtan.

How is that possible? All the evidence points to her. Or was he making the evidence fit the scenario he thought most likely?

“An assassin? How can that be? Who would want to kill a boy whose claim had already failed? No one knew of him until I brought him to you.”

A tear broke from the corner of her eye. Judging by Fedelm’s glance, she also saw it. Biróg’s surprise was genuine, which confused him. But she was a schemer, he knew. She had attempted to wrest control by using an impostor. So, she was undoubtedly able to put on an act when necessary.

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“We think the target was either Conall or me. Lee died by mistake.”

“Oh, Tuatha. I never meant the boy harm.”

“What did you mean, Biróg?” Fedelm pleaded.

The druidess shook her head. The tears were now free-flowing. She was in shock, and Genonn felt the last vestiges of his surety fall away to be once more replaced by confusion. He had been sure the druidess played a part in Kathvar’s murder. If not Biróg, then who?

“So, you brought Lee to me in the forest. You wanted me to submit him to the Council. What I do not understand is why. Why pretend to be an old woman and try to have an impostor take the throne?”

“I didn’t see any choice.”

“What do you mean, no choice?” Fedelm asked. “There’s always a choice.” Genonn could hear her disbelief slowly being replaced by the anger he also felt.

“I could never openly oppose Dornoll. She sees me as a lesser druidess. She always has. If I’d presented Lee to the Council, she would have laughed me out of the hall.”

“What of Kathvar’s death?” Genonn asked. “What do you know of that?”

“Nothing. I know nothing,” Biróg said, her head tilted with sympathy. “I do have some thoughts on the matter.”

“Which are?”

“You want to know why someone was murdered, young Genonn? Find out who benefits.”

Genonn frowned, thinking the words were easy enough to say. Indeed, something said so often would likely make most people laugh. But who benefited from the death of his father? Kathvar’s enemies were legion. Many could claim a grievance against him or were oppressed by him. It often felt like he opposed others for the simple joy of an argument.

Could it be revenge?

Biróg continued, “Warriors were in the settlement buying supplies the day Kathvar died. Unsavory types. One tall and slender. The other a redheaded giant. They were looking around with great interest, like they were formulating a plan, checking for escape options, that sort of thing.”

Genonn gazed at a crow cawing on the edge of the forest. Its blackness was a contrast to the light of his realization. “I think Dornoll hired them to kill your father.”

Dornoll. Could it be true?

Could Dornoll be the woman Bréannin hinted at? Another druidess who might have an interest in seeing Kathvar put down.

Dornoll hired Nechtan. Dornoll used Bréannin to broker the deal. Once formulated, the idea took hold. Genonn could feel Fedelm’s stare and guessed at the confusion in her eyes. As he turned towards her, she shook her head and opened her mouth to say something but shut it without speaking. She did not like what she was hearing. Genonn knew it would make less sense to Fedelm than Biróg ordering his father’s murder. He understood her confusion. Fedelm revered Dornoll above all others.

“You think Dornoll ordered the death of my father?”

“She’s evil. I think she intended to kill your father even before she became Council Leader.”

“What motive could she have?” Genonn asked. Biróg shook her head. “So, why do you think her a murderess?”

“We trained together, at the same time, I mean. Back when we were young and foolish, still with the names our mothers gave us. She never let anything get by her; determined to win at all costs.” She treated me like dirt, he read in her face. There had been a confrontation between them where he had only ever seen subservience.

“Is that all?” Fedelm scoffed.

“There were stares when she thought no one could see. Stares that would have stopped a bull mid-charge.”

“But that is a more awe-inspiring jump than Scáthach’s Bridge of Pupils,” Fedelm snapped. “If pigheadedness and the odd demon-eyed glance indicate a murderess, then Genonn would also be dead.”

“It was Dornoll. I’m sure of it,” Biróg said into her fragrant herb garden.

“I wouldn’t be so sure if I were in your skirts,” a voice said behind them.

Genonn looked over his shoulder. Imrinn was standing there, hands on his hips, that infectious grin he always wore when he had done something he knew to be wrong, splitting his face.

“What do you mean?” Genonn asked, hating what he knew he was about to hear.

“She’s wrong, big brother. It was me who loosed the arrow that killed our father.”