Siobhan slapped Donal and Finn on the back.

“Come with me, lads.”

“Where are we going?” Donal asked.

“To meet my grandparents,” she said. “Or in your case, the Ruiri and Lady MacSweeney. Best to not forget that part.”

She dropped her voice to a mutter as she turned from Donal and Finn.

“They surely don’t.”

“Is Ruiri the correct name for him, though?” Finn asked. “He’s not even the head of Tyrconnell.”

“Sometimes it’s better to be polite than accurate,” she said. “Especially when we’re the ones imposing.”

They stepped through the other door in the alcove into a hallway between the tower house and the great hall. Siobhan opened the door to the tower house and climbed the stairway to the right.

Donal struggled to keep his jaw closed as they entered the first floor. Wood panels lined three of the walls, a lit fireplace filled most of the fourth. Two intricately carved wooden chairs stood with their backs to the fireplace. A long table bisected the room. Above it two iron circles hung from the ceiling, each holding ten lit candles.

The man seated in the chair on the right spoke before they reached him.

“It’s been more than a year since you last visited, granddaughter. How much longer would you have waited had your friend not been so badly injured?”

Wrinkles radiated from the man’s eyes and wry smile. Donal suspected they owed more to the sun than advanced age. His long, chalky hair and beard draped over his shoulders and chest but did not appear unkempt. A scar traveled from his piercing green eyes up the left side of his forehead to a band of silver filigree adorned with several gemstones.

The king silently scanned the three road-weary people in front of him from head to toe. Donal’s eyes darted around the empty room as he squirmed in discomfort.

“Dya’think they just sit here in an empty room all day?” Donal whispered to Finn.

Finn replied with an elbow to Donal’s ribs, forcing a grunt.

“Whisht!” Siobhan whispered.

“Who are these friends of yours, Siobhan?” the lady asked.

“Finn and Donal MacLaughlin,” Siobhan said.

She raised her eyebrows and bobbed her head toward her grandmother for emphasis.

“They’re Fintan’s boys.”

The lady wrinkled her nose and looked at the ground to her right. She inhaled sharply, her clenched expression relenting, and rolled her head backwards in a slight arc. Donal couldn’t help but notice how lovely she looked for a lady of her age. He looked back at Siobhan and noticed the resemblance.

“Fintan McLaughlin,” she said. “I knew his people well. The longer I look upon you, Finn, the more I see your great-granddad. How is your father?”

Both brothers cast their eyes downward. Donal scuffed the floor with his shoe.

“They’re gone, Almaith,” the king said. “Several years, now. You knew this.”

She covered her mouth and her eyes developed a shimmer.

“So I did. Forgive me, boys.”

“There’s nothing to forgive, m’lady.” Finn said.

“Why are you two here, though?” the king asked.

“They’re Sílrad Cummasc, Ruiri,” Siobhan said. “Descended from Lugh Lamfhada himself.”

“You’ll forgive me, boys, if I find that hard to believe,” the king said.

Siobhan explained to the royal couple how Finn was abducted by the dullahan and how she and Donal rescued him. The king pointed at Donal.

“This one?” he said. “This boy took down a dullahan from two hundred feet?”

“Five hundred feet, Ruiri,” Donal said. “And I only wounded it. We didn’t stay to fight it.”

“Faelan said you defeated an Ávertach? Which one of you did that?”

“It was a combination,” Finn said. “Maeve wounded it with her arrows, and Donal here pinned it with a spear.”

Donal pointed to Finn.

“He knew how to keep it buried. That thing might be chasing us still if not for my brother.”

Donal watched the blood run to his brother’s cheeks.

“Is it your plan to hide here now?” said the king. “Exactly how long do you plan on staying?”

“We’re not hiding, Ruiri,” Siobhan said. “We just need to get Niall healed. He’s leading us on a mission, of sorts, and we need him in full health. Then we’ll go. If you have room to spare, that is.”

“It’s not the room I’m worried about,” the king said. “That’s five more mouths to feed for several days. The blight has affected us as well. Our food supply is not infinite.”

“Oh, come now, Aengus,” Lady MacSweeney said. “They’re not staying here long. We can feed them for a few days. In fact, it’s been nine months since any of Treasach’s children visited us. Let’s bring Lorcan’s and Faelan’s family over tonight and have a nice dinner.”

“Very well,” the king said. “Siobhan, go tell Faelan to send for Lorcan’s family. They can make it here by sunset.”

“I will, Ruiri.” she said.

He leaned forward and gestured to Donal and Finn.

“As for the two of you,” he said. “Anyone strong enough to take on both a dullahan and ávertach and live to tell of it is more than strong enough to help our servants set up the great hall for a feast. I’ll thank you for the help.”

****

“It was good of you to come, Lorcan,” said the king.

Siobhan’s eldest uncle claimed the empty chair between her and her grandfather.

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“It certainly was unexpected, father,” said Lorcan. “But I trust the work I was forced to put off will hold for another day.”

He turned up the palm nearest Siobhan and dipped his shoulder.

“Even if it isn’t as important as whatever my wayward niece is doing.”

Siobhan would have preferred to sit on the other side of the head table next to Faelan. Or at any other table. Lorcan, had a habit of looking in every direction other than at the person to which he was speaking. Even Finn and Donal made more eye contact than Lorcan. In their cases, however, it came from a place of insecurity and not condescension.

Lorcan was a striking man in nearly every aspect. His raven hair was pulled behind his ears, not a single strand out of place. He had his father’s eyes, his mother’s soft cheeks, and his beard flowed downward as if it were sculpted. Whatever work he had abandoned for the feast had not scuffed his leather ionar or stained his green leine. Faelan had not said so, but Siobhan suspected that he took the time to change clothes.

“I’m surprised you asked for our help,” Lorcan said. “I would have figured the druidic magic of your mother’s people would have saved him.”

“Brother, is that necessary?” Faelan asked.

“Just making conversation,” Lorcan said. “I assumed she forsook the power of Tuireann in favor of druidic ways for a reason.”

“I did no such thing, uncle,” Siobhan said. “I can call upon the thunder when I need to, but I will not apologize for being a skilled druid. Much like my mother was before me.”

Lorcan winced at the remark but tried to cover it with a gesture.

“Perhaps if you leaned on your sílrad ancestry more you’d have greater success,” he said.

“You must be speaking in regards to magic, because we all know you forbade me from leaning on your children to help investigate and fight this blight.”

“I simply don’t see the need at this point,” Lorcan said. “There’s no need for them to traipse around Tyrconnell on what is likely a fool’s errand. Are we even positive there is a widespread blight? Indeed, it’s not a banner year for my lands, but we still have plenty to eat.”

“Lorcan’s family is providing the food for this feast,” the king said.

“Indeed, Ruiri, we are,” Lorcan said. “How do we know this blight talk isn’t a group of lousy farmers in a fit of hysteria over a down year?”

Siobhan stared at Lorcan, then leaned forward to look down the table. Faelan shook his head and threw his hands up.

“Tell me, uncle, how often do you leave Tyrconnell—or even your own lands?”

Lorcan stretched his shoulders and looked directly at Siobhan.

“Speaking of my lands, would it kill you to address me as ‘Tiarna’ or ‘Lord’ at least once?”

“It might,” she said.

“Siobhan, you may not like his title and I’d say you don’t have to use it,” Lady MacSweeney said, “But I’d ask you to show him the respect of a family elder.”

“For you, Grandma,” Siobhan said with a nod.

Lorcan inhaled and closed his eyes as he exhaled.

“To answer your accusation: yes, I have ventured outside Tyrconnell. Personally, I don’t see what the fuss is about. We’ve had droughts. We’ve had blights. We’ve had floods. They’re all temporary, cyclical. Why are you treating this year as if it were different?”

“Because this year has been particularly bad,” she said. “Yet it’s only affecting the crops; all other foliage is thriving. It’s been accompanied by supernatural creatures that haven’t walked the land in centuries. Not to mention a certain Fomori agitator roaming the lands and stirring up trouble between the Normans and Gaels—as if trouble needed any help. Look at the larger picture, uncle, and tell me this doesn’t warrant a second look.”

Lorcan stared at his plate for half of a minute.

“This Fomori—I assume you’re referring to Éamon Breaslin?”

“I am. Do you know him?”

“We’ve met,” Lorcan said. “Fomori or not, he seems like a simple opportunist. Nothing remarkable about him.”

Siobhan leaned toward her uncle.

“Of course,” she said. “If you don’t see a problem with the current situation, then you won’t see the danger of it exploited by a ‘simple opportunist.’”

Siobhan looked out from the head table. Lorcan’s wife, Concessa, sat with her three youngest children at a table to her right. On her left sat a collection of her cousins from Padraig’s and Orlaith’s families, all of whom were spending the growing season with either the king or Lorcan.

Faelan’s wife, Saerlaith, fed her young children next to Finn and Donal at a table in the far back of the hall. Donal played with Saerlaith’s oldest boy. Siobhan scanned the hall for Maeve but found no trace of her. The ranger likely used her elder’s state as an excuse to miss the dinner. Siobhan found herself jealous of her friend.

Finn smiled at her as they caught each other’s gaze, and at that moment Siobhan wanted nothing more than a seat at the back table.

****

“Siobhan looks miserable,” Finn said to Donal. “I wish there was something we could do.”

“Is it the dress she’s wearing?” Donal asked. “Looks scratchy. Dya’think they had it stuffed in one of her bags the whole time?”

“Is it really a dress, or just a fancy new leine?” Finn asked.

In truth, Finn considered the question rhetorical. She was draped in a shiny emerald green fabric trimmed at the sleeves and neck with a beige pattern of two intertwined lines. Capped by her red copper hair, she was a radiant sight.

“Likely left behind by one of her older cousins,” said Saerlaith. “As for her comfort, unless you know any spells that can seal up Lorcan’s mouth, there’s no helping her.”

Saerlaith continued to spoon porridge for Muirenn, the toddler sitting on her lap. Her own blue dress flowed about her, under coal-black hair pulled back in a perfect braid. Her steel blue eyes were the only bits of color on an otherwise pallid face.

Darkened circles ringed her eyes and faint wrinkles bordered her mouth. Finn suspected that the features—also shared by her husband at the head table—were the telltale signs of parents rearing small children. The only blemishes on an otherwise handsome couple.

Aengus and Donal traded faces until one of them would giggle.

“He’s good with kids,” Saerlaith said to Finn. “You must have a lot of younger siblings and cousins.”

“None, actually,” said Finn. “I think that he simply shares a brain with the little ones.”

“Oi!” Donal said. “Who taught me everything I know?”

Finn held up his hands.

“All right, not in front of the babes, now.”

He watched Siobhan at the head table as she gestured and pointed, sometimes at her uncle.

“I’ve never seen her get that mad at someone who wasn’t us,” said Finn. “What’s the deal with yer man over there?”

“Lorcan?” Saerlaith asked. “He’s nothing but notions from head to toe. He needs everyone to know it, too—especially Treasach’s children.”

“Siobhan's da?" Finn asked. "Why’s that?”

“He never got over the ‘insult’ of Siobhan’s mom refusing his advances.”

“You don’t mean—”

“Lorcan and Dairíne O’Donnell, Siobhan’s mom, were to be married. Her parents wanted it, Lorcan’s parents wanted it. It was no secret the Normans’ grip on Tyrconnell and the rest of Ulster has slipped over the last few generations. The Ruiri and Dairíne’s dad envisioned a fierce political union between the two biggest families in Tyrconnell—even though the two clans have had plenty of marriages between them in the past. Lorcan wanted it too. The only one who didn’t want it was Dairíne, and she would not be swayed.”

“Because of Treasach?” Finn asked.

“Indeed. She was in love with him.”

“And Lorcan was jealous?”

“That’s the worst part—he wasn’t,” Saerlaith said. “He didn’t love Dairíne, not really. He hated being embarrassed by his little brother and never forgave him. He didn’t even go to Treasach’s funeral. His own brother! If that wasn’t enough, he poisoned his parents against Treasach and Dairíne.”

“Is that why Siobhan’s dad was such a hard case?” Donal asked.

“Could you blame him?” Finn asked. “Knowing what we know now?”

“His parents didn’t disown Treasach outright, but they did him no favors,” said Saerlaith.

“Why does Siobhan and her brothers have anything to do with her grandparents?” Finn asked.

That’s mostly because of Dairíne and Concessa, Lorcan’s wife. Concessa is an O’Donnell as well. They both worked hard to ensure that whatever ill will Lorcan—and by extension the king—had against the parents, their kids would not suffer from it. Dairíne endured a lot of disrespect on behalf of her kids over the years.”

Finn looked over at the head table. He felt his face warm as Lorcan held up a hand to block whatever Siobhan was telling him. Finn then thought about Mrs. MacSweeney and took deep breaths until his skin cooled.