Horror and revulsion filled Eithne’s throat. “No.”

      Corchen smiled kindly at her. “Yes, dear.”

      “This…” She couldn’t find words and threw her hands around in nebulous gesture. “All—all this—It’s all part of some—some—?”

      Corchen nodded. “Yes, lass. The geas that you should not marry until the Sixth Apparition of the Dragon. The fate that Eowain should be the one to fulfill the conditions of the geas. It is all thayn, all destined.”

      Eithne’s hand went to her belly. “No. No, that’s just sick. You can’t just play with our lives like that.”

      “We must, dear. It’s the whole purpose of our Order, to keep the balance between the Limit and the Unlimit. To keep bound that which would not be bound, lest the world be consumed in chaos and in fire.”

      Another thought occurred to her. “But you’re saying that the—that I’m—one of those monsters?”

      “What monsters? Who said monsters?”

      “Damn it, you know what I mean!” But she couldn’t say it, except in a whisper, lest they hear and appear. “The Ancestors.”

      Corchen shook her head. “No, you misunderstand—”

      “Like Annwn I do! Those monsters threaten our village, kill our stock, steal our children!”

      “No, Eithne, let me explain—”

      “And now you’re telling me I’m one of them—?”

      “Eithne!” Corchen slapped her hard.

      Eithne’s head rocked on her shoulders, and she staggered back a step. Her cheek burned with the force of the slap.

      “Calm yourself.” Corchen’s voice was stern and full of power.

      But anger surged through Eithne’s breast. Her whole life she’d felt trapped, confined, restrained and restricted. And for what?

      In a low, dangerous voice, her words spilled out, unbidden. “All this talk of portents and geasa and thayn, fates and destinies? This is why I’ve been shut away my whole life? To make babies for your plots!”

      “Listen here, girl—!”

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      “I am not a girl! I’m a woman, by the Gods. Have been, for a damn long time! Watched all my friends married years since, while I was forced to wait!” Her voice echoed, as if she stood at the center of a struck bell. She didn’t have to wait, she’d had suitors, despite all of Father’s best efforts. There’d been Borglenn, son of a good Iveardan lord, at Ardgar’s court when she was fourteen. And last summer, before ever she heard of this hedge-king, there’d been Karadow of the Duvda, a dark, loose-bodied, handsome tinker lad. Oh, how I wanted to kiss him.

      She waved her sword at the priest, and the priestess, and the little man in his strange plates of armor. “I thought everything would make sense when you drymyn finally explained what this geas was all about. Father kept me isolated, wouldn’t allow suitors to come and court. ‘You’re destined for better than all that,’ he told me. And this is it? This is that better fate?”

      “Do not make little of your place in the world—”

      “What if I say, ‘no’? What if I don’t want to be anyone’s wife? I’m not anyone else’s anything. I am me, I am Eithne!”

      “What are you afraid of?”

      “I’m afraid of nothing! But is this really what you all want of me? That I become a wife, a mother, and lose myself in the process?” Eithne put her hand over her face and sucked air the stifling air of the shrine between her teeth. Certainly, this is all Mother ever wanted for me, expected of me. But Father taught her to be proud—of herself, her ancestry, her people and her tribe. “I am Eithne daughter of Ciaran, granddaughter of Turloch of the Sárán-Gwynn of Dolgallu. I don’t want to be anyone else.”

      “No one is asking you to be other than what you have always and already been.”

      “Aren’t you? Aren’t you all?” She rubbed at her forehead and walked away. But aren’t women meant to be mothers? After all, it’s how the Gods made us.

      She rounded on Corchen. “It’s all enough to drive a lass mad, you know.” She slapped a hand to her chest. “It’s my body? It’s my ancient right of choice, to accept or deny suitors as I please. It’s not for the whims of men and priestesses and Gods to decide.”

      Corchen nodded. “It is, dear. It always has been. Even the geas spoken over you as a child said so. But every choice has its consequence.”

      “I tell you, I have longed for the day this damnable geas could be put to rest. When I could finally live my life as a free woman. Gods, but I thought it would be nice to be free of all that.”

      “Well, here it is at last, isn’t it?” Corchen shrugged. “If you’re to be wed, it must be here and soon, upon the feast of Cétshamain under the Sixth Apparition of the Dragon.” Corchen crossed her arms over her stomach. “So your days of longing for an end to this geas are upon you, will ye or nil ye.”

      Eithne had trusted her Father. She’d trusted in the Gods and their servants and their geas. She’d allowed herself to be led to the Vale like a cow to slaughter.

      And all for what? I feel empty! Like a pitcher of ôl drained to the dregs. Like I’ve lost some piece of myself I can’t even name.

      She felt weak, tired, like she’d been bled dry. More than tired; she was weary. Arid and worn out.

      “This was a fearful thing we had to do,” said Corchen. “To trust in the portents of the Gods, to hold you back from the world. Not knowing what thayn would bring, if anything at all, we gave you the tools you would need if this day never came. But if this choice is not made, all the world will suffer. I swear it to you. May the spirits of all those who’ve come before me bear witness.”

      Eithne felt tricked and betrayed. She’d done everything asked of her. And yet this was the thayn to which she’d been led.

      She felt as if she’d starved herself.