“Is it what?” Niamh could already sense she wouldn’t like where this was headed.
“I’m going to give you my opinion, and you’re not going to like it, but I think you need to hear it.”
Niamh swallowed, preparing herself. “Go on.”
“It’s not the same at all,” Alva said gently, her voice kind though her words hurt. “When you left, you didn’t tell him why or give him the choice of following. When he left, he explained his reasons and asked you to come with him.”
“Perhaps,” she allowed, “there is some truth in what you say.” More than some. Too much. Niamh’s head spun as she thought through Alva’s observation. “But what of his feigned friendship?”
“Can you really blame him?” Alva questioned, her tone still soft. “He had no reason to believe you wanted anything to do with him. And if, as you told me, he’s never stopped caring for you, then seeking closure to his pain is not unreasonable.And,” she added emphatically, “kindness is certainly better than anger.”
Niamh did not like how much sense that made, not at all. Because, if Alva was right, then she had made a grave mistake.
“Do you love him?” Alva interrupted her pondering.
She was angry and hurt, aye, but Niamh knew she’d never stop loving Dallan. She nodded slowly.
“I am powerless. I cannot change my foolish husband’s mind. I cannot do aught but live my life the best I can with another woman in the house.Youare not powerless here, Niamh,” she declared, her voice growing in volume alongside her conviction. “You can create the life you want. You can still go with him.”
Niamh’s head felt too light, like it would float away. “Go to Laigin? But I don’t want to be a queen,” she said, horrified. “They’ll beexpectingan heir! What if I went and they don’t let us marry? Or what if he’s changed his mind now that he knows he’ll take the throne?”
Alva stopped walking, placing both her hands on Niamh’s shoulders. “He knew already,” she reminded Niamh. “You said yourself he knew days ago that he’d be leaving. Which means he knew he would be king when he told you he loved you, when he spoke of marriage. He won’t change his mind, and something tells me his family won’t be able to do a thing about it.”
She wanted desperately to believe Alva, fighting to keep her fears at bay. “Do you really think so?” she whispered, her mind not yet grasping what her heart had all but decided.
“Niamh, I would hate to see you go, but I wouldn’t have suggested it unless I knew it was the best thing for you. You have taken care of me and countless others for years. You’ve helped me heal, helped me conceive, helped me cope. Let me return the favor. Let me help you.”
A tentative smile broke across Niamh’s face, spreading as slowly as the idea Alva had planted. “Máire and mother will be upset.”
“They’ll manage,” Alva assured her, smiling for the first time that day. “It seems we have some packing to do.”
“Aye,” Niamh squeezed her friend’s hand, “it seems that we do.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Morda waited forDallan outside the feasting hall, the courtyard eerily silent in the early morning. Fog hung heavy over the keep, a dense chill in the air. The hall had been emptied for the meeting, all the lesser kings of Laigin summoned. The small council, as they were known collectively, weighed in on the king’s decisions. Many spent weeks at a time in Nás, offering counsel as needed. Others visited only when summoned.
This grey autumn morn, Morda called them to hear the news of Dallan’s appointment as second. After discussing the situation at length over the past day, Dallan knew they stood at a disadvantage.
As Fachtna even now vied for the throne with an alarming amount of support, he would be favored as the choice for second. A fact that he would no doubt point out. But Morda couldn’t risk naming him as second. It would create the perfect opportunity for Morda to meet an untimely end, with Fachtna assured of his accession to the kingship.
“Ready?” Morda asked, opening the door without waiting for Dallan’s response.
In sharp contrast to the somber courtyard, the hall was a shock of warmth, light, and life. The central hearth blazed as usual, as did braziers at intervals about the room. The tables were arranged so that the longest sat in the center, between the hearth and the door. Nearby, another table was laden with roastboar, apple tarts, and honey mead. The members of the council, fifteen in all, milled about in idle conversation.
The soft murmur of voices subsided as Dallan entered the room behind Morda.
“Thank you all for coming on such short notice,” Morda began. “I’m certain you remember my nephew, Dallan. I’ve called this council to inform you that he has sworn the oath as my second and will take the kingship after me.”
Dallan watched their reactions closely. All were telling.
The kings whose settlements fell nearest to Nás and Dyflin, where Dallan had spent much of his life until this past year, took the news in stride. One or two even smiled. Dallan knew them the best, and had seen them often growing up, but they made up the minority of the council.
Everyone else reacted poorly. They crossed their arms or frowned. An alarming number of them looked to Fachtna for his reaction.
And he did not disappoint.
“You named the second without consulting the council?” he asked, his shock striking Dallan as more performance than anything else.
