Pushing open the doors, she found the hall more crowded than she’d expected. A number of men, most older and well-dressed, milled about the cavernous room. The undulating murmur of conversation had a lilt to it that told Niamh something was happening in Nás, something worthy of more gossip than usual. Spotting a group of servants in the process of clearing a table of platters of food and pitchers of ale, she decided to investigate.
“Excuse me,” she approached a young woman carrying a platter of roast boar, “I’m looking for Dallan mac Murrough. Do you know where I could find him?”
The woman’s eyes went wide, her face stricken. “You’ll need to speak with his uncle, the king. Morda is in his solar. This way.”
The woman led Niamh into a corridor at the back of the hall, opposite from the courtyard entrance. They passed two doors, stopping in front of the door at the corridor’s end.
“What’s your name, miss?”
Niamh answered her, watching as the woman knocked and then entered, announcing Niamh and then ushering her inside. The door shut quietly behind Niamh as she stood facing a hearth in another, smaller, round room. A man of an age with Brian stood in the center of the room, his face drawn and weary. She recognized him as Morda, though he had aged noticeably in the six years since she’d left Nás.
“Welcome, dear Niamh,” he said with a sad smile. “It’s been far too long since I last saw you.”
He gestured for her to sit beside the crackling hearth, and she quickly complied, uncertain what to expect from this odd meeting. She’d expected Dallan would be relatively easy to find. She’d never imagined she needed to go through the king to see him. Though, she supposed, it made sense, especially if Dallan had told his uncle about her inability to produce heirs. If Morda was determined to prevent their marriage, this was his best chance.
Folding her hands in her lap, she steeled herself for a battle. She wouldn’t be swayed so easily, and she wouldn’t leave without seeing Dallan.
“What brings you to Nás?” he asked, not unkindly.
“Dallan invited me, before he left,” she explained. “I thought it over and realized that coming here with him was the right decision.”
Morda sat down across from her, leaning forward intently. “In that case, I’m afraid I’ve terrible news.”
Niamh swallowed. It was just as she’d expected—a battle. But this time, she was ready to fight it.
“The small council met this morning,” he told her. “I summoned them to tell them of Dallan’s appointment as my second. They did not take the news well.”
Niamh sat up at that. “What do you mean?” Perhaps Dallan had been released from his obligations. Mayhap even now he was on his way back to Thurles.
“The man who wishes my throne went after Dallan, rallying all the kings behind him,” Morda explained, his voice cracking. “Dallan is to be executed for treason in the morn.”
“What!” Niamh shot out of her chair, utterly incapable of accepting something so sudden. And so ridiculous. “He’s done nothing wrong!”
“As Dallan and I both pointed out to them. But they are out for blood, and it was mine or his. I tried to intervene, but you know Dallan.”
Of course, she did. He would never let anything happen to those he loved. He would never think twice about stepping in to shield them from harm, even at the risk of his own life. He may have left Brian’s service, but he was still a Fianna at heart.
“Can you not call a brehon?” Niamh’s mind raced, her heart hammering so loudly she could hear it in the room, could feel it across her whole body. “What of a fair trial?”
Morda went through the entire meeting in great detail, explaining to Niamh the precarious political situation in which they found themselves. And for which Dallan had sacrificed himself in an attempt to save Morda and preserve the peace.
“So, what you are telling me,” Niamh said, fighting to keep her voice steady, “is that unless I can devise some method of rescue, Dallan will be killed at dawn?”
Morda nodded, his head hanging. “If you’ve any idea of a way out, I beg you to share it. I would do anything to reverse this wretched sentence.”
Niamh forced herself to breathe slowly. Panicking wouldn’t save Dallan. This was what she did, wasn’t it? She helped people. It felt so surreal, so unexpected, that the full force of it hadn’t quite hit her yet.
“It’s a struggle for power between you and Fachtna, aye?” she asked, an idea beginning to form in her mind.
“Aye,” he agreed. “One that Dallan’s been caught in the midst of.”
“So, it’s based on your reputations?” she pressed, growing more excited. “Your sway with the other council members?”
“What are you getting at, dear?”
“It may not work,” she admitted, “but I do have an idea. What if I were to find a way to make Fachtna instantly and irrevocably less desirable as a leader? Do you think that would be enough to get Dallan released?”
He rubbed his chin, sitting back in his chair and narrowing his eyes. “There’s no way to know how such a ploy would be received. I used to think the council wise, but it concerns me how quickly Fachtna has won them over. They resent Brian’s hegemony, and Dallan symbolized that when they discovered he was oath-sworn to the man who’d killed their sons in the battle at Dyflin.”
