Morda nodded. “I will, for it is a small request in the bigger picture, and it will win some of their goodwill back. They delivered the sentence themselves, giving him until he heals to remain in Nás. But,” he added, sitting up straighter, his face brightening, “we have more important matters to discuss.”
“You spoke to the council regarding the naming of your second?” Dallan ventured. He knew his position as second needed to be resolved, but he couldn’t begin to guess how the council would feel about it after all that had happened.
“They saw the value in having a man with your skill set and training as second,” Morda explained, “but they are still disapproving of your connection to Brian.”
“What would you have me do? What would help you most?”
“You’ve helped me plenty,” Morda told him. “The council has agreed to uphold my decision in making you my second, should you desire it. If not, they expressed interest in appointing Carvill. The choice is yours, with my gratitude.”
“Will Bran feel slighted?” Niamh asked, not familiar with either of Dallan’s cousins. “Is he not the elder?”
“Oh, heavens, no!” Morda chuckled. “Bran would sooner join a monastery than become a king, though I doubt he’d enjoy either. No, he’ll support his brother, likely grateful the burden doesn’t fall to him.”
Dallan knew in his heart what he wanted, and he didn’t hesitate when Morda turned to him for his answer. “I want togo home,” he replied, “and as much as I love my family and my people, Laigin is no longer my home. In fact, I wish to formally renounce my claim to the throne.”
“What?” Niamh asked quietly. “Dallan, are you certain?”
He looked at her, his golden-haired healer. “I’m certain. I know you worry over heirs. You’ve no desire to be queen. And all I want is to be with you.” Dallan turned to Morda once more. “If you have need of me as a warrior, so long as it is not against Brian, I will come.”
Morda stood to embrace him. “I’ll make a nuisance of myself in Caiseal so I can visit often,” he promised with a grin. “I need to check up on Eva as well.”
“We would love that,” Dallan said, returning his uncle’s smile.
“You should come for the wedding,” Niamh suggested, standing.
“I’m sure your aunt and cousins will wish it as well. They’re sour over missing Eva’s nuptials.”
Dallan chuckled. “I told her to wait, but you know Eva.”
“Aye. Once her mind is set, that’s all there is,” Morda agreed. “You send for me, and we’ll be there.”
That night, Mordahosted a great feast—a betrothal feast, he declared it—to honor Dallan and Niamh. The hall at Nás was filled with light and laughter, singing and stories, and best of all, dancing. But Dallan knew it wasn’t only their betrothal he was celebrating. He’d finally ended the strife that had run rampant in Laigin since the battle at Dyflin, and he’d done so without killing his brother or watching his nephew’s execution.
Dallan and Niamh sat in the same seats as the first day they’d met, and it felt like just as much of a new beginning as it had then. Niamh settled beside him, still wearing the blue dress heloved. How could he not, when it reminded him so clearly of what treasures lay beneath it?
“I have something for you,” he whispered, unable to keep from grinning.
He could tell that she sensed mischief right away. “Dallan,” she warned.
Before she could continue her protest, he slid a basket to her beneath the table.
“You did not!”
“I did,” he admitted. “I couldn’t resist.”
She opened the lid to reveal a small, mewling kitten, its orange fur the same hue as the firelight before them. Reaching in, she brought the wee thing to snuggle in her lap.
“Consider it both an apology, for giving you cause to doubt me, and a thank-you for saving my life.”
She squealed out something that Dallan thought might have been thanks as she lifted the kitten to her chest. “You name this one,” she cooed.
Dallan shook his head at the sight of it. She was absolutely coddling that kitten, and Dallan enjoyed every second of it—and the bright smile it brought to her face. “We should name him, Aodh, obviously.”
Her smile disappeared. “You jest.”
Now it was his turn to laugh. “Not at all. That kitten looks like a lick of flame.”
“But what of the Aodh we encountered most recently? You know, the one who burned my village to the ground?”
