The music, like the Irish Tadhg and the High King had spoken, sounded ancient and timeless.
Then the strange clergymale began to sing.
It almost… almost sounded like a hymn. But his song had a more natural quality. As if it had been composed by the wind and sky, as opposed to man-made notes, like the ones in our songbooks.
Apparently, his song was some sort of call and response. When he stopped, the High King sang. Not like we did in St. Ailbe. This song was held low in his throat, with notes that reverberated and echoed.
Then the audience sang the same thing behind us, intoning low and deep, as opposed to the purposefully monotone singing we were required to use in the Wölfennite community.
I believe this was the moment when I made my final cognitive split from the life I knew.
Suddenly, everything I’d learned—everything I’d been taught to believe in that faraway place—struck me as clearly made up.
This was real. Ancient and factual in a way science could never replicate.
I am a bear! I am a bear!
And my voice joined the others, humming along, though I knew no Irish.
Then the song was suddenly over, ending with three pounds of the clergymale’s staff. Still, he didn’t speak.
He just produced a pot of black something out of nowhere. Paint, perhaps?
He stuck his thumb in it and stepped forward to smear it across the High King’s forehead, leaving behind a black mark… before offering the High King the pot.
The High King stuck his thumb into the maybe-paint, and I jolted when a pair of unseen hands turned me to face him.
They belonged to the Shadow King, I realized when the scent of lemon hit my nose. He’d taken on the role of attendant. Offering me up to the High King.
Who smeared the paint across my forehead. It was cool and smelled of stone and ash.
The High King stood slightly taller than Tadhg, though not as tall as the Shadow King. But he was broader than the pale moon god now presenting me.
Declan’s hair was a rich brown, against which the white streak practically gleamed. He bent forward after anointing me with the ash-paint and pressed his lips to my forehead.
Then each of my cheeks, leaving behind a mark, I was sure. I shivered as something ancient passed through me, like a spell had been cast.
When he drew back, his lips were clean. He took my hand, raising it to slip on a silver ring. Instead of a diamond, like Tara’s, the center held a bear claw, crafted from a gemstone I didn’t recognize. But it was the same midnight blue as his kingly robes.
Then he turned over the hand he’d just adorned and placed a second ring into my palm. This one had a thicker band and the same blue bear claw.
A match.
Finally, he spoke directly to me again. “Put it on me, álainn. And the ceremony will be complete.”
And just like that, I understood the difference between a teacher and a ruler. His voice held a steel authority that Tadhg’s never had. As if he’d been born with the right to command.
Which probably made it all the more confusing for him when I looked up from the ring and asked?—
“Are you kidding me? Is this some kind of not-funny-at-all joke?”
A collective gasp rose from the reverent audience. Then every eye swiveled to him, waiting for his response.
Only to snap back to me when I didn’t give him a chance to reply.
“You strung me along.For weeks, you kept me waiting. Meanwhile, you were pretending to be your brother? Meeting with me nearly every day and listening to all my deepest, darkest secrets?” I shook my head at him. “Now you just expect me to what—just go along with all of this? Act like you didn’t trick me by pretending to be someone else?”
Murmurs filled the chamber, nearly as loud as the song from before.
