“Túr agh béha nûn,” whispered the druid.
Jor glanced at him.
“It is a saying amongst my people—the land is life’s smith. The earth itself will shape us. Some come to be like the river, untamed and meandering. Others are great mountains, unshifting and strong. But we shall see not who we have become until the wind and the rain have had their way with us.”
“Hm.” Jor grunted. “It is half right. A man may not know who he is till he’s lived, but I have lived far more than him.”
“Your father shared his path,” said the druid. “And you had respect for him.”
Jor laughed. “We will be dead in the ground by the time the Vaich learns the lessons my father taught me long ago. Kings should be trained by kings, not molded like wet clay.”
“And that is why you shallteachhim.” Hirí’s serpent words slithered in their ears. She sauntered near, glittering in the firelight.
Jor eyed her with a mixture of disdain and interest—a look which set the druid’s hair on end.
“What do you say of it, Speaker?” Jor asked. “Have you had visions of mygreatsuccess?”
It was scorn in his voice, but Hirí pressed through it, her lithe form stopping at his shoulder.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“I’ve never put much stock in prophecies. They seem to grant more problems than proof.”
“A skeptic, how novel.” She grinned. “Would it aggrieve you to hear I’ve no interest in convincing you? Rather, I find merit in your noble task. To steer a boy like that…” She glanced sidelong at the Vaich. “Who else could do it?”
Jor smirked. “None, it is sure. All his mentors have failed him.”
“Then, supposeweare all he has.” Hirí reached out, fingers stroking the prince’s mantle. “I’m sure you have many lessons to impart. But bitterness shan’t be one of them. You would not wish our Queen to think you ungrateful.”
Once more, Jor’s ember gaze fell upon him.
“My apologies, Your Majesty.”
The druid had no time to find his words as the priestess worked her hand southward.
“More wine!” she said, delighted.
The prince laughed and shook his head. “Aye. Allow me to fetch it.”
Jor went off and the druid’s attention snapped back to Hirí.
“What are you doing?” He needled.
“What do you mean? You wished to diffuse the situation, and so I have.” Her grin darkened. “I told you.Allmen are the same. To get what you want, you must learn to act.”
“Feeding his ego will only empower him.”
“Then be sure it is you who holds the leash.”
The druid swallowed the sick rising in his throat and turned away. “I am going to bed.”
“And miss the wine?” She giggled. “Who could sleep with such regret?”
He was afforded board of his own, which is more than most could say. There were not nearly enough rooms and some men slept on benches with music and laughter spilling around them.
The celebration raged on as the druid settled in his bed. The room was comfortable enough, with thick fur upon the hay mattress and the walls licked in firelight. Warm under his covers, he could hear the ruckus of the kiern—a monotonous hum that lulled him to sleep.
It was nearly three into the witching hours when the door burst open, waking him sharply. The fires had burned down and there was only enough light cast in from the hall for him to make out the shapes of two figures in the darkness. The druid pushed himself up on a palm as the Vaich and his alewife came stumbling through, their lips crashing together in desperate pursuit. Her mouth was kiss-swollen and her dress disheveled, leading the druid to believe this was far from the beginning of their tryst. Rather, the Vaich seemed to be—inefficiently—trying to end it.
