“The sun priestesses are most devout in their following,” he conceded.
“Oh, indeed,” she said. “But it is quite particular—the Thrys’ relation to the Vaich.”
The druid paused. “How so?”
If the only way out was through, then he supposed he must know what he waded in. Ally or otherwise, the moon priestess knew the lay of this land—perhaps shecouldbe useful.
Hirí laid the gown across the foot of the bed and rummaged through the drawers. “When a Vaich’s name is foretold, the Thrys scour the land and take the infant from its birth bed. Oft they are so swift, the thread of the womb has not yet been buried before their arrival. The boy is then brought up in the deep wood—a sacred grove they call Righnach’Dúir, though its whereabouts are known only to a certain few. And there he is raised, apart from all the world, knowing only the Thrys and those elected to suit him.”
The druid tilted his head, as if trying to hear the words more clearly. “Then, he is grown amongst those women.”
Hirí nodded, producing a jeweled pin—one of his gifts from the raven. “Till he comes of his twenty-first year. Until then, his socializations are carefully chosen—procured by the Sun Matron herself.”
The druid considered that. In truth, Medhin was more than a zealous priestess. She was the king’s mother in all but blood.
“That is why she covets him so greatly,” said Hirí with a knowing smile.
“It seems unwise to shelter a king.”
“Aye, but they are well-shaped.” She fastened the pin to her shawl and admired it in the candlelight. “The Thrys mold them into a design of greatest desire, and they expect return on their investment. Some reigns are better than others—men are fickle, after all. If the king is loved, he maintains the An’Atherin’s status of boundless strength. If the king is weak, the people’s faith falters.”
“Would such a thing be so unwelcome?”
“Come now, even you must understand the danger of an aimless man. The people need a guiding hand. Theyneedsomething to believe in.”
“Gods are no less fickle.”
“Your sight has become short, druid.” She came beside the bed where he now sat and braced a palm against it. “It is not thegodthat matters in the end. That is what the An’Atherin know more deeply than any. It is power above all… and the conduit through which it is enacted.”
The fierceness of her gaze unnerved him, but her words struck deep. If the Vaich was only an extension of the An’Atherin, what would the Nytherim require ofhim?
“It would only be to your benefit to stand as the Moon’s champion. Your name was spoken,” said Hirí. “Thisisyour destiny.”
“If theMoonwished a champion, it would have chosen amongst its believers,” he said bitterly.
“That choice is beyond you, now. As will be all your choices if you do not see reason. Don’t you realize?” She lowered to the bed, taking his hand in her own, even as he resisted. “They will not kill you. They mean to keep you. Not for a season, not for five summers, nor ten. You will live all your life their captive. And the power given to you by this land will amount to nothing.”
He chafed against her truths.
“But there is hope. The will of the people can be cultivated. It is the only power greater than the Vaich himself.” She sighed. “Aye, you may be stubborn, but at least you can listen. Tonight at the feast, the court will gather. If you should go and make an impression, it will carry much weight. Even to those who wish you away. Do not allow yourself to be ignored. To be forgotten. Or that is the fate you shall sow. To rot here within walls of stone.”
His body stiffened.
“Here.” She pulled the silver diadem from her head, holding it out in offering. “Show them you willnotbe their captive. Nor their sacrifice.”
“I do not want a crown,” he said. “I do not want to be a king.”
Her smile thinned. “Take it.”
Still, he refused, but she pressed the silver between his hands. “The Sun is strength, but the Moon is wisdom—I would not lead you astray. Let me help you, druid. Help you to make yourownfate.”
Desperation was not an idea he courted, yet to rebut fact was folly. Whatever had brought him there, he did not seek it and he did not wish to follow. But a life in darkness, behind bars of iron was not a sentence he could accept.
So, finally, he took it, holding the diadem gingerly within his hands. “What if I should fail?” he asked.
Her silver eyes gleamed as she leaned close and whispered, “You can’t.”
Chapter fifteen
