“I’m alright,” he told her, but his stomach betrayed him, again.
She chuckled at the sound and went to fetch the tray. “Dinnae fash. I’ve brought ye some hot broth ’n ginger. A bit o’ bread for ye, too.”
He could not eat fast enough, and before he realized what he was doing, he had already gulped down half the broth. He froze, his fingers tightening on the spoon.
Why?
All his life he had lived on moderation. He had been taught to go without. He was accustomed to fasting. Or rather, hehadbeen. He eyed the bowl with something like sorrow, and that frightened him, too. Soon, it would be Túrna. Almost two whole months since he’d last walked the wood. And in that time, his life had become a thing he hardly recognized.
“Somethin’ the matter with it?” asked Halla with a frown.
He shook his head, but lowered the spoon.
She finished folding his clothes from the day, and came and sat beside him. “Now, dinnae look so sad, íridh. Ye’ll be married, soon!”
His brows knit. Was everyone so concerned with this engagement that they could not see that… No, he couldn’t blame her. He couldn’t blame any of them. These people who knew nothing of his truth.
This was their world and he’d been drug into it. For all the upheaval he had caused and had yet to do, for them, they were still living the way they’d been born to do. There were no visions, no trials, no monstrous fears.
Medhin’s words whispered in his ears.
It wasn’t for the people to know of every ill or uncertainty. They were searching for hope upon their masters’ faces, and those who sat atop these golden thrones… were obligated to let them find it.
Yet, he could not keep silent. He could not don the mask. If something was out there beyond understanding, then preparation, not parties, would help them best.
But he didn’t say that. He didn’t say any of it.
Halla stroked his hair. “Wee mess, I’ll take care of ye.” She retrieved a brush from the vanity and returned to his side. She took up his flaxen strands, beginning the tedious work of combing them out. “Oh, that I might see ye as a bride. A good’n day it’ll be.”
“Of course you can see,” he said softly. “You’ll be there with me.”
“Aye, no. There’s no room at the table for us folk. But we’ll hear about it, ye can be sure. It’ll be all the talk, it will.”
He picked at his bread, chewing the crust. “There won’t be much to hear of. It will be done and then over.”
“Come now, ye cannae say ye arenae a bit excited. The Vaich is not so poorly on the eyes. Even an old maid like me can see that.”
The druid scowled, chewing harder. “He has a terrible disposition.”
She laughed. “Aye, the menfolk oft do. Though ye are a surprise. I’ve not met a one like ye.”
He considered her words. “I hadn’t thought of myself that way.”
“No?” she wondered.
“I am a druid.” He frowned. “At least… I was.”
“Aye. Aye, ye are, íridh.” She leaned his head to her chest and he let himself be warm and comfortable.
Everything was changing. Him too. And in such strange times, his allies were few.
“I’m glad for you, Halla,” he whispered. “I’m glad I have you.”
“Oh, come, child. Ye have me. And all the old earth walk with ye. Remember that, dearest. Remember that.”
Chapter twenty-nine
The Engagement
