It would be a night to remember. At least, that is what the people were promised.
The druid observed from the gallery; the rusted filigree framed the pomp and grandeur below, as if he were watching a golden pageant. They came in jewels, they came in joy. The ladies wore velvet; the men donned their spaulders. He could see all of the players in their positions. There was the Sun Matron, with her maids in black veils. There was the old rider, with his sword of iron. There was the priest, with his face grim; Jor, the old king’s son, and Lady Cearnathán. But he did not see the person he most required. That was, until bootsteps echoed against the stone.
The Vaich approached, his chest laid bare and brand blazing; the circlet upon his head a gilded mirror to the druid’s silver diadem.
“You are late,” said the druid.
The Vaich appeared disinterested as he sidled up next to him. “It is my party,” he said, “I’ll arrive when I wish.”
“It isourparty,” the druid corrected.
“Then let’s get this over with.”
The Vaich turned to go, but the druid drew him back. “Not yet. Imustspeak with you.”
“You said it yourself, we are late.”
“Then we will be later, still. It is no small thing I wish to say.”
A flicker of a smile curled the Vaich’s lips. “Dinnae tell me you’re in love with me.”
The druid’s nose wrinkled. “What?”
“Anything else and you’d have said it already.”
“It isn’t that simple!”
The Vaich smirked. “Oh, certainly.”
Impatient clamoring echoed up from the crowd below.
“It’s about the future of this country.”
“Its future?” The Vaich leaned close. “Now, what would you ken of that?”
“I know a great deal more than you. And it will be to your advantage to hear it.”
“It’ll be to my advantage to feedourguests. If they become too hungry, this will become far more unpleasant for both of us.”
Once more, the Vaich tried to leave, but the druid gripped his wrist, anchoring him. “You cannot excuse yourself from me forever. I have played your game and I have earned my place. Nowyouwill listen tome.”
But before either of them could press the point, Medhin appeared at the landing.
“The ceremony must begin. The guests are getting restless!” Her raven gaze took in their stance, settling warily on their tethered hands. But the druid did not back away. Instead, the Vaich shook him loose, muttering beneath his breath.
“You still do not knowyour place.”
Medhin’s eyes followed as they passed—a hot prickle on the back of his neck. He grit his teeth and followed the Vaich to the hall beneath.
When first he came, the throne had been one. Now, it had become two. He settled oddly upon it.
The hall hummed with anticipation. Warriors, nobles, priests—all gathered, waiting for their king to speak. A hush spread and the Vaich cast a glance across the room before lifting his cup.
“Cullain, drink!”
A roar of approval rippled through the hall as the men brought their cups to eager lips.
“You sit before me now—my friends, my fighters, my advisors—as we celebrate what the gods, themselves, have wrought. Fate, or trickery, or some mighty jest.” He glanced at the druid. “In any case… we accept.”
