The Vaich’s lips pulled back in a sneer. “I’ll bet he does. My proclamation was foralllairds to be present for the Reaffirmation. I suppose he has good reason not to come?”
“The southlands are rife with sickness, my liege. Surely this isn’t the first you’ve heard?”
“If that is the case, I’ll send wagons at once. Supplies and medicine for your ill.”
“No need. Our Master has it under control. Do forgive his absence today.”
The druid drew back into his seat, a prickling fear crawling up from his toes. The man’s piercing eyes fell upon him, and he shivered.
The men of Dunn Kennigh were a vicious breed, more infamous to his kin than the An’Atherin. It was a wickedness that festered in the south, a derangement that had captured them. They had gone down from the west long ago, taking the druids’ teachings and distorting them. They worshipped a primal spirit—a terror even his people refused to name. And in their mockery of life, had become defilers.
The Vaich said with an edge of iron, “It is time my consort and I take our dinner seats. You are welcome to stay and feast. Come, druid.”
“Then it is true,” the man said. “You have taken a wildkin as bride.”
Both Vaich and druid shared a pulse in that moment, and it thrummed deep and went silent.
“Whether he is or he isn’t, that shouldnae matter to you,” the Vaich said severely. “As I said, it is time we go.” He held out his hand, and before he could muster himself, the Vaich had pulled the druid out of his throne. Down the dais they went together, the Vaich’s body a stone wall between him and the cold.
“Tell yourMaster,” the Vaich said more quietly, “I will meet with him soon. And I expect to be shown hospitality.”
“Aye,” the man muttered. “Aye, ye shall.”
Once more, the druid shuddered, letting the Vaich steer him away.
“Cré ma nighm!” the king hissed as the druid struggled to compose himself.
“Trouble in the south?” he questioned.
“Dinnae ye fash. That’s no matter that concerns you.”
The Vaich was dismissive, but in that moment, the druid felt that, for once, they claimed a shared enemy.
The hall was alive with firelight. The band played—the croon of a pipe and the thrum of a lute danced in the air together. It was hot; the open firepits filled with flame, the spits turning above them.
The druid was impatient in his seat as they were served once and again and then thrice. The scent of roasted meat mingled about the room. And all the while the Vaich was beside him, drinking himself into a rowdy stupor. He was currently deep in some boisterous conversation with a second man whom the druid had only circumstantially come to know as Laird Greyv Rhosyn. On more than one occasion, he felt their attention upon him and his patience frayed.
“You might see it as some admirable table ornament, the way it speaks not,” said Greyv.
The Vaich chortled at his jests like a child. “All for the better. When he does, he has nothing good to say.”
The druid’s hands clenched beneath the table. “He has plenty good to say if only you’d let him.”
“Look how he begs for my attention.”
“It is an allure,sire.”
“If you find each other so enticing, perhaps we could announce, instead,yourengagement,” said the druid.
Greyv laughed, but the Vaich seemed less amused.
“That’s a woman’s mouth if ever I heard one,” said Greyv. “Suppose tomorrow, you’ll find better use for it.”
The druid glowered and returned to picking at his plate. He had no appetite. A point of swift contention.
“Do not waste food, druid,” the king grumbled. “It is a feast, so feast.”
But the indulgence was unsightly. The druid could not stomach it. And when dessert came and there was a great to-do, he stood and made himself scarce. That was not to be ignored, of course, and he was followed by the two hounds and the mutt.
