Page 14 of Queen of the Shadow

Scáthach nodded. “Sit and eat. Tomorrow I will make my decision about whether to accept you.”

Cuchulainn bowed to her again before he made his way back to a rear table where Fergal was seated. As Cuchulainn returned to his seat, Sechan continued singing the ballad that glorified his naming. Scáthach watched the young warrior and saw how his shoulders tensed and his chin dipped wearily as the bard sang.

“Sechan,” Scáthach called. “My Leannan does not like songs about the death of dogs. Show him, Leannan,” she commanded. From under the table the big deerhound’s affable demeanor changed. Her yellow eyes pierced the bard as she growled low in her chest and lifted her lips to show her fangs. “You see. She doesn’t like the ballad. Sing something my hound will like better.”

The bard’s brow wrinkled in confusion, and he sent fearful looks at the growling hound, but he bowed and nodded, and then—wisely—he began a long ballad detailing the beauty and wisdom of Béfionn, which soon had the warriors tapping their feet and singing along with the chorus.

Uathach leaned into her mother. “Surely, you will not let the dog killer stay.”

“I have not yet decided,” was Scáthach’s only response.

* * *

“Queen of Shadow!” One of Scáthach’s sentries burst into the great hall. “A group from Lethra has arrived. Will you allow them entrance over the bridge?”

“I will.” Scáthach stood and went to the wall behind her. She pressed her hand to it and spoke to the stones. “Allow the Lethra group entrance.” Scáthach felt the tingle of her mother’s magick through her palm as she returned to her place at the table.

“That was quick,” Uathach said. “They are only seven days behind the messenger.”

“I did think I’d have longer,” muttered Scáthach.

“They’re eager to crown their queen,” said Tabiti.

“Well, then they should have stayed in Lethra and crowned my sister,” said Scáthach.

The group of a dozen warriors entered the great hall behind a tall man whose long, silver hair was braided into his thick beard. Wolf fur cloaks hung around their broad shoulders, marking them as members of Ardgeimm’s elite army named the Wolfskins. They had left their weapons at the Bridge of Leaps but carried their shields decorated with the sigil of the Jarl of Lethra—a Norse longship with the masthead of a snarling lion. They stopped before Scáthach’s raised platform and bowed.

“Greetings, Queen of Lethra!” boomed the leader’s voice.

“Greetings to you, Geirr,” said Scáthach. She was well acquainted with Geirr, who had been leader of her father’s warriors for decades. She liked and respected Geirr, though she had no interest in being his queen. Scáthach looked around, as if searching for someone, and added, “Though I see no crowned queen of Lethra here.”

Geirr smiled. “Yah, but I brought the crown with me, so that can be easily remedied, daughter of Ardgeimm.”

Tabiti covered a laugh with a cough. Geirr’s sharp gaze went to her and his smile widened. “Tabiti! Perhaps you will come to Lethra with Scáthach. I would enjoy showing you mykingdom.” Geirr put special emphasis on the word.

“Ha!” Tabiti laughed. “My answer has not changed. I have no desire to see any man’skingdom.” She spoke the word suggestively, as had Geirr.

“And I will not be traveling to Lethra,” added Scáthach, coating her words with iron.

Geirr’s levity was instantly gone. “You are your father’s chosen heir.”

“I am already queen of my own realm,” said Scáthach. “As well my father knew.”

“But shadows are found everywhere. Lethra cannot flow so easily from place to place,” said Geirr.

“I will not leave my school,” Scáthach countered.

“Bring your school with you.” Geirr’s smile returned. “Your father did know you well. Two years ago, he ordered the construction of a special keep adjacent to his royal longhouse. It was finished not long ago. It holds barracks for your students and a practice field, so you may bring your school to Lethra.”

“No.”

Geirr frowned. “Scáthach, your father was always clear about the succession. You are his eldest child and his choice. I was with him when he fell in battle and with his last breath, he repeated that Scáthach, his daughter and Queen of Shadow, should wear his crown. The Wolfskins agree. Lethra agrees. You are our next queen.”

“I will tell you what I told my father many times. I have no desire to be Queen of Lethra.”

Geirr nodded. “Yah, yah, your father often said those who come reluctantly to leadership are usually the best choice to crown.”

“No,” Scáthach repeated. “I play no game here. I do not need my ego stroked. No means no. I will not be Lethra’s queen. Crown my sister. She is also my father’s daughter.”