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Amelia draws a breath. “The unbroken tablet sat before Amergin. Then, I heard Lugaid’s name, and they made an agreement that one half would be placed in Lugaid’s keeping, while the other remained with Amergin.”
James’s eyes narrow. “But Eber Finn and Érimón were there. Why not give it to one of his brothers?”
I answer before anyone else can. “Because his brothers were never likely to remain content.”
They all look at me.
Amelia’s focus waivers as if she’s teetering between here and then.
“Robert’s right. Amergin trusted them,” Amelia adds. “That much was plain. He believed Eber Finn and Érimón would make strong rulers. There was affection there. Respect, too. But there was caution under it all.”
“What sort of caution?” Ellen asks.
Amelia’s eyes stay on the tablet. “He was certain that if it stayed whole in one line of inheritance, someone would turn it toward power instead of safekeeping. He’d seen how easily men could be bent by temptation, kings no less than lesser men. He loved his brothers, but he knew they were not beyond weakness. If one fell, another would take his place.”
I shrug. “It’s said Eber Finn grew dissatisfied with sharing rule. He rose against Érimón to make himself sole king, lost, and left Érimón king over all. So whether Amergin foresaw the exact shape of it or not, he was correct in his decision.”
“So, another Cain and Abel situation,” Alex adds.
“Precisely that.” Mannie chuckles under his breath. “Though I would not mistake a fireside moral tale for history.” He lifts a hand in vague dismissal and continues. “One half to Lugaid, son of Íth. One kept back with himself. Eber Finn and Érimón were left to rule the land, but not to possess the whole truth of what had been bound to it.”
His voice lowers. “And if that were the end of it, I would not have called you all here in such haste.”
He lets the words settle. With unhurried purpose, he paces the perimeter of us. There’s nothing theatrical about it. The room draws in around the sound of his boots on the floorboards.
“What rose from the tablet just now was no trick of the light,” he says. “Nor some lingering glamour thrown up for effect. You saw an old power answer to those standing before it.”
He stops next to Amelia first.
“Blood answers blood,” he says. “Amelia’s claim is the clearest. Through her, Ériu’s line remains.”
He resumes his slow circuit. When he passes behind me, something along the back of my neck prickles.
“But she is not the only one tied to this oath.”
Mannie comes to stand where he can face Amelia, James, Alex, and me together. His gaze passes over Ellen and Róisín without settling, and the omission feels deliberate.
“Amelia can do more than recall fragments of memory. If given a trail of signs, she can follow memories that otherwise might not come to her. She could see that each of you is written into the reach of this oath,” he says. “Not by one path, nor in equal measure.”
A small, dreadful flicker crosses Amelia’s face, and though she schools it at once, I catch it.
I decide not to ask about it for now.
Mannie lifts one hand toward me. “Yours through the line that remained near the witness, loyalty never faltering.”
To James. “Yours survives by an older branch, diminished by time but not extinguished.”
Last of all, Alex. Mannie’s expression alters so slightly that another man might not have noticed it, but I did.
“And yours,” he says, “returns by a longer road. Not broken. Only estranged, and now come back within reach of what it once belonged to.”
Alex stares at him. “Are you saying my ancestors… strayed?”
“They returned when it mattered,” Mannie says.
“Returned from where?” Alex asks.
“From where all lost things return, if they are stubborn enough,” Mannie says.
