Silver's Bane. Anne Kelleher

here? Your Grace, you can’t leave—” began Kestrel. “Think of your duty—think of the people—Where would you go?” The color drained from his face and suddenly he looked sick. “And besides, what makes you think Duke Cadwyr would harm you? It has ever been my observation that the Duke cherishes you—” He broke off and glanced away, refusing to meet Cecily’s eyes.

      “Cecily has a better claim to the throne.” Despite the situation, Cecily looked up, for it was the first time Kian had used her name in public. Donnor’s dead, and I am free. “She has to leave, my lord,” Kian continued. “We don’t know what Cadwyr’s bringing with him. Obviously he must’ve used the sidhe against Ardagh. There was no damage to the castle, do you understand? Whatever he brought against Hoell was awful enough that they opened the doors and let him walk in. I’ve but a quarter of the men I had yesterday. And I had less than half a full garrison to begin with.”

      He used my name, Cecily thought again, and a part of her that was so long buried she had nearly forgotten it ever existed within her stirred to new life. Her heart skipped a beat. Donnor is dead, she thought with a little burst of the most unseemly happiness. Donnor’s dead and I’m free. We are free.

      “But you’ve no reason to think—”

      “I have every reason to think that Cadwyr intends to force himself upon me, my lord druid,” Cecily snapped. He’d been like this before Samhain, too, insisting on questioning everything.

      The druid shut his mouth with an audible pop as a shadow crossed his face, and bitter shrieks made Cecily turn her head to see a flock of ravens rise and wheel off the roof of the Great Hall. The ravens are the Marrihugh’s birds, she thought, and she is marching across this land in her crow-feathered boots. She must’ve been well pleased last night.

      “Then where will you go?” asked Kestrel.

      “North, of course,” Kian answered. “The scout said Cadwyr’s army was still at least a day and a half out. Sheer size is slowing him down, thank the Marrihugh for some luck.”

      “And what about the rest of us?” demanded Mag. “Cadwyr’s coming, and who knows what he’s leading. To go or stay—’tis a choice that must be put to one and all.”

      But the druid was shaking his head. “Bah, woman, what’re you suggesting? There’re no guarantees that your magic will work. Her Grace, the knights, they at least have fast horses—they may have a chance of outriding the goblins. But to take wounded women and children on some mad dash ’twould be the death of most of them.” He looked at Kian and pushed his hood off his face, so that it fell back over his shoulders in graceful, fluid folds. He was shorter than Kian, but he drew himself up. “You go, Sir Knight. I’ll stay—we’ll all stay, my brother druids and I. We’ll do what we can to protect the people here. By every means we can contrive.”

      Cecily glanced around, assessing the progress of the repairs. Whole sections of the outer wall were missing. The second wall appeared sound, but it had not been built to withstand the brunt of an attack, especially not such a one as last night’s, and she remembered her idea. “What about fire?” asked Cecily. “A ring of fire around the castle?”

      “That’s a thought,” said Kian. “Hard to maintain, perhaps. I’m not sure we’ve that much fuel—but still, it might be a way to block those holes. I’ll go and speak to the captain of the watch. We leave—” He broke off and looked up. The sun was still high above the tor. “Can you be ready to leave at dusk?”

      “Dusk?” echoed Mag and Cecily as one. Cecily nodded at Mag and she went on, “Begging your pardon, my lord knight, but we need Her Grace.”

      “Me?” Cecily blinked.

      “For what?” asked Kian.

      “She—she should be there. We’re going to need her—her—her presence,” Mag answered. “For the ritual. She’ll bring a certain…energy…that the granny will need. Oh, I’m quite sure she should be there.”

      “And for how long?”

      “Most of the night.” Mag ducked her head apologetically. “You do want us to try all we can, right?”

      Kian ran a hand over his eyes, and Cecily felt a wave of exhaustion sweep over her. And how much worse could it be for him? He’d fought most of the night, snatching only a few hours’ rest between sunrise and midmorning. “We’ll go at dawn, then. We should reach the Daraghduin by midnight tomorrow, if we’re lucky.”

      If we’re lucky. The little phrase echoed over and over in Cecily’s mind like a death knell. But Kian was continuing. “You’re the ArchDruid of Gar, my lord, is that not so?” asked Kian. When Kestrel nodded, he went on, “And as such, it’s your role to hold disputed property until such time as an heir can be determined?”

      “Yes…” answered Kestrel slowly, as an odd expression crossed his face. “But only with good reason. And Cadwyr is the son of Donnor’s oldest sister. Only a child of his own loins, or a child of that child, has a stronger claim.” He turned to Cecily with an incredulous look. “Is it your intention to also dispute Cadwyr for the duchy of Gar, my lady?”

      “Donnor came to me the night before he left,” Cecily said. She could pretend to be pregnant if she had to.

      “I see,” the druid said. There was an aloofness in his tone that made Cecily look more closely at him. Was it only the druid’s surprise that there might be yet another claimant for the duchy of Gar? she wondered. Suddenly the walls didn’t feel so much safe as suffocating. But it was Kian’s next words that took her off guard.

      “And a child of a child has an equal claim, as well?”

      “Well, not as equal as a child—” Kestrel broke off. “What are you saying, Sir Kian? Donnor had a grandchild?”

      Shocked, Cecily’s mouth dropped open and she exchanged a wide-eyed look with Mag as Kian answered, “Aye. Donnor had a daughter, got off one of his father’s women when he was very young. She was fostered out on the Isles, and when it came time to marry her off, she refused the man he’d chosen. So he disavowed her—”

      “In a court? Before an ArchDruid?” Kestrel was frowning now, twisting his linked hands together beneath the wide sleeves of his robes.

      “I don’t know the particulars of all the circumstances, my lord,” began Kian.

      “Well, you’d better be quite sure of them if you mean to raise—”

      “Lord Kestrel,” interrupted Kian gently. “It’s not me.”

      “Then, who—” put in Cecily. This was totally unexpected. She wondered why Kian hadn’t mentioned it to her before.

      “It’s not for me to say. He’ll reveal himself when he’s ready. If he were here, he’d have come to you himself,” Kian said as he turned back to Kestrel. “So you’ll do what must be done, to call the Assembly? That’s your duty, no?”

      “But—”

      Her thoughts drifted as Kestrel continued to sputter questions, all to which she wanted answers as well. “I trust you to keep this information to yourselves, Your Grace, still-wife,” Kian continued. “I only bring this up now because—well, because I suppose there’s a possibility he’s no longer even alive. But he should be given the chance to make his claim, don’t you agree?”

      So this was someone they all knew? Someone who lived here? Donnor had an heir he’d known nothing of? She had a feeling that Kian would tell her no more than he was telling Kestrel. “If that’s what it comes to, my lord, yes,” Kian was saying, and she realized the conversation had taken another turn. “It’s not my wish to fight Cadwyr, but what choice has he given us? I’ll be happy to meet Cadwyr in lawful Assembly, as will Her Grace, but we’d rather have an army of our own kin at our backs and know what exactly we’re to face.”

      “Come, my lady, there’re things to be done before