S Farrell - Holder of Lightning

"On Cooper Street. He has a room in a widow’s house. Her name is Murrin. I’ve seen him a couple times now. Do you want me to do some-thing with him? There are people I know in Low Town…"

"No," Jenna answered. "I will take care of O’Deoradhain myself."

Coelin’s head went back at the ferocity of her words. "You’re certain? He could be dangerous, and I-"

"I will take care of the man," Jenna said decisively. "Don’t worry about him."

Coelin nodded reluctantly. "I should go, then," he said. He looked uncertain, an odd, strained smile on his lips, and he shifted his weight from one leg to the other, as if he wanted to say more. "I’ve been asked to play for the Ri again, next week. And the Tanaise Rig said he would talk to his father about me."

The mention of O Liathain’s title brought the coldness back, and Jenna reached for the mug of brew, taking a long swallow and grimacing. "That’s… good," she told Coelin. "When you come here again, we’ll make plans."

He nodded. Turned.

Coelin," she said. She could not keep the desperation from her voice. Tell me that you love

He smiled, looking back over his shoulder. "I love you, Jenna. I always have."

And he left.

Chapter 24: The Traitor

THE Banrion seemed concerned when Jenna came to her requesting half a dozen trusted gardai, but to her credit, Cianna did not ask Jenna why but only nodded in agreement. "Certainly, Holder. Let me call for Labras; he's a good man, and he can choose five others… "

Jenna lifted her hand. "No, Banrion. Not today. After the Tanaise Rig leaves. Tomorrow morning. I need to go into Low Town then."

"Ah," Cianna had said. Just the one sound, then silence. "I'll make arrangements for them to be at Keep Gate at first bell tomorrow, then."

The Banrion started to move away, as if in dismissal, but Jenna cleared her throat. "Banrion, I would like to tell you why. It needs to be a secret between the two of us, though. You're the only person who has given me help, unasked for. Now I would ask it."

Cianna smiled softly. "Jenna, I will know anyway, whether you tell me now or not. The gardai will inform me where you take them, and why. The ones I would send with you aren't as blindly stupid as those you've borrowed before from my husband or Mac Ard. They won't let the Holder roam unaccompanied through Low Town, no matter what she says."

Jenna laughed with the Banrion. "I know. And that's why I came to you."

She told the Banrion about O'Deoradhain, how he had lied to them about himself on their way to Ath Iseal, how he had reacted during the attack by the Connachtans, that she'd glimpsed him in Low Town (though she said nothing about du Val), and how she now suspected the man had been responsible for the assassin.

Gianna’s face was grim when Jenna finished. "Tell me where this man and I will have him fetched here for you," she said. "There’s no need for you to expose yourself to danger, Jenna-and the Tanaise Rig will be upset if you are injured while you remain with us."

Jenna shook her head. "Banrion, I will have Lamh Shabhala to protect me Your gardai will be there only as a precaution. I want to do this myself- I want to see his face and hear his voice."

"Jenna-"

"Please, Banrion. I don’t know any longer who I can trust. I can only trust myself."

Jenna saw Cianna gather herself for another argument, but the Banrion finally dropped her shoulders. She coughed softly a few times, rising from her chair. Servants appeared as if summoned by the rustling of fabric, and the Banrion waved them away. "Come, then," she said. "We should give our farewell to your future husband, and pretend that none of us is plot-ting anything."

"I need four to stay out here and make certain that no one leaves until I’m finished." Jenna gestured to Labras, a tall, burly man with hair so red it almost seemed to burn and eyes as gray as storm clouds. She wasn’t sure she liked the man at all; he seemed to radiate violence, and the abundant scars on his face spoke to his familiarity with it. Yet if the Banrion trusted him… or maybe her reaction to him was only the haze of the anduilleaf. She’d taken two mugs of the brew before they’d left the Keep, knowing she might well be using the cloch, and the herb was like a fog over her mind that wouldn’t quite clear. "Labras, bring someone with you and follow me."

She touched Lamh Shabhala once as the three of them strode toward the door of the small, two-story house. She could feel O’Deoradhain, could feel the pattern of his energy motionless on the second floor. She could sense no fear or apprehension in him.

She decided that would soon change.

An elderly woman came scurrying from the kitchen as they opened the door, stopping suddenly and gaping with an open, toothless mouth at Jenna and the armed men behind her. There were two elderly men in the front parlor, huddled over a

ficheall board and staring with frightened yes at the intruders: Labras with a drawn sword, his companion holding a nocked and ready crossbow. "You have nothing to fear if you stay where you are," Jenna told them. "Widow Murrin, you have a man here named Ennis O'Deoradhain."

"First door to the left at the top of the stairs," the woman said hurriedly pointing, then hopping back as Jenna and the gardai pushed past her and up the stairs. Jenna heard the click of a door shutting as she reached the landing; in the expanded awareness of the cloch, she could feel O'Deoradhain's presence: still and quiet, even though she knew he must have heard the commotion below, the pounding of feet on the stairs and the jingling of the mail over the gardai's tunics. She could sense no danger in him, though, as she had with the assassin. He seemed to be waiting, calm. She started toward the door, but Labras shook his head. "He may have a bow or sword, ready to strike the first person through," he whis-pered. "Let me go in first." He seemed almost eager to do so.

"You needn't worry," Jenna said firmly. "He has a dagger, and it is in its sheath."

"How-?" Labras began, then saw her white-patterned hand touch the stone around her neck. An eyebrow interrupted by the pale line of a scar lifted and fell again. "So he has a dagger. You can see with that?"

"Aye," she told him. She pushed the door open. O'Deoradhain was leaning against a table on the far side of the room, arms folded across his chest.

"I was wondering how long it would take you to find me," he said. His gaze went past Jenna to the two gardai crowding the doorway. "You don't need them."

"No?" Jenna answered. "Strange. I expected you to be running like a frightened rabbit again, as you did the last time I saw you."

"If I were a 'frightened rabbit,' I wouldn't have come to Lar Bhaile at all," O'Deoradhain responded easily. "I wouldn't have made certain you saw me at du Val's. I wouldn't have made it so easy for that handsome, stupid boy with the golden throat to track me down."

His remark caused anger to flare in Jenna. She

grasped Lamh Shabhala, opening it slightly with her mind so that the cold, blue-white power filled her hand. "You knew where I was," she spat. "If you wanted to speak to me, you didn’t need this charade."

O’Deoradhain snorted. He took a step toward her, his hands down at his sides. She saw the well-worn leather of the scabbard there, and heard the gardai shift uneasily behind her. But the man stopped two strides from her. "Oh, aye. I could have walked right up to the gate-and Mac Ard would have had me killed immediately, or the RI Gabair would have bound me in irons to be tortured until I gave them the answers they wanted, or the Tanaise Rig might have had me dragged behind his carriage as he left for Dun Laoghaire, just for the pleasure it would give him. But I could never have gotten to you, Jenna Aoire. They might call me their enemy and be right, but I’m not your enemy."