I lie there for a while, then summon the energy to move. Slowly, stiffly rise to my feet, grasping the nearby table to prevent myself from simply falling straight back down. I hear voices from outside. Light and laughing, relaxed, and perhaps some children farther in the distance.
I open the door. A couple of warriors are lounging against the wall of the hut opposite, but the one facing me cuts short his conversation as soon as he spots me. His eyes go wide and he mutters something to the woman with him before hurrying off.
I stand there as the woman, and several others on the street, stare at me. Saying nothing. I sway a little, and bring up my silver hand to grasp the doorframe. Their eyes all go to it. It shines in the light of the winter sun.
“Deaglán!”
I turn, a hopeful, joyous smile creeping across my face. Tara is striding down the street. Smiling too, a broad, genuine thing that lights up her face in a way I haven’t seen before. The warmth is so foreign on her that I almost laugh.
There’s movement past her and I can see Conor charging behind, grinning fiercely. Fearghus and Seanna flank him. Miach just after them. They are all whooping and hollering like madmen.Allof them.
I do laugh, this time. Loud and joyous.
“Tara, I—” I cut off with a grunt as I’m enveloped in an entirely too rough embrace, first by Tara and then immediately followed by the others, the group turning into a happy, bruising, laughing, jumping clump of excitement that I am powerless to escape. Eventually my pained protests make it through to them and they stop, albeit with a series of jibes at how weak I must be to not even withstand a gentle hug.
“The siege?” I ask it first, though I think I know the answer from their presence, not to mention the light feeling in the air here.
“Broken, four days ago. Fiachra’s men fled. Terrified of you. The greatdraoi nasceann.” Tara’s eyes shine as she looks at me. “And the Grove has been forced to distance themselves from Fiachra as a result. Draoi Uallach, from King Nuadha’s lands, was here during the attack and has gone to speak with them on behalf of Caer Áras. He departed yesterday with your staff”—I open my mouth to indicate dismay—“but gave his oath it would be returned. He was a friend of Lir’s, and according to some of my father’s men, another critic of the Grove’s deal with Fiachra. He left your cloak as an assurance that your status is not to be challenged.”
“Except by Ruarc, I imagine,” I observe with a weary grin. Tara seems confident this Draoi Uallach is to be trusted. I am content to trust her.
“That will not matter anymore. Ruarc has surrendered.”
“What?”
“This morning.” It’s Conor jumping in, clapping me on the back far too firmly before realising what he’s doing and giving an apologetic wince. “Came to the gates and gave himself up.”
“Why?”
“He hasn’t said, but we’re assuming the Grove has turned on him.” Miach, quiet as usual.
“But he did have one stipulation.” Tara again, some of her initial excitementfading to seriousness. “He said he had to talk to you before anything was done to him.”
I frown. “Did he know I was like this?” I gesture broadly to the swathes of bandage.
“He knew. He just believed you would survive.” Tara eyes me, her smile returning. “I was with him on that much.”
“We all were,” says Seanna quickly. The others immediately roar their dissent at her, and she holds up her hands, blushing even as she laughs. “I have never been more happy to be wrong, Deaglán. Truly.”
I laugh with them, painful though the motion is, their infectious enthusiasm impossible to not be swept up in. I am glad, too, I realise. Everyone else on the street is gathering, peering, straining for a glimpse of my silver hand. Of me. Some part of me was already worried my friends would see me differently too.
I am ushered back inside, made to sit.
“I assume you want to know about the arm?” I ask, once we’re all comfortable.
“No,” says Conor immediately, shaking his head.
Fearghus sighs. “Why would we want to know that?”
“Dull,” adds Tara.
I look around at them, not saying anything for a second, then, “Alright, well what about—”
Their shouts drown out my words, insisting I tell them all about the gods-cursed arm immediately or they would finish the job Gallchobhar was too incompetent to do.
So I tell them. Everything that happened since we parted, the whole truth, with the exception of my time in Fornax, which Tara carefully steers me away from. I wasn’t going to go into that part, anyway. I know Lir wouldn’t have wanted me to.
I fall silent after I explain about my father. He must have overheard that Gallchobhar intended to sacrifice me to the lake, and so hid himself underwater. Probably waited there for hours. Knowing what would happen to him. Knowing that if I was thrown in, it would be because I had ignored his warnings.
