“A spirit spoke through me,” I repeat flatly, inwardly shuddering at the memory. I have no sensible explanation for what happened, what I said. But nor is this one.
“Yes,” says Neasa, nodding with innocent enthusiasm, apparently oblivious to my scepticism. “The death of Artán has long been suspicious in the minds of many, and though Gallchobhar earned his position, he was not well loved.” Her face splits into that wide, gap-toothed grin again. “Not by me, certainly. I saw your fight. I cannot say it brought me pain to see him so shamed.”
“I can.”
She pauses, then bursts out into an uproarious laugh that I can’t help but smile at. She seems good-natured, this Neasa. Rough, but good-natured.
“What do I do until we arrive?”
She continues to beam at me. “Work. And Lir asked that I teach you the Tongue, also.”
I’m still blurry, still hazy, but something about the way she says it makes me pause. “What did you call it?”
“The Tongue,” she repeats patiently. “The language of the gods. Ofceol. Of dance.”
“And of all things that delight the heart,” I finish softly, in Common. My tutor once described Cymrian almost exactly the same way. As did my friend.
“We will begin your instruction later. But now, Leathf hear, you must row.” She indicates a spare oar.
I stare at her. Tap my bandaged leg. Roll my left shoulder pointedly.
She motions dismissively. “I have been checking your injuries and they have healed enough. And yes, some have more to overcome than others. But make no mistake, Leathf hear: you will do your part in reaching Loch Traenala, or you will not reach it.”
Protests well up inside me. I can do my best, as I did on the farm, but rowing is about rhythm and strength. Neasa is right in that my wounds seem to have closed enough that exertion, while painful, shouldn’t worsen them. But itwillbe painful.
There’s something in her gaze, though. Something that reminds me less of Ellanher this time, and more of Lanistia.
I take a seat on the bench, next to a broad-shouldered blond boy of about sixteen. He eyes me curiously, then gives a nod that seems friendly enough.
I awkwardly grab the oar, and start to pull.
XXVIII
COMPETITIVENESS, YSABEL ONCE QUOTED PRIMLY AS Icelebrated beating her at Foundation, is insecurity in action. To which my smiling father immediately responded that a complete lack of it shows only apathy or arrogance.
Ysabel stared back straight-faced, and shrugged. We all laughed.
I don’t know which of them were right. Perhaps they both were.
Either way, I have never liked losing.
“Thanks,” I murmur to Aequa as we trail after the Tertius, away from Iro’s father and his coterie.
“Don’t thank me yet. I don’t know the first gods-damned thing about racing.”
We exchange nervous grins, which are quickly wiped away by Tertius Ericius’s glower. “You understand what just happened?”
“Tertius Decimus outplayed me. If we don’t win, I’ll have to renounce Domitor.” I let any façade of humour disappear. “I’m sorry. But I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen.”
The Tertius scowls as he limps to a halt, dragging us to a stop with him. “Tertius Decimus just endangered this entire, barely born alliance over a petty personal feud. This is much bigger than your position, Catenicus. Do you have any idea how delicate things are in the Senate? If Decimus publicly embarrasses you into giving Domitor to Religion, it will be all Governance needs to break with them. And we cannot afford that right now.Catencan’t afford that.”
Vek. He’s right, of course.
“Catenicus will succeed.” It’s Advenius, walking slightly behind us alongside Livia. His high-pitched voice, so dissonant coming from his tall, portly frame, is as confident as the words. His gaze flicks to his daughter. She nods back determinedly.
“Catenicus underestimates how difficult this will be.” Tertius Ericius doesn’t hide his frustration as he examines me frankly. “Charioteers need balance above all else; you’re going to need to put a lot of Will just into staying upright. Decimus has chosen the perfect format to disadvantage you: most of the senatorshere don’t watch the races at all, let alone know their intricacies. It’s going to have theappearanceof a fair competition.”
“Doesn’t matter, as long as I win.” When the Tertius just grunts, I wait until he looks me in the eye. “I’m going to win.” Anger far outweighing nervousness. Decimus has no right to do this.No right.
