Conn turned hard eyes on his son. "You will do as I command you. Once our friend Gormley is breaking his fast, you will return to me here."
Scowling, Magnus did as he was ordered.
The moment the chamber was empty, Conn braced himself against the rough stone wall and battled back sick waves of panic.
He was undone.
The woman foretold to destroy him was alive, and under the protection of the only living warrior in Glenfluirse whose abilities Conn held in awe. Not awe, he realized with a start. Not anymore. It was fear he could taste on his tongue, thick as the stench of death and sickly sweet.
"This riot of fear in your head will not save you!" Conn muttered fiercely under his breath. "Calm yourself! Think."
Always before when his rule had been threatened, he had found a way to avert disaster. Why? Because he was willing to sacrifice anything, anyone, to rule—but no man in Ireland had ever discovered that fact and lived to tell.
What weapons had he chosen? Not the clumsy, unpredictable blades his warriors brandished. His weapons were his wits, his secret ruthlessness. His mastery in keeping his own emotions hidden so that his quarry never suspected they were about to be destroyed until it was too late. He had begun to believe he could never fail.
But this time, the contest of wits had gone awry. The prey now scented the hunter at his heels, and Conn's greatest allies, deception and surprise, were lost. The chieftain dreaded the enemy he had roused. Running his champion toground would be the most demanding challenge Conn had ever faced. He knew Niall well enough to be certain of that. Or did he truly know Niall at all?
He had sent Niall on this quest, so certain of what his champion would do. But Niall stunned him. The warrior who carried his honor like a fever in his blood had forsworn himself. And for what? To spare the life of a woman who was all but a stranger to him.
Aye, Caitlin of the Lilies was a stranger to Niall, Conn thought in disgust, but Conn the Ever Truthful was not. For years, Niall had been loyal to him, grateful to him, trusted him. Was there any way to use that to advantage?
Niall knew of the prophecy dooming Caitlin. He was warrior enough to understand why even an honorable ruler might choose the death of one woman over chaos in his lands, and that was all Niall knew of this abysmal affair. He had no suspicions of how dark and tangled Conn's plotting had grown—that Conn desired not only the girl's death but Niall's own as well.
Niall believed Conn had sent him on a final quest to test his worthiness as a warrior. Considering all Niall felt he owed Conn, the warrior would be eaten alive with guilt because he hadfailed the quest. Or had he? The question snaked into Conn's consciousness. He froze.
What if this quest had been the most clever test of all? What if the only way Niall could triumph over this quest was to disobey Conn's order? Place the life of an innocent above his own desires, even above his own chance at redemption?
Conn straightened, his fear fading, confidence welling inside him like a dark, secret spring. He smiled as Magnus stalked back into the room, more sullen than ever.
"You feel I have robbed you of your pleasure with that wretch Gormley, my son?"
Magnus shot him a surly glance. "You are the chieftain. I do as you command."
"Then I command you to do this. Follow Gormley when he leaves the fortress. Kill him. But let no one suspect who felled the cur."
Magnus's eyes gleamed.
"I have pleased you," Conn said. "That is well. I wish my next decree might also delight your heart."
Had he betrayed himself somehow? Conn wondered. Magnus eyed him with suspicion.
"What do you mean by that?"
"All in good time, my son." Conn sighed. "Ibegin to despair you will ever learn patience. Send a servant to garb me in my finest raiment. Then summon every man who can ride. They will await me in the bailey."
Before two hours had flown, Conn stood before them, resplendent in robes striped in brilliant colors, his hair blazing like fire in the sun. Conn pointed one long finger toward the bard, who stood, hisclarsaghslung over one shoulder, his poet eyes ever watchful, capturing men and moments for the generations to come.
"Awaken the strings of your harp, bard," Conn proclaimed, his voice ageless as the mountains. "A legend is born this day! Niall of the Seven Betrayals, my beloved foster son, has earned his place among the heroes who dwell inTir naN Og!"
Shouts of praise and surprise rose from the crowd.
"Warriors of Glenfluirse, heed your chieftain's command. You will spread my decree to every corner of the land, carry it to the people, and raise them in wild celebration. Niall of the Seven Betrayals has triumphed over his final and most formidable quest."
A roar of approval echoed in the bright air, its sound mingled with groans of outrage.
"It is easy to take what one wants and call ithonor," Conn continued. "But only the greatest of heroes would sacrifice the reward he has worked toward for so many years so that he could protect a helpless stranger."
Disgust rose in Conn as he saw a half-measure of the crowd nodding in agreement.You are as foolhardy as Niall himself is, Conn thought in scorn.To rule, you must take what you want, no matter who blocks your path.But Conn took care to let only jubilation show in his face.
