Étaín was not there.
Aingeal had not asked her to come, and Étaín had not insulted her by offering.
This was council.
Reginald stood opposite her at the far end of the chamber between two guards, not bound but not free. He wore no sword. He looked wrong without steel. More exposed. Rain-dark hair lay loose at his brow. His face was pale beneath the weathered tan of his skin, tired and shut tight against whatever lived behind it. His eyes found hers once when she entered. Then he looked away.
Aingeal was grateful for that.
Tomas broke the silence first, because he always did when silence had grown heavy enough. “You all know why we are here.”
The lie had broken in the yard before half the castle. By evening, the rest had heard it. Donal O’Raida, the southern lord whose marriage was meant to strengthen their position, did not exist within their walls.
Reginald FitzUrse. The name seemed to live in the room even when no one spoke it.
Brennach leaned forward, forearms planted on the table. “Then let us stop circling and name it plainly. The alliance is dead.”
The words landed hard, though Aingeal had been carrying them since the rider from the south opened his mouth.
The future the council had built with such sober certainty was dead. And something softer, more private, had died with it.
Seamus uncrossed his arms. “Dead and rotted, by the look of it.”
Father Cillian’s mouth tightened at that, but he did not rebuke him.
Brennach went on. “The O’Raida lands will send us no husband, no men, no cattle, no southern weight to brace ourborder. We stand weaker than we did a week ago, and more exposed than we were yesterday.” His gaze shifted to Aingeal. “That is the truth of it.”
Aingeal held his gaze without flinching. “Yes.”
Tomas lifted a small sheet of parchment and spread it flat before him. “Ciarán mac Ruaidhrí has been questioned separately. His account holds. Donal O’Raida was expected in Ardglas two days before he should have reached us. He was not seen there. A body believed to be his was found south of the high road. The clasp and horse tack matched. The ring was missing.” His gaze moved, briefly, to Reginald’s hand.
The ring was gone now. Locked away as evidence of a dead man’s life.
“There is no alliance left to recover,” Tomas finished.
The words made something clench so sharply in Aingeal’s chest that she nearly lost breath.
Brennach said, “Then the question is no longer whether he is false. The question is what we do with him.”
Seamus answered before anyone else could. “We throw him out.”
Father Cillian looked up. “To what end?”
“To every end,” Seamus snapped. “He came in under a dead man’s name. He entered Lady Aingeal’s hall. He deceived her council. If that is not enough to cast a man out, perhaps we should pull down the gate and let every roadside thief choose his own title before walking in.”
“He also helped hold the western border,” Tomas said quietly.
“That was under a lie.”
“It still held.”
Seamus looked ready to spit.
Brennach cut in before the argument widened. “Expulsion is one answer. Arrest is another.”
At that, Reginald moved at last. Only a little, but enough for Aingeal to feel it more than see it.
“Arrest for what?” Father Cillian asked. “Deception, yes. Fraud of person, if one wishes to dress it in legal cloth. But if we imprison every man who lies to survive a war-torn road, we will need stronger walls.”
