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“He’s made of lies.” Harken spoke quietly. “This choice he offers is just one more.”
“I’m not a warrior.” His hair in tufts, as he’d taken off his work cap for his seat at the table, Seamus looked around that table. “Or one for heavy thoughts as most here have weigh on them. But I wonder why it is Odran spoke through this wraith, a dark Sidhe, you say, Breen darling. Why not the illusion of himself? Wouldn’t that hold more power and bring more fear with it?”
“A fine question, isn’t it?” Mahon turned from the window where he’d stood watching his boys and the dogs.
“I’m wondering if any with more knowledge on the matter can answer it.”
“It’s still beyond his reach,” Marg said simply. “And Yseult’s. He sits in his black castle unable, as yet, to come through. And I’m thinking—and it is a fine question, Seamus—the wraith was not only a wraith.”
“I don’t get it.” Baffled, Marco hunched his shoulders. “But first,look, I don’t really get most of this stuff anyway. Breen’s doing good here, so I can go out and keep an eye on the kids if you want.”
“They’re fine.” Mahon took a last look out the window before returning to the table. “They’ve Mab and Bollocks and the fierce pup to watch them, as well as Liam. He’s a solid lad, is Liam. You’ve a seat at this table, Marco.”
“What was sent to Breen is salted ash and buried,” Morena reminded him. “I’m of the Sidhe, but I know enough about the craft to understand what came for Breen took much power, and concentrated, you could say. She destroyed it, and destroying it, shattered the power. Would that be the right of it?”
“Right enough.” Keegan continued to turn the cup in his hand. “And no, Odran doesn’t have the power, as yet, to bring himself through. But more than that, he wanted to bring through a weapon that could—and did—slice flesh, shed blood. A wraith alone can’t.”
“Now I don’t get it, because he sure as hell did.” In response, Breen closed a hand over her healed wound.
“Then study more and deeper.”
Breen felt the punch of Keegan’s words. Before she could counterpunch, Harken waded in.
“She’s had months, not years. It would take a merging,” he explained. “Or would as I see it. The Sidhe you faced was real, but on Odran’s side. A strong spell, a blood spell, to form the wraith in that image here, and only possible if the Sidhe was born here. To merge, the Sidhe becomes only a vessel that Odran fills.”
“And the sword?” As she spoke, Finola covered Marg’s hand with hers for comfort.
Marg turned her hand over, linked fingers with her friend. “Must have its origins here as well. And another spell brewed up to give it the power to harm. An illusion still, but one that can kill. He had a message to deliver to you,mo stór, and a lesson with it.”
“Message received; lesson learned. Bollocks leaped right through it when he tried to protect me. But when I struck out with my sword, and his met it, I felt the block. I heard the clash of steel. After he cut me, and I used fire, he burned. How—”
Then it came home to her. “The Sidhe, the flesh and blood one in Odran’s world. I killed him. I burned him alive. I—”
“Finally had the sense to do what you should’ve done at the start,” Keegan said flatly. “Used power as well as the blade against an enemy wielding both.”
“Your own blood added to what you used against him.” Sedric’s tone struck a gentler note. “Odran knew if you used your power, the wraith would burn, and so the vessel. Such a life means nothing to him.”
“He wanted to watch you, gauge you,” Keegan added, “as much as deliver the message and the lesson. He doesn’t have your blood, as the sword smeared with it would have burned as the hand holding it burned. There’s a disappointment for him.”
“My blood. All right, I see that. To use in a spell, to add even a little to his own power. It would be worth whatever it cost him to gain even that. And all right, watch me, gauge me, but that goes both ways. I saw him, too.
“He could’ve struck when Bollocks jumped at him—through him as it turned out. But he didn’t, because he wasn’t expecting it, because he’d focused on me. And he needed me to go up against him, sword to sword, because yeah, he’d be a lot better with one. And he wanted my blood. Covets it, but needs it, too.”
“I wonder if I could ask another question? How did he know where to come at you, and when for all that?”
“I could use such as you asking the good questions on the council.”
Seamus laughed. “Oh no, not the Capital or councils for me, not even for you, my boy. I’m just a curious sort.”
“Routines.” Marco shrugged when eyes turned to him. “You know, like how cops say how she jogged that route every morning, or he walked the dog around that block every night around seven. So the bad guy got a handle on their routine. Breen usually walks to the farm from Nan’s most days around that time, right?”
“So she does. And comes through with you and the dog near the same time daily. And the training,” Keegan added, “there’s a routine as well. So she wasn’t as prepared as she should’ve been, as she’s gotten too used to how it goes. That we’ll change, right enough. As for therest, we’ll change that as well. Some days, you’ll train first, others work with Marg. We’ll not hold with routine.”
“Destroy the pattern. Okay, but we’re agreed doing what he did today took a lot. I don’t see him repeating it.”
“He’ll always have a vessel, willing or no,” Marg told her. “Best to have a care.”
“So training first tomorrow. I’ll bring her to you when it’s done.” Keegan pushed to his feet. “We’ll go to the other side now. It’s going dark, and there’s rain coming in.”
