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“On the other side, yes,” she said, because both were hers. “And Blessed Night of Lights to you.”
“Cait, Caitlyn Connelly you’d say, from the cottage near the ruins.”
Now it clicked. “Yes, I’ve seen you walking when I visit my father.”
“I’ve seen you as well. Have a cup of wassail, won’t you? The sun sets soon.”
“Thanks.”
“A toast then, to Talamh on a joyful night.”
The cup nearly reached her lips before Breen saw it, felt it, knew it. She started to upend the cup, then felt and knew more.
It was a time and a place for faith.
So she drank, and watched the hard smile gleam in Cait’s eyes.
After drinking deep, she lowered the cup.
“You would choose such a night to do his dark work, and here, with so many gathered in peace and fellowship? With children playing. You would make this with my death that’s not a death?”
“It will come in pain, and none will save you.”
Bollocks raced to her side, growled, but Breen kept her gaze locked with Cait’s.
“It will not come at all, and you will face Judgment for defiling your gifts. Hold!” She shot out a hand, and power she hadn’t known she possessed. She caged the elf in place before Cait could run.
Eyes hot with fury, Cait squirmed against the bindings. “Why don’t you drop!”
“Because my light smothers Yseult’s dark, and always will. You’ve betrayed your people, Cait Connelly.”
“Odran is my god, and the god of all. He will take back the power he granted you and burn this world and all in it to black.”
People had begun to murmur, and some crowded close.
Breen’s breath came short, but not from the poison. From anger, from sorrow. Here, on a night of light and kindness, Odran cast his shadow.
“Stay back, please. Keep the children clear, and send for the taoiseach.”
“He’s here.” Keegan stepped beside her. “What is this?”
“Yseult’s poison. She’s Odran’s.”
“You were made for him. Made by him,” Cait spat out. “And he will have you.”
“I know you,” Keegan said. “But now I see you and know your truth.”
“Odran, god of dark, god of all, will drain her dry, and when Talamh is ash, he’ll soak the ground with your blood.”
“Sleep,” Keegan ordered, and the woman crumpled to the ground. “You need to release her so they can move her away.” Turning, he signaled to two wearing warrior’s braids before bending down and taking a vial from Cait’s pocket. “So small a thing,” he murmured, then stood again. “I’ll need the cup as well,” he told Breen.
“Carry her off, guard her, for she meant to poison the Daughter with a sleeping potion at Odran’s command.”
His words brought more than mutters, but shouts of outrage, cries of shock.
“After the rite,” he continued, “take her and these on dragon-back to the Capital and have her held for Judgment.”
He gripped Breen’s hand, lifted his voice over the rest. “She will be judged, and by our laws. But not this night. This dark act will not dim the light, it will not silence the bells.”
