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The head of the order lifted a hand toward the window. “Those men and women out there and thousands like them grow more restless. What will be their fate be should a war between Other and Duinedon come to pass? Even after seven long years, much depends upon Brendan Douglas.”
Ard-siúr folded her hands, her features placid and patient, though Sabrina sensed the dismay and the frustration and the anxiety the priestess worked hard to suppress. Or perhaps those weren’t Ard-siúr’s emotions at all, but her own roaring in her ears, pounding like a drum behind her eyes.
“It’s not Brendan’s fault,” she argued, though her excuse sounded feeble even to herself. For in essence it was more Brendan’s fault than anyone’s. He’d been one of the mages who’d begun the nightmare of King Arthur’s resurrection. His dark magics as much as Máelodor’s had fed the murderous plotting.
Ard-siúr opened her hands as if tossing away her interest. “It is not my place to assign innocence or blame. That is the purview of the Amhas-draoi.”
Who hunted Brendan and would kill him without a second thought.
Daigh had called her courageous. She didn’t feel brave, but she’d not see her brother murdered in cold blood.
Sabrina never flinched. Not even against Ard-siúr’s most focused stare. “Did you wish to speak to me about Daigh or Brendan?”
“They both concern me for different reasons.”
Holding her breath lest she lose her nerve, Sabrina rose confidently from her seat. “Then you should speak to them. Not me.”
A few rotted, slimy staves of wood, a length of old mud-caked rope, four bottles still corked and wax-sealed. This was all the cove gathered to its shores today.
Using the tip of his knife, Daigh dug out one bottle’s cork. Tasted the contents. Still good. He took another swallow. Stared out at the waves, letting the steady wash of the surf dull the interminable throbbing behind his eyes. Inhaled the pungent, briny air, hoping to break the press of dread centered low in his gut.
Neither brought relief.
Downing the rest of the wine, he tossed the bottle far out into the pewter-black sea before taking the hill path back.
The Great One’s control strengthened. Daigh could no longer deny the dark presence forcing its greasy way back into his mind. Little time remained before he would again be Máelodor’s puppet and any hope for escape was gone.
Sabrina caught sight of him as he entered the gate. Looking up from winding a length of bandage round a man’s hand, her face broke into a smile, pink flushing her cheeks.
He deliberately turned away, shoving the demon-flare of Máelodor’s magics as far from the surface as he could. Hoping she wouldn’t catch a hint of his increasing loss of control.
“Daigh?”
She’d followed him. Her gentle touch seared him like a burning brand. He jerked away, but not before the murderous thunder of his thoughts flared wildly in his eyes.
“Where have you been?” she asked, hesitation replacing the smile of before.
“Nowhere that concerns you.”
“It’s . . . he’s . . . it’s happening just like you said, isn’t it?”
He clenched his jaw against the frenzied, hot stab of pain centered at the base of his skull. Clamping around his brain until he couldn’t think, couldn’t see beyond Máelodor’s vicious anger. “Leave me. Now.”
“I can help.” She rummaged in the bag slung over her shoulder.
“There is nothing you can do.” He caught her wrist, forcing her to meet his accursed gaze. Her horror laid bare in the blue of her eyes.
“Is this scoundrel bothering you, milady?”
Neither one of them had noticed the approach of Sabrina’s patient and two of his mates. They eyed Daigh with a mix of trepidation and swagger, an edgy frustration in the flexing of their meaty fists and the squint in their broad farmer’s faces.
Sabrina pulled herself together enough to offer the men a faltering shake of her head. “No, it’s all right. Really. Thank you.”
The leader of the group tipped his wide-brimmed hat, rubbing at a thin white scar on his chin. “That’s all right then, milady. But you let Simms know if there’s trouble.” He glared at Daigh. “Watch yersself, lad. I seen yer kind afore and I’ve dealt with ’em as I seen fit.” He drew a finger across his throat. “It’s yer kind brought the Duinedon down on us. Actin’ as if yer powers make you better.”
Daigh released Sabrina’s wrist, gauging this new challenge. “It’s no act.” A red haze burned at the corners of his vision, a crackling awareness lifting the hairs upon his arms and neck. His stare moved slowly over the intruders, the venomous mage energy alive in his eyes.
They fell back with a startled oath, scuttling away like whipped curs, only the leader glancing over his shoulder with a black look of foreboding.
