CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

From the concealment of her cloak, Aine scanned the dozens of ships in port. The proprietor of the inn had said there were only two ships that traveled from Dún Caomaugh to Seare these days, and it had taken the better part of the morning to find the first. As soon as she had laid eyes on the Verity, however, she had felt the nudge that meant she should move on. Now she had made it to the end of the slips without any luck on the second.

The activity in the dock quarter flowed around her, no one paying any attention to the waif in their midst. A man jostled her from behind, and she reached for the dagger at her waist, but the traveler didn’t give her a second look before cursing her and moving on. She was so accustomed to the deference given to a lady that she forgot that to them, she was just another bedraggled urchin. At least it proved it was an effective disguise.

Lord, protect me, she prayed, and immediately the answering reassurance filled her. It was the lesson she’d had to learn alone on the long journey south. Whereas she’d had the help of strangers on the way to Forrais, Comdiu had made it clear that this time she was to rely on only Him.

Aine was about to give up her search, when she saw a two-masted ship, a larger version of the cog that had taken her and Conor from Seare. Deckhands loaded wooden crates via a ramp on the port side. She circled to where the name had once been painted on the hull. The letters had been rubbed away, but the faint outline of a four-looped shield knot remained.

A laugh slipped out. Her Creator had a sense of humor —or perhaps just an ironic sense of provision. She waited for the men to deliver their load and go back for another before she approached the ramp.

At the bottom, however, she stopped, her heart pounding. She’d avoided thinking about the fact she’d have to board another ship to get home, but now even the lap of the water against the boat’s hull sent a spike of panic through her. Three times she’d nearly drowned. Three times she had narrowly missed meeting her end in the water: first when she’d been forced into Loch Eirich by the sidhe, then in Glenmallaig’s moat after Conor rescued her, and finally in the storm on the Amantine Sea.

I can’t do this. I thought I could, but I can’t. I’m not strong enough.

But what was the alternative? She’d already learned what happened when she didn’t obey. Did she really think Comdiu would send her back to Seare and then allow her to perish on the open sea?

Her first step onto the plank was shaky, as was her second. But she forced herself up it, faster and faster, until she was standing on the deck of the ship. She snagged the first sailor she found. “Is this the Honor?”

He glanced at her, not unkindly, and laughed. “Aye. Best be off the ship, girl, before you get hurt. We have no need of your services.” Before she could process what kind of services he thought she was offering, he turned away.

“I’m a paying passenger,” she called after him, jingling her coin pouch for emphasis.

He stopped and looked at her, really looked this time. Evidently he realized she was not some street urchin and nodded toward a short, dark-haired man at the stern. “Captain Ó Meara there. You’ll want to speak with him.”

“Thank you.” Aine strode toward the captain, dropping back her hood and throwing off one shoulder of her cloak to display her mother’s marriage dagger, clear evidence of her nobility. It had been a risk, this deviation in her waif’s disguise, but now she was glad she’d brought it.

“Captain Ó Meara?”

The man turned and sized her up before he spoke. “My lady? How may I assist you?”

He was sharp. He was also Seareann. Considering the Fíréin symbol, she should have expected as much, but his Aronan crew had thrown her off.

“I need passage to Seare. I understand you’re making for Ballaghbán.”

“Aye.” The captain hesitated. “Forgive me, my lady, but you do realize that Seare is at war. The blockades have been lifted, but the cities . . . they wouldn’t be safe for a lady with a full guard, let alone one traveling on her own.”

A flutter of nervousness crept into her stomach, but she met his gaze. “I’m fully aware of what awaits me in Seare, sir.”

He bowed his head. “Very well, then. You can take the aft cabin if you don’t mind a few crates.”

“That will be fine, Captain. Thank you.”

He sighed heavily, the sound of a man who already regretted his decision, and then pointed her toward the small door beneath the upper deck.

The cabin was cramped and, as he had warned, stacked with crates. Clearly he hadn’t expected to take on any passengers. Not until she noticed a man’s coat hanging on a peg did she realize that the captain had given her his own cabin.

Thank you, Comdiu. You are always faithful.

She took off her cloak and laid it over the top of the pack that contained her court gown and a small bag of medicines she thought might be useful on the trip. In a few weeks, she would be at Ard Dhaimhin. A giddy feeling welled up inside her, not all due to her return to Seare.

Conor was alive.

Aine closed her eyes and reached out with her mind. She had felt him immediately after the fire, when her new ability first began to manifest itself, but she’d been so overwhelmed by the press of pain and anger from those around her that it had gotten lost in the cacophony. But as the days had passed —nearly three weeks now —she had become more adept at identifying individuals. She knew for certain that one of them was Conor.

A light rap on the cabin door brought her to her feet. Captain Ó Meara poked his head into the space. “My lady, we’re about to cast off. If you get seasick, you might want to come out on deck.”

“Thank you, Captain. I’ll be fine until we reach open water, I think.”

He gave her a knowing look. Undoubtedly the captain knew the reasons a lady would need to disguise herself as a commoner. “I’ll let you know when we’re out of sight of land.”

Her pleased frame of mind lasted only through the first part of the night, when a storm stirred up on the Amantine Sea, throwing the vessel around like a toy ship in a whirlpool. Aine stayed in her cabin, clutching a bucket and forcing herself to chew mouthfuls of the fresh mint she had brought along for this purpose. Unfortunately it was largely unsuccessful.

Closing her eyes so she couldn’t see the movement of the cabin around her helped a little, but every time she tried, images from the last storm on the Amantine crowded in: the cold, the water, the terrifying slide across the decking into the sea.

Comdiu, preserve me, she prayed over and over as the ship did its acrobatic maneuvers through the waves.

“You all right?” the captain asked when he poked his head into the cabin. Aine just nodded. If she opened her mouth, bad things were liable to happen.

“The rain has abated. You might feel better out on deck in fresh air.”

She shook her head. The memories were too fresh. It had been hard enough to stand on deck in the harbor.

Aine reached for Conor’s mind, which grew more distant as the miles stretched between them. But she could still feel him, driven by some irresistible compulsion to return to Ard Dhaimhin. She allowed herself one brief smile at the thought of their reunion before the next wave hit and sent her scrambling for the bucket.

On the third day, Aine awoke to find that the pitching of the ship had been replaced by the steady pull of oars. Only the thud of wood in the locks broke the silence. She pushed herself up on the bunk, fighting a wave of dizziness.

She poked her head out the cabin door and blinked at the wall of white that met her, searching for the dark shapes that would indicate crew members.

“It’s always like this now.”

The deep voice of the captain came from the mist behind her, startling her.

“How near are we to the coast?” she asked.

“Several leagues still.”

The closer they got, the more obvious it became that this was no natural phenomenon. Aine gripped the railing, assailed by the sick sense of wrongness that always accompanied the presence of the sidhe. She shivered violently and barely caught herself on the railing when her knees gave way.

“They are loosed,” she whispered. “I thought —”

“Aye. It happened right after Faolán fell. Few understand why.”

“But you do. You can feel the evil.”

The sharp look the captain gave her made her snap her mouth shut. Instead, she reached out with her mind, trying to feel those thin, bright threads of magic she had always sensed on the isle. They were gone. The only power she sensed was dark, like oily scum floating on the surface of a pond. She shuddered.

“Perhaps you should go inside,” Ó Meara murmured. “My crew are staring.”

Aine straightened with his assistance and moved back to the tiny cabin, where she sank down onto the edge of the bunk.

“I don’t know if I can do this.” It was bad enough being able to sense the evil, which was strong, repellant. But the undercurrent of fear was so pervasive she could taste it. Seare had truly fallen.

But what other options did she have? She couldn’t go back. Macha probably had agents in every port city, with instructions to kill her and dispose of her quietly. She had read almost as much in the chieftain’s mind. Her aunt wouldn’t attack her directly, considering people were already speaking of Aine as a saint, but Macha wouldn’t take the chance that Aine would come back and seize leadership on the strength of that following.

Another reason why she’d left Aron as quickly as possible. She didn’t want followers at all.

Aine closed her eyes and pretended to rest, even though her heart was heavy. The oppressive sense of evil grew as they neared shore. She curled up into a ball, forcing down the nausea that intensified with the pitch and roll of the craft as they came into port.

The captain slipped halfway into the cabin, his expression somber. “My lady, we have arrived.”

“Thank you, Captain. For everything.” She reached for her pouch, intending to pay the passage he had refused in Aron, but he again shook his head.

“No, my lady. It’s my honor. And the least I can do for the sister of Liam Mac Cuillinn.”

Aine’s mouth dropped open. “You knew me? How?”

The captain just smiled and handed her a shred of paper, torn from the edge of a larger sheet. “Go to this alehouse and ask for Cuinn. Tell him I sent you. He will lodge you with his family overnight until you can move on. Don’t linger in the city, though. The streets are safe for no one.”

“I’m indebted to you, sir.”

“No, you’re not. Just be careful, Lady Aine.” The captain turned and disappeared before she could say another word.

Aine rose to her feet, smoothed her dress, and said a silent prayer for strength. Then she stepped out the door, preparing to set foot in the waking nightmare Seare had become.