CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Eoghan shoved down his feeling of despair as he entered the port city, not entirely sure if it was the cloying mist or his disappointment in the results of his quest. When he’d left Ard Dhaimhin, his greatest worry had been whether or not he could locate Meallachán’s harp. As it turned out, it had been easy to find.

Smashed into pieces and burned in the rubble of Cill Rhí. No amount of skill could reassemble the instrument into what it had once been.

At least Eoghan assumed it was the instrument in question. He had never seen it, but Liam had given him a thorough description, down to the carvings on the ivory tuning pins. Eight of those pins rested in his coin pouch now, practically the only objects that had survived the destruction of the Siomaigh monastery.

One of them was carved into the shape of a three-spoked wheel, symbol of their faith. Eoghan wanted to believe it was a sign, encouragement from the Creator, but he couldn’t help feeling as though it were a warning about the future of Seare: a symbol of Lord Balus, cast off among the ashes of a once-great edifice.

Do you trust your feelings, or do you trust Me?

Comdiu’s chastisement was sharp and instantaneous, and it cut through Eoghan’s dark thoughts. Even after preparing himself for it, he had succumbed to the sidhe’s influence. If he could not trust his own judgment, what could he trust?

“Don’t say it,” he muttered aloud. “I already know.”

Stay on course. Find her.

Eoghan shouldered his pack and adjusted his cloak so it concealed both his belongings and his sword. A port city of this size was infested by cutpurses and worse, all driven by fear and their baser desires, manipulated by the spirits of the mist into performing acts of which even they would not have thought themselves capable. The mist made it hard to see more than a few feet in front of him, and as he navigated his way into the rougher part of the city, he found himself dodging men with barely enough time to avoid a collision.

“Watch yourself,” one man growled, hand moving to the knife at his waist. Eoghan just dipped his head and moved on before the accidental brush could escalate into bloodshed.

So this is what occurs when You remove Your influence from a land, he thought grimly, evading the reach of a young prostitute. The hollow, despairing look in the girl’s eye struck him to the core, and he moved on before he could succumb to that same despair himself.

This is what happens when My people turn their backs on Me. If I removed My influence from the land, people would be wishing for this as a paradise.

Eoghan shuddered. That was a world he had no wish to see.

The mist cleared enough to show the intersection with a main thoroughfare ahead. That would be the road that led from the dock quarter. North of that, the nicer inns and drinking establishments lined the streets, or at least they once had. Eoghan had already been through this city once, and even though the mist had already begun to encroach, there hadn’t been drunks propped up against the sides of buildings.

Stop.

Eoghan obeyed and looked around. He found an unoccupied corner beside the least raucous alehouse on the block and backed up against it, leaning casually as if he were waiting for someone inside. He loosened the dagger at his belt.

I’m here. What now, Lord?

Wait.

Very well, he would wait. It was hard to judge the time of day through the fog, but the vague glow from the west suggested full dark would fall in a few hours. Most of the ships would make port well before nightfall or anchor far offshore so they wouldn’t be boarded by thieves or troublemakers. The few armed guards most merchants employed would not be enough to stop desperate men.

Eoghan lost track of time, suppressing a yawn with the back of his hand as the day lengthened. It wasn’t until someone nearly walked into him that he realized he’d faded into the shadows. No wonder he had managed to avoid notice for so long. He straightened, vowing greater vigilance, when a tickle in his consciousness caught his attention just as surely as a tap on the shoulder.

A girl made her way down the street, struggling under the weight of a heavy pack. Men shot her curious looks, but no one addressed her —yet. The sight put his nerves on edge.

Her.

“Thank You, I hadn’t guessed,” Eoghan muttered under his breath. He instantly felt the sting of chastisement. Sometimes having the voice of Comdiu in his head made him forget he was talking to the Most Holy. A sense of humor his God most certainly possessed, but He didn’t seem to appreciate sarcasm. Eoghan pushed away from the wall and fell into the stream of travelers, following a few paces behind so the girl wouldn’t notice him.

She glanced down at a scrap of paper in her hands and then made a sharp turn at the next intersection. As she came to an alehouse from which loud music and even more raucous laughter spilled, she hesitated. He didn’t blame her. No girl belonged in a place like that.

He approached her slowly, not wanting to spook her, and touched her arm. “Miss?”

She spun and, before he could react, pressed a blade to the inside of his thigh. “Move along,” she said, her voice hard.

Eoghan froze, both because of her dagger’s proximity to a major artery and because her identity took a second to sink in. “Lady Aine?”

She stepped back and sheathed the blade, her threatening expression melting into one of recognition. “Eoghan.”

Her smile hit him straight in the gut, and she walked without hesitation into his embrace. He caught his breath before he could control his reaction.

“Comdiu is good. I was not looking forward to walking in there by myself.” She stepped back and a frown creased her forehead. “What are you doing here?”

“Comdiu sent me. Of course He didn’t tell me you were the one I was looking for.” His relief at Aine’s presence faded in favor of a sick realization. “Where’s Conor?”

“Gwydden, I think. We were separated in that storm that followed us from Tigh. I feared he was lost at sea, but I sense him now. He’s returning to Seare as well.”

She spoke with such authority he could not doubt her. “You can tell me when we’re safely away.”

“Indeed. I was supposed to lodge here tonight.”

“No. We can’t stay in here. Even with me standing guard, I can’t guarantee your safety.”

“Where, then?”

“The sidhe’s influence is much less outside of the city. Not as many people to draw them. I know someone who will give us shelter until we can head for Ard Dhaimhin.”

“Thank you, Eoghan. You are the answer to my prayers.”

Eoghan smiled and took her pack, but the warmth that crept into him at her gratitude felt like a betrayal. Aine was his best friend’s wife, practically a sister to him, given his relationship with Conor. He’d best remember that. If Conor thought his friend was harboring thoughts that were anything but brotherly about Aine, he would not hesitate to stick a blade into the most convenient part of Eoghan he could reach.