breath, his voice. The only hardness to him was the Cloch Mór, Firerock, that he wore around his neck. He kissed Meriel’s forehead as if she were still a child. “Your mam has only your welfare at heart,” he whispered to her as if he’d guessed her thoughts. “I know you don’t feel that way sometimes, but it’s true. It’s always been true.”
She pulled back from him; his arms dropped back quietly and unresistingly. “You can’t be taking her side in this, Da. She wants to send me to Inishfeirm —that miserable, sheep-infested island, where I’ll be surrounded by old cloudmages and all the useless third sons and second daughters of the Riocha that have been sent to them.”
“Ah,” Kyle said. His eyes twinkled. “So you’re too good for them?”
“Da, that’s not what I mean,” she said in exasperation. His eyebrows raised, but he didn’t answer. “It’s not. Why should I have to go to Inishfeirm with the Máister? I should be here, where I can learn to be a bantiarna and serve on the Comhairle and maybe even one day be the Banrion.”
“Ah, so you’ve decided to be Banrion now,” Kyle said, and Meriel heard Alby chuckle quietly across the room. Meriel felt her cheeks go hot, but before she could say anything, her da shook his head. “Meriel, maybe one day that burden—and it’s a burden, my lamb; if you believe nothing else, you should believe that—will come to you. If it does, aye, you’ll need to know much more than you do now. You’ll need to know things that only Máister Kirwan can teach you.”
Meriel resisted the temptation to stamp her foot on the stone flags of the room. “You’re going to let her send me away? Why does she hate me so much?”
“Meriel . . .” Kyle sighed and took the mug of tea that Alby offered him. Meriel shook her head at the mug the man proffered to her. Alby nodded, though she thought she saw a disapproving half scowl on his face, and moved back to the recesses of the chamber. Her da sipped at the tea. “Your mam loves you, as I do, even if you don’t want to believe that. If you’re going to truly be Bantiarna MacEagan and be on the Comhairle, much less be Banrion, then you’re also going to need to learn that sometimes—often, in fact—you can’t do what you want, but rather what you have to do. Things have changed recently, and so this you have to do.”
“Why?”
He lifted the mug again. His eyes closed as he sipped. They stayed closed as he spoke. “It’s for your own safety.”
Meriel glared at him. “That’s what Mam said. I didn’t believe her either.”
Kyle glanced across the room to where Alby stood. She thought she saw him shake his head at the man. He went to the window of the chamber and set the mug down on the sill. When he turned back, his face was more solemn than Meriel ever remembered seeing it. “Jenna—your mam—asked me not to tell you this. But I will. You’ve been directly threatened, Meriel. Your uncle Doyle Mac Ard . . . he sent a message to your mam. That’s why we want you to go to Inishfeirm: so you’ll not only have cloudmages around you for protection, but so you can also begin to learn to protect yourself.”
Meriel was shaking her head before he’d finished. “That doesn’t make sense, Da. Mam has Lámh Shábhála, and you have Firerock. How could I be safer away from you?”
“At Inishfeirm, you’ll have several Cloch Mórs and clochmions around you, all the time, as well as those who know slow magics. We both agree—”
“But I don’t,” Meriel interrupted. “I don’t.”
Her da’s face closed off. He wouldn’t look at her and she knew that she’d lost the argument, that nothing she said would be enough. “You don’t have a choice, my lamb,” he said. “If Jenna’s telling you as your mam isn’t enough, then she’ll tell you as the Banrion and First Holder. You don’t have a choice.”
“We could run away,” Lucan said desperately. “Why, we could take one of
She pulled back from him; his arms dropped back quietly and unresistingly. “You can’t be taking her side in this, Da. She wants to send me to Inishfeirm —that miserable, sheep-infested island, where I’ll be surrounded by old cloudmages and all the useless third sons and second daughters of the Riocha that have been sent to them.”
“Ah,” Kyle said. His eyes twinkled. “So you’re too good for them?”
“Da, that’s not what I mean,” she said in exasperation. His eyebrows raised, but he didn’t answer. “It’s not. Why should I have to go to Inishfeirm with the Máister? I should be here, where I can learn to be a bantiarna and serve on the Comhairle and maybe even one day be the Banrion.”
“Ah, so you’ve decided to be Banrion now,” Kyle said, and Meriel heard Alby chuckle quietly across the room. Meriel felt her cheeks go hot, but before she could say anything, her da shook his head. “Meriel, maybe one day that burden—and it’s a burden, my lamb; if you believe nothing else, you should believe that—will come to you. If it does, aye, you’ll need to know much more than you do now. You’ll need to know things that only Máister Kirwan can teach you.”
Meriel resisted the temptation to stamp her foot on the stone flags of the room. “You’re going to let her send me away? Why does she hate me so much?”
“Meriel . . .” Kyle sighed and took the mug of tea that Alby offered him. Meriel shook her head at the mug the man proffered to her. Alby nodded, though she thought she saw a disapproving half scowl on his face, and moved back to the recesses of the chamber. Her da sipped at the tea. “Your mam loves you, as I do, even if you don’t want to believe that. If you’re going to truly be Bantiarna MacEagan and be on the Comhairle, much less be Banrion, then you’re also going to need to learn that sometimes—often, in fact—you can’t do what you want, but rather what you have to do. Things have changed recently, and so this you have to do.”
“Why?”
He lifted the mug again. His eyes closed as he sipped. They stayed closed as he spoke. “It’s for your own safety.”
Meriel glared at him. “That’s what Mam said. I didn’t believe her either.”
Kyle glanced across the room to where Alby stood. She thought she saw him shake his head at the man. He went to the window of the chamber and set the mug down on the sill. When he turned back, his face was more solemn than Meriel ever remembered seeing it. “Jenna—your mam—asked me not to tell you this. But I will. You’ve been directly threatened, Meriel. Your uncle Doyle Mac Ard . . . he sent a message to your mam. That’s why we want you to go to Inishfeirm: so you’ll not only have cloudmages around you for protection, but so you can also begin to learn to protect yourself.”
Meriel was shaking her head before he’d finished. “That doesn’t make sense, Da. Mam has Lámh Shábhála, and you have Firerock. How could I be safer away from you?”
“At Inishfeirm, you’ll have several Cloch Mórs and clochmions around you, all the time, as well as those who know slow magics. We both agree—”
“But I don’t,” Meriel interrupted. “I don’t.”
Her da’s face closed off. He wouldn’t look at her and she knew that she’d lost the argument, that nothing she said would be enough. “You don’t have a choice, my lamb,” he said. “If Jenna’s telling you as your mam isn’t enough, then she’ll tell you as the Banrion and First Holder. You don’t have a choice.”
“We could run away,” Lucan said desperately. “Why, we could take one of
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