her—a brief, empty lifting of his lips—and left the room before she could speak again. Outside, he leaned against the closed door, taking a long breath. Shaking his head, he went down the corridor to the short stairs and down into the main room of the tavern. The sergeants of the gardai were already there, breaking their fast with biscuits and sausage. A few of them grinned, lifting their mugs of tea in his direction. The innkeeper, his wife, and children bustled around the tables, serving.
Da and Harik were there also, at the table nearest the stairs. Owaine glanced at Kayne, his gaze shadowed and careful. “You’re ready to ride, Kayne?”
“Aye, Da,” Kayne answered, and the pain that Owaine allowed to show in his face made Kayne want to apologize for his rudeness of the night before. That’s what the dream was telling you—that you poison the relationship between your da and yourself. Sevei had warned him of that, before she’d gone off to Inishfeirm.
“Da loves you more than life, Kayne, but he doesn’t understand you. He never will, not the way I do or Mam does. He wants to, but he can’t, and you can’t let yourself blame him for that.” She’d smiled at him then and hugged him. “I know you don’t understand him either,” she’d whispered into his ear. “But you should try. He’s a good man. He has to be, for both Gram and Mam to love him so much.”
“And you understand Da completely?” he’d wanted to retort, but he’d held the words back. She did have a rapport with their da that he had never been able to manage. Twins, he and Sevei might be, aye, but though they loved each other, the two of them were more different than they were alike. . . .
“Did you hear me, son?” Owaine was saying. “I said Harik’s going to stay here with five double-hands of the gardai—those who don’t have family to return to—until Rí Airgialla can send troops to watch the border. Harik’s going to go back to the ruins of the Bunús Wall. I want him to see if perhaps we could rebuild it as a defense work against the Arruk.”
Kayne almost smiled. “I’ll stay, also,” he said. If the Arruk were coming, then he would stay here—he would lead the defense. He would lead the men as his da never had: without timidity and with raw courage.
“No.” It was Harik who answered. “Tiarna Geraghty has already decided that you’ll return to Dún Laoghaire with him.”
Kayne drew back, surprised at the temerity of the Hand answering before his da. Harik held Kayne’s gaze, his face carefully unexpressive. Owaine hurried into the tension. “This will be Harik’s command,” Owaine said. “To have you here, Kayne . . .” He shook his head. They all knew what he was saying: Harik MacCathaill might be the Hand but he was only a céili giallnai, one of the minor nobility, and a Riocha couldn’t serve under him, especially not the Banrion Ard’s own son.
“Then give me the command, Da, and let Harik be my Hand as he’s been yours. I want to stay. There isn’t anything more important that I can do than to protect the border from the Arruk.”
“No,” Owaine answered. “We’ve already discussed this and the decision’s been made. You’ll come with me; your mam would never forgive me if I left you behind when you were so close.”
Kayne saw the truth then, coming to him in a flash as it sometimes did, and he spoke it rashly, as he also sometimes did. “Harik has already told you that he wouldn’t serve as my Hand, hasn’t he, Da?” He glared again at Harik, who looked back at him blandly.
“Harik is the best man to stay here,” Owaine said, and all of them knew that he hadn’t answered the question. “He knows the Arruk and the men trust him. He’s loyal to Dún Laoghaire and the Tuatha and I trust him utterly.”
“And you wouldn’t trust me.”
Owaine frowned, and his voice lowered in both volume and tone. “After yesterday, Kayne? After all that you’ve said to me and
Da and Harik were there also, at the table nearest the stairs. Owaine glanced at Kayne, his gaze shadowed and careful. “You’re ready to ride, Kayne?”
“Aye, Da,” Kayne answered, and the pain that Owaine allowed to show in his face made Kayne want to apologize for his rudeness of the night before. That’s what the dream was telling you—that you poison the relationship between your da and yourself. Sevei had warned him of that, before she’d gone off to Inishfeirm.
“Da loves you more than life, Kayne, but he doesn’t understand you. He never will, not the way I do or Mam does. He wants to, but he can’t, and you can’t let yourself blame him for that.” She’d smiled at him then and hugged him. “I know you don’t understand him either,” she’d whispered into his ear. “But you should try. He’s a good man. He has to be, for both Gram and Mam to love him so much.”
“And you understand Da completely?” he’d wanted to retort, but he’d held the words back. She did have a rapport with their da that he had never been able to manage. Twins, he and Sevei might be, aye, but though they loved each other, the two of them were more different than they were alike. . . .
“Did you hear me, son?” Owaine was saying. “I said Harik’s going to stay here with five double-hands of the gardai—those who don’t have family to return to—until Rí Airgialla can send troops to watch the border. Harik’s going to go back to the ruins of the Bunús Wall. I want him to see if perhaps we could rebuild it as a defense work against the Arruk.”
Kayne almost smiled. “I’ll stay, also,” he said. If the Arruk were coming, then he would stay here—he would lead the defense. He would lead the men as his da never had: without timidity and with raw courage.
“No.” It was Harik who answered. “Tiarna Geraghty has already decided that you’ll return to Dún Laoghaire with him.”
Kayne drew back, surprised at the temerity of the Hand answering before his da. Harik held Kayne’s gaze, his face carefully unexpressive. Owaine hurried into the tension. “This will be Harik’s command,” Owaine said. “To have you here, Kayne . . .” He shook his head. They all knew what he was saying: Harik MacCathaill might be the Hand but he was only a céili giallnai, one of the minor nobility, and a Riocha couldn’t serve under him, especially not the Banrion Ard’s own son.
“Then give me the command, Da, and let Harik be my Hand as he’s been yours. I want to stay. There isn’t anything more important that I can do than to protect the border from the Arruk.”
“No,” Owaine answered. “We’ve already discussed this and the decision’s been made. You’ll come with me; your mam would never forgive me if I left you behind when you were so close.”
Kayne saw the truth then, coming to him in a flash as it sometimes did, and he spoke it rashly, as he also sometimes did. “Harik has already told you that he wouldn’t serve as my Hand, hasn’t he, Da?” He glared again at Harik, who looked back at him blandly.
“Harik is the best man to stay here,” Owaine said, and all of them knew that he hadn’t answered the question. “He knows the Arruk and the men trust him. He’s loyal to Dún Laoghaire and the Tuatha and I trust him utterly.”
“And you wouldn’t trust me.”
Owaine frowned, and his voice lowered in both volume and tone. “After yesterday, Kayne? After all that you’ve said to me and
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