Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [118]
The words hung like thunder in the air. Somewhere in the distance, a flock of birds took flight, wheeling across the bloody sky. Cattle lowed uneasily.
Berlik inclined his head. "Do we have your forgiveness, Lady?”
"You do," Grainne said. "So long as your oath holds.”
"I will not be forsworn." He smiled, awful and grim. " 'Twould be a dreadful fate.”
I wondered what he meant. I wished he would stay and speak further with me. Unlike the others, I sensed no mischief in him. I wanted to know why he looked so sad and weary, what burden bowed his shoulders. I wanted to know why they believed I meant to harm them. It seemed unreasonable. If I bore them ill will, surely, they must see it was due to their own actions. It was all so very strange, I wasn't even sure what I felt. If we could only talk in a reasoned way, mayhap all this could be resolved.
But instead, there came low notes drawn from a harp's strings; a sweet, yearning air. The tune Morwen had played on the pipes, the charmed tune that had haunted my dreams, was even more poignant in the harpist's hands. I'd not even seen him remove his harp from its case, but there it was, braced beneath his chin, his lean brown fingers moving over the strings.
A strange, hushed peace settled over everyone present; the Lady and her children, Phèdre and Joscelin. Even Dorelei, even Brigitta; even Urist and the Cruithne and D'Angelines under his command, who stood aside, letting the Maghuin Dhonn pass.
I watched them go.
The music touched me; the charm didn't.
At the last moment, Morwen turned and gave me a long, impenetrable look. Tell me, was she beautiful? No, I'd said to Dorelei; I'd thought I meant it. Now I wasn't sure. There was beauty there, unfamiliar and wild.
I lifted one hand, gripping the croonie-stone.
Morwen smiled and passed.
And then they were gone, three figures moving into the deepening twilight. As they crested the distant rise, one remained upright. The harpist, still playing, the notes fading. Two figures dropped. One large and one small. Four-footed, shambling. My skin crawled. The fear I hadn't felt in their presence came home to roost.
"It's all right." A hand slid into mine. Conor, squeezing hard. "I think it is.”
I squeezed back. "I hope you're right.”
"So do I, Prince Imriel," he murmured. "So do I.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
We departed from Innisclan two days later.
It was a bittersweet leavetaking. Our time spent with the Lady of the Dalriada and her children had been pleasant, but it had been strange and unnerving, too. Like Phèdre, I would be grateful for the security Hyacinthe's mantle of power afforded.
We said our farewells. Eamonn and Brigitta would be attending the Alban wedding ceremony held for Dorelei and me in Bryn Gorrydum in a little over a month's time, so that, at least, was a casual parting. Conor was hoping his mother would allow him to come, and promised to play his harp at our wedding if she permitted it.
As for the others, they sent us on our way with fond regrets, and mayhap the slightest bit of relief. I daresay Innisclan would be calmer for our departure.
Once again, we set forth on the taisgaidh paths under Urist's expert guidance, retracing our steps across the green isle of Alba.
If our outbound journey had been lighthearted, this one was more somber. Our encounter with the Old Ones had everyone uneasy. Oddly enough, I was the least disturbed of the lot of us. The Maghuin Dhonn had sworn an oath not to harm me. Whatever else was true, I was certain Berlik meant his oath with absolute sincerity.
My nights were free of haunting incidents.
My days were free of thoughts of Sidonie.
I left the ollamh's protections in place, checking every morning and evening to ensure that the red yarn was still tied securely around my ankles and wrists, the croonie-stone hanging around my neck. Berlik's oath