Posted by: Elaine Romain Jul 9 2008, 05:18 PM
But first she went to the ransom-box.

When Niabheara was small, Morgana owned only one piece of real jewellery: a necklace of clear, pale stones the very colour of her sister’s eyes. Meg, being Meg, only ever put on the necklace for Midsummer’s, and Niabheara could often be bribed into a whole afternoon’s worth of quiet for the sake of being allowed to wear it. Niabheara had envied the blue stones with a passion; she wished she had her sister’s dark hair and cool grey eyes so that the necklace would look as well on her. On occasion, she still wished it. She could glam her eyes, but it would not be the same: she would always know.

When Niabheara had come into possession of Cnoch-na-Niall, she had also laid claim to the family heirlooms, which to a little girl were nothing so much as a glittering collection of toys with no value but their prettiness. On rainy days she had tormented one of the guards to stand, tolerant, at the vault-room door while Niabheara gleefully stacked two rings on every finger, layered necklaces until the chains tangled in her hair, and admired herself wantonly in a silver mirror that likely cost as much as everything she wore together. Gradually, as things will, the newness wore off, as did the delight. Niabheara now kept in her personal chest a mere dozen pieces of jewellery--most of it plain, sturdy stuff, gold and silver--which she wore over and over again. The sad truth emerged: it simply was not as fun to have treasure as it was when one was a small girl admiring one’s sister’s lone strand of aquamarines.

Most of what remained to Tristan’s ransom were the larger pieces, too bulky to be put into sacks and divided amongst them. She wondered what had become of the treasure Jamilah had taken. It rather pleased her to think that family fortune might even now be scattered throughout the Erins, or even the world, in the hands of countless vendors who were none the wiser. She hoped the girl had done well with them. Fine as it all was, ancient and venerable and valuable, it had not been enough to buy back one little boy and so was, as far as Niabheara was concerned, worthless.

Posted by: Elaine Romain Jul 9 2008, 05:18 PM
On top of the box was a black case. Niabheara knelt and opened it. It was an old dagger that belonged to some ancient great-grandfather. The blade itself was of the old-fashioned sort, useless now and dull, but the handle was beautiful: layers of dyed wood, green and grey and blue, pressed together in patterns like the rings of a tree. Dwarven woodwork, the very best. She closed the case again and lay it on the floor. Beneath that case was another, larger one that she did not bother with: it contained a torc of many shades of twisted gold wire, with a pair of matched armlets.

At the bottom lay a padded bag. Niabheara untied the string and slipped out a hand-mirror. It, too, was old-fashioned now--Niabheara had something like, but with a face of glass backed in silver--but it made a satisfyingly heft in the hand, with a plain flat bronze face that had once been polished to a perfectly even shine. Even now, with the patina that had crept over it, Niabheara could still faintly see her face in it. Elaine’s face, rather. The ridiculous ears that stuck out like the handles of a vase, the enormous nose, the pudgy cheeks . . . and then, of course, the clear, gloriously coloured complexion, the dark, round eyes like a doe’s fringed with soft, heavy lashes, the full bruised-petal lips, and the lovely line of the jaw with its stubborn chin.

Frowning, Niabheara turned the mirror away to study its back. The chalice of Cnoch-na-Niall was there, crammed amid oak leaves and acorns and, if one looked very closely, a hidden message that Niabheara no longer had to read to remember: I, Seamus O’Niall, gave this to my beloved bride Mabhe, that she might see her beauty unclouded, as I do.

She wondered if he had meant that. It was hard to imagine her grandparents giddy with love and all the foolish symptoms that went along with it, or to picture them giggling and teasing, endlessly fascinated with one another, still creeping upstairs at midday. What she wondered, of course, was if they had been anything like her: if love had changed so greatly between then and now, and if what she felt for Jochy, for Marcello, was an wholly original invention or something that still might be identifiable, centuries later, for what it was.

She was procrastinating. With the mirror in hand, she stood up and left the cabin to seek her father.

Posted by: Marcello Basciano Jul 9 2008, 05:19 PM
Neely couldn’t sleep. It was the ship, and the sense of confinement, and the constant creak and movement; even in the dead of night, there was no relief from it. Some might find it soothing, but to Neely, it felt as if something were creeping up on him. He had gotten on for much of his life acutely aware of what might be going on behind his back, and what it cost him in sleep it made up for in preparation.

When he saw the dark girl crossing the deck, he was instantly on his guard, but part of him felt relief: if this was the source of the trepidation, at least now he could stop dreading it. He regarded her with a calm, sardonic smile. “Go to bed,” he told the girl, sounding nearly cheerful about it. “Another long day of going nowhere tomorrow.”

Posted by: Elaine Romain Jul 9 2008, 05:19 PM
Niabheara shook her head. “I came to find you. Will you speak to me?”

Posted by: Marcello Basciano Jul 9 2008, 05:19 PM
“I am speaking with you,” he pointed out, amused, although he had begun to tap a foot in impatience. “What you want to speak about is another matter entirely. Then I may speak and I may not.”

Posted by: Elaine Romain Jul 9 2008, 05:19 PM
It was amazing. A dozen words in and she was already tongue-tied. Instead, she held out the mirror. “I wanted you to tell me about my grandmother.”

Posted by: Marcello Basciano Jul 9 2008, 05:20 PM
It took him off-balance, as the girl no doubt intended to do. He supposed he should have expected something like, eventually. The countess struck him as the sort of person who would be helplessly enamoured of her history. Some people did not feel complete without knowing where they came from; others could simply go ahead regardless. But it was a surprise to see the mirror. He took it from her, turned it over--avoiding his own reflection without a conscious thought--and read the back. “My Lady, I was much, much younger than you are now when she died. I barely remember her myself.” He held the mirror out by its handle, offering it back to her.

Posted by: Elaine Romain Jul 9 2008, 05:20 PM
She did not bother to take it. Her eyes fixed on his face. It was less difficult, somehow, to know that this man was her father in Marcello’s form than it was to remind herself that Marcello was in her father’s. Neely wore the body differently. The change was immediately obvious. He wore it, she thought, as if it had been his all along.

“Anything at all would be more than I have,” she said. “It doesn’t matter to me. If you would, sir.”

Posted by: Marcello Basciano Jul 9 2008, 05:20 PM
Neely chuckled quietly. Foolish child. He wondered if this was a ruse or if she really was that sentimental. If it was a ruse, he could almost respect it. This time he thrust the mirror directly into her hands. “Go to bed, Lady.”

Posted by: Elaine Romain Jul 9 2008, 05:21 PM
“Please,” she said quietly, and held it out again

Posted by: Marcello Basciano Jul 9 2008, 05:21 PM
His foot stopped patting. He gave her a cold, collected look, straight in the eye, but could see nothing more than a pleading, sickeningly sincere little girl. He did not know if that made this easier or not. “Why do you want to know? Really. I don’t want any pretences of family pride, I want the truth. What use would it be for you to know?”

Posted by: Elaine Romain Jul 9 2008, 05:21 PM
She flinched and looked away from him. “It’s not pretence,” she said. “You’re the only one left. No one else would know.”

He shifted as if to turn away from her and, in haste at the thought of being shut out, she went on quickly: “If you really don’t remember, I understand, but don’t refuse me out of habit. It’s no use to me at all, not the way you mean.” She bit her lip. “I don’t intend to use it against you, is all I meant. I want it for myself.”

She could not escape the feeling that she was damning herself in his eyes with every word. A beggar girl pleading for scraps. He would deny her just because he could.

Posted by: Marcello Basciano Jul 9 2008, 05:22 PM
He stayed quiet a long time after she had finished speaking. Whatever the girl was after, it hardly merited the sense of danger he had been feeling all day. He might as well take her at her word. He shifted his weight to the opposite foot, hands behind his back. “It’s not a matter of refusing you because I can. I honestly don’t know. I was eight when she died. It’s been nearly three hundred years, Lady; what do you expect of me?”

Whatever she did expect, she at least stayed in respectful silence, waiting for it. He sighed. “You favour her, I will tell you that much. You have Judith’s mouth, but the rest of you is your grandmother. And, as has been noted on more occasions than I care to count, we two favour one another so you can guess what stamp I bear.”

Posted by: Elaine Romain Jul 9 2008, 05:22 PM
Despite herself, her shoulders relaxed. She had gone to him not even expecting this little, so anything at all was amazing. “And my grandfather?”

Posted by: Marcello Basciano Jul 9 2008, 05:22 PM
He looked indifferent. “All those brothers were of the same mould: Auberon, my father, and Aengus. It’s not a flattering thing for so many people to look alike; it only means we’ve been inbreeding too long.” He flicked her a quick look, to see if that had put her off. Sadly, it hadn’t. The damn girl’s eyes shone as if someone had lit a lamp behind them. “Your grandmother was the sober one of the pair. She never changed moods if she could help it. My father was the talker. She was the one who made all the decisions, like a whip-crack--she never seemed to put much effort into it. If you wanted sympathy, you went to my father; if you wanted something done, you went to Mother. He had to be the one to talk her down when she was overhasty--and she was, frequently. You need to read between the lines with your history lessons, Lady: go through the moot court records and see how many judgements were taken down in under a week. That would be my father going about, finding out facts of a case, and telling her she had been too harsh.”

Posted by: Elaine Romain Jul 9 2008, 05:23 PM
“He sounds kind,” Niabheara prompted when he paused for too long. It was all too general to be satisfying: she asked for a tapestry and he drew outlines, like earthworks, bare shapes where she craved details. It could, truly, be as much as he remembered, but somehow she mistrusted that. He was holding out.

Posted by: Marcello Basciano Jul 9 2008, 05:23 PM
“He was a pushover,” Neely scoffed. “He very nearly bankrupted us. I didn’t learn that until much later, though.”

Posted by: Elaine Romain Jul 9 2008, 05:23 PM
“Still,” Niabheara mused. She wound her finger around the inscription, following the message from one hidden word to the next. “Did they love each other?”

Posted by: Marcello Basciano Jul 9 2008, 05:24 PM
Neely threw up his hands and laughed aloud. It was the only time his voice really seemed to throw back at him: it sounded wrong. “I knew it. I knew that question was coming.” Fixing the girl with a shrewd look, he stepped in nearer to her, stopping just shy of pressing in on her. “I suppose they did. It never occurred to me that they didn’t. How was I to tell? I was eight.”

Posted by: Elaine Romain Jul 9 2008, 05:24 PM
Niabheara made herself hold her ground, even though the proximity made her feel as if she was about to be fallen on, or at least that she might get her feet trammelled. He was doing it deliberately, anyone could see it, but perhaps he did not realise to what effect. He wore the front of his tunic unlaced down to the hollow of his throat--Marcello’s throat--and the memory of being in bed with him, of her nose pressed to that very spot, the scent of him, felt as if she had been punched hard in the lower stomach. She stepped out of his shadow, her head reeling from a overpowering combination of craving and shame.

She fought it down, but couldn’t stop herself stammering. “I . . . this isn’t comfortable, and you know it. You don’t . . . there’s . . . there is no need to intimidate me; if you don’t want to speak to me, don’t.” Raising her eyes, she added, bitter and a little fierce. “I’m used to it from you. I won’t be offended.”

Posted by: Marcello Basciano Jul 9 2008, 05:24 PM
Neely studied her reaction, shrugged, and moved apart. “I’m sorry, Lady,” he said, and meant it. Something in him recognized that a boundary had been breached, and the idea of it made even him uncomfortable; he could guess what it was like for her. “Draw a circle on the deck and I’ll stand in it.”

Posted by: Elaine Romain Jul 9 2008, 05:24 PM
“That isn’t necessary,” she said stiffly. “Imagine I’m wearing a skirt and try not to tread on it.” She felt her ears burning.

Posted by: Marcello Basciano Jul 9 2008, 05:25 PM
He conceded her her point. “I would speak to you,” he said, in a more quiet tone. “It’s no trouble to me. I honestly haven’t the slightest idea what I’m meant to be saying.”

Posted by: Elaine Romain Jul 9 2008, 05:25 PM
Niabheara took a deep breath. “Stories. Everyone knows stories. I have dozens of stories growing up, and I’m not yet a quarter of your age. It doesn’t have to be anything important.”

Posted by: Marcello Basciano Jul 9 2008, 05:25 PM
“Aye, and you also don’t have scores of years muddling your memories,” he pointed out. “Stories. I don’t know if I have any of those either. Not from Cnoch-na-Niall, which is what I assume you’re sniffing after. I lived in the palace much longer than I ever lived on Avalon.” And if she asked for those stories, this conversation was finished and the prodding little bitch could go to hell. He had an ugly, sick suspicion where all this was headed. “Didn’t we already have this talk when you were younger? I sent you letters.”

Posted by: Elaine Romain Jul 9 2008, 05:25 PM
That quick angry glimmer across his face, like a snake scooting off into high grass. If she had not been so keyed up and anxious she might have missed it. He was already trying to elude her. “Letters aren’t the same,” she said. With a great effort, though she was nearly desperate to salvage the conversation before he could mentally extract himself, she lowered her voice and took a gamble. “How did she die?”

A whisper in her belly told her that this would be the question that either opened the box or broke the key in the lock.

Posted by: Marcello Basciano Jul 9 2008, 05:26 PM
Neely felt his own belly grow chill. He kept his voice mellow, matter-of-fact. “Titania killed her. Had her killed, I should say. You know that by now.”

Posted by: Elaine Romain Jul 9 2008, 05:26 PM
“I do,” she said, still soft. “I’ve seen her. She’s in the old wing yet.”

Posted by: Marcello Basciano Jul 9 2008, 05:26 PM
“Is she.” He shot her a scowl, contorting Marcello’s face into a mask. “You’re a little ghoul. From ‘were they in love’ to ‘how did they die’. There is no middle ground with you. I don’t know the specifics but having one’s head cut off is frequently fatal, My Lady, and your grandmother did not survive it. Would you like me to tell you how your grandfather died as well? From having his intestines drawn out?”

Posted by: Elaine Romain Jul 9 2008, 05:26 PM
“I know how he died as well,” Niabheara replied, bowing her head, her heart racing. Despite all else, despite his sharp-tongued derision, she was too good an archer not to sense when she had hit near the mark. Sometimes you knew as soon as your finger left the string whether the arrow would tumble or fly true, whether it would strike high or low from centre. Her heart pounded, then as now, with the same absolute surety. “What I do not know is how you got away. No one knows that.”

Posted by: Marcello Basciano Jul 9 2008, 05:27 PM
So this wasn’t a spontaneous fervour for the family history. She had plotted this out, probably with her Queensman’s coaching, although the gods alone knew what she could use it for. Little girls must be by nature morbid. It explained their poetry. “I didn’t,” he told her coolly. “Have you ever been into your grandmother’s quarters, or is it still shut up?”

Posted by: Elaine Romain Jul 9 2008, 05:27 PM
“I’ve been there,” she replied quietly. “I had it the boards taken down. But no one stays there.”

Posted by: Marcello Basciano Jul 9 2008, 05:27 PM
“There’s a panel in the wall just inside the door. It’s set in a groove, it slides inward.” He fixed on her face to see if she recognised it; as curious as she seemed, he assumed she had rambled the whole castle by now. But her face was a polite, patient blank. “You don’t know it. Go looking someday. I assume it was built as a weapons trove--about an armspan long, half that wide. I’d never seen it before she showed it to me. My mother woke me up and ordered me into it and told me that I wasn’t to so much as touch the door unless she herself came for me. Otherwise I would be in real trouble.” He smiled dryly. “Your grandmother was a woman of her word. It was two days before I was hungry enough to dare defy her. I’d been pissing in the corner--you don’t need to hear all this,” he said, changing tones abruptly.

Posted by: Elaine Romain Jul 9 2008, 05:27 PM
Niabheara bit her lip. “Only if you don’t want to tell it.”

Posted by: Marcello Basciano Jul 9 2008, 05:28 PM
He shrugged. If she thought she believed it, there seemed little reason to deny her the details. “Two days. I was starving and I needed water and I think I might have passed out from the smell at least once. And even then I was terrified that she was going to come back and punish me; that’s the sort of authority your lady grandmother wielded. She was not much for idle threats.” The memory was so bittersweet that he actually smiled. “I came out. The place was quiet. Her body was at the foot of the stairs. From the looks of it they had kicked her down after they killed her, then came down and cut her.”

He gave the girl a long black look. “Is that enough for you? I can add more blood."

Posted by: Elaine Romain Jul 9 2008, 05:28 PM
Niabheara closed her eyes, touched her throat, and told herself firmly that he would not make her ashamed for asking, he would not. Except that of course he had managed it already. “I told you. Only as much as you want to tell. I have nothing. Not e’en expectations, really.”

Posted by: Marcello Basciano Jul 9 2008, 05:28 PM
“Your whole head is full of expectations,” he told her flatly. “Don’t bother me with all the modest bowing of your head and reaching for your torc as if it’s there. This is what you wanted to know, is it not?”

He waited. When she did not reply, he shrugged again. “You’re going to be interesting to watch if there should come a battle, My Lady. You can plot it out, but they’re all facts and figures to you, aren’t they? It’s easy to kill a man in your mind. How many ways have you planned to murder Titania? Do you see yourself alone, and suddenly coming upon her in the field? Do you think you could do it? Have you ever killed anyone?”

Posted by: Elaine Romain Jul 9 2008, 05:29 PM
In fact, Niabheara had had that very image run through her mind a number of times: she played it over and over, trying to imagine enough detail that she could do it, should the opportunity arise. Having it flung down before her like a gauntlet made her imaginings seem hollow and childish, demeaning to the whole notion of death. “Once,” she said softly.

Posted by: Marcello Basciano Jul 9 2008, 05:29 PM
Neely, so confident that the answer--if she answered at all--would be in the negative, blinked in surprise. “How did it feel?”

Posted by: Elaine Romain Jul 9 2008, 05:29 PM
“It was . . . sad.” She rubbed her wrist. “Just sad. That and . . . I felt a duty toward him. To do it well, and quickly. So that he felt no pain. I owed him that much.”

Posted by: Marcello Basciano Jul 9 2008, 05:29 PM
“Oh God.” Neely shook his head, chuckling. “You are a piece of work, Countess. As I recall, my own last thoughts were to wonder how long she would go on stabbing me before she realised I had already died.”

Posted by: Elaine Romain Jul 9 2008, 05:29 PM
“Would you rather I poison them?” Niabheara replied icily. “I have heard about that too, Father. They say Auberon was very strong. They say he lasted nearly six days, and that by the end of it he had screamed for so long that he wasn’t able to make a sound. But he wanted to. How long did you stand at the end of the hall and listen?”

Posted by: Marcello Basciano Jul 9 2008, 05:30 PM
The man’s dark face went carefully blank. “I think we’re done here, Lady. You have no idea what you’re talking about now. Go to bed.”

Posted by: Elaine Romain Jul 9 2008, 05:30 PM
Suddenly Niabheara was furious and frantic. If she let him turn his back to her now, he would never, ever speak to her again, not like this; he would go on calling her ‘Countess’ forever. The thought was unbearable. She latched onto his wrist. “You do not dismiss me.”

Posted by: Marcello Basciano Jul 9 2008, 05:30 PM
Without hesitation he grabbed her likewise and bore down his thumb on the tendon that ran through the centre of her arm, until her fingers went numb and turned loose. “And you do not mock me, lady.”

Posted by: Elaine Romain Jul 9 2008, 05:30 PM
“Ah . . . ” She jerked back her arm and turned it over. As she watched, the pale circle his thumb had left slowly filled in dark red, deepening to purple. Her eyes cut up to him, more cross and indignant than frightened. “It was not my intention to mock you,” she said, in as calm a voice as she could. “After you found your mother. What happened next?”

Posted by: Marcello Basciano Jul 9 2008, 05:31 PM
She was a slippery thing. He didn’t quite know what to make of her. She was showing off, pretending that she could not be frightened, which in turn only fuelled his desire to frighten her for no other purpose than to show her she was not immune. “After I found my mother.” The memories peeled back, layer by layer, like gauze. The more he spoke on it, the more clear it became. “I honestly don’t know. She was dead.”

Without warning the full memory came back, so clear and bright that the ship around him seemed to dim in comparison. Unthinking, he put a hand to his eyes as if to shield them from the light. He had gone down the stone steps, still too frightened of being punished to call out. There had been three separate splashes of colour: his mother’s scarlet gown, torn, her arms out-flung; then the fan of blood, a darker crimson. Then, discarded against the bottommost stair, as if it had been kicked aside, a tangled pool of bright hair. Until he saw the body, he had no idea what that last pool could be--or, perhaps, part of his mind had spared him that final comprehension until it was impossible to put it off any longer. There the memory split neatly in half: himself, on the curved midpoint of the stairs, looking down, then nothing . . . and then he knelt at his mother’s side. Somewhere within the nothing, her arms had been laid over her stomach, her skirts straightened, and her head arranged to seem a part of her again. In the background of all this, overlaid though seeming unconnected to himself, a thin, keening scream.

The countess did not need to know these things.

He shook his head to clear it. “I might have been looking for my father. I suppose I thought that as long as I didn’t find his body, it meant that he was still alive. I never did find it. Considering the state it must have been in, that was probably just as well. They had stacked some of the bodies in the courtyard, to try to burn them . . . I suppose they must’ve given up. They were . . . charred. But I could still recognise them.” Neely paused to clear his throat. He would have killed for a drink to make this story flow easier. “I followed the river away from Cnoch-na-Niall, down into the water meadow outside the wall. There was a tree there, an old oak that the wind had blown almost down to the water--”

Posted by: Elaine Romain Jul 9 2008, 05:31 PM
“Yes!” In a burst of intuition, Niabheara seized upon the description. “There’s a limb missing halfway up, and it’s hollow almost all the way to the ground--”

Posted by: Marcello Basciano Jul 9 2008, 05:32 PM
“Yes.” Neely blinked, surprised yet again. It was an odd thing to have a rapport over, yet that was exactly what he felt. “It’s amazing that thing hasn’t collapsed or rotted away. It must have been a hundred years old even back then.”

Posted by: Elaine Romain Jul 9 2008, 05:32 PM
“That’s where you went,” she breathed in awe. “I know it exactly. I used to go there to hide, all the time.”

Posted by: Marcello Basciano Jul 9 2008, 05:32 PM
“That’s where I went to hide then. That damn tree must have its own glamourie. Apparently only little children can find it.” He nodded to her. “I was afraid to go back. I didn’t know that whoever had done this wouldn’t return. I have no idea how long I was there. If it hadn’t been early summer and the ground warming up, I likely would have died out there before anyone found me.”

Posted by: Elaine Romain Jul 9 2008, 05:33 PM
"But then you were found,” she prompted when he trailed away again.

Posted by: Marcello Basciano Jul 9 2008, 05:33 PM
“But then I was found.” He gave her a chilly smile. “You are very single-minded when one can actually steal your attention, My Lady.”

Posted by: Elaine Romain Jul 9 2008, 05:33 PM
By now his attempts to distract her were so obvious that she could brush them aside easily. It was the longest she had ever spoken to him. The desire to shrink away from him rose strong, as did the fear that if he stopped talking now, he would deny it all later and pretend it never happened. Things would go on as they were: long, strained, ever-so-polite formalities where the heart of the matter lay exposed in the centre of the floor and the object of the game was to step around it without looking. “Did you miss them?” she asked.

Posted by: Marcello Basciano Jul 9 2008, 05:33 PM
Neely let out a growl of frustration. “Aye, I did, but you can’t dwell on these things, you know.” Then he exploded at her: “Of course I missed them! What the hell sort of question is that? Do you draw these remarks from some sort of manual of clichés, or is all of this coming out of your own head?”

Posted by: Elaine Romain Jul 9 2008, 05:34 PM
“Don’t shout at me!” Tears jumped to her eyes, and for a moment, she hated all humans, hated humanity for always bearing their emotions so close to their faces. She despised this body; if she could have torn it apart in chunks to get out of it, she would have done, even if it meant Elaine had to die. “I’m sorry! I know you must have missed them, I wasn’t thinking--”

Posted by: Marcello Basciano Jul 9 2008, 05:34 PM
“Clearly,” Neely said icily. “And for the second time, I think this conversation is done. Are you going to grab my arm this time?”

He started off before she had a chance to try.

Posted by: Elaine Romain Jul 9 2008, 05:34 PM
“But then they found you.” She stumbled after him. “They took you to Leabharcham, they took you to Titania. And Auberon. You should have been safe there--”

Posted by: Marcello Basciano Jul 9 2008, 05:34 PM
He wheeled back on her. “Should have been?” he asked. “Should have been?”

Posted by: Elaine Romain Jul 9 2008, 05:35 PM
Niabheara recoiled from the look on his face. It was done, she had pressed her gambit, the key snapped in the lock and the lid dropped firmly back into place. “You . . . you were safe there,” she corrected, then added, helplessly, “weren’t you?”

Posted by: Marcello Basciano Jul 9 2008, 05:35 PM
He was suddenly too tired to deal with this silly girl and her wriggling, puppyish attempts at being clever and insightful. Her truthfulness was more taxing than any deceit she might be capable of conjuring. And, he realised, with a sick thud in his chest, he wanted to hurt her. Badly. He wanted to say something vicious enough, or frighten her badly enough, that she would never again consider approaching this topic--something enough that even the mention of this conversation would, years later, cause her to cringe and immediately think of something else. He could do it. If they were both sparring, this would have been the moment where her guard lowered enough that a thrust would strike true.

And then they would be irreconcilable. It shouldn’t have mattered; he had burned more bridges than her.

“I was,” he said, “for about a year. How long have you known?”

Posted by: Elaine Romain Jul 9 2008, 05:35 PM
Her hands fluttered back up to her neck. “Jochy told me,” she said. “He didn’t know for certain. He guessed.”

Posted by: Marcello Basciano Jul 9 2008, 05:35 PM
“Jochy told you.” He lowered his eyes and chuckled. “It figures. Now you know. It doesn’t matter.”

Posted by: Elaine Romain Jul 9 2008, 05:36 PM
“It does matter,” Niabheara insisted, her teeth clenched. “Don’t you understand how it matters?”

Posted by: Marcello Basciano Jul 9 2008, 05:36 PM
“I don’t,” he said. “It doesn’t affect a damn thing you will did yesterday, nor will it change anything you’ll do tomorrow. It’s perverse curiosity masquerading as concern. What will you do with it? Throw it in Auberon’s face and call it another offence against your clan?”

Posted by: Elaine Romain Jul 9 2008, 05:36 PM
Niabheara raised her chin, her fists at her sides. “Yes. Exactly. That’s exactly what I intend to do with it. I have been making myself ill with wondering whether or not Auberon did anything to harm Tristan. He tried to rape me, and then told me to my face that it was a joke--that I was making too much of it. People must know. There might be others. Do you honestly believe that such a man would stop? You insult me, sir: I don’t care who you are, you don’t throw accusations of ‘perverse curiosity’ at people. You’re my father. Don’t you think it’s wrong that we’re like this to each other?”

Posted by: Marcello Basciano Jul 9 2008, 05:36 PM
Neely’s eyes squeezed shut. “Stick with the trouble you’ve already made, Countess,” he muttered. “Don’t go looking for more of it. If you pursue this at this stage, you may as well dig up every offence the two of them have ever committed and declare vengeance for all of it. What’s one more crime, more or less?”

Posted by: Elaine Romain Jul 9 2008, 05:36 PM
“I have trouble aplenty,” she said calmly. “What’s one more accusation, more or less?”

Posted by: Marcello Basciano Jul 9 2008, 05:37 PM
With a sigh, he turned back to her. “Make up your mind before you pursue this, lady. Are you doing because it’s me or because it’s wrong?”

Posted by: Elaine Romain Jul 9 2008, 05:37 PM
“Can’t I do both?” she asked.

Posted by: Marcello Basciano Jul 9 2008, 05:37 PM
“You can do whatever pleases you, Lady. Far be it for me to dissuade you.” He studied her for a long moment, then put his hands in his pockets and hitched his shoulders. “And on that note, I finally bid you good night. You can call me back if you like, but I won’t turn around.”

He paused only once, long enough to assure himself that he could not hear her footsteps following. His chest felt tight. That poor, poor silly girl. Life would not be kind to her.

Posted by: Elaine Romain Jul 9 2008, 05:38 PM
So now she knew. And he was right: it hadn’t mattered. The earth had not tilted, nor had it pushed the moon so much as an inch higher over the horizon. She had not realised until after he was gone that he had somehow managed to dash expectations she didn’t even know she possessed.

Except that it had mattered, possibly in the one way her father was not capable of understanding: she was no longer afraid of him. He was no monster. He was simply a man for whom it was very hard to feel any pity. She had tried, and he would not. Perhaps he could not.

But she could feel sorry for a small child who had lost its parents, who had been taken away to a place that should have been safe, and wasn’t. Niabheara leaned against the rail, tipped the mirror so that it caught the moon through the riggings over her shoulder. She wondered how much of him was what was made, and how much was what he had chosen. She wondered if he had missed Cnoch-na-Niall when they took him away.

Her fingers parted. The mirror slipped, with a barely audible plash, into the sea, and Niabheara, without so much as a twinge of regret at its loss, turned back to her cabin.