Honor-Bound [ Lore of Penrua: Book III ]

33

"Go on, then," Uachi said.

Diarmán stood up, drawing his long, slender sword in a single fluid motion. Ealin watched the sword slide out of the sheath and arc up into the air, her expression tense, her face pale.

Uachi shifted Uarria out of his arms, dropping her onto the grass a bit too abruptly as he bolted to his feet. "I told you not to hurt her!"

"Sit," Diarmán said, pointing the blade at Uachi, who dropped his own hand to his dagger. Before he could say anything, Diarmán had given the sword another graceful twirl, and then the sword was gone. In its place was a simple wooden flute. With a smile, Diarmán said, "I told you not to worry."

Astonished, Uachi recognized the flute Diarmán had played on the first night of their journey. He had not seen it since. The memory—looking up at Diarmán, kneeling at his feet—brought heat to Uachi's neck.

Something had come over him that night. It had been entirely unlike him. Diarmán had not spoken about it once since then, and Uachi had not brought it up, either, preferring to forget.

Diarmán seemed to be oblivious to Uachi's reaction. He placed the flute to his lips and immediately began to play. A beautiful melody floated through the air. The sound awoke Uachi's senses, but it was not quite as it had been the other night. He lowered himself back down to the earth and sat. Uarria crawled back into his lap at once, taking one of his arms and hugging it to her chest. She had stopped crying and now, hearing the music, she turned to watch as Diarmán played.

Ealin had lowered her head again. She seemed to be struggling with her bonds. "Stop," she whispered.

But Diarmán did not stop. The music swelled and danced, making the colors around them brighter, the scents bolder. Uachi closed his eyes for a moment, adrift on the current of that music. Uarria leaned more heavily against him, giving a contented sigh.

At last, Ealin lifted her head again. She looked at Diarmán, her eyes gleaming. He moved toward her, just a couple of steps, continuing to play. She stared at him, her lips slightly parted. Perhaps in wonder. Perhaps in longing.

With a final note trilling on the air, Diarmán drew the flute away from his lips just enough to speak. "My dear," he murmured. "Will you tell me your secrets?"

"Which ones?" Ealin asked. Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper, and she did not look away from Diarmán. In a plaintive tone that seemed to border on tears, she continued, "I have so many."

Diarmán glanced back over his shoulder at Uachi, a mischievous smile playing around his lips. "All of them," he said, "but let us begin with the simplest: where are you bound?"

"To my father, the archmage," Ealin said at once. "He has gone to Aólane to make a home for himself and for all of his mages."

Uachi's stomach felt like lead. He had been certain of Ealin's heading, and to have it confirmed did not surprise him—but what else she had said certainly did. "What?"

"She said she's going to Aólane," Diarmán replied, glancing over his shoulder at Uachi. "Which I don't think was a surprise to you, was it? You—"

"The archmage is your father?"

Ealin's sleepy gaze floated to Uachi for half a moment, then back to Diarmán. She did not respond.

"Is the archmage your father, my beauty?" Diarmán asked her.

"He is. He gave me this," she said. She sorted through her tangled hair and found the little bird charm Uachi had so loved to toy with in the glow of their lamp. She held it out; it winked in the early light.

Diarmán leaned obligingly down, taking hold of the charm in his long, white fingers. "How pretty. Was it a birthday gift?"

She shook her head.

"What for, then, my love?"

"Disguise," she whispered. "It's magic. It was my mother's. He gave it to her so she could walk among the Arcborn, marked as they were marked."

Diarmán dropped the charm, sliding another glance toward Uachi, who received this news like another kick in the gut.

"Ask her why she took the princess," he said. His own voice sounded distant to his ears. "Ask her why."

Diarmán drew a breath and set his flute to his lips again, playing another snatch of that ethereal melody; as he did, he gazed down into Ealin's eyes. She looked at him as if she had never seen anything in the world quite so beautiful as he.

Uachi couldn't look at her. There was no future for them, least of all now that her secrets were spilling out—but still, the way she looked at Diarmán was not easy for him to bear.

The archmage's daughter. He had held her in his arms. He had kissed her lips. He had loved her, and she was the daughter of a monster, revealed to be a monster herself. He would never, could never forgive her.

When Diarmán took the flute from his lips again, he asked, "Why have you come all this way with the little child in tow?"

Ealin looked at Uachi and Uarria across the smoking ashes of the campfire. When her gaze fell upon Uarria, her expression softened, and she looked much as she had the very first day she had met the princess as a babe—as if she had seen the face of Mother Zanara herself. "The child is the power," she said. "If I bring her, Father's dream will be realized more splendidly than even he could have imagined."

Uarria was gazing placidly at Ealin. Uachi did not know how much of what was happening she could understand. He tightened his arm around the little girl, drawing her head in to rest on his chest. He didn't want her to hear this, but there was no way around it. "What dream?"

Diarmán indicated Uarria with a gesture of his flute. "What does he want her for, my beauty?"

"Magic," she whispered in response. She was smiling faintly. "The greatest magic ever cast on the whole of Arc. With Uarria's blood, it will be his. He'll be unstoppable."

She was seeking Diarmán's gaze, perhaps his sympathy, but Diarmán was looking at Uachi. He raised his brows, questioning.

"I've heard enough," said Uachi. He looked at Ealin again, and her expression as she gazed up at Diarmán twisted his heart. She had never looked at him like that. "I've heard enough. Stop this."

Diarmán spun the flute in his fingers and slipped it through his belt. As he did so, the flute shifted and changed shape, becoming a sword again. Ealin made a soft sound of protest. She tried to move forward on her knees, but she could not move her legs easily with her ankles tied together, and she fell forward. Diarmán lunged forward and caught her by the shoulder, helping her to sit back on her haunches.

"Lie down here with me," Ealin said. "Please."

Diarmán shook his head. There was something in his face Uachi had never seen there: discomfort. "No, no, my little love; sit for a moment, and you'll change your mind, I promise you that."

Uachi lifted Uarria out of his lap and set her gently on the ground. "Finish your breakfast," he muttered, rising to his feet. He turned on his heel and stalked out of the camp. He would not go far—he would not leave Diarmán to watch over Ealin and Uarria alone—but he needed to clear his head.