Honor-Bound [ Lore of Penrua: Book III ]

40

Diarmán stormed out of the audience chamber. Uachi would not have had trouble keeping up, were it not for Ealin. He had taken her by the hand to tug her along, but she stumbled, and he had to slow his pace.

"Diarmán!"

He kept walking. The guards straightened as he passed them, laying their hands on their weapons as if they sensed his fury.

"Diarmán, can you wait until we're safely out of here to lose your bloody mind?" With a grunt of frustration, Uachi stopped, turning to Ealin. "Are you all right?"

She blinked sleepily at the flagstones. "I'm thirsty."

With an irritated sigh, Uachi started after Diarmán again, walking now. He'd simply have to catch up; he couldn't leave Ealin behind, and if he dragged her, he was likely to twist her ankle. They walked in silence, ignoring the probing stares of the guards, until they reached the courtyard where they had left their horses and their cats.

Farra and Uarria had found a resting place in the back of a cart of straw. They were curled into sooty balls of fur, motionless but for the rise and fall of their breath and their ears, swiveling and flickering as they listened to the world around them. Nearby stood their horses, still tethered to their post, but Diarmán was nowhere to be seen.

"That bloody fool," Uachi growled. "If he's gone to make trouble, I'll wring his—"

"Wring my what?"

Uachi turned to see Diarmán standing a couple of paces away. He was grinning, but it was bitter enough for Uachi to taste. In the sunlight, Diarmán's eyes were red-rimmed.

After a moment's silence, the Faelán lordling raised his eyebrows. "Well? I'm very interested, Uachi. What are you going to wring for me?"

Scowling, Uachi released Ealin's hand. "Your bloody neck. I thought you were going to kill someone."

"I still might," Diarmán said. His grin disappeared as he brushed past Uachi, heading toward their horses.

"Diarmán—"

"Time to go." He'd stooped over the hitching post and was untying his reins. Farra stirred with an expansive yawn, then licked her whiskers, watching Diarmán. Uarria rose and carefully crept to the edge of the hay cart, her tail swishing as she measured the distance she would have to jump.

"What if the archmage is here?" Uachi demanded. His fingers itched for his dagger, but he blundered on: "I promised Ealin—"

"Feel free to enjoy the hospitality of the High Queen, then." Diarmán led his horse a few paces away from the hitching post. He threw Uachi a guarded look, then turned away, starting toward the gates of the courtyard. "I'm going home. Might as well enjoy it while it's mine."

Uachi stared at Diarmán's retreating shoulders, uncertain how to react. He had never been good at comforting people. He should not have cared about Diarmán's future, anyway. There were far more important things for him to focus on: Uarria's safety; Ealin's fate; the war; revenge.

Nevertheless, he found himself wishing that the audience with Coratse had gone differently. Diarmán's bitterness was understandable. He was facing the loss of everything he had. He'd come to House Olarian expecting to make a brilliant case for his rights to his grandfather's holdings, and his efforts had been cut short, leaving him humiliated and cast aside. Coratse had hardly allowed him to speak.

It had been a fool's errand.

With a sigh, Uachi clicked his tongue, beckoning the cats. As they leapt down from the hay cart, he untethered his horse and began to lead her through the courtyard, following Diarmán at a distance.