Tír na nÓg Trilogy, Book III: Tír na nÓg

Emery Plays a Cruel Game

The feasting hall was part of Conchobar's main residence, the center roundhouse, Craobh Rua, which was absolutely massive inside. The hall was the first part of it; the front door led right into it. But along the sides of the dark-timbered hall were curtained partitions, beyond which were surely rooms, and like the other feasting halls she'd seen, there were likely quarters beyond the main platform as well. The King's throne was huge; in fact, it was bigger than even Cú Roí's had been, and that man had practically been a giant. Emery also took note of how much more elaborate Conchobar's hall was. The hangings were tapestries with gold and silver thread woven into them, gemstones and glass beads studding them. Huge chandeliers of torches hung from the rafters, and more torches were in braces on the columns that ran all down both sides of the hall. That was one thing she did appreciate--the lighting; it was far better than that even in the hall in Dun-Dealgan, which was much smaller and had a cozier atmosphere than this one. There were actually three fire pits in Conchobar's hall because the place was so large, and from Emery's and Charlie's place near the King's throne and table, she couldn't see either end of the hall completely.

Why Conchobar had asked her to attend was a bit of a mystery. There were few women present except those who were in the guard and some of the wine merchants themselves. He'd told her that as the wife of his nephew, she was family, and she deserved a place in his hall. That'd sounded reasonable, although Emery recalled that he hadn't seemed to feel any sort of familial ties when he'd essentially wanted to rape her to claim his "right of the first night."

In any case, Emery and her serving woman were enjoying the feast well enough; the food and drink were the best she'd had in some time, and the entertainment was lively. To Cullen's one poet, Conchobar must've had ten, and the music played in four different parts of the hall--that was how large it was. Because no one knew them, Emery and Charlie were left largely to themselves, and even Charlie was pleasant (perhaps being an old woman tempered him). So when, late into the night, a commotion at the entryway became apparent, Emery was in too mellow of a mood to pay attention to it. Only when Cullen was literally standing before her did she bolt up from her seat, feeling as if the floor had been pulled out from under her.

He'd appeared so unexpectedly that Emery almost thought she'd fallen asleep and was dreaming, but no—the table was too solid beneath her hands, and the gawking faces of everyone near them were too vivid. Cullen's eyes met hers piercingly, his expression a mixture of things but most prominently confusion, and she was sure her expression mirrored his.

"Cuchulain!" cried King Conchobar, slurring his words a bit. "You see I've found your wife! Go on, then! Take her out and have your way with her!" Laughter erupted around them, but neither she nor Cullen really heard it. Emery knew only her heart pounding in her ears.

Cullen rounded the table and put out his hand, which she took without hesitation, entirely forgetting Charlie. Touching him again sent a warmth through her, and when he led her past a tapestry into one of the many side rooms, which she realized were essentially bedrooms, Emery was more nervous than she'd ever been around him. Thoughts of everything that had happened between them and all the memories she'd had flashed through her mind, and the second they were alone she wanted to fall into his arms, but then there was a hard tug at her cloak, and she glanced down to see her old serving woman, hovering beside her.

"Remember Mug Ruith," Charlie croaked in his old woman voice, and Emery's heart sank.

"Go on, wait outside," she muttered, and, though she thought the old woman grimaced (it was hard to tell through her wrinkles), Charlie slipped to the other side of the tapestry.

Emery turned back to Cullen, who stood watching her, brow furrowed, breath heavy. She realized he was unkempt, his hair windblown, his attire askew, as if he'd run a mile in all his gear, and she wondered how quickly and from where he'd traveled to reach Emain Macha that night.