The Undivided (12 page)

The dread washed over her and instinctively she stopped, forcing Rónán, who was still holding her hand, back onto the kerb just as the BMW suddenly accelerated forward, slamming into Hayley, throwing her in the air like a rag doll.

The day dragged for Darragh, made worse by the wound in his side that suddenly seemed to get worse as midday approached, making him double over with the pain. By the time the queen of the Celts and her party arrived at dusk with Marcroy Tarth — who was inexplicably unaccompanied by any other
sídhe
— it had subsided, somewhat, and then, miraculously, just as the evening’s festivities were getting underway, the pain faded away completely.

Darragh smiled, and not just because of the relief. He knew what the pain meant. The pain he felt wasn’t his, he realised. And that filled him with a sense of giddy anticipation.

Unfortunately, his smile coincided with his introduction to one of Álmhath’s countless court maidens. Everybody in the hall immediately took his delighted smile to mean he found her pleasing, and without causing the young woman enormous shame and embarrassment by saying otherwise, Darragh had no choice but to play along.

Not that the maiden wasn’t lovely to look at. She was his age — perhaps a year or two older — with a mass of thick dark curls that tumbled down to her waist, wide blue eyes framed by long dark lashes, a sprinkling of pale freckles across her creamy skin and a smile that hinted at a sense of mischief. She curtseyed low as the
queen introduced them, meeting his eye in a manner suggesting that, far from being awed or frightened of him, she was enchanted.

‘I don’t believe you’ve met my court maiden, Brydie Ni’Seamus,
Leath tiarna
,’ Álmhath said, watching Darragh closely. ‘She’s Mogue Ni’Farrell’s daughter.’

Darragh tried to wipe the smile off his face, but it was too late. The damage was done. ‘I’ve not had the pleasure,
an Bhantiarna
.’ He’d heard of Mogue Ni’Farrell, a legendary beauty to whom Amergin, in his day, had composed more than one popular ode celebrating her magnificence.

‘She’s pretty enough to be one of the
Daoine sídhe
,’ Marcroy remarked from his seat further down the table — a high compliment indeed from the
Tuatha
lord. ‘Are you sure your Mogue was faithful to her husband, Álmhath?’

Darragh expected Álmhath to explode at the suggestion but, rather than take offence, the queen of the Celts laughed aloud. ‘If you knew my prudish little friend Mogue well,
tiarna
, you’d wonder not that she might have lain with a
sídhe
, but how she came to lie with any man at all.’

That was an odd thing for Álmhath to say …

Regrettably, Darragh was still smiling — it was hard not to — so he leant forward and offered Brydie his hand. ‘Do not listen to them, my lady. Your beauty is all your own.’

That’s done it, good and proper
, Darragh thought, as Brydie rose to her feet, smiling at him with an open invitation. Quoting a line from one of Amergin’s epic love poems about her mother — however innocently — would have this girl in his bed by moonrise.

Any other time, that might not be a bad thing, but he had plans for the coming days, and they didn’t involve bedding the court maiden of the Celtic queen, no matter how enticing.

‘Why don’t you ask Brydie to join us, Darragh?’ Torcán suggested.

Darragh glanced at Torcán in surprise. The prince was sitting between his mother the queen, and his betrothed, Anwen. On the other side, Marcroy Tarth was leaning back in his seat nursing a cup, looking a little concerned. Torcán sipped his mead, feigning innocence, though not very effectively.

Darragh turned back to Brydie. Even without the Sight, he would have smelt the trap. Brydie was here to entice him and, in all likelihood, Torcán knew about it. He may have even been the one who suggested it.

Among the
Tuatha
, one never discussed business until the festivities were done, so there’d been no hint, until now, why Marcroy had asked for this meeting nor why Álmhath had agreed to be party to it. There was no good-mannered way for Darragh to inquire about the nature of their business, either, before the partying was finished. Darragh suspected it would be something frivolous. Some trivial matter that could have been handled by far lesser ranks than the lord of the Mounds, the queen of the Celts and the Undivided.

But perhaps this wasn’t about treaties. Perhaps this was about getting a pretty girl, who owed her loyalty to someone other than the Druids, into the bed of a young man too blinded by desire to care that she might be a spy.

What have I ever done to make these people think I’m so stupid?

‘I think that’s a wonderful idea,’ Darragh said.
Two can play this game.
He turned to Colmán. ‘Have another place set for the Lady Brydie, my lord Vate.’

‘No need to go to any trouble,’ Marcroy told the Vate with an oily smile. ‘There’s already an empty place right next to Darragh. Lady Brydie can sit there, can’t she?’

Silence descended on the hall as every eye expectantly turned to Darragh. The empty place Marcroy was referring to was
Rónán’s place; the place that had remained vacant for the past fifteen years, waiting for Darragh’s brother to return.

Darragh understood, now, what introducing him to Brydie was about. Forcing Darragh into making this very public gesture was one way of having him admit, in front of his own people, the Celts and the
Tuatha Dé Danann
, that the power of the Undivided was broken.

If he allowed Brydie to take Rónán’s seat, he would be telling the whole world his brother was lost forever. But what would such an acknowledgement achieve? While Rónán lived, even though he wasn’t in this realm, the power still flowed to the Druids through the twins, and if they killed Darragh, Rónán — wherever he was — would die too. That would render the Druids powerless …

Of course.
This wasn’t about the Undivided. This was about Álmhath’s resentment of the Druids. She was queen of the Celts but it was the Druids who made the laws, recorded history and, in many ways, ruled her kingdom. She was an absolute monarch, but the Druid sorcerers and bards who roamed her kingdom had the power to overrule her, and quite often did.

Not being a Druid, she had no real concept of how the destruction of their magical power would decimate them and their world. Or perhaps she did.

Marcroy Tarth, on the other hand … what would he get out of this? The sacred nature of
Tuatha
law meant he could never knowingly break the Treaty of
Tír Na nÓg
, which guaranteed the sharing of
Daoine sídhe
magic with humans.
But if the treaty became irrelevant because there were no more Undivided to bear the power-sharing burden?
Yes, Darragh could see Marcroy embracing such a plan with great enthusiasm.

What must it be like
, Darragh wondered wearily,
to live in a world with no magic and the politics that went with preserving it?

Rónán might know. Some said he’d been thrown into a reality where his power meant nothing. What would it be like, to be free of the burden?

When we find him, will he
want
the burden of his magical powers thrust upon him?

Darragh didn’t allow the dread fear of not finding his brother take root in his mind. They would find Rónán.

They
had
to find Rónán.

He glanced at Colmán — who looked paler than a worm found under a freshly turned rock — trying to imagine him doing what Amergin had done.

And then Darragh became aware of the heavy air of silent anticipation focussed on him. He forced himself to smile even wider, looking around the hall at the sea of expectant faces. The whole court was holding its breath, waiting for him to stumble.

He was still holding Brydie’s hand. With a bow, he indicated Rónán’s vacant seat. ‘The lord of the Mounds is right, my lady. We’ll not be needing my brother’s seat tonight. Why don’t you sit here?’

One immediate benefit of Darragh’s decision to put Brydie in his brother’s vacant seat was that Colmán was rendered speechless, and the evening progressed very nicely without the constant interruption of the Vate’s appallingly bad verse, chronicling the details of their meal. Colmán was, in fact, quite apoplectic, but it was hours before he would be able to get Darragh alone and inform him of his displeasure. In the meantime, Darragh enjoyed a pleasant meal with the delightful Brydie by his side, while the guests muttered ominously about him, and Álmhath, Torcán and Marcroy barely contained their glee.

Neither could Darragh, but for entirely different reasons.

The Vate finally cornered Darragh in the hall outside his room as he was heading for bed. Darragh let him rant for a few minutes,
knowing the old man would feel better for it, and that while he was ranting, he wasn’t likely to throw in another verse. After the third time Colmán called him a mindless fool with his brains in his genitals — so angry he didn’t even attempt to make the insult a rhyme — Darragh decided he’d heard enough.

‘Stop!’ he commanded, putting his hand over Colmán’s mouth — an unpleasant sensation, given how much grease the old man used to fork his beard. ‘I get it. You’re angry with me.’

He took his hand away. Colmán looked ready to burst something. ‘
Leath tiarna
, have you any idea what you’ve
done
?’

‘I know exactly what I’ve done, Vate, and one day you’ll be singing about it. In the meantime, can you get me some
Brionglóid Gorm
?’

Colmán was instantly suspicious. ‘What do you need that for?’

Darragh grinned. ‘In case she snores.’

‘
Leath tiarna
!’ the Vate gasped in horror. ‘You can’t mean you’re …?’ He stopped and glanced around to be certain they were alone. ‘Are you insane? You’re planning to render the Celtic queen’s court maiden unconscious in order to have your way with her?’

‘Quite the opposite, Colmán,’ Darragh said, lowering his voice. Although he was certain there was nobody listening, there were
Daoine sídhe
in
Sí an Bhrú
tonight. One couldn’t be too careful. ‘I want to render the Celtic queen’s court maiden unconscious to
stop
her having her way with me.’

The old man took a deep breath. ‘Darragh,’ he said, one of the rare times Colmán had ever addressed him by name. ‘I don’t know what game you think you have going here, but I must warn you, it will not work.’ He threw his hands up in despair. ‘By
Danú
, where is Ciarán when I need him?’

‘Ciarán would tell you not to worry,’ Darragh assured the Vate, hoping the old man’s concern wouldn’t prompt him to go looking for the missing warrior.

Fortunately, Colmán was too distressed to even wonder where Ciarán was. ‘You have weakened your position tonight,’ Colmán warned, ‘all for the sake of a smile from a pretty girl. To compound the error by even allowing that sly little vixen into your bed, let alone thinking you can keep the upper hand by drugging her …’ He threw his hands up again helplessly, his voice trailing off as if he didn’t have the words to explain how he felt, a cruel situation for a man who lived by his ability to find words for every occasion.

Darragh sighed to cover his frustration. Amergin would not need to have this explained to him. ‘Lord Vate, what did Amergin tell you about me?’

The old man looked away, unable to meet Darragh’s eye. ‘I don’t know what you mean …’

‘You were Amergin’s apprentice for a decade before he died, Colmán. You discussed my progress with him often. Amergin told me that himself.’

The Vate shrugged, unable to deny it.

‘And didn’t he tell you I’m smarter than I look?’ Darragh knew that to be case, because Amergin had joked about it afterward.

‘Even so,
Leath tiarna
…’

‘All I’m asking is that you give me the benefit of the doubt, Colmán,’ Darragh begged, wishing this man would take him seriously, as Ciarán did. ‘
Trust
me. Trust that I knew exactly what I was doing when I surrendered my brother’s seat to Lady Brydie tonight.’

Colmán frowned, his eyes filled with doubt.

‘And if that isn’t enough for you, trust that Ciarán would not have left me here to deal with Álmhath and Marcroy alone, if he didn’t believe I knew what I was doing.’

It was hard for Colmán to argue with that. He shook his head, still not convinced, but not able, in his confusion, to think
of an argument to counter Darragh’s logic. ‘
Leath tiarna
, it is arrogant in the extreme to think you alone — a mere boy — can outwit the
Daoine sídhe
, the Celtic queen and even those among our own order who believe that without the other half of the Undivided, you have no right to sit the Twin Throne. Regardless of what Ciarán may have to say on the matter, you gave Álmhath a gift tonight, and all you seem capable of thinking about is your own carnal pleasure.’

Darragh smiled, hoping to reassure the old man, but suspecting his smile would only reinforce the Vate’s suspicion that he was a young, politically naïve — and dangerously lustful — fool. ‘I can tell you this much, Vate,’ he said. ‘If you trust me, all will be well. And of one other thing I can assure you — I won’t be alone.’

When Ren gave his statement to the Gardaí several hours later he was hard-pressed to remember the details of the accident. By then it was night. The ambulance had taken Hayley away in a wail of urgent sirens, the Gardaí cars with their flashing blue lights had dwindled to a lone patrol car parked in the circular driveway outside the house, and the paparazzi had thronged to the hospital. A gentle rain pattered softly onto the street, washing away the last traces of Hayley’s blood.

All Ren could remember was the sound of Murray’s car hitting Hayley. And her scream — cut short by the crack her head made when it smacked onto the roadway, several metres from where the BMW had skidded to a stop.

‘And you’re sure that’s all you can remember, Ren?’ the officer asked, as she closed her notepad.

Ren nodded mutely, not sure what else to say. He was numb — lacking the energy for even the simplest exchange. Across the hospital waiting room a muted wall-mounted TV was previewing the upcoming football season while beneath it, a frazzled mother tried to keep several tired kids, all in their pyjamas, under control.

‘It all happened so fast,’ he finally said, because the officer was looking at him so expectantly.

They were sitting in a tucked-away corner of the Emergency Department. They had been brought here to make their statements against a background of whimpering children, belligerent drunks and weary mothers, probably wishing their children’s illness were a little more serious so they’d get bumped up the triage list and not have to wait so long in this depressing place.

Ren glanced at Trása sitting beside him. She nodded and squeezed his hand comfortingly.

‘What about you, Trása?’ she asked. ‘Can you remember anything else?’

Trása’s eyes were red from weeping. Hayley’s accident seemed to have wounded her more than it affected Hayley’s own cousin, Ren.

Trása shook her head. ‘It’s like Ro … Ren said. It happened so fast. It was very crazy out there. All those excited people. All those bright flashing lights.’

The Gardaí officer nodded in agreement. ‘I can imagine,’ she said. ‘Must be awful, living in a fishbowl.’ She smiled sympathetically. ‘I’ll get your statements typed up and bring them over to the house for you to sign tomorrow. Normally, I’d ask you to come into the station to sign them, but in light of your … special circumstances, it’s probably better if I bring them to you.’ She glanced over her shoulder toward the door. Hospital security were keeping the wolves at bay, so for the time being at least, there were no paparazzi waiting outside.

‘What special circumstances?’ Trása asked, looking puzzled.

‘She means not everyone has a rabid mob of hyenas camped outside their front gate waiting to get a saleable shot of the freak show,’ Ren told her bitterly, and then he turned to the officer. ‘Thanks, sergeant, we’d appreciate that.’

‘What will happen to the man driving the car?’ Trása asked.

‘Not up to me.’ The officer climbed to her feet and straightened her jacket. ‘I’m guessing not much, though,’ she added, pocketing
the notebook beside the pen. ‘Dr Symes wasn’t drunk, he has a clean driving history and the paparazzi had a lot to do with it.’ She looked down at Ren sympathetically. ‘Accidents happen, Ren. Don’t go blaming yourself over this. It’s not your fault.’

‘I’m not,’ he assured her. ‘Symes floored it.’ He’d been adamant about that in his statement. Of the few things he did remember, the sound of Murray Symes revving the engine of his BMW to scare the paparazzi away was one of the things that stuck in his mind. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d been planning to hit one of the photographers.’

‘Well, unfortunately, he hit your cousin instead,’ the officer said. ‘And I’m quite sure he wasn’t planning to do that. So be careful making accusations, Ren, unless you are certain you can back them up.’

‘He still ought to pay,’ Trása insisted, letting Ren’s hand go to wipe her eyes with a scrunched up tissue that was long past its useful life. ‘An innocent soul should not be snuffed out so carelessly without some recompense to the goddess.’

‘She’s not dead, Trása,’ the officer repeated, a little impatiently. Trása seemed to be writing off Hayley too easily. ‘Are you kids going to be okay?’ she asked, picking up her car keys from the vinyl waiting-room seat. ‘It’s been a fairly harrowing day for you. Did you want me to call someone?’

Ren shook his head. ‘We’ll go back upstairs to the ICU in a bit. My mother’s up there with Hayley’s parents.’

‘Okay then,’ she said. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘I’ll walk you out,’ Ren offered. ‘I could do with some fresh air.’

The woman thanked him for the offer, said goodbye to Trása, and then walked with Ren toward the Emergency Department entrance. She checked once again if he’d be okay, and then said goodbye. Ren waited as she ran across the driveway in the drizzling rain, and then climbed into her patrol car which was
parked in one of the reserved emergency places at the front of the hospital. As she drove away, Ren pulled up the hood of his sweatshirt and headed in the opposite direction, toward the car park. There were a few photographers gathered on the other side of the road, but it was wet and they were sitting in their cars, not paying attention to the lone figure heading away from them. They were waiting for Kiva.

‘Is the Gardaí officer gone?’

Ren turned. Trása had followed him. The wretched
Leipreachán
was tucked under her arm. ‘Yeah,’ he said.

‘What will happen now?’

‘We wait,’ Ren said, glancing up at the multi-storey building where Hayley was fighting for her life. The hospital car park was almost deserted. He glanced at his watch. It was past midnight. ‘You don’t have to stay with me. I’ll be okay, Trása.’

‘I’m so sorry about Hayley, Ren.’

He adjusted his hood, so he wouldn’t have to face her. ‘She’ll be okay, Trása. This is the best hospital in the country, she’s under the best doctors, getting the best care.’ He thrust his hands into his pockets. ‘Kiva won’t skimp on making sure Hayley gets whatever she needs. The Boyles are family.’

Trása seemed truly bewildered. ‘But surely Hayley’s injuries are so bad nothing can be done for her now, except make her comfortable until she dies?’

Ren stopped and turned to look at her. ‘You give up on people pretty easily, don’t you?’

‘I’m not giving up, Ren,’ Trása said, as if she was afraid she’d made him angry. ‘I’m just being realistic. There was so much blood. And Hayley’s head was badly injured. The men driving the ambulance said so. You have no magical healing in this world to fix her.’

‘Yeah, well a few million bucks’ worth of hi-tech medical equipment and a hospital full of specialists ought to have the
same effect as magic. In
this
world.’ Ren turned and continued to walk through the misty rain, wondering why Trása would comment on “this world”. As if there was another one out there somewhere.

Trása put her hand on his shoulder. ‘The officer was right, Ren. It’s not your fault.’

‘Of course it’s not my fault,’ he said, shaking her hand off. ‘Hayley steps in front of speeding fucking cars trying to get across the road to me all the time. Even when I’m
not
there.’ Ren stopped and closed his eyes for a moment.

‘Ren, don’t blame yourself.’

‘Then who
should
I blame?’

‘The man driving the car?’ Trása suggested. ‘You said it yourself … he was trying to hit someone. He wielded the weapon. He was aiming for those men who were blocking his path. He is the one who hit her. He is the one who should pay. He is the one we will
make
pay.’

The strident tone of her declaration made Ren open his eyes and stare at her in alarm. ‘Settle down there, Rambo.’

She wasn’t smiling. ‘I don’t know what that means, Ren. I just know that where I come from, such an act would not go unpunished.’

‘And
where
is that exactly?’

She smiled. ‘North.’

Red couldn’t help but smile, too. He didn’t feel like it, but there was something about Trása, even with her swollen, tear stained eyes, that was hard to resist.

‘North, huh?’

‘It’s a very nice place,’ she said. ‘You should visit it sometime.’

Her vagueness irritated him a little, but then he frowned, as another thought occurred to him.

‘Hey … shouldn’t you be getting home? It’s past midnight. Jack’ll be worried about you.’

‘He knows where I am,’ she said. Then she leant across, quite unexpectedly, and kissed him on the lips.

Ren said nothing. His brain seized up like a badly maintained engine, gluing his tongue to the roof of his suddenly dry mouth. She tasted of raindrops and promises.

His silence seemed to confuse Trása. ‘What’s the matter? Did I do something wrong?’

‘Um … no … of course not,’ Ren managed finally. ‘I was just wondering … you know … why you did that?’

‘I like you,’ she said, as if it was the most reasonable thing in the world. ‘Where I come from, we comfort the people we like when they’re in pain.’

He smiled wistfully. ‘Makes me kinda wish I’d broken my leg.’

Trása cocked her head sideways. ‘What?’

‘Nothing,’ he sighed. ‘I’m just not used to … well, girls I’ve known for less than a day kissing me out of the blue.’

She seemed a little miffed at his reaction. ‘Look, if it upsets you so much that I kissed you, I’m sorry. I’ll know better than to try to comfort you next time. I’ll see you later.’

‘Please, Trása … I’m sorry.’

Trása turned to stare at him, frowning. ‘For what?’

‘For snapping at you. I’m not …’ He let the sentence hang, uncertain how to explain himself. He had never felt so lost. Or so alone. Everyone was upstairs in the ICU, worried sick about Hayley. As they should be.
It’s where I should be.
Ren reached out and grabbed Trása’s arm.

She debated his apology for a moment in silence, her dark almond eyes giving away nothing, making him wait a few moments longer, before asking, ‘Can I hang out here with you?’

He shrugged. ‘If you want.’

Trása reached up to gently touch his face. ‘I know someone just like you,’ she said softly. ‘When he gets upset, he does the same thing.’

‘What thing?’ he asked, with no clue who she might be referring to. A boyfriend, perhaps? Her hand was unnaturally warm against his skin.

‘He disappears outside, saying he wants to be alone.’

‘Do you follow him and randomly kiss him too?’ Ren asked. He wished he hadn’t said it, almost as soon as the words were out, but her hand was burning his cheek where it touched and he really wasn’t thinking straight.

But Trása didn’t seem offended. She stepped a little closer to him, rose up on her toes and kissed him again, squashing her creepy
Leipreachán
doll between them. Ren slipped his arms around her, pulling her closer. As he tightened the embrace, part of him thought the damned toy had grunted in pain.