Niall caught up with him as he reached the gates. “Sir Cian, a word with you.”

“You can have as many words as you want once I’m out of this shagging sun.”

He didn’t know why he’d gone to the graveyard. He’d seen more than enough dead in his time, heard more than enough weeping for them. Tynan’s mother wasn’t the only one who looked at him with fear and hate, and here he was out in the daylight with the only things between him and the killing sun some rough cloth and a charm.

His blood cooled the moment he was inside, out of the light.

“Say what you need to say.” Cian shoved back the detested hood of the cloak.

“So I will.” A big man with his usually cheerful face tight and grim, Niall nodded sharply. His wide hand rested on the hilt of his sword as he looked hard into Cian’s eyes. “Tynan was a friend, and one of the best men I’ve known.”

“You’re saying nothing I haven’t heard before.”

“Well, you haven’t heard me say it, have you? I saw what had become of Sean, what had been a harmless and often foolish lad. I saw him kick Tynan’s body from the horse as if it were no more than offal to be tossed in a ditch.”

“To him it wasn’t any more than that.”

Again, Niall nodded, and his fingers tightened on the sword’s hilt. “Aye, that’s what was made of him. And of you. But I watched you lift Tynan’s body off the ground. I watched you carry it in, as a man would carry a fallen friend. I saw none of what was Sean in you. Tynan’s mother’s grieving. He was her first-born, and she’s mad with grief. And she was wrong in what she said to you by his grave. He’d not have wanted you insulted by his blood. So as his friend, I’m telling you that. And I’m telling you any man who fights with me fights with you. That’s my word on it.”

He lifted his hand from the hilt of his sword and held it out to Cian.

Humans never failed to surprise him. Irritate, annoy, amuse, occasionally educate. But most of all they continued to surprise him with the twists and turns of their minds and hearts.

He supposed that was one reason he’d been able to live among them so long and still be interested.

“I’ll thank you for it. But before you take my hand, you need to know that what was in Sean is in me. There’s a thin difference.”

“Not thin by my measure. And I’m thinking you’ll use what’s in you to fight. I’ll put my back to yours, Sir Cian. And my hand’s still out.”

Cian shook it. “I’m grateful,” he said. But when he went up the stairs, he went alone.

H eartsick, Moira walked back to the castle. There was little time for grieving, she knew, little time for comfort. What Lilith had done to Sean, to Tynan, she’d done to cut at their hearts. And she’d aimed well.

So they would heal them now with action, with movement.

“Can the dragons be used? Are they trained enough to carry men?”

“They’re smart, and accommodating,” Larkin told her. “Easily ridden by any who have a good seat, and aren’t afraid of the height. But so far, it’s been like a game for them. I can’t say how they’ll do in battle.”

“For now, it’s more a matter of transportation. You’d know the best of them, you and Blair. We’ll need—” She broke off as her aunt crossed the courtyard to her. “Deirdre.” She kissed her aunt’s cheek, held an extra moment. She knew Larkin’s and Tynan’s mothers were close. “How is she?”

“She’s prostrate. Inconsolable.” Deirdre’s eyes, swollen from her own tears, locked on Larkin’s face. “As any mother would be.”

He embraced her. “Don’t fret for me, or for Oran.”

“Now you ask the impossible.” Still she smiled a little. But the smile faded as she turned to Moira again. “I know this is a difficult time, and you’ve much on your mind, on your heart. But I would speak with you. Privately.”

“Of course. I’ll join you shortly,” she said to the others, then laid her arm around Deirdre’s shoulders. “We’ll go to my sitting room. You’ll have tea.”

“You needn’t trouble.”

“It’ll do us both good.” She caught the eye of a servant as they passed into the hall, and asked that tea be brought up.

“And Sinann?” Moira continued as they climbed the stairs.

“Fatigued, and full of grief for Tynan, of worry for her husband, her brothers. I couldn’t allow her to go to the grave today, and made her rest. I worry for her, and the babe she carries, her other children.”

“She’s strong, and has you to tend her.”

“Will it be enough if Phelan falls as Tynan has? If Oran has already... ”

“It must be. We have no choice in this. None of us.”

“No choice, but for war.” Deirdre entered the sitting room, took a chair. Her face, framed by her wimple, was older than it had been weeks before.

“If we don’t fight they’ll slaughter us, as they did Tynan. Or do what they did to poor Sean.” Moira went to the hearth to add bricks to the fire. Despite the bright autumn sun, she was cold to the bone.

“And fighting them, how many will die? How many will be slaughtered?”

Moira straightened, and turned. Her aunt wasn’t the only one who would question, who would look to their queen for the impossible answer.

“How can I say? What would you have me do? You who were confidant to my mother before she was queen, and all during her reign. What would you have had her do?”

“The gods have charged you. Who am I to say?”

“My blood.”

Deirdre sighed, looked down at her hands lying empty in her lap. “I’m weary, to the bottom of my soul. My daughter fears for her husband, as I do for mine. And for my sons. My friend buried her child today. And I know there is no choice in this, Moira. This blight has come to us, and must be cut out.”

A servant hurried in with the tea.

“Leave it please,” Moira said. “I’ll pour. Is food being sent to the parlor?”

The young girl curtseyed. “Aye, Your Majesty. The cook was seeing to it when I left with the tea.”

“Thank you. That’s all then.”

Moira sat, poured out the tea. “There’s biscuits as well. It’s good to have small pleasures in hard times.”