SHEATHED BY THE HAND OF GODS

FREED BY THE HAND OF A MORTAL

AND SO WITH THIS SWORD

SHALL THAT HAND RULE GEALL

Moira paused at the base of the stones to read the words again. If the gods deemed it, that hand would be hers.

With her cloak sweeping over the dew-drenched grass, she walked through sun and mist to the top of the faerie hill. And took her place behind the stone.

For the first time she looked, and she saw. Hundreds of people, her people, with their eyes on hers spread over the field, down toward that brown ribbon of road. Every one of them, if the sword came to her, would be her responsibility. Her cold hands wanted to shake.

She calmed herself as she scanned the faces and waited for the trio of holy men to take their places behind her.

Some were still coming over that last rise, hurrying lest they miss the moment. She wanted her breath steady when she spoke, so waited a little longer and let herself meet the eyes of those she loved best.

“My lady,” one of the holy men murmured.

“Yes. A moment.”

Slowly, she unpinned the brooch, passed her cloak behind her. The wide sweep of her sleeves flowed back as she lifted her arms, but she didn’t feel the chill against her skin. She felt heat.

“I am a servant of Geall,” she called out. “I am a child of the gods. I come here to this place to bow to the will of both. By my blood, by my heart, by my spirit.”

She took the last step toward the stone.

There was no sound now. It seemed even the air held its breath. Moira reached out, curled her fingers around the silver hilt.

And oh, she thought as she felt the heat of it, as she heard somewhere in her mind the murmur of its music. Of course, aye, of course. It’s mine, and always was.

With a whisper of steel against rock, she drew it free and raised its point to the sky.

She knew they cheered, and some of them wept. She knew that to a man they lowered to one knee. But her eyes were on that point and the flash of light that streaked from the sky to strike it.

She felt it inside her, that light, a burst of heat and color and strength. There was a sudden burn on her arm, and as if the gods etched it, the symbol of the claddaugh formed there to brand her queen of Geall. Rocked by it, thrilled and humbled, she looked down at her people. And her eyes met Cian’s.

All else seemed to melt away in that moment, for a moment. There was only him, his face shadowed by the hood of his cloak, and his eyes so brilliant and blue.

How could it be, she wondered, that she should hold her destiny in her hand, and see only him? How, meeting his eyes like this, could it be like looking deeper, deeper yet, into her own destiny?

“I am a servant of Geall,” she said, unable to look away from him. “I am a child of the gods. This sword, and all it protects is mine. I am Moira, warrior queen of Geall. Rise, and know I love you.”

She stood as she was, the sword still pointing skyward as the hands of the holy man placed the crown on her head.

He was no stranger to magic, the black or the white, but Cian thought he’d never seen anything more powerful. Her face, so pale when she’d removed her cloak, had bloomed when her hand had taken the sword. Her eyes, so heavy, so somber, had gone as brilliant as the blade.

And had simply sliced through him, keen as a sword, when they’d met his.

There she stood, he thought, slender and slight, and as magnificent as any Amazon. Suddenly regal, suddenly fierce, suddenly beautiful.

What moved inside him had no place there.

He stepped back, turned to go. Hoyt laid a hand on his arm.

“You must wait for her, for the queen.”

Cian lifted a brow. “You forget, I have no queen. And I’ve been under this bloody cloak long enough.”

He moved quickly. He wanted to get away from the light, from the smell of humanity. Away from the power of those gray eyes. He needed the cool and the dark, and the silence.

He was barely a league away when Larkin trotted up to him. “Moira asked me to see if you wanted a ride back.”

“I’m fine, but thanks.”

“It was amazing, wasn’t it? And she was... well, brilliant as the sun. I always knew she’d be the one, but seeing it happen is a different matter. She was queen the moment she touched the sword. You could see it.”

“If she wants to stay queen, have anyone to rule, she better make use of that sword.”

“So she will. Come now, Cian, this isn’t the day for gloom and doom. We’re entitled to a few hours of joy and celebration. And feasting.” With another grin, Larkin gave Cian an elbow poke. “She might be queen, but I can promise the rest of us will eat like kings this day.”

“Well, an army travels on its belly.”

“Do they?”

“So it was said by... someone or another. Have your feasting and celebration. Tomorrow queens, kings and peasants alike best be preparing for war.”

“Feels like we’ve been doing nothing else. Not complaining, mind,” he continued before Cian could speak. “I guess the matter is I’m tired of preparing for it, and want to get to it.”

“Haven’t had enough fighting the last little while?”

“I’ve payment to make for what was nearly done to Blair. She’s still tender along the ribs, and wears down quicker than she’d admit.” His face was hard and grim as he remembered it. “Healing fast, as she does, but I won’t forget how they hurt her.”

“It’s dangerous to go into battle with a personal agenda.”

“Ah, bollocks. We’ve all of us something personal to settle, or what’s the point? And you won’t tell me that a part of you won’t be going into it with what that bitch did to King in your mind and in your heart.”

Because Cian couldn’t deny it, he left it alone. “Are you... escorting me back, Larkin?”

“As it happens. There was some mention of me throwing myself bodily over you to shield you from the sunlight should the magic in that cloak fade out.”

“That would be fine. We’d both go up like torches.” Cian said it casually, but he had to admit he felt easier when he stepped into the shadow cast by Castle Geall.

“I’m also asked to request you come to the family parlor if you’re not too weary. We’re to have a private breakfast there. Moira would be grateful if you could spare a few minutes at least.”

S he would have liked a few minutes herself, alone. But Moira was surrounded. The walk back to the castle was a blur of movement and voices wrapped in mists. She felt the weight of the sword in her hand, the crown on her head even as she was swept along by her family and friends. Cheers echoed over the hills and fields, a celebration of Geall’s new queen.