Chapter 46: Chapter 46: Too Late

Like children on some an imaginary adventure, they dashed through the passageways, climbed ladders, crept behind walls, all while she pointed and whispered, “dungeon,” “north turret,” “throne room.”

Loud footsteps sounded to their left; she pulled him into the darkness.

Shay!

The captain of the guard had a map in one hand, a candle in the other.

How?

She closed her eyes, shaking her head in disbelief.

Father.

As Shay mumbled and walked into a dark passageway, Saoirse and Aonair crept soundlessly toward the eastern turret. When she knew she would not be overheard, she whispered, “I cannot believe my father trusted that idiot with the secret of these passageways.”

“Who is he?”

“Shay, Captain of the Guard.”

“Your father also trusted you,” Aonair whispered.

“No,” she said. “He didn't. My father has never trusted me with anything.”

Saoirse looked up the ladder, again shaking her head in disbelief. “Shay left the boards off.” Briskly, they climbed into the turret and ran down the stairs. Seeing no one in the hallway, they sprinted to Saoirse's room, swiftly closing the door behind them.

“And who might you be?” Alyse raised one slightly threatening eyebrow.

Saoirse's smile and the light in her eyes had Alyse pressing her lips together in a thin, difficult line.

Putting on her best court airs, Saoirse said, “Master Aonair, may I present my maid, Alyse. Alyse, Master Aonair Laoch.”

Alyse walked up to him, folded her arms across her chest and looking him up and down said, “I thought you were burned.”

Aonair shrugged, “Ah . . . well.”

“I healed him.”

“Oh, did ya.” Alyse turned away, mumbling. “No one's going to be noticing that.”

Saoirse put a gentle hand on Alyse's back. “We're leaving. I came to say goodbye.”

Alyse spun around, “What? With him?”

“Yes, please be happy for me.”

“And what do you know about him? Nothing but a dream you had years ago. Child—”

Saoirse put her hand over Alyse's mouth, “A dragon is going to eat me. At least let me have this.”

With a deep breath and an ache in her belly, Alyse commanded, “So off with those clothes, let's put something on ya that will wear a might better. And you,” she pointed an accusing finger at Aonair, “you'll be turning your back, or—”

Quickly, Aonair turned around.

“At least, he obeys,” she mumbled.

A knock sounded at the door. “Miss Saoirse is summoned to the throne room.”

Dread churned in Aonair's belly. Turning, he caught Saoirse's eye. “No,” he whispered. “Make an excuse.”

“Miss Saoirse.” Again, the knock came, louder. Alyse hastened to the door. “She will be not five minutes, she's dressing still.”

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Aonair crossed the room. “Let's go.” Quickly, Saoirse stepped behind the screen, threw off her wet dress, and put on her riding clothes. In a scant minute, she was ready.

Alyse opened the door, almost bumping into the servant. “You still here?”

“Lord Togair told me I was not to come back without her.”

“Aye.” She closed the door, leaning back against it. “There's nothing for it, sweetie.” She glanced at Aonair. “Stay here.”

“Are you often summoned?” he asked.

Saoirse shook her head.

With haste, she changed clothes again, into her sky-blue silk gown. Her damp hair Alyse hid by intwining her tresses with lace and ribbons. When she was dressed and at the door, Aonair took her hands in his. “Don't go. Please, make some excuse.”

“What excuse?” cried Alyse.

As Saoirse watched, red strands of fear swirled through Aonair's beautiful blue aura. Saoirse imagined Aonair with the strength of ten men, and summoned the magic within her. It filled her mouth, tasting of peaches in summer. To this magic, she added more until her mouth grew hot and the taste was like mulled cider. To this, she added even more magic until it burned her cheeks and tongue. She breathed out, watching the magic alight on Aonair's nose and mouth, sparkling on his brow, wrapping itself like ribbons in his hair. His eyes rolled back in his head.

“Lass, he's going to fall—” Together, they caught him and laid him gently on the ground. “What did ya do?”

“I wanted to make him stronger.”

Alyse looked at Aonair, lying unconscious on the floor. “Stronger is he?”

Knock, knock. “Miss Saoirse, Miss Saoirse.”

Alyse patted Aonair cheeks, whispering, “Wake up. Wake up.” She slapped him. “Wake up!”

His eyes abruptly opened. “What!”

“Stay here,” Alyse whispered. “Dunna you move.”

With awkward strokes, Dara swam in, his calf muscle hindering his every movement. Finding a submerged stone, its top a scant six inches beneath the water, he sat upon it. While the waves frequently doused him, he worked out the cramp. When he could move again, without the muscle tightening up, he stood and, jumping from stone to stone, came to the cliff face. There he fruitlessly searched for the sea door.

“Damn door!”

It suddenly thrust open, striking his forehead. He fell backward onto his ass on the “beach,” which was now waist-high with water. Rapidly, he stood, wiping the ocean from eyes.

Seeing him, Shay drew his sword.

“Whoa . . . ” Dara backed up, but the stones blocked his path. He held his hands up in the air.

“How many are with you?”

“One. I'm here alone.”

“And the water on the steps? Was it dripped on the floor by a ghost?”

Too late, Dara saw Shay's intent in his eyes. He tried to deflect the blade. It pierced his right lung. “Ahh!”

Grabbing Dara by the back of his neck Shay lifted his body from the pool, gone red with his blood. “Who are ya?” As Dara gasped for air, Shay grabbed Dara's sleeve, seeing the lion embroidered there. “Laoch.” Shay's mind erroneously leapt. “Laoch has a dragon-touched child. You are in league with the beast.”

“No! No!” As Dara reached to pull his knife from his boot, Shay banged his head against a stone, and dropped his unconscious body face down into the water.

 

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