Betraying Season (36 page)

“It comes closer, ever closer, the silver sword that will cut the thread of your life, and you will bow to it, for it will not be turned aside.”

Had Doireann begun to play more loudly, to match the growing volume of Lady Keating’s voice? Or was it to compete with the rushing wind that had sprung up within the stones, born of the swirling power overhead? Pen’s arms were shaking, but now it felt as if the sword had turned to ice and welded itself to her hands. The circle power still flowed into it, and now it felt as though a whirlwind hovered at the sword’s point. The length of the blade glowed with a cold silver light.

“So I say this unto you: take Death’s hand, and go with Death into the dark land. Leave you now this mortal coil and your earthly throne—”

Pen gaped at her. Your earthly throne? Had she heard Lady Keating correctly? “I don’t think—” she tried to say through a mouth grown dry with shock. Her feeble protest was drowned out by a shout from somewhere outside the stone circle.

It hadn’t been Doireann’s drum that she had heard. It was the frantic beat of a horse’s hooves as it pounded up the hill toward them.

“Pen!” Niall’s voice shouted.

Lady Keating’s hands fell to her sides. “Niall!”

Pen nearly cried out as well. Hadn’t he gone back to Cork after their disastrous conversation the other night in her room? What was he doing, barging into a ritual like this?

Niall flung himself off his horse and darted between the stones toward them. The sight of the glowing sword in her hands stopped him for a second; she saw him look up at it in consternation, then shake himself and press forward, fists clenched.

“That’s enough, Mother. Pen’s not going to do any more of your work,” he said in a low, steady voice. “I won’t let her. She’s coming with me back to—”

“No, she’s not.” Lady Keating’s face looked pinched and angry. “Why didn’t I just put you on a boat to London before I left Cork? I don’t need you interfering right now, you foolish boy. You’ll take your proper place as son of the king, like it or not!”

She swung one hand in a sweeping gesture. Niall staggered back as if blown by a wind, then toppled, striking the ground with a painfully loud thud. Beyond the circle she heard his horse whinny in terror and gallop off down the hill.

“Niall,” Pen whispered as she stared at his unmoving form. Good God, was he all right? But the sword in her hands seemed to have pinned her to the ground so that she could not go to him.

Lady Keating turned back to them. “He’ll be all right,” she said quickly. “I just stunned him. The
draiocht
is nearly completed. Doireann, the drum! Penelope, my dearest one, when I say the word, point the sword to the east, and then we will be done.”

Doireann resumed the somber
thump, thump, thump-thump-thump,
her mouth a thin line under hooded eyes. Pen looked from her to the glowing sword she still held aloft in aching arms, and then at Lady Keating.

“Take Death’s hand. Leave your earthly throne. You’ll take your place as son of the king . . . son of the king . . . the king.”

Lady Keating’s voice echoed in her head, then mixed with Niall’s:
She needs your magic. . . . She’s using you. . . .

Niall hadn’t been lying to her.

“Penelope?” Lady Keating called. “Are you ready?”

Pen took a deep breath. “No,” she said.

“What is wrong? Was it Niall? I’m sorry he interrupted us. Do you need a moment to collect yourse—”

“I said no. I can’t do this. I’m sorry.”

Lady Keating looked at her. “My child,” she said kindly. “We have come this far in the
draiocht,
and it must be completed. If Niall had not been stupid enough to interrupt us, we would have been done by now. We are all tired, but I know you are strong enough to finish. Now, then—
Hear me, O—
”

“You don’t understand. I just can’t do this. I didn’t realize before how you’d planned to help Niall.” She looked up at the sword again and shook her head. “I cannot harm the queen.”

Lady Keating considered her. “Don’t be foolish, Penelope. What could the queen’s death matter to you? She’s just a girl, as likely as not to die in childbirth in another few years once she marries, just as her cousin did. The Duke of Cumberland is a strong, healthy man, far more suited to wearing the crown. And might I also remind you, child, that you have given me your obedience? I offered to teach you the ways of the Goddess, and you consented. I asked for your help, and you said you would give it. I told you that tonight I required your complete surrender to my will, and you willingly surrendered it to me. Willingly.”

Her voice was quiet and reasonable. Pen almost wished she would shout and rave at her instead. “I know I did. But I can’t do this. The queen is my friend. My sister saved her from a magic attack last year, and I helped her. I helped save her once . . . and now I am bound to save her again.”

Lady Keating had gone still. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“Because . . . oh, because I was ashamed that I hadn’t done more to help last year because I wasn’t good enough. I don’t like to remember when I was . . . when I was weak and ignorant. I didn’t want you to know.” The silver light of the sword grew hazy and indistinct for a moment, but she couldn’t put it down to rub the tears from her eyes. Oh, this was hard, far worse than last year when she had refused to give Michael Carrighar her power. It had been easy to refuse the man who’d kidnapped Ally . . . but this was the woman she’d come to love and admire over the last months, the woman who had brought her to the Goddess and called her daughter.

Lady Keating was silent for a moment. “Penelope,” she finally said, “that was another girl in London last year. It isn’t who you are now. You, weak and ignorant? Not anymore. Look at yourself—you’re
like the moon, fading all the stars around her into oblivion. Nor are you bound to that queen anymore—you’ve pledged yourself to the Goddess. She expects your service.”

“What?” Doireann dropped her drum.

“I know I have.” Pen stared up at the sword she still gripped. Her arms had mercifully gone numb, and it felt as if it were the sword that was holding her up and not the other way around. “I love the Goddess. But I love the queen too. Can I not serve both?”

“You, serve a mere mortal?” Lady Keating laughed and shook her head. “Penelope, my dearest Penelope, you are more queen than that chit on the throne could ever be. As a
Banmhaor Bande,
you will be a queen amongst witches—and, like me, the most powerful one.”

“Mother, what are you saying?” Doireann asked in a low, dangerous voice.

Lady Keating ignored her. “Ever since we met, I have marveled at how alike you and I are, even down to our names. Down to our very names, my dear! Could there have possibly been a clearer sign that we were meant to find each other? I look at you and I can see myself so clearly. I had that same hunger for power and mastery, to be the strongest and the best above all. When I look at you, it is like looking in a mirror.”

Pen fought to close her eyes. Just what was it that Lady Keating saw inside her? Was that what she truly wanted, in her inmost heart? Absolute power? To be a queen among witches?

No, no!
said a small, shocked voice inside her. She wasn’t ambitious or power-hungry. Not at all.

Not ambitious?
said another voice from even deeper within. So
why had she come to Ireland to study magic, then? Why hadn’t she been content to study with Persy back in England?

Because doing that would have been acknowledging that her sister was and always would be the better witch . . . and she couldn’t do that. It had taken Persy saving them all last year to make her realize that she envied Persy’s strength and wanted to prove her own magic to be as good . . . or better.

“I have watched you work hard here with me, and it has been like my past has come back to me.” Lady Keating’s voice was low and passionate. “Only now I can help make this new me even stronger and better. Can you imagine what we could accomplish together, you and I? With power like ours combined, we could own Ireland if we wanted to. If you stay here with me, you will become as great as I, perhaps greater someday. Don’t you see that it’s almost in your grasp? Help me now—give me your power for this
draiocht
.”

Over by the edge of the circle, Niall groaned and stirred. Pen looked at him, and remembered their last encounter with a pang. “Niall,” she half whispered.

A faint note of impatience crept into Lady Keating’s voice. “You yourself said you don’t need Niall. He belongs in London with his father. I suppose that if you wish to take him as a lover someday you could, but your fates lie on different paths. You shall be too busy learning how to be
Banmhaor Bande
after me to—”

“What!” Doireann shrieked and jerked against the cord that still bound them. “Mother, what have you done?”

“What do you think I did? Did you really believe that you were worthy to be the Goddess’s lady after me? As a witch you are nothing compared to Penelope,” Lady Keating said dismissively.

Doireann’s eyes bulged as she sputtered, too angry to speak.

“Don’t worry. Once Niall’s established as the king’s son, you’ll still have your season in London and whatever husband you want . . . next year, after you’ve rid yourself of Lenehan’s little bastard, of course. I will keep that promise to you. But as for being my heir—no. Penelope will wear my ring after me, not you. The Goddess will not accept an inferior servant.” She turned her attention back to Pen.

Pen felt almost as shocked as Doireann obviously did. “But—”

“My daughter, it is time. When I say ‘so be it,’ you must complete the
draiocht
.”

“Lady Keating—”

“I am your mother now, Penelope. Do as I say, and then you will have your reward.” She stared hard at Pen, who found herself unable to look away.

Reward. All she had to do was keep her word and do Lady Keating’s bidding. How hard would it be to bring down this sword, laden with dark power, and point it to the east, toward London, where a girl her own age probably lay asleep in her bed in Buckingham Palace? Victoria would never know what had happened. No pain, and no blood. One little sigh, and her breath would cease. It wasn’t as if Pen would have to see it. So easy just to give in . . . and it wasn’t even really her doing at all . . . and then she would join with her new mother, Lady Keating, and learn at her side until she took her place as
Banmhaor Bande
and became just like her. . . .

“No!” she cried in a loud voice, and brought her arms down. The glowing sword swept toward the ground. Its blade sliced through the cord between Doireann and Lady Keating, and the
whole length of it vanished in a puff of gray smoke. Pen staggered back and, with the last of her strength, drove the blade straight into the ground.

“NO!” Lady Keating screamed as the silver light plunged deep into the damp earth. Through her bare feet, Pen could feel the circle magic roiling and surging through the soil, seeking outlet. The ground trembled, then shuddered like a horse shrugging off a stinging fly—a shudder that knocked them all to the ground. The water in the silver dish trembled, refracting the moonlight, then slopped over the sides. A low, growling, angry roar sounded from beneath their feet, growing louder as it rolled through the circle, and the entire hillside seemed to jerk and twist so sharply that Pen was sure the stones of the circle would come tumbling down on top of them or go rolling down the hillside. A scorched, sulfurous smell permeated the air.

Then all was still.

Pen lay where she had fallen, half on her side, one arm thrown across her face, and listened to the breeze that had sprung up whisper through the stones of the circle. It wasn’t a very comfortable position to lie in, and the dew-laden grass had quickly saturated her short linen shift so that she had begun to shiver. Or was she shivering for some other reason?

But uncomfortable or not, soaked and shivering or not, lying here seemed the best thing to do . . . perhaps the only thing she was capable of doing right now. In a few minutes, when she felt less stunned and shaken, she’d drag herself down the hill to the house, get dressed, and pack her trunk. She had intentionally broken the circle and released a vast amount of unfocused magic. Presumably
Lady Keating would want her out of the house as soon as possible. She’d go back to Cork and keep studying with Dr. Carrighar, enduring Eamon Doherty’s disdainful sneers. She’d made her choice, and this was the result. She’d kept her word to serve the queen and broken her word to Lady Keating.

And to the Goddess.

That thought made her groan and struggle to her hands and knees. She needed to get out of this circle and off the hillside, for surely the Goddess would be angry with her and find her presence here abhorrent.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, sitting back on her haunches in order to rub the tears from her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“Are you? Perhaps so, but not half as sorry as I am.” A voice came from somewhere above her. It was quiet and deadly cold.

Pen looked up. Doireann still lay sprawled on the grass to her right, but Lady Keating had regained her feet and stood over her. Her dark robe and hair were shadowed and indistinct; only her white face was clearly visible in the moonlight. That, and the sword she held in both hands, its point aimed at Pen’s breast.