Free Mage of Clouds (The Cloudmages #2) by S. L. Farrell Page B

other half of which are bored Riocha here because their families either can’t marry them off or put them in the service of their Rí. (And half of those ask me constantly if I can somehow intercede with my mam to get them a position in the court of Dún Kiil or an introduction to one of the Comhairle or a commission within the gardai.)
    I hate the boredom: first-years aren’t permitted to leave the White Keep at all until the Festival of Láfuacht, and even then we must stay on the island. The Mother knows that a Festival on this miserable island will be nothing at all like the grand fun we had back in Dun Kiil during Láfuacht. Even the sheep here look bored.
    I hate the petty intrigues: all the talk about who is important and who isn’t, the unspoken hierarchy based on who your family is, and who might betray whom or who is allied with someone else. Oh, I know you enjoy listening to that kind of talk, but I don’t. Everyone’s speculating on who might be the next Rí Ard since Rí Ard O Liathain’s health is failing and he still hasn’t named a Tanaise Ríg. There’s constant talk of the friction between the Tuatha and Inish Thuaidh, and they seem to think that I should know all about it since Mam is the Banrion.
    I, for one, don’t much care.
    I heard the Saimhóir again last night, and started to sneak out of the room to go see them. But I nearly tripped over one of the stone flags and stubbed my big toe, and that woke Faoil and she came running out of her bedroom. She asked me what I was doing and I made an excuse about needing to use the midden, but I’m sure she didn’t believe me. I went back to bed, and a while later the blues stopped making their racket. I once asked my mam about the Saimhóir because I’ve always heard about how they came and helped during the battle of Dún Kiil, and everyone always says that Mam is one of the changelings, that we have Saimhóir blood. “Not everything people say is always true,” she told me. That’s all she’d say. I asked my da, too. He said that he didn’t know for certain. “If you believed what people say, then the entire population of Inishfeirm and half of those here on Inish Thuaidh can swim with the blues,” he said. “But your mam . . .” He smiled at me. “Your mam has done more than I ever believed she could do. And your twice great-mam was an Inishlander.”
    Thady has asked me if I want to come with him and few other acolytes one night—they intend to slip out of the Low Tower door and visit the tavern down in Bitten Bay. Supposedly the proprietor doesn’t inform the Bráthairs and Siúrs when acolytes visit them for a drink. About what you’d expect of a MacCoughlin. He said Faoil could come if I wanted, but I wouldn’t even want to ask her. I told him no, of course.
    When will I hear from you? It seems ages ago that we were last together, and I hate that most of all.

11th Silverbark 1148
    Sweetest:
    I had hoped to receive a letter or letters from you by now. Whenever I hear that a ship has come into Inishfeirm Harbor, I wait for the Order’s carriage to bring back the mail and supplies that have come, but so far there’s been nothing from you. I hope my letters have been reaching you, and that the next ship will bring me your words.
    I saw the naked young man again last night. Again it was the racket of seals that woke me, and I went to the window and saw him. I was awake this time: person or wight or ghost, he was real and not my imagination. He seemed to be coming from the Low Tower and the door there—the ward-locked one. He moved quickly across the grass toward the head of the trail, glancing back over his shoulder once or twice at the keep, though I don’t think he saw me watching as I leaned back into the shadows. I could see his face clearly—black-haired, black-bearded, and thin—and it was none of the acolytes or Bráthairs here. That much I know. He ran strangely, as if he were drunk or slightly dizzy, but quickly