Free The Sword and the Song by C. E. Laureano

suspiciously like betrayal. He looked to Conor. “You knew about this?”
    “Only since last night,” Aine said. “I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner, but I feared if Conor knew the truth   —”
    “You might learn he was being influenced by you too,” Eoghan said. All this time he’d spent berating himself for his weakness, all the guilt he’d suffered because he felt that he was betraying his best friend, all unnecessary, yet he found it hard to hold on to his anger when he saw how miserable she looked.Could he really blame her for fearing what might happen should they find out?
    Eoghan sighed. “I take it that once the person learns of your ability, they’re no longer susceptible to it?”
    “That seems to be the case with other gifts of the mind,” Conor said.
    “Well, that’s some consolation. I can’t say I’m not relieved.”
    “You forgive me, then?” The hope in her expression was heartbreaking.
    “Of course. I have no reason not to.”
    Aine let out a relieved breath, and she and Conor rose simultaneously.
    “I’ll call the Conclave this afternoon,” Conor said.
    Eoghan acknowledged the words with a decisive nod. “I’ll be along in a moment.” But when the door closed, he stayed in his chair, fingers clamped on the wooden arms. Conor and Aine assumed the matter was over. He had forgiven her, and now that he knew the truth, his feelings would vanish.
    They were right about the first part at least. He would forgive her anything, especially when he suspected there was nothing to forgive. The uncomfortable pang of truth seeped into the place hope had just occupied.
    He really was in love with his best friend’s wife.

Conor called the Conclave together, and as usual, Eoghan was the last to arrive, a fact that was not lost on the group. The anticipation crackled in the air as they waited, no doubt due in part to the dramatic arrival of their “guest,” but more likely because of the rumors that had been rippling through Carraigmór all morning. Still, when Eoghan finally showed, he took a seat at the center of the table and wordlessly turned his attention to Conor at the head.
    “Brothers, we have matters of importance to discuss,” Conor began. “By now, you all know there was a breach of the fortress last night.”
    “Why is Brother Eoghan not speaking to the matter?” Dal’s eyes glittered with something that could have been anticipation or malice.
    That was quick. Conor had thought he would at least get through his introduction without having his authority questioned. He raised his eyebrows at Eoghan.
    “Conor is most qualified to speak on this particular matter, given the identity of the intruder.”
    Heads swiveled back toward Conor, and he wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or irritated. “Indeed. The intruder in question is my foster sister, Lady Morrigan. I was raised alongside her by her father, Lord Labhrás, who was executed by King Fergus at the beginning of the war.”
    “What is she doing here? Why arrive in such a fashion?”
    Conor acknowledged Gradaigh with a nod. “She claims her dramatic entrance was a way to guarantee an audience with me. She has potentially crucial information.”
    “A traitor’s daughter,” Fechin said flatly. “What do you suggest we do with her?”
    “Lord Labhrás was no traitor. He was a victim of political assassination. And regardless, her father’s actions have no bearing on her honesty.”
    “Yet you yourself doubted her story,” Daigh shot back.
    Conor let that comment pass. Sometimes the Conclave acted more like squabbling children than grown men. “Morrigan has brought us news that Brother Meallachán lives and is being held prisoner at Ard Bealach. Lady Aine has confirmed this.”
    This got their attention, and all eyes moved to Aine. “This is true?” Daigh asked. “You spoke with him?”
    “No. But he is alive and where Lady Morrigan claims he is.” She hesitated. “He is not in the best of health. I