Free Heir of Stone (The Cloudmages #3) by S. L. Farrell Page A

Mother-Creator, in Meriel’s view. Theneva, the matron who had been in charge of the staff for Meriel and her children, had vanished not long after the Festival of Méitha, without notice or so much as a word of warning. The other servants, one of whom Meriel had hoped would take over Theneva’s role, seemed helpless and overwhelmed by the responsibilities of tutoring and caring for the Banrion Ard’s son. The head of Edana’s household staff had sent Isibéal to Meriel. Isibéal had references from Banrion Taafe of Tuath Éoganacht and was seeking employment; the serendipity had been compelling, as if Fiodóir, the Weaver of Fate Himself, had arranged things. And Ennis . . . when Ennis had been introduced to her, he’d fixed Meriel with that strange and serious look. “You need to hire her, Mam,” he’d said solemnly. “It’s important.”
    “How do you know that?” she’d asked him, laughing.
    “The blue ghosts told me,” he’d answered, then frowned when he saw that the response caused Meriel to clench her jaws in irritation. “I know, Mam,” he said then. “I just do.”
    That had been but a month ago. Already Meriel couldn’t imagine her household without Isibéal’s presence. “Now you come with me, young Tiarna,” Isibéal told Ennis, “and I’ll tell you a tale. What would you like to hear?”
    “Tell me about the haunts in the barrows!” Ennis answered. “I liked that one.”
    Isibéal glanced at Meriel with a grin and a sidewise roll of her eyes. “And have the wights chased you in your sleep?” she asked.
    “I’ll kill them with my sword,” Ennis declared, and he held out his imaginary weapon again. “See!”
    The women both laughed at his fierce scowl. “Even warriors must have their sleep,” Isibéal told him. “Let’s go and leave your mam to her duties.” Isibéal cuddled Ennis to her and caught Meriel’s gaze. “Banrion Mac Ard asked if you would care to take some refreshment with her and the Tiarna Mac Ard, and there was a rider from Tuath Airgialla just come in who has a message for you, also.”
    “From Airgialla?” Perhaps there’s word of Owaine and Kayne. They should be returning from Céile Mhór by now, and I feel Owaine so much closer . . . She went to Ennis and kissed him on the forehead, ruffling his hair. “Go on with Isibéal, darling. I’ll come see you later, and make sure those wights aren’t bothering your dreams.” Isibéal’s gaze was on her, those odd light eyes. “Airgialla. It would be so wonderful to be with Owaine again after so long.”
    Isibéal’s smile widened. “I’m sure you will be,” she told Meriel. “Very soon.”
    “I hope you’re right, Isibéal.”
    Isibéal shifted Ennis’ weight on her hip. She kissed the boy where Meriel’s lips had touched him a moment before. “I’m certain of it,” she answered. “We Taisteal know these things.”

6
    A Clochmion’s Use
    DILLON’S LIPS were warm and incredibly soft, and tasted slightly of the sweet milarán cakes that had been served for dessert. Sevei pulled back reluctantly from the long and lingering kiss, leaning her head on Dillon’s shoulder and enjoying the comfort of his arms around her.
    They were pressed into the corner of one of the small courtyards of the White Keep—the First Holder’s Wing. Sevei’s gram had created this section herself over the space of a week several years ago, crafting the rooms and corridors and sweeping great halls with the power of Lámh Shábhála. The stone was gleaming white, so pure that it seemed to capture the light of the sun and release it in a soft glow for hours after sunset. In the mage-lights, the smooth and slick walls glittered with the captured colors of the sky. Sevei thought that the First Holder’s Wing was the most delightful of all the spaces within the White Keep; the fact that it was her gram’s design only made it more special.
    Though there was still light in the western sky, she and Dillon cuddled in