Branna crossed her arms defensively, and Deirdre shifted uncomfortably. “I’m betrothed now—we both are. It doesn’t matter if you’re here now, because we’ll never live as a family again.”
It shouldn’t have surprised me, and yet, all I could see before me were two little girls. They’d been raised all their lives knowing that they’d be betrothed when they came of age. Their marriages would have formed necessary alliances, and perhaps if they’d been lucky, áthair would have taken pity on them and married them off to men no older than thirty years. But though it wasn’t unheard of, betrothals at their ages were far too early. I could understand why rebellious Branna chafed beneath this edict and soft-spoken Deirdre was apprehensive and fearful of what was to come. But lucky for them, I was queen now, and I would forge my own alliances.
I glanced at my mother, and a slow smile bloomed across my face. “Then we’ll break the betrothals.”
Máthair stiffened in shock, and I almost pitied her. “What? No. You cannot—”
From a relaxed position on his horse, Leif grinned as though watching a highly entertaining sword fight.
The matching smiles on Branna’s and Deirdre’s faces were well worth any anger from Máthair.
“I can, actually. I’m the queen.” To my sisters, I said, “Consider your betrothals broken.”
“Branna was betrothed to the High King’s son,” Máthair said, her voice desperately sharp. “We cannot just tell him no.”
“I’m sure the High King will agree to whatever Ciara tells him,” Leif said. “He was soundly defeated just now, but Ciara spared his life.”
Branna threw her arms around me, and I rested my head on hers. “Thank you, Ciara,” she said. “You don’t know how much I’ve fretted over this.”
After a moment, Deirdre joined in the embrace, and I let my breath out in a rush. Home. Family. I would never let any harm come to them now that I was queen. “My sisters should be able to marry whomever they please.”
“Such promises,” Máthair said with a sneer. “You know nothing of being queen, of making essential alliances. Part of growing up is in sacrificing one’s happiness for one’s clan.”
I shook my head. “I may not be an experienced ruler yet, but I do know I have power enough to keep Mide and this clan safe. What good is my power if my sisters must be bartered off to ensure we will have allies to come to our aid?”
The sound of many boots hitting the earth drew our attention, and I turned to find Arin and the other Northmen entering the bailey. My undead army followed, stony and gray-faced.
I caught Arin’s eye and waved him over. “There is someone I’d like you to meet,” I told Branna, while Deirdre ducked behind her shyly. Arin joined us, a wary expression on his face. “Arin, these are my sisters, Branna and Deirdre.”
Branna curtsied before him, and a wide grin split across Arin’s face. Máthair looked as though she had eaten something rather sour.
“I’ve formed an unbreakable alliance with Arin’s brother,” I said with a shared smile with Leif, “so you’ll be seeing much more of both of them in the future.”
Before my sisters could even react, Máthair let out a noise of utter frustration. “I’ve heard enough of this madness. Branna, Deirdre, come with me. Your father would be devastated by such a betrayal—to ally herself to a pagan barbarian. Ciara will destroy this family.” She turned on her heel and stalked off, but I called out to her before she could disappear within the keep. Reluctantly, she turned her head.
“You may have your opinions on my choice of alliances,” I said, “but I must know: Will you contest my claim for the throne?”
Her back stiffened. “I don’t really have a choice, do I?” At my look, she sighed. “No,” she said, the word sounding as though it was wrenched from her forcefully. “Girls?”
Deirdre wrapped her slim arms around me once more, and I kissed the top of her fair head. “Go, now. I’ll come find you later.”
“I’m glad you’re home, Ciara,” Deirdre said before hurrying after her mother.
Branna hung back, her eyes still on Arin. “Will I see you at dinner?”
He glanced at Leif once before nodding. “I hope so.”
Perhaps it was in our blood to find the Olafsson men irresistible. Smiling, I gave Branna a little nudge. “Better go before Máthair comes looking for you.”
Branna threw her arms around me again. “I prayed every night you’d come home, Ciara.”
“And I prayed I’d come home to you,” I said with a kiss on her head. “Now, go.”
When she was out of sight, I shifted my attention to my undead army. “There is something I must do,” I said to Leif.
“This is a mistake,” Leif said later, when I had assembled my undead clansmen in the remains of our chapel. They stood emotionlessly, though they stood upon the ashes of their violent deaths.
I shook my head as I pulled the Sword of the Fallen free. “This is what must be done.”
“And if your kingdoms are challenged and you need them again?”
I turned to him with a hint of an ironic smile. “I’m surprised, Leif. I would think you of all people should realize that if I cannot hold these lands with my own power, then I don’t deserve to have them at all.”
He crossed his arms over his chest obstinately. “They are part of your power.”
In answer, I sliced the palm of my hand across the blade of my sword. It thrummed loudly as my blood was absorbed. This time, the words came to me without having to be told.
“So the Phantom Queen’s blood flows in my veins, so do I release you from your oath to me. No longer will you be forced to walk upon the earth. Instead, I leave you free to rest in peace.”
An explosive boom rent the air, and the men before us shattered into a cloud of ash. Sadness and regret fell upon me like a veil, but over it all was a feeling of peace—the peace I had granted my clansmen, and the peace I felt for doing what was right. My atonement for the death of so many had only just begun—
The soft step of a leather shoe on ash alerted me to someone’s presence, and I turned to find the graying form of Father Briain. As his gaze drifted over the remains of the chapel, I realized just how terribly lost he must feel.
“It will be rebuilt,” I said, my voice quiet but strong.
His rheumy eyes met mine, the relief on his face profound. “As queen, you will be welcome in the new chapel.”
It would be many years before I would feel welcome in church—if ever—but I said nothing of this to Father Briain, only smiled and touched his shoulder as I passed by.
But as I walked outside, another pile of ashes halted me as suddenly as though I’d been shot with an arrow.
“Sleipnir,” I whispered, echoes of the first time I found him broken and bloodied on the battlefield reverberating through me. How could I have forgotten he was as bound to my blood sacrifice as the others?
Though as I touched what was left of my courageous warhorse, there was a part of me that knew this was how it was meant to be. For how long could I have kept an undead skeletal horse with a gruesome appetite for flesh? I mourned him for what he once was. Losing him again ripped open old wounds, old losses: my father, Fergus and Conall, my clansmen, even my mother, who was never really mine to lose.
But as Leif wrapped an arm around me in silent comfort, I swore I would forge a new life, one of peace.
30
That night after a strained dinner with Máthair that tensed every muscle in my body, and then a subsequent two hours practicing sword fighting with Leif that finally siphoned my energy, I stumbled into my room with Leif, weary to the bone—until his gaze met mine.
“It becomes difficult not to touch you when you look at me like that,” Leif said.
Another two weeks at sea with him had stolen any notion for propriety I might have had. When the red haze of desire flared, I fanned the flames. “Who says you can’t touch me?”