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the feelings of a mother bereft of her child.
    For Morwyn had vowed vengeance on her son’s slayer, as was her right under the ancient Laws of Dana. Thus, she too had come to Tir-Nan-Og seeking Ailill, but for quite a different reason. A life for a life , the Laws proclaimed, and so she would have had it be: Ailill’s life for that of her son. She had succeeded too well, though, for not only had she slain Ailill, but in so doing had likewise caused the death of Fionna, thereby upsetting the balance of the Law. Affairs had become even more complicated when her son had turned up alive, further skewing the balance. And so it stood: two dead unlawfully, one alive who by Finvarra’s t hi nking should not be, and another alive who had caused it all by a too-hot desire for vengeance.
    “It seems a well-reasoned case,” Nuada said, “if you look at it from Finvarra’s side—except of course that he blames Morwyn for the death of his sister when it was in fact her own doing. Morwyn merely provided the instrument.”
    The Morrigu frowned thoughtfully. “Save for that, though, it is as Nuada says. Why then does he threaten war?”
    Lugh slapped his hand on the table. “Because he says it was through my connivance that all this happened! He claims I allowed Morwyn to steal the Horn of Annwyn, which then brought about his sister’s death. But let me read you his words.” He picked up the scroll and began: “‘ It was by a certain dreadful thing you had in your keeping that my sister found her doom—a thing Morwyn stole yet could not have stolen without your consent. That is ever your way, brother prince of Tir-Nan-Og, to plot and scheme, but nowise leave any mark of your passing. Mortals it was this time, aiding my kindred’s killer, one a far-son of our own shadow-land!’”
    “And so he threatens war if you will not surrender the Lady Morwyn to him for judgment?” Oisin asked.
    “Those are his words,” Lugh replied, passing the enfield another morsel. “Finvarra would like for me to heed them as easily as this beast heeds my hand. I imagine you know my answer.”
    Nuada smiled grimly. “You have no intention of acceding to his demands—nor could you and still have right to your crown. ‘A death for a death,’ Finvarra tells us. But what of the equally ancient law of hospitality? Morwyn has done us no harm, at least not directly, though her actions certainly have potential to cause trouble, and not only with Erenn. Arawn too is displeased because of how you have used the Horn.”
    “He is displeased ,” the Morrigu corrected sharply, “because the Powersmiths have at last confirmed what they have suspected for centuries: that he does not have it, though it was their gift to him; and may I add it was the poorest kept secret in Faerie, thanks to Ailill. Still, Arawn has lost face—which I have no doubt he would like to regain. I am surprised we do not find him already at our borders with a force of Powersmiths driving him on.”
    “But Morwyn is herself part Powersmith,” Oisin noted. “Her mother was of that land.”
    “Yes,” Lugh said. “And her father is brother to Arawn’s queen, and together that complicates the problem, because I truly have no sovereignty over her, beyond hospitality which I offered and sanctuary which she has claimed by right of trade: sanctuary for a service.”
    “And a mighty service that was indeed,” Nuada said, “for had not Ailill’s minions been fomenting dissension in this land for ages, with their talk of war with mankind, and their constant stirring up of trouble here? And did not Morwyn herself expose yet another threat in Fionna? Should you then surrender one of Arawn’s people—worse than that, one who is half a Powersmith—to a foreign monarch? I think not. It is you who are ruler, here, not Finvarra.”
    Oisin took a sip of wine. “Aye, Lord. If anyone has a right to demand you give up Morwyn it is the Powersmiths—or Arawn of Annwyn, she being also his