The Seventh Trumpet Read Online Free PDF Page B

emaciated; his eyes were so deeply set under bushy brows that, at first glance, they appeared as black hollows. The red lips were thin and cruel, drawn into a permanent sneer. It was Drón of Gabrán.
    Fidelma found herself, not for the first time, musing on the fact that he bore little resemblance to his daughter. And yet … there was something about that mouth, the thin lips, the expression … that marked their relationship; something indefinable. She had heard that Drón had been married twice and there were stories that he kept women in his household. It was rumoured that his daughter, Dúnliath, had actually been raised by his dormun , or concubine, and not by her own birth mother. Fidelma wondered how a man she found so repugnant had been able to attract women to him.
    The second figure was her cousin Ailill. He stood deferentially behind Drón as befitted a foster-son. Ailill’s grandfather, Fingen, had been Fidelma’s father’s brother. Until Ailill had arrived in Drón’s retinue, she had not seen him since he was a child. He had been sent to be fostered at Drón’s own fortress at Gabrán, as was the custom to strengthen bonds of kingship in her culture; a practice from remote times followed among all classes of society. Children were sent away to be reared and educated, and those who undertook the task became foster-parents of the child. Now Ailill had grown into a handsome young man of twenty; very tall, with dark, red hair that bespoke his Eóghanacht inheritance, and light blue eyes. He smiled shyly at her in greeting.
    ‘You seem preoccupied, lady?’ Drón repeated, and Fidelma realised she had been dwelling so deeply on her thoughts that she had not responded.
    ‘Excuse me, Drón. I am, indeed, preoccupied. I have a commission from my brother which is going to take up my time.’
    ‘I am sorry to hear that. I was looking forward to inviting you to join Ailill and myself for a hunt today. I thought we could organise a party to see if we could find red deer to compensate for his wasted day yesterday.’
    ‘Wasted day?’ queried Fidelma absently.
    Ailill said sheepishly, ‘I went out hunting on my own yesterday and tracked a magnificent deer all afternoon and evening but, regretfully, had to return to Cashel empty-handed.’
    Drón smirked at the discomfiture of his foster-son. ‘He returned well after last night’s feasting and so had to make do with cold meat and cheese. That is why we have taken pity on him today and will organise a hunt as recompense for his failure. Are you sure you cannot join us?’
    Fidelma shook her head. ‘I am afraid it is not possible.’
    ‘A pity. I was hoping to get better acquainted with those who will be my daughter’s new family.’ Fidelma felt the irritation rise in her as the noble continued, ‘Although your cousin, Ailill, here, is as much a son to me as foster-son, so the rights and privileges of your family are not entirely unknown to me and my daughter. After all, Ailill’s own father was once King of Cashel.’
    Behind Drón’s shoulder, Ailill gave her a grimace, expressing his disapproval at the impropriety of the remark.
    Fidelma needed no reminder that Ailill’s father, Mánach, had succeeded to the kingship and ruled for over twenty years following her father’s death. Mánach had died eight years before, after which another cousin had succeeded, only to succumb to the Yellow Plague. Thus, her brother Colgú became King. Succession was often a tangled skein which was not merely passed through the bloodline but, by the consent of the family, through the electoral processes of the derbhfine , a council usually consisting of three generations from the last King, who then appointed the head of the household according to his ability to fulfil the demands of office.
    ‘There will be plenty of opportunity for us all to get to know one another in good time,’ she replied distantly.
    ‘Let us hope so,’ Drón said. ‘When my daughter is installed