The Sword and the Song Read Online Free PDF Page A

one of her secrets was not as secret as she thought. “No, not yet.”
    “See that you do.” His smile softened, the lines of his face gentling. “And see that you don’t exhaust yourself.”
    “Aye. Tomorrow?”
    “Tomorrow. Heed my advice, my lady. Rest.”
    Aine nodded and slipped from the healer’s cottage, a flutter of nervousness in her middle. Tonight she would broach several long-overdue topics with Conor. And then she would find Eoghan.
    Engrossed in her own thoughts, she forgot to shore up the barriers in her mind. The thoughts and emotions of the villagers slammed into her like a tidal wave, driving her to one knee. She doubled over and gasped for breath.
    “Lady Aine, are you well?” A feminine voice broke through the background noise in her head. She stared at the speaker, searching her memory for the woman’s name while she forced the intruding thoughts outside the barrier. Sorcha. One of the kingdom’s refugees, kind-natured if a bit of a busybody.
    “I’m fine, Sorcha, thank you. Just became a little light-headed.”
    The woman helped her to her feet. “Perhaps I should walk with you a bit to make sure you’re feeling well.”
    “You’re very kind.” Aine started back toward Carraigmóragain, and Sorcha stayed by her side. She didn’t need to delve deep into her mind to know she had motives other than simple kindness.
    Still, it took her several minutes to broach the subject. “The rumor is that a High King has been named in secret.”
    Aine’s heart lurched. “Who said that?”
    “So it’s true? The High King really has returned?”
    How could she possibly answer that question? She hated lying outright, but anything other than a categorical denial would send rumors flying. The last thing Ard Dhaimhin’s leadership wanted was to force Eoghan’s hand.
    In the end, she dodged the question. “Why would you think I know anything about the High King?”
    Sorcha leveled a reproving glance. “My lady, I’ve been married for almost as long as you’ve been alive. The woman nearest the man in charge always has the most complete perspective on what is actually happening.”
    Aine chuckled. It wasn’t far from the truth. Aine might not be queen, but she was the nearest Seare had. Idly, she wondered if Queen Shanna had been plied with questions and flattered by Daimhin’s courtiers in the hope of gaining inside information.
    And then it struck her what they had been overlooking all this time. “Excuse me, Mistress Sorcha. I just remembered an urgent task at Carraigmór.” Aine hurried away, barely registering Sorcha’s baffled and disappointed expression. How had she never considered this possibility?
    All this time, they’d focused on King Daimhin’s writings when they should have been looking at the volumes penned by the woman responsible for the Fíréin brotherhood in the first place: Daimhin’s warrior-queen, Shanna.
    Aine searched the Ceannaire’s office first, which turned up one of Shanna’s journals that Conor had brought up fromthe Hall of Prophecies. Her husband, on the other hand, was nowhere to be found   —not in his study, their chamber, or Carraigmór’s great hall. Finally, she went back down to the cookhouse, where she stood in line for her bowl of venison soup and a small chunk of bread.
    “Join me?”
    Aine turned to find herself the object of Riordan’s sympathetic stare. She hesitated, but he gestured to a cluster of boulders away from the crush of villagers. “A few minutes of quiet conversation before duty calls again?”
    She relented and took her seat on top of the flattest one, balancing her bowl on her lap. She liked Conor’s father, but the structure of Ard Dhaimhin was such that they rarely saw each other.
    “You’ve been working yourself hard,” he said quietly.
    “Did Conor ask you to speak with me?”
    Riordan chuckled. “No. But I’m not surprised he’s concerned.”
    “Well, when Conor stops working himself to exhaustion, then he can