Seven Brothers Blessed [ Lore of Penrua: Book IV ]

[ 39 ]

The most straightforward way to deal with Han Taín would be to transform him into something harmless. Diarmán could change him into an animal, as he'd changed Princess Uarria of Penrua into a shadowcat to keep her safe; he could change him into a bit of jewelry, as he had done to keep the Narrian princesses secret.

But the craft of it was the difficulty. This was what weighed on his mind as he walked through the courtyard, wandering without any true destination and letting the cool night air clear his head.

When his wife and children had escaped him, they had done so while he was away from his home. Even so, there had been a terrifying moment when they had encountered him in the woods. Seeing Moigré in the guise of an old, haggard woman, Han Taín had not recognized her. He had taken her for some kind of witch with her ragtag band of animals, and he had sent her away in a fury.

He would not be thus fooled again. Even had they the perfect plan to befuddle him, he had undertaken no errands outside of the castle, and it would raise suspicions for Diarmán to congregate anywhere with his brothers. Some of them, like Padréc, had made no secret of their distaste for Han Taín's plans; others had made no declarations of their loyalties.

Besides, this was their home. They had nowhere to flee to from here. Rather than run from Han Taín, they needed to send him away from them.

It seemed an insurmountable challenge. Diarmán mulled over the options available to him. Perhaps he could hope for nothing more than saving a few more of the nobles his father had trapped. He might be able to transform some of the pheasants and sneak them out, along with a couple of the women who had already been changed. He could—

Diarmán stopped, cold dread flooding him.

His flute.

He could do nothing without his flute, and it was missing. The day he and Uachi had quarreled about the wedding, it had not been in his cabinet. He'd intended to ask his brothers whether one of them had played some trick, but only Little Emón had been at supper, and it had not seemed worth it to raise the matter with Han Taín there.

Diarmán closed his eyes, drawing a slow breath and letting it out with a sigh.

No; he had not dared to raise the matter with Han Taín there. That was the truth of it. Because he knew what had happened to his flute.

It had been his instrument when he'd stolen his family away, and Han Taín was no fool. He'd said he had forgiven Diarmán, but forgiveness and trust were entirely different things.

"I've been such a bloody fool," he murmured, rubbing his hands over his face and thumbing his tired eyes. "I've been such a stupid fool."

Dropping his hands, Diarmán began to walk again. He had by now passed out of the castle courtyard and onto the soft dirt path. Ahead of him, it branched in two directions, one that led across the meadow toward the forest and the other that looped around the castle curtain wall to the left. With no desire to lose himself, Diarmán chose the way that would keep him closer to the building.

So he did not have his flute. That was alright. There were other instruments in the castle; he did not know them as well as his own, but he knew there was a lyre somewhere, and when they were small, Ruaraín had had a round clay whistle shaped like a fish, a traditional Narrian instrument he'd kept as a toy.

Diarmán could coax music out of a stone. He would find a way to—

"I don't like it."

He stopped, stepping deeper into the shadows of the castle wall. He was near the aviary tower, where the wall jutted out, and the speaker—a woman, whose tone suggested she was scowling—must have been just ahead on the other side. It could have been none other than Aerte.