Seven Brothers Blessed [ Lore of Penrua: Book IV ]

[ 46 ]

They gathered in the courtyard to start the wedding procession. Padréc was with the horses; there were two of them, a dapple gray and a white festooned with silks and flowers. Han Taín helped Lady Naefe up onto her mount, and she sat with her eyes downcast, the very picture of bridal modesty. Then, he swung up into his own saddle, grinning ear to ear.

"And we're off," he announced, lifting the reins.

Around the two horses, all of his sons were assembled, each of them dressed in their best. The only other member of the wedding party was Aerte, who had been called upon to be Naefe's attendant. She wore a gown of rose and white, and flowers crowned her hair.

"I don't see why we shouldn't have horses," Diarmán muttered. Han Taín led their procession, Lady Naefe riding behind him, and the brothers brought up the rear, walking in order of age, with Aerte following at Samoch's heels.

"Trudging along on tired feet will emphasize our father's high station," Leán replied in an undertone, more sarcastic than was his wont. They moved out of the castle courtyard onto the soft earthen path that would take them through the meadow, through the field, toward Eldran's Wood.

"Well, it'll be doubly emphasized when his sons trod one-by-one in horse shit."

From a few paces back, he could hear Padréc's soft laughter.

Diarmán focused on his steps. To avoid manure was certainly a priority, but even more important was to be sure-footed. If he twisted his ankle, he risked damaging the flute he had secreted away in his right boot. He did not know if he would need to use it, but he knew now what it felt like to be without an instrument, a way to exercise the power that was his birthright, and he did not wish to know that feeling again.

They made no haste, although it felt more than a little foolish to process through the tall grass with no one there to watch them. Han Taín rode ahead with his chin lifted proudly, as if he could feel the eyes of all the world upon him. In that moment, Diarmán felt a peculiar sense of shame. A sense, almost, of pity for his father.

He was a king in someone else's world, proud to the marrow without reason, preening before a mirror.

By the time they reached the edge of the burnt forest, the sun had reached its zenith, and the day, while fine, had begun to grow warm. Diarmán wiped his brow with the back of his hand.

Should this all go awry today and Father truly decides to see me wed, Diarmán thought, I shall insist upon a wedding in the castle courtyard, flowers and streams be damned. It's cool there, in the shade, and we'll be but a few minutes' walk to the feast.

They crossed into the woods, passing by the first charred trees on their way. Ahead, Han Taín's gaze caught and lingered on each tree they passed. He raised his voice, which echoed eerily around them.

"This once was a beautiful woodland."

"I have heard tell of it, Father," called Diarmán. "Perhaps someday, it will be beautiful again."

Diarmán had not walked in Eldran's Wood since he had been a child. It had simply been too eerie, and it had reminded him uncomfortably of times past and of what he'd had to do to win his family's freedom. Nothing there looked familiar, and he did not quite know what they were searching for...until he did.

Ahead, to the right of the path, was a tree unlike any of the others. It was broad, and it was tall, and alone of all the trees in the forest, it had begun to leaf again. The sight of it there, young leaves coloring its dark branches, was enough to send a chill of trepidation down Diarmán's spine.

Han Taín turned his horse. Its hoofbeats plodded over the earth as it chose a way toward the blooming tree, followed by Lady Naefe's mount. To steer the creature seemed to require an effort. Han Taín tugged on the reins more than once as the horse tried to veer away.