Seven Brothers Blessed [ Lore of Penrua: Book IV ]

[ 47 ]

"Padréc," said Leán, "bring me an axe. And a shovel."

Padréc did not hesitate, not even long enough to ask questions. He turned and ran, and after several paces, he leapt into the air, his arms already spread. In seconds, he was a hawk, beating his wings as he lifted into the air, his clothes falling to the grass.

Meanwhile, Lady Moigré in the guise of the bride had knelt before Samoch. The boy's head hung low; he was struggling against tears.

"You did what's right," Moigré murmured. "Not what was easy. You became a man today, my darling."

Diarmán watched as his mother folded his youngest brother into her arms.

"Do not speak to me of hard decisions between what is right and what is easy!"

Gaerte joined Moigré in comforting Samoch, and Ruaraín was only a step behind him. With a sigh, Diarmán turned to the others. Aerte had torn off her crown of flowers; it lay now on the grass behind her. Leán and Declaen were making a circuit of the tree, frowning at it.

"Do you think it's necessary to bring the whole thing down?" Diarmán asked, striding toward them.

"I know I have no interest in taking chances." Leán lowered his head, hooking his tunic behind his neck and peeling it off. He dropped it into the grass and stretched his arms, making far too much of a show of his broad shoulders and muscled chest.

"Chances at what, straining the seams of your shirt?" Diarmán scoffed, glancing at Aerte. "Avert your eyes, fair maiden."

But Aerte had not averted her eyes. She was, in fact, staring, and there was something soft in her expression.

"Aerte."

She blinked and looked at him, the dream in her features giving way to a scowl. "What."

Just what House Eldran needed: another pair of lovers. Perhaps this one would find happiness. The unlucky streak had to stop at some point.

"Nothing," Diarmán replied "Leán, do you need our help?"

"Had you wanted to help, you might have asked Padréc to bring another axe."

"I shall take that as a no. I'm going to take Mother and Little...Samoch back to the castle. I think a cup of mead will do him well. And don't worry—I will not touch a drop. The very thought turns my stomach."

Aerte remained behind with Leán and Declaen as Diarmán piled his family onto the two horses. He and Ruaraín took one, and Moigré took the other with Little Samoch before her on the saddle. He looked a bit too old for such an arrangement, no longer a child in his mother's arms but a young man awkwardly stuck before her.

On the way back to the castle, the quiet band of riders passed Padréc, thundering toward the forest on another horse without a stitch of clothing on. He had a shovel and an axe tucked under one arm.

Had he been wholly himself, Diarmán would have flung a clever barb or two after his naked brother—but he did not feel himself at all. Perhaps he was too tired, or perhaps this whole experience had wrung dry his sense of humor.

Back at the castle, Diarmán settled his mother and brothers in the front parlor. It was not their usual gathering place, but the thought of the dining room, tables laden with a wedding feast, turned Diarmán's stomach.

"Start a fire, would you, Ru?" he asked. "I'm just going to go get us something to drink."

"Tea," said Gaerte. "If you don't mind."

Diarmán nodded, heading off to the kitchens on his errand. Not long after, he and Brente returned with a tray of tea, a jug of mead, and cups, along with some of the biscuits that had been made for the wedding. After they had set everything down, Diarmán took Brente aside.