Defiance (The Priestess Trilogy) (15 page)

Sighing, the priestess leaned in the doorway, running her fingers along her side
.
The wound she had received would serve as a warning, reminding her
that she could have easily lost her life that day. Since her arrival to Tara,
Shiovra
learned of attacks on villages where a priestess resided, a few had even lost their lives. It was a cruel tactic to cripple the strength of the village by removing the power and influence the priestess held sway over.

Shiovra
glanced down, her eyes trailing over the blue woad markings covering her left arm.
She was
marked
, as
Daire
had put it, evermore to be known by both ally and enemy.
Shiovra
did not doubt her own strength and skill, but if she was to survive, she would need trusted warriors at her side.

A gentle breeze drifted into the cottage, brushing past her, whispering
and calling to her
.

Following the wind,
Shiovra
turned to see her cousin standing before her. The breeze danced around
Daire
, lingering as it circled
him, before drifting back out the door.
Shiovra
’s
lips parted as she regarded
Daire
for a moment. The words passed her lips before she realized she was speaking
them
,
“Ha
il to the chosen warrior
of the east, by
the power of air, I greet thee
.”

A smile touched his lips
as her caught her hand up within his own and brought it to his lips. “
Merry meet, my priestess,” he murmured when he lowered her hand. “You shall always have my bow on your side.”

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

A feast was held at the Banqueting House, celebrating midsummer. A piece of white cloth had been draped upon
a makeshift
altar
which was adorned with small wooden statues of Dana, the Great mother, and the Dagda,
the horned father
. The supporting posts to the banqueting hall had been decorated with fresh herbs. Many
of the villagers had gathered for drinking and dancing while a lively melody was played by the bards
’
.

Ainmire, though still grieving over the loss of Deirdre and his child, attended the celebration with a small smile playing across his li
ps. Mahon sat at his side, keeping a careful eye on his sister and any who came near the priestess.

Shiovra
, having been garbed in a pale blue,
open sleeved shift
, sat between
Daire
and Mahon. She glanced at her brother from the corner of her eye a
s he spoke
to Ainmire
, a smile on his lips
.
A smile of her own crossed her lips when Mahon started laughing. She was glad to see her brother in higher spirits.

“
Shiovra
?” questioned
Daire
’s voice.

“Hmm?” Turning to her cousin, she already found him rising to his feet.

Daire
grabbed
Shiovra
’s hand. “C
ome,” he said when her gaze shifted up to meet his
. “Everyone is dancing. Dance with me.”

Before she coul
d utter a protest,
Daire
pull
ed the priestess
to her feet and
into the center of the hall,
drawing
her into a
brisk
dance.

“This is a time of celebration.
Let your mind be free of trouble for this night and smile,
”
Daire
said
, spinning
Shiovra
about.

“
Forgive me
,” replied
Shiovra
, trying not to trip over her own feet
.
She had not danced in a very long time
and found it quite difficult to keep up
.
“My mind has been elsewhere.”

“
Do you still fret
about Mahon?” inquired
Daire
, dropping his voice down.

Shiovra
shook her head.
“Nay
,” she replied
.

Daire
raised a brow in response, but did not press her further.

As they danced, faces of the villagers
whirled
around them.
And though she could not see them all,
Shiovra
knew that one face was lacking: Odhrán. Mahon had admitted that the Milidh man was to serve as her guard, yet his presence at the festival had yet to be seen.
The priestess wasn’t sure what unnerved her more, when he silently watched her, or when he was nowhere to be seen.

Daire
abruptly pulled
Shiovra
cl
oser. “I know what troubles you,” he said.

Shiovra
turned her attention to
him
,
pulled from her thoughts
by the tone of his voice.
“Hmm?”

“
Odhrán,”
he said bitterly
.

“Aye,” she admitted.

“Mahon and I
saw Odhrán go into the shrine after you did, t
hat is wh
y we waited,”
Daire
continued
, voice low in her ear
.
“
Did he do
anything? S
ay anything?”

Shiovra
shook her head. “Nay,” she told him
. “He just stood there. No words
were
spoken,
he
just watched silently. I know not how long he was there, but when I noticed him
, he l
eft before I could find words to speak
.”

“I don’t trust him,” he growled softly under his breath.

Shiovra
sighed irritably. “We have already established
that.”

“
Daire
!”
Mahon’s voice rose above the din of the festivities
.

Pausing,
Daire
glanced over his shoulder to where Mahon waved at him, urging him to return to
the head table.
Exhaling,
Daire
apologized, “If you will excuse me
.
” Releasing
Shiovra
, he offered her a lopsided grin before turning and rejoining Mahon.

Shiovra
watched him walk away, t
he merriment
of the festival dancing all around her
, almost stifling
.
She glanced to the open unguarded doorway
, wanting to be free for a bit
. With one last peek at her kin,
Shiovra
slipped from the Banqueting House.

The midday air was cool, welcoming, and the breeze carried a wonderful hint of freshness which lingered from the early morning rain.

Before
she
realized it,
Shiovra
had
reached a
thinly
wooded area on the outskirts
of the village.
She took a moment to pause,
glancing between the woods and Tara. Birds called out sweetly, flitting from tree to tree and urging her into the trees.

There was an ancient feeling to the woods, strong and beguiling.

Shiovra
took a step forward, b
roken branches and old le
aves crunching
beneath her feet.
Trying to keep her steps as quiet as possible, she
made her way to a small, clear pond. As she approached,
though,
a slight gleam i
n the grass caught her eye. Frowning, the priestess made her way towards it to find
a wel
l worn dagger embedded in the ground
.

Bending, she tugged the dagger free and inspected it. The blade itself was tarnished and black, reminiscent of the blade Árdal had carried.

“Fomorii…” she breathed bitterly.

Shiovra
knew of
a ritual she could use to
scry upon
the owner
of the blade, to see if any of the Misshapen Ones lingered close to Tara. The ritual could be dang
erous
.
If
she was not careful, not only could she
gravely injure herself, but those she
watched
would know
exactly where she was, though the danger of possible enemies lurking close to the village overruled the sense of possible danger.

Wading into the water
till it reached her waist, she closed her eyes and gathered the energies surrounding her
. Taking a deep breath, she
opened her eyes and
slowly brought the sharp blade of the dagg
er towards the palm of her hand
.

Yet, before her flesh could be broken
, s
he was suddenly seized
roughly from behind by
her shoulders. T
he
dagger was
knocked
s
harply from her hand, falling into the water away from her
.

“No!” she
gasped as the same
hands
fiercely pulled her back
to t
he grassy shore of the pond.
Shiovra
fought against the relentless hold
, feeling the
hands release her shoulders as arms
wrap quickly around her waist to hold her tight.

“Release me!” she demanded
, s
truggling to free
her
from the strong grip
.
Shiovra
found herself faltering when she noticed
the serpentine woad marking on her attacker’s wrist, h
er mind instantly
thinking of the Milidh man
.
“Odhrán?” The name passed her lips hardly above a whisper.

He used that moment of lowered guard to
tighten his hold upon her
.
“Such daggers are best left untouched, Lady of the Túath,” the low voice spoke in her ear, light as the wind, but firm in its warning.

Shiovra
couldn’t see his face, but she heard the angry voice entering her ears once more.

“
You a
re being hunted by servants of Ailill
,” he scolded, “r
ather frantically
,
too. Do you want to risk leading them directly to you?!”
Though his hold was firm, it also took great caution of the healing wound she carried
. “This is too risky, High Priestess.”

Shiovra
sighed and ceased her struggling
.

After a moment of calm, the arms circling her loosened and released her.

Turning,
Shiovra
faced the man.

He
stood in the sunlight, watching her with a narrowed gaze. His
brown hair reache
d past his shoulders and had been
tied
back. Face clean-shaven, he bore a fresh, shallow wound across his left cheek
.
A small spiral curled by his left eye, marking him as an ally of the Túath clan. His clothing was dark
and a blade
hung
at his side. The sword was simple with
little adornment
on the hilt and pommel
, but it
was the twin daggers tucked into his belt that added
to his dangerous air. Though the blades of the daggers carried many visible battle scars, the edges were deadly sharp.

“Odhrán…?”
Shiovra
questioned once more, trying to confirm her suspicions
.

He stood in silence, continui
ng to watch her with green-brown eyes.

A
ll around them the woods had become quiet, save for the gentle whisper of
the breeze
through the leaves
.

“Aye, that is my name
,” he replied simply
.

Shiovra
took a step back away from the Milidh man which he countered by stepping forward
. “You have been watching me, have you not?”