“Tomorrow you must rise before dawn to wash and dress, so you should rest early, my lady,” Aunt Bríd said softly, coming over to close the window.
Aisling drew her gaze back and nodded.
She was just about to take off her shoes and climb into bed when Róisín came in suddenly.
“My lady, the master asks for you.”
“At this hour…” Aunt Bríd hesitated.
Father and daughter had already talked everything through earlier, and it was late at night besides.
Aisling thought for a moment, then nodded and said to Aunt Bríd, “Help me change into something warmer.
I’ll go over.”
The night air was cold.
She tied up her hair loosely, put on a thick woolen cloak, and had Róisín carry a lantern to light the way as she set off for Willowmere under the bright moon.
Compared with the festive decorations in the other courtyards, Willowmere looked especially desolate: only a single central pavilion, no surrounding galleries or yards, very few servants, and sparse planting.
Aisling pushed open the main door.
It was pitch dark inside, no lamps lit, the windows shut fast so that not even moonlight seeped in.
She took the lantern from Róisín’s hand and let her and Aunt Bríd wait outside.
She walked slowly through the front hall and around the folding screen, embroidered with birds and flowers on a black ground lined with red, and saw King Ruairí sitting there, most of his form hidden in the darkness behind him.
On the table before him burned a single faint oil lamp, flickering now and then in the slight stir of the air.
Its dim yellow light made his face even harder to read.
He still seemed lost in thought and had not noticed that someone had come.
“Father?” Aisling called softly.
King Ruairí seemed to start out of his thoughts and looked up.
“Aislín, you’ve come.”
Aisling set the lantern on the floor to one side, gathered her cloak, and slowly knelt to sit opposite him.
“Father, you must have something very important to tell me, to call me here so late at night.”
Hearing this, King Ruairí looked at her with a complicated expression.
The feeling was hard to put into words.
In the dim light his eyes flickered, and Aisling felt as if those flickering glimmers brought to life the fragments of his past forty years: years of endurance and helplessness, of reason and life devoured by hatred, and, beneath it all, his regret and guilt.
“Aislín, tomorrow you will leave Dunmore and leave Kilmore,” King Ruairí said softly.
His eyes were somewhat unfocused.
Though he was looking at her, he did not seem to see her, as if he were speaking to himself.
“Yes,” Aisling answered quietly.
“After I go, I don’t know when I’ll be able to return to the south.
Father, take care of yourself and wait for me to come home.”
“Home?” King Ruairí repeated without thinking, then suddenly widened his eyes.
“Yes, home.
Aislín, you must come home safely.”
At last King Ruairí shook off his melancholy.
His expression stayed complicated and somewhat torn, but he did not struggle long before Aisling saw him take something from inside his coat.
It was a signet.
King Ruairí stroked it, his fingers moving gently, even carefully, as if he had touched this signet many times before.
Every edge had worn smooth, the surface so polished it had no trace of grain, and only the lettering on the base remained clear.
“This signet belonged to your grandfather,” King Ruairí said.
Crown Prince Tadhg?
Aisling was surprised.
By rights, all of Crown Prince Tadhg’s seals should have been buried with him or locked away by King Cathal, but King Ruairí’s next words cleared up her confusion. Visit NovelPing for the full chapter.
“This is a private signet.”
He laid it in his palm and held it out for her to see.
Aisling moved the oil lamp on the table closer and by its light finally saw clearly what was engraved on the base:
“Cnoc Glas?” she read the two words softly.
“Yes.
It’s the name your grandfather chose for himself back then.”
“Your grandfather was very different from King Diarmuid.
King Diarmuid was ambitious and spent half his life on campaign, and even after taking the throne he was forever campaigning to win back the whole land.
Your grandfather was a fine warrior, but he excelled more at governing.
In those days Kilmore was still unsettled, and he cared nothing for a man’s birth…..”
“If someone had talent, he welcomed him.
Scholars from all over the land gathered around your grandfather, and he never played the lord with them but judged them by their gifts.
They often held gatherings to talk over the affairs of the realm.
At one such gathering in Glasmere, your grandfather, warmed by drink, gave himself this name and had this private signet cut.”
Aisling could almost imagine how powerful Crown Prince Tadhg’s appeal must have been then, with scholars of humble birth all wanting to follow him.
In those days they had been full of ambition and vigor, eagerly awaiting the dawn of a new golden age.
He had been the star in every scholar’s heart, but sadly that star fell too suddenly.
The scholars had only just glimpsed a sliver of light from the royal court when it was shut away in the blink of an eye, leaving them in darkness ever since.
Father’s mention of Crown Prince Tadhg tonight must carry a deeper meaning.
Aisling waited quietly for what he would say next, and then she heard him say, “This signet has been with me for twenty eight long years.”
“Now I want to give it to you!”
Aisling was startled, and looked at him with wide eyes.
“Father…”
“Your grandfather’s signet has been buried with me for twenty eight years, twenty eight years!” He stressed the words heavily, as if they carried the weight of twenty eight years of suppression.
“Every day I hid it away carefully, not daring to show it to anyone, let alone let the late king or the present one learn of it.
In my hands the signet was no better than a stone.”
The signet’s existence was no secret.
It held no real power, but it symbolized the hopes of scholars from humble families.
King Diarmuid himself had overseen the funeral arrangements for Crown Prince Tadhg, and even the late king could not interfere, which was why it had been preserved.
Later, when the late king took the throne, whether from suspicion or some unspoken purpose, he secretly ordered a fresh inquiry into Crown Prince Tadhg’s funeral and found that one of the prince’s private signets was missing.
Crown Prince Tadhg was gone, and a private signet alone could not make trouble.
It should not have been a worry.
But the late king grew suspicious of King Ruairí, all the more because he had only just married into the house of the Lord of Ardmore, and that made the king even more uneasy.
Sensing the king’s unease, King Ruairí kept the signet hidden.
But now he had taken it out.
“I want to give it to you.
Perhaps one day, in your hands, it can fulfill its true worth.”
“Aislín, you know what I mean.”
As King Ruairí said this, he was filled with shame.
He could not shoulder this burden himself, and now he was trying to pass it to his delicate daughter.
But he had to, because she was to marry Ronan, a man who could shape the fate of all Kilmore.
This man, so often lost in drink, now seemed weighed down by a mountain.
Aisling’s gaze moved slowly from his face down to the signet in his palm.
The signet, no bigger than a thumb, was carved from plain green Connemara marble, but the lettering on the base was smooth and elegant, showing the engraver’s skill. Read this novel at novelping(.)com for the best experience.
Years of careful handling had given the green stone a soft, delicate sheen and lent the signet an ancient look.
Aisling reached out her slender, fair hand and gently took it.
It felt light, yet it carried immense weight!
Light as a small pebble, yet heavy as all of Kilmore.
It was the legacy of King Diarmuid and Crown Prince Tadhg.
Aisling gazed at the signet, took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and answered softly:
“All right!”
“Father, if you ever want a drink in future, send someone to Gleann Cellars to buy some wine.
And as the wine flows, let it be Aislín’s voice speaking to you.”
Before saying her final goodbye, Aisling spoke to him.
King Ruairí’s eyes, heavy with drowsiness, flickered with endless reluctance, but in the end he only looked at her and answered in a trembling voice, “All right.”
The next day, as the sky began to lighten with a faint blue violet hue, the outline of the moon still hanging in it and the room still dim, Aisling was pulled out of bed by Aunt Bríd.
After returning last night she had sat alone for a while and gone to bed late, and had slept only two hours in all.
She was so worn out that her eyelids kept drooping and she nearly fell asleep while bathing and washing.
Only when the palace maids came to dress her did Aisling finally wake fully.
Kilmore, which held fire as its element, honored the color red.
The wedding gown prepared for the princess was chiefly red, set off with gold and black embroidery.
With the help of Aunt Bríd and the palace maids, Aisling put on a deep crimson underrobe, a three layered ceremonial gown, and an outer robe of twelve panels that trailed along the floor.
Her skirt fell in graceful folds, a broad sash was tied at her waist, and a pendant of green stone hung from it.
On her feet she wore embroidered slippers with firebird motifs at the toes, worked in eight colors and studded with pearls, which peeked out from beneath her skirt as she moved and shone brilliantly.
Though she was marrying as a princess of Kilmore, her groom was the King of the Northern Marches, and in a sense her standing was that of a queen of Kilmore.
The kingdom dared not slight Ronan in matters of ceremony, so her wedding attire, her headdress, and the scale of the rites were all prepared to the standard of a queen.
Aisling sat before the mirror while Aunt Bríd styled her hair.
The fashion of the age favored extravagance, especially for great occasions.
So the palace maids added a false braid and piled her hair high on her head in an elaborate coil.
At the center they fixed a golden firebird pin with twelve feathers and pearls, flanked by gold ornaments, and on either side they set twelve tasseled pins, a number reserved for queens alone.
Such lavish ornament would have overwhelmed an ordinary girl, but Aisling’s delicate bones and harmonious features, together with her calm, dark eyes, made all the gold and gems seem mere embellishment.
The splendor of her attire only heightened her radiant beauty.
Yet beneath that rose like splendor there was an innate, otherworldly coolness about her, as if she were a spirit of the Otherworld who had come down to the mortal realm for only a brief stay.
The palace maids who attended her had heard of the Peace Princess’s beauty, but only on seeing her in person did they realize that such peerless loveliness truly existed.
They were stunned for a moment, and at the same time could not help feeling sorry for her.
A lady so noble, bright as the moon, was to marry a barbarian from beyond the frontier.
Who knew what her future held…
Alas!
Since ancient times, peace brides have rarely met a good end.
It was even said that among the barbarians a son inherited his father’s wives.
Wouldn’t that make it worse still…
Aisling noticed the maids’ awestruck yet pitying looks but paid them no mind.
She rose and walked to the door and lifted her head to gaze at the first rays of the morning sun.
The cold morning breeze stirred her robes but could not sway her resolve.
Her deep black eyes were more resolute than ever before.
She knew she was setting out on a road bound to be full of thorns, and she was ready to bear its wounds!