They came soon enough. Séanat had just sought her blankets in the tent she shared with Ríona, Niamh and Brónach when the three warriors burst in.

«It’s true, then?» Ríona demanded. «He’s Fomóir?»

Casting off the blankets, Séanat sat up and pushed her hair out of her eyes. «He is,» she said wearily.

«Here!» Brónach exclaimed. «In the very camp of the High King!»

Séanat got to her feet. She could tell them he was almost certainly half Tuatha Dé, but she was too angry.

«You speak of the Ard Rí,» she said. «I have seen him. He has granted me the life of this warrior, whatever he may be.»

Ríona glared, her arms tight across her chest. «You’ve gone mad, sister! Send him away! He will bring only sorrow!»

Brónach muttered agreement. Niamh moved her hands as if to soothe the anger that bubbled like a cauldron near overflowing.

«Séanat is no fool,» she said softly. «There must be good reason.»

«Is there?» Ríona asked. Her eyes narrowed. «You have a smell about you, sister. The smell of a lover.»

Niamh gasped. Brónach sneered.

«His lover, are you?» she said. «Can you stoop so low, Séanat? A Fomóir. .»

«Thus did Brighid take Bres the Beautiful, and Cian take Ethlinn,» Niamh said, «to bring peace»—

«Which never came!» Ríona said. «And there is no need for conciliation when the Fomóiri have been driven from Inis Fáil!»

«There is even more need,» Niamh said, «and our king has given his blessing.» She approached Séanat with a gentleness that Séanat could hardly bear. «You have your reasons, Séanat, even if only your heart knows them. I will stand beside you.»

A look of pain crossed Ríona’s face. Brónach continued to sneer. Séanat pushed past them, walked out of the tent and went straight to the fire.

Aodhan was sitting almost where she had left him, knees drawn up and hands dangling between them. He was so intent on the fire that he didn’t hear Séanat until she was almost on top of him.

«Get up,» she commanded.

He rose slowly, watching her face warily. Séanat heard the others come up behind her. She seized Aodhan by the shoulders and kissed him as hard as she could, feeling the shock of his surprise and then the eager response. She pushed him away and spun to face the others.

«Does that satisfy you, Ríona?» she asked. She stared at Brónach. «Now you truly have reason to despise me.»

Pale with anger, Brónach stalked away. Ríona lingered, glanced at Niamh, and followed with a heavy tread.

Aodhan stood unmoving, his body tense with anger. Niamh would not meet Séanat’s eyes.

«I will stand with you,» she said. «But it would be wise not to provoke»—

«I’ll provoke whom I choose,» Séanat snapped.

With a gentle shake of her head, Niamh went into the tent.

«Did you find that amusing?» Aodhan said behind her.

«I found it necessary.»

«To prove myself your property?»

«You are not my»— She broke off as Aodhan’s hands settled on her shoulders, stroked down, came to rest on her hips. She could feel the heat of him through her thin sleeping shift.

«Prove it,» he murmured. «Where can we go to be alone?»

Her belly ached with desire, but she knew better than to give in. «Go to sleep,» she said.

* * *

Aodhan didn’t sleep. He was angry and lustful and bewildered all at once, thinking of Séanat in the tent, of her breasts and thighs and firm lips and green eyes. He thought more than once about creeping into the tent, finding her sleeping place and lying down beside her. He could begin his lovemaking before she woke, and then there would be no protests. He would make her beg for his caresses.

But she wasn’t alone in the tent, and he had more important things to think on. He had come to Lugh’s camp for a reason, and his purpose had yet to be fulfilled.

You will betray her, he thought. He would destroy Séanat as surely as if he’d slashed her throat with the sharpest bronze, for she would lose her people and possibly her life. Exile was the best she could hope for.

That would be nothing to the loss of her honour.

Aodhan hardened his mind. He had set his course when he had survived the blade in his heart. No mercy, no pity. Just as they had shown no mercy to his people.

He waited until the most of the fires around the camp had burned down to coals and the Tuatha Dé had fallen into drunken, exhausted slumber. If there were sentries, he could see none. These fine folk were arrogant in victory, even with a Fomóir in their midst.

Still, he moved with great care, working his way little by little across the camp. Lugh’s tent rose up in the flare of guttering torches, but the warrior guards were slumped over their spears, snoring as loudly as the rest.

Silently, he entered the tent. Lugh of the Long Arm lay on his pallet, a cloak of woven gold and wolf’s fur draped over his body. Goibhniu rested on a similar pallet near the tent’s entrance. He mumbled and rolled over as Aodhan passed, oblivious to the danger.

Because Lugh had taken Séanat at her word.

Aodhan hesitated. Séanat’s kiss burned on his lips. He shook off the memory and crossed to the spears that rested on the wall.

Goibhniu’s spears: magical weapons forged by Inis Fáil’s greatest smith, one of which Lugh had used to slay Balor. One of which had slain Ruadán, son of Bres and Brighid, when he had come to the camp and tried to kill Goibhniu to save his father’s people from destruction.

Tears came to Aodhan’s eyes. Ruadán had had no choice. Nor did he. Aodhan grasped one of the spears, weighed its perfect balance in his hand. One blow would be enough. If he killed Goibhniu, his foster-brother would be avenged. But to slay Lugh, the greatest of the Tuatha Dé, the golden king.

He raised the spear over Lugh, took aim. And stopped. Sweat slicked his palm.

«I will follow you, lady, and do your will.» Those had been his words to Séanat before they had lain together, binding body to body and soul to soul.

The spear sank in his hand as if it were forged of the heaviest stone. He backed away from Lugh, from Goibhniu, and out of the tent.

The point of a sword pricked his back.

«Traitor,» Séanat snarled under her breath. «Faithless cur!»

Aodhan raised his hands. Once he had been prepared to let her take his life because he had failed to die with his people. He had failed them again.

He had failed her.

He dropped the spear. Séanat kicked it away. The blade rose to lie against his neck. In a moment his head would fly from his body, and at last the agony would end.

«Did you.» Séanat choked and caught her breath. «Did you kill them?»

All he need say was «aye». The lie would not come to his lips. «No,» he said.

«Why?» she asked. The blade nicked his skin, and he felt the blood flow «Why?»

He turned, careless of the pain. «Because of you, a chroi.»

She stepped back, her face turned away, and moaned. The sleeping guards sprang up, dazed and wild. Instantly they were on Aodhan.

«Stop!» Séanat cried. «He did nothing!»

Lugh emerged from the tent. «What goes on?» he demanded.

Goibhniu came out behind him. His eyes found Aodhan’s. «You!» He brought up the spear he clenched in one fist. «Filth of a Fomóir!»

Like a stoat upon a mouse, Séanat leaped at Aodhan and dragged him away, her arm around his chest.

«You will not touch him!» she growled. «I saw him come out of the tent with a spear in his hand. Had he wanted you dead, you would not be breathing now!» She turned to Lugh. «My lord, has he done you harm?»

The High King’s expression was grim. «None. But you were honour-bound to keep him, and you have failed.»

«She hasn’t failed,» Aodhan said. «It was because of her that I took no vengeance for the death of my kin and my foster-brother.»

Others had come to hear Aodhan’s words, and they murmured in consternation and anger. «What brother?» Ríona said, her sisters around her.

Aodhan met Goibhniu’s furious stare. «Ruadán,» he said, «son of Bres.»

The gathering crowd grew quiet. Séanat was as rigid as one of the great standing stones that rose on the banks of the River Bóinne.

«And this is what you brought to us!» Brónach said. «Another who spits on the hospitality of the Tuatha Dé! I say they both must die!»

A swell of argument rose up, shouts of agreement and mutterings of dismay.

Lugh raised his hand. «Aodhan has come armed and unasked into a place of peace. But I have suffered no injury, nor has my uncle.» At the sounds of protest he raised his hand again, and the light from his face silenced every voice with its glory. «In this,» he said, «I cannot judge, for all Tuatha Dé must be affected. Let every warrior and chieftain meet in council to decide the fate of this man and this woman.»

Séanat released Aodhan and bowed her head. «I surrender to the will of the People. I ask only one boon»—

A great, black host of crows appeared in the sky, deafening the camp with their guttural cries. Around and around they flew, descending like a whirlwind, spinning closer and closer to each other until they formed a single black shape that came to earth as lightly as foam on the shore.

«There will be no boon,» a harsh voice said. Long-nailed hands pushed the dark hood back from hair equally dark, and a woman’s face appeared, beautiful and cold and deadly.

«There will be no mercy for one who has betrayed her oath,» the Morrígan said. The crowd broke before her long stride, and the Daughters dropped to their knees. It was to Séanat she went, her cloak billowing and hissing around her.

Aodhan moved to stand between her and Séanat. «I know you, Raven of Battle,» he said. «If it is blood you want, take mine.»

The Morrígan laughed. «I will have yours, Fomóir. Never doubt it. But this woman has betrayed her oaths to me. No mercy on the field of battle. Death before surrender.» She swept up to Lugh. «Ard Rí, you have no authority over those sworn to me. You would not have won the battle without me, and now I demand payment. Give her up and let her face the price of her betrayal.»

Lugh’s gaze moved slowly to Séanat. «She has the right of it,» he said heavily. «When you gave your oath, you put your fate into the hands of your lady. I can do nothing.»

Aodhan started towards Lugh. Crossed spears snapped up in his path. He turned back to face the Morrígan and fell to his knees. «Her weakness is my doing,» he said. «Let her be exiled, Slayer of Kings, but spare her.»

«Let him be spared,» Séanat said, pushing Aodhan aside. «The fault is in me. The weakness was always mine.»

The Morrígan’s laughter flew skyward, and shrieking crows emerged whole from her black garments. «Is it true?» she asked. «Do you care for this creature, Séanat? Are you bitch to his cur?»

«I am nothing,» Séanat said. «Rend me with the beaks of your birds and the teeth of your wolves, but let him live.»

Still laughing, the Morrígan raised her arms. An invisible blow struck Séanat to her knees. Aodhan lunged towards her, but Lugh’s warriors held him back.

His gaze met Séanat’s, and all the fierce rage Aodhan felt, all the hatred for his enemies, dissolved into acceptance.

And something more. He broke free, knelt beside Séanat and took her in his arms.

«Know that I love you, Séanat,» he whispered. «When our blood mingles in death, there will be true peace at last.»

She looked into his eyes and smiled. «I am not afraid.»

«Not even of dishonour?»

Her fingers brushed his cheek. «No longer, a chuisle. You are my honour.» She pressed her lips to his. «I love»—

Strong arms jerked her to her feet and seized Aodhan. The Daughters dragged them after the Morrígan, Ríona’s face without expression, Niamh weeping.

«You shall end at the hands of your sisters,» the Morrígan said, «hacked to pieces and left for my crows. But first you shall watch your lover die.»

She nodded, and the Daughters hurled Aodhan to the ground. They stretched his arms and legs across the earth and crouched to bind him with their hands. The Morrígan’s cloak exploded into a flurry of wings and red eyes. The crows descended upon Aodhan, claws rending, beaks stabbing. Séanat cried out, fighting Ríona and Niamh like a madwoman.

Aodhan raised his bloody face and met her eyes. It was enough to dull the pain. It was almost as if the beaks and claws could no longer touch him.