Children of the Moon 04 - Dragon's Moon

your and his Chrechte nature long before he would ever have admitted it to me.”
    Her father gave Eirik a significant look and the Éan prince just rolled his eyes. “Think you that the Éan have no secrets we carry generation to generation? Whatever treasure you protect with your covert words and actions, it is safe from my curiosity. Guaire is right in saying that the fact your daughter had a sword of a Chrechte king in the trunk at the end of her bed is a secret worth knowing.”
    “Because it means she really is a descendant of the original Faol kings?”
    “That and the sword itself has power to help her see visions of the sacred stone.”
    “Really?” Abigail asked, her soft brown eyes glowing with interest.
    Ciara nodded but kicked Eirik’s ankle under the table. He hadn’t needed to share that bit of information.
    The look he gave her was bland, but his tone was firm. “No more secrets, remember, faolán ?”
    Her father’s chuckle stopped the words of protest from fully forming and she simply nodded.
    “I take it that is the second sword you wear,” Talorc observed.
    “It is.” Eirik went to draw the Faol sword. “Do you want to see it?”
    Her father’s nod, his eyes filled with a deep desire she never would have expected sent a sharp stab of guilt through Ciara. She should have told him about the sword long before this. She’d known it was special, even if she had not known its true illustrious heritage.
    Eirik drew the sword and laid it on the table, the emeralds in the hilt not glowing like they had in her bedroom, but looking magical all the same.
    Her adopted father reached out slowly, his blue gaze dark with reverence. “’Tis truly of the ancient Chrechte. Look at the conriocht on the handle.”
    “Pick it up. Try the warrior’s dance with it,” Eirik said in a voice Ciara found compelling, though she found the suggestion odd.
    Her father saw nothing wrong with it though, because he did exactly as Eirik suggested. Wielding the sword through the pattern of movement she had seen many times before, he yet managed to make the dance something more than it had ever been.
    And Ciara realized the stones in the hilt were glowing now.
    Talorc stopped and held the sword like it had been made for him. “The handle is hot.”
    “I was taught that none but those of my line could wield the sword given me upon my father’s death,” Eirik said. “That it would accept only a Chrechte of righteous heart as its master.”
    “It’s a sword, not a horse,” Ciara’s adopted father said with some disbelief.

Chapter 14

Learning carries within itself certain dangers because out of necessity one has to learn from one’s enemies.
    —L EON T ROTSKY
    “A ye, but it is connected to your Faolchú Chridhe through the stones in the hilt,” Eirik claimed. “Our tradition says that the original sacred stone was cut into the large stone used in our ceremonies, and a series of smaller ones.”
    “I have never heard of such,” her father replied.
    Eirik shrugged, clearly unsurprised. “Originally these stones were held by different members of the family that had been entrusted with the protection and use of the Clach Gealach Gra on behalf of our people. Later, some of the smaller stones were lost while others were used in jewelry to decorate weapons that became as important as bloodlines in claiming the title of spiritual leader or king.”
    “You believe it was the same among the Faol?” Ciara asked, thinking it sounded right.
    Eirik looked down at her. “Aye.”
    “So, he is feeling the heat in the handle because he is also of the bloodline.”
    “Aye.” Eirik touched her temple as if imparting a truthdirectly to her. “Fate sent you to this home for a reason when you lost the last of the family of your birth.”
    “I have always believed that.” Abigail reached out to take Ciara’s hand and squeezed. “You were meant to be my daughter.”
    The lump in Ciara’s throat prevented her from replying.
    “You are saying any other warrior could not wield this sword just as easily?” her father demanded of Eirik, clearly uncomfortable with the overt emotion swirling around them.
    “Exactly.”
    “I do not believe it.”
    “Call another warrior inside.”
    Guaire jumped up. “I’ll find Niall and ask him to send a soldier to the great hall.”
    Talorc inclined his head in acknowledgment and the seneschal left the great hall. Her father laid the sword on the table. “Was that your