Kushiel's Dart

say what you like!" he flared back at her, slipping back into Eiran. "Unless we both say it, the Dalriada go nowhere! We are hard-put enough to hold this piece of land!"
    Too much to hope I was hearing wrong; I followed it well enough, looking between them. Rousse, Joscelin and Hyacinthe watched perplexed as the Twins quarreled.
    "Eamonn." Drustan raised his voice, silencing them. "You hold this land now because my father chose to honor Cinhil Ru's old promise to the Dalriada, and the folk of the Cullach Gorrym will not move against me, no, nor many of the Tarbh Cro, even if Maelcon commands the Red Bull to war. But what of your children, and your children's children?"
    "Who will know their father and grandfather for a coward!" Grainne said hotly. "If we do not-"
    "Enough!" Eamonn shouted at his sister, clutching his head. He glowered at Drustan. "Think you that Alban will flock to a cripple's standard, my lord?"
    The Cruithne warriors murmured and one of Drustan's sisters drew a soft breath; his mother touched her arm lightly, bidding her to silence. Drustan mab Necthana laughed, showing strong white teeth, and held out his arms. The red cloak he wore slipped back, revealing the elaborate whorls of blue that tattooed his bare shoulders, braceleted his arms. "What do you think, brother? They have done before. On horseback, I have four strong legs. It is enough."
    I could not help but glance at his deformity, then, though I'd resisted until that moment. In truth, though he wore boots of soft leather to conceal or protect it, one could see that his right foot twisted at the ankle, and the stunted foot bent upon itself, so that the sole did not rest upon the ground. For all that, his right leg looked as hale as the left, with lean-knotted muscle.
    "Will you try my sword and see if I am fit to follow?" Drustan asked softly, and Eamonn looked away. "Then you have answered your question, brother."
    I took the moment to translate quickly for the D'Angelines, recapping what had transpired. Quintilius Rousse looked unhappy. Joscelin glanced at Eamonn. "I'll try his steel," he muttered, with un-Cassiline ire. "Let him see how he likes the baubles I carry."
    In the pause, the hall had erupted with a great deal of similar talk, the Cruithne and the Dalriada shoving and quarreling. Grainne was in the midst of it, shouting at one of the Picti, her sword half-unsheathed. Strange to me to see a woman armed, but she was not the only one of the Dalriada women to bear a sword; only, as I learned later, the mightiest of them. It is not uncommon among the Picti, either, though Necthana and her daughters did not ride to battle. Indeed, they were the only serene figures there, watching the proceedings with four sets of identical, wide dark eyes.
    At length Eamonn stomped down from his throne shouting, and the melee broke apart, while he and his sister argued until he threw up his hands.
    "It is too great a matter to decide on a moment's whim," he announced, saying it in Cruithne for my benefit, glancing at me. "We receive you and your gifts with thanks, Phedre of Terre d'Ange. Tonight, we feast in your honor, and tomorrow we will speak again of such things. Do you agree, my Prince?"
    Drustan inclined his head, but it was his mother who answered.
    "That is wisely spoken, my lord Eamonn," Necthana said, in a voice deeper and even more mellifluous than her daughter's.
    "Oh, he can speak ," Grainne said contemptuously, tossing her red gold hair, "and speak and speak, until the brehons cover their ears and beg him to cease!"
    Necthana's mouth twitched as if repressing a smile. "That is a great gift, child, and no doubt. But we have guests we have granted hospitality, and they are no doubt weary from their journey. Will you not offer them rest and refreshment?"
    "Dagda!" Grainne looked us over with dismay, and interest. "Yes, of course." Clapping her hands, she began to summon serving-folk about. Leaving domestic matters to his sister's control, Eamonn wrapped his cloak around him and stalked out with his insulted dignity, taking the Dalriada men with him. Prince Drustan gathered his Cruithne, speaking to them in low tones. I caught a little of it; he was urging them to go among the Dalriada, and spread the spark of glorious battle.
    "Do not fear." It was a low voice at my side, soothing and musical. I turned to see Necthana and her daughters, smiling at me, Moiread the youngest of them. "They are like an ill-matched team, the Twins," Necthana