But Katarina, it seemed, knew some things too.
“The O’Fail princelings did indeed battle for years,” she said, examining her cards, “and the land was torn to bloody pieces, but a year or so ago, one of their number took hold of all the warring pups and assumed command.”
“Who?”
“Keegan. He is now The O’Fail. He keeps to himself, occupied mostly with preventing his brothers and cousins from killing each other off.”
Aodh smiled grimly. Keegan. Clever, powerful, dishonorable Keegan. Just coming into his own sixteen years ago, he’d been twenty-five years old and intent on safeguarding whatever he could for himself. He’d been his father’s chief councilor, the chief voice urging the O’Fail not to fight, not to send troops, not to honor old alliances.
Aodh had not heard Keegan had taken control of the tribe. The queen surely did not know it either. She believed the old man Brian was still their feeble leader, and dissention among the historically rebellious O’Fail ranks served her well.
“I am surprised you do not know this,” Katarina said.
His gaze met hers slowly. “Did Rardove treat with him?”
“Never,” she assured him, swift and certain, the swiftest and most certain she’d been thus far except when she was telling him ‘no.’
He smiled. “Now, why do I not believe you?”
A flush spread across her face. “Perhaps because you have me locked in a tower, and feel I cannot be trusted?”
“That would be why.” He flipped a card down, which won the game, and swept up the coins, leaving one behind to begin the new trick. “Deal.”
She reached at once for the pile and shuffled, then dealt. He immediately set down a nine. “Katarina?”
“Yes?” she murmured in distraction.
“How long are you going to hold out?”
She looked up slowly and their eyes met across the table. She examined her cards, plucked one out, and set it down. A ten. “Aodh, I have seen the queen’s wrath.”
“When?” he said, moving the cards they’d laid down to the side, making a little pile. Her win pile.
She laid down a knave with a snap. “When I was a child. Unleashed on my father. And mother.”
He countered with a two. “Tell me.”
She swept the cards to the side—a pile for him—and he immediately laid down his last card, a king. She stared at it for a second, then laid d
own her last card, a two, with a smile.
“Take it, Katarina,” he murmured. “And tell me what happened.”
She scooped the coins into a pile before her, dipped her hand into the chest, removed one more, and they both laid down their wagers. He dealt.
“My mother and father had a great searing passion,” she told him, fanning the cards in her hand. “It quite burned through them. The love of a lifetime, which was just as well, for it was the death of them. My father been sent to subdue the Irish, and found himself quite subdued. The queen sent for him when she heard he’d had a liaison with my mother, and when she discovered they’d actually wed, her wrath carried us all across the water.” She looked up at him. “Your turn.”
He set down a nine. “Go on.”
She glanced at her cards. “My father was locked up for a multitude of reasons, then executed for them. Treason, conspiring with the Irish, making the queen angry. I suppose congress with an Irish princess constituted all three. As for my mother…When we first arrived in England, and things seemed most hopeful for my father, she was quite happy to be away from Ireland, whereas I felt I could not quite breathe.”
Her fingers fluttered over a card, then pulled back. “You and my mother had something in common, Aodh: Irish folk who are not so fond of Ireland.”
“’Tisn’t Ireland, lass,” he said quietly. “’Tis the dying or being subsumed.”
Her gaze swung up, dark and penetrating. “Yes. Of course. I understand.”
It was a low murmur, but she might as well have shouted at him; he felt pushed back by her words.