When the meal was done, Mairead let out a long sigh that turned into a wide yawn. She covered her mouth with one hand. “Forgive me. The journey was very long, and your home is so warm and comfortable. I need to sleep, I think.”

Aerwyth frowned. “But the fires—the people will be expecting you.”

“Mother, the traitha has had a long journey,” Gareth started.

Mairead glanced at Connor. He’d barely eaten, but he had managed several cups of beer. While he’d attempted some polite conversation, it was obvious that the whispers of the Morrag teased the edges of his control. His whole body was ridged and tense. “You should be abed as well,” she said to him.

“I couldn’t sleep right now.”

“Will you go out there? To the fires?”

“Probably.”

“Then I will as well. Just let me wash up.”

Aerwyth stood and gestured down a long hall. “Come. I’ll help you find a Faltian dress.”

Gareth stood. “Phinneas, Ulfrich, I’ll show you to my hut. You may wash up there.” The other men stood and followed him into the city.

Aerwyth showed Mairead to a small room appointed with a thick, soft mat atop a narrow cot, furs, woolen blankets, a small stand with a comb and scented water in a pitcher, and several woven baskets filled with clothes. “The women helped bring all of these things for you, traitha,” Aerwyth said. She opened a small chest and pulled out a soft blue linen dress edged with colorful floral embroidery. “This was one of my dresses before I birthed babies. Perhaps you might wear it?”

Mairead smiled. “I’d be honored.” She took off her boots and started to unbind her hair.

“Your other tribesman—Ulfrich. Are you joined with him?” Aerwyth asked.
Mairead hesitated. These people still expect me to marry one of their men. How do I answer that? “He and I are very close, but we are not wed.”

“Hmm.” She held out the dress for Mairead. “That’s for the best, then.”

“Why?”

“An outlander, and from one of the outland tribes, no less?” She shook her head. “Such a man would not suit our Deliverer. A servant would be a better match for you, traitha.”

What would you say if you knew of the ravenmark? She smiled. “Thank you for the dress. I’ll be out in a few moments.”

She found Connor and Phinneas outside the hut with Gareth. The fires in the center of the city leapt higher, dancing over Connor’s face and highlighting the darkness there. He seemed to come back to himself when he saw her, though, and he bowed. “You look beautiful, Mairead,” he said, lifting her hand to his lips in a courtly gesture.

The dress hugged her bodice and flared just below her knees. The embroidered edges bore the runes and marks of tribal life, and along the sleeves and neckline Aerwyth had sewn small white flowers joined by entwined green vines. Mairead’s boots met the dress where it ended, so her legs were still covered, but she had to fight back the old training of the sayada that said she was dressed immodestly. “This is far more comfortable for me than silks and samites,” she said. “Braiding my hair and looping it up every day and dressing in all that finery? I couldn’t do that for long.”

Gareth held out an arm. “Come. Let me introduce you.” He hesitated and turned to Connor. “With your permission, of course.”

Connor inclined his head, so Mairead took Gareth’s arm and followed him to the fires. The dancing to celebrate the creation of the world had started, and young men and women were leaping, twirling, and spinning in pairs and foursomes all around the flames.

Gareth found Trypp, who sat with his arm around a woman with a single long, red braid and freckles. The woman held a babe at her breast. “Traitha,” Trypp said. He gestured to the woman. “My wife, Wytha, and our son.”

“Alsh—the One Hand’s blessings on him,” Mairead said.

Wytha cupped her son’s head of red-blond curls. “Thank you.”

Gareth gestured to more men and women, and the names flew quickly by as Mairead met and bowed and laughed at the good-natured ribbing the men gave Gareth. The unmarried men didn’t stay with the group for long. Within moments of meeting Mairead, they scattered to find young maidens to dance with.

Connor fidgeted nearby, his hand twitching on his sword. “I’m going for a walk,” he told her.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. I promise.” He turned toward the outskirts of the city.

Mairead nudged Phinneas. “Follow him.”

“Yes, my lady.” The eunuch melted into shadows after Connor.

Mairead turned back to see that Gareth’s eyes had fallen on a blonde girl near the fire. She spoke with her friends, all of them laughing and smiling, until one by one the girls paired off with warriors. The girl glanced in Gareth’s direction, colored, and turned away. Gareth twisted his cup of oiska in his hands.

Mairead leaned toward him. “You should dance with her.”

“You are certain?

“I’ll just enjoy watching for now.”

He smiled, tossed back the rest of his oiska, and went to the girl’s side. She smiled and took his hand. They fell into one of the circles and started to dance.

The seven parts of the dance would go on for hours, repeating as needed until the couples were tired. The separation of light from dark was the first part, and the women represented the light. Gareth stepped in and pulled his partner tight against him to symbolize the darkness and light as one. She followed Gareth’s lead. Their feet moved in time to the slow drumbeat. She kept her eyes fixed on his as he led her around the fire.

Mairead found herself tapping her feet. She’d performed the seven stories before, but only with women at the sayada. They had walked through the stories of creation together, but it was ritual—story, remembrance of when Alshada shaped and molded the earth in his hands.

Now, watching Gareth and the other couples, Mairead understood the dance in a new way. It was sensual and exciting. As the drumbeat became more complex, the steps did as well, and the women stepped farther and farther from the men to symbolize the separation of light and dark. Gareth spun his partner close in to his body, his mouth hovering next to hers for the span of a breath, and then she spun away to another warrior’s arms. When she returned to Gareth’s arms, he leaned close and whispered to her, and she tilted her head and grinned at him.

Mairead looked away from Gareth and his partner and walked past some of the other fires. One couple paid only cursory attention to the dance forms, reluctant to allow any space between them. Another couple slowed and exited the circle, sliding away from the revelers into the shadows, the young man’s hand planted firmly on the girl’s backside. Even older couples were retreating to huts. Just watching the couples made Mairead long for Connor.

“Mairead?”

She turned. Gareth and Trypp approached. “Where are your ladies?”

“With the baby,” Gareth said. “You are looking for Ulfrich?”

“Yes. Phinneas said he would follow him, but I fear he’s very troubled by this night.”

“We thought the same,” Trypp said. “There’s something different about this Faltian—something unsettled.”

They walked through the city until they reached the edge, near the wall, and then started to walk the perimeter. Gareth stopped suddenly. He drew his sword. “Traitha, get behind me.”

Mairead gasped. “Connor,” she whispered.

Connor stood facing the city, sword drawn, with only the eunuch between himself and the entire Catspaw clan. “Mairead,” he said, his voice a low croak. “It’s time for cleansing.”