“I do too. Somehow, I forget.” Óraithe laughed lightly.
Scaa heard a sound from outside and turned. “Well, I would force you to show me more, but we have things left to do.”
They took their bowls and left the house behind, checking the rest along the row and finding them all taken care of. They were nearing the square when an olive-skinned woman came running up to them. She helped tend the stables, Óraithe recalled.
“Mistress Scaa, Mistress Óraithe.” She jogged to a stop in front of them, catching her breath. “It is time.”
The group that were at their meeting days before were all waiting in the square when Scaa and Óraithe arrived. Scaa had jokingly called them Óraithe’s Binse. Each of them gave a report in turn and when they were done they looked to Óraithe. A few others had gathered from the rear of the train having seen Óraithe come to the square.
“Good, we are prepared from the sounds of it. We have more than enough food for us all, even if we move slowly. And we will. I will not rush and I refuse to leave a single soul on abandoned roads. Not when home, our true home, is so close. We will make it, all of us. If problems arise, tell me at once that I might see to them. Every wagon and every cart is important to me, to us. Pass these words to those who did not hear them. Let us begin.”
Several of the gathered folk clapped and shouted. Most called to her and gave well wishes as she walked up the train to her restored barouche. Scaa climbed in first and then offered Óraithe a hand. She was barely tall enough to make the step up and Scaa could not help but let out a snicker. The leather seat was plush and comfortable. She imagined she might fall asleep on it if left alone for too long. The outside had been painted green with silver trim and the leather of both the seat and the awning were a natural, rich brown. She pressed herself into the seat and felt butterflies rise in her stomach while they awaited Borr who would be their driver. Scaa took Óraithe’s hand in her own.
“I might vomit from the excitement.”
Óraithe laughed. “Scaa, love, you’ve marked the occasion nicely.”
“Oh, what does it matter. Songs never mention that sort of thing.”
Borr came as Óraithe continued mocking Scaa for her indelicacy, however ironic that might’ve been. He took his place behind the horses and after the passing of a few more minutes, they began to roll. Óraithe looked up at the awning overhead, happy to be out of the sun. It was comfortable. A feeling she let herself enjoy, as she knew it would be gone soon enough. Whatever waited at the end of the road she had put them on, it would not be comfortable.
R
Rianaire
The inn they had stayed at the night before was quaint but cozy. The walls were thin enough that Rianaire was sure she had managed to keep her temporary neighbors awake. It delighted her to no end that Inney was so vocal in bed. A stark change to Síocháin and with deeper meaning than what she could have in brothels. Brothels, as well, always left her wondering how much was simply playmaking by elves trained and paid to give pleasure. Inney could not help but be honest. Her body forced it from her in fits and jerks and half sentences screamed in pleasure.
Rianaire was well-rested come the morning and for once took her time at breakfast. The stress of the world could be upon her when there were things to be done, but there were always hours in between such tasks and she could find peace there. A decision, once made, was not worth fretting over. The outcomes were finite and often dictated the next course of action by way of necessity. For now, there were problems enough in her province and in all the others, but the path forward was one that would have to be walked in course. The girl she would see in a few hours was either to be her next Binse of War or she would not. And that outcome would either send her looking or allow her to be done with bumpy roads and near death at the hands of horsefolk.
The Bais clouds had returned to the sky when they left to make their way to Ainlag’s house. The sun of the day before had warmed the ground and sheets of ice sat over divots along the streets. Rianaire made constant detours to walk to them and tap the ice with her foot, cracking it and then giggling like a child. She insisted that Inney try as well. She seemed to enjoy it and Rianaire even caught Síocháin tapping a few bits herself. It was a pleasant morning. Cold and grey and beautiful as only Spéirbaile could ever be. It reminded Rianaire why she loved the place so much and why she must never let the weight of things drag her down to the level of the people who came before her. If she forgot how it felt to smile and to laugh, so would the people. Perhaps not as quickly, but dire faces beget dire faces. She had seen as much in the change from her mother’s rule to her own.
Ainlag was in her side yard again, this time with the girl she had promised to bring. They were sparring with dulled swords. Neither noticed the three approach and so Rianaire took a place at the fence to watch. The casual glimmer was nowhere to be seen in Ainlag’s eyes nor a smile on her face. She struck at the girl fiercely, unrelenting. The girl matched her, blow for blow, striking intelligently low and then high hoping to push the old woman off guard. A minute passed in a stalemate of heavy slashes and near misses before Ainlag started to show
