Tower of Thorns (Blackthorn & Grim, 2, Band 2) - Hardcover

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Juliet Marillier is the author of the Sevenwaters series and Dreamer’s Pool. She was born in Dunedin, New Zealand, a town with strong Scottish roots. She graduated from the University of Otago with degrees in languages and music, and has had a varied career that includes teaching and performing music as well as working in government agencies. Juliet now lives in a hundred-year-old cottage near the river in Perth, Western Australia, where she writes full-time. She is a member of the druid order OBOD. Juliet shares her home with a small pack of waifs and strays. Her historical fantasy novels and short stories are published internationally and have won a number of awards.

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Also by Juliet Marillier

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Character List

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

This list includes some characters who are mentioned by name but don’t appear in the story.

Oran: prince of Dalriada

Flidais: Oran’s wife

Donagan: Oran’s companion

Deirdre: Flidais’s chief handmaid

Nuala: maidservant

Mhairi: maidservant

Seanan: man-at-arms

Blackthorn: wisewoman, formerly known as Saorla (seer-la)

Grim: her companion

Emer: (eh-ver) Blackthorn’s young assistant

Ruairi: king of Dalriada; Oran’s father

Eabha: queen of Dalriada; Oran’s mother

Sochla: Eabha’s sister

Master Caillín: court physician

Rodan: man-at-arms

Domnall: senior man-at-arms

Eoin: man-at-arms

Lochlan: man-at-arms

Geiléis: (ge-lace, hard g) the Lady of Bann

Senach: steward

Dau: (rhymes with now) manservant

Cronan: manservant

Caisín: (ka-sheen) seamstress, married to Rian

Onchú: senior man-at-arms

Donncha: man-at-arms

Rian: man-at-arms, married to Caisín

Mechar: man-at-arms (deceased)

Ana: a cottager

Fursa: her baby son

Father Tomas: head of the monastic foundation

Brother Dufach: one of the monks

Brother Fergal: gardener

Brother Ríordán: (reer-dawn) head archivist

Brother Dathal: (do-hal) assistant archivist

Brother Marcán: infirmarian

Brother Tadhg: (t¯ig) a tall novice

Brother Eoan: (ohn) keeper of pigeons

Brother Galen: scribe and scholar (deceased)

Bathsheba: his cat (deceased)

Brother Conall: a novice

Lily: a young noblewoman

Ash (Brión): a young nobleman

Muiríol: (mi-reel) Lily’s maidservant

Mathuin: chieftain of Laois

Lorcan: king of Mide

Flannan: a traveling scholar

Ripple: Flannan’s dog

Conmael: a fey nobleman

Master Oisín: (a-sheen) a druid

Cass: Blackthorn’s husband (deceased)

Brennan: Blackthorn’s son (deceased)

Brother Gwenneg: an acquaintance from Geiléis’s past

Cú Chulainn: (koo hull-en) a legendary Irish hero

PROLOGUE

Geiléis

Rain had swollen the river to a churning mass of gray. The tower wore a soft shroud of mist; though it was past dawn, no cries broke the silence. Perhaps he slept, curled tight on himself, dreaming of a time when he was whole and hale and handsome. Perhaps he knew even in his sleep that she still kept watch, her shawl clutched around her against the cold, her gaze fixed on his shuttered window.

But he might have forgotten who she was, who he was, what had befallen them. It had been a long time ago. So long that she had no more tears to shed. So long that one summer blurred into another as the years passed in an endless wait for the next chance, and the next, to put it right. She did not know if he could see her. There were the trees, and the water, and on mornings like this, the mist lying thick between them. Only the top of the tower was visible, with its shuttered window.

Another day. The sun was fighting to break through; here and there the clouds of vapor showed a sickly yellow tinge. Gods, she loathed this place! And yet she loved it. How could she not? How could she want to be anywhere but here?

Downstairs, her household was stirring now. Someone was clanking pots, raking out the hearth, starting to make breakfast. A part of her considered that a warm meal on a chilly morning would be welcome—her people sought to please her. To make her, if not happy, then at least moderately content. It was no fault of theirs that she could not enjoy such simple pleasures as a full belly, the sun on her face, or a good night’s sleep. Her body was strung tight with waiting. Her heart was a constant, aching hurt in her chest. What if there was no ending this? What if it went on and on forever?

“Lady Geiléis?”

Senach tapped on the door, then entered. Her steward was a good servant, discreet and loyal. “Breakfast is ready, my lady,” he said. “I would not have disturbed you, but the fellow we sent to the Dalriadan court has returned, and he has some news.”

She left her solitary watch, following her man out of the chamber. As Senach closed the door behind them, the monster in the tower awoke and began to scream.

•   •   •

“Going away,” she said. “For how long?”

“King Ruairi will be attending the High King’s midsummer council, my lady.” Her messenger was gray-faced with exhaustion; had he traveled all night? His mead cup shook in his hands. “The queen will go south with him. They will be gone for at least two turnings of the moon, and maybe closer to three.”

“Who will accompany them? Councilors? Advisers? Friends and relations?”

“All the king’s senior councilors. Queen Eabha’s attendants. A substantial body of men-at-arms. But Cahercorcan is a grand establishment; the place will still be full of folk.”

“This son of King Ruairi’s,” she said. “The one you say will be looking after his father’s affairs while they’re gone—what manner of man is he? Of what age? Has he a wife?”

“Prince Oran is young, my lady. Three-and-twenty and newly married. There’s a child on the way. The prince does not live at Cahercorcan usually, as he has his own holding farther south. He is more a man of scholarship than a man of action.”

“Respected by his father’s advisers, those of them who remained behind?” A scholar. That might be helpful. “Is he a clever man?”

“I could not say, my lady. He’s well enough respected. They say he’s a little unusual.”

“Unusual?”

“They say he likes to involve all his folk in the running of household and farm. And I mean all, from the lowliest groom to the most distinguished of nobles. Consults the community, lets everyone have a say. There’s some at court think that odd; they’d sooner he just told folk what to do, as his father would.”

“I see.” Barely two turnings of the moon remained until midsummer. After the long, wearying search, the hopes dashed, the possibilities all come to nothing, she had been almost desperate enough to head south...