Page 122 of Queen of the Shadow

“How did you kill it?” Conchobar asked Cuchulainn.

Cuchulainn leaned forward and met Scáthach’s gaze. “Teamwork,” he said.

The king turned in his seat to face Scáthach. “Perhaps the Queen of Shadow will be more specific.”

“Cuchulainn slit the monster’s throat,” she said. “Many times.”

Cuchulainn covered his laugh with a cough.

“Ah! There’s the bard I’ve missed!” said King Conchobar as Sechan entered the hall from a side door and took his place not far from the dais. “Cuchulainn, I expect you to be less modest on the trip home. Sechan must compose ballads so the story of the Gáe Bulg can be sung far and wide.” The king lifted his voice. “Sechan! Sing for us one of the Cuchulainn ballads! My favorite is the one about his naming.”

“Cu hates this,” Uathach whispered to her mother.

Scáthach could only nod. She didn’t look at Cuchulainn. She could not. Would not. The decision was his and he’d made it. She had to let him go.

* * *

The meal was a hasty one. Then the Ulstermen, their king, their hero, and—thankfully—their bard followed Scáthach down the stairs to the dock beneath the castle, where their small rowboat waited to take them to their ship.

“Farewell, Queen of Shadow,” said Conchobar, bowing his head slightly to her. “You have my gratitude for training our hero and for questing with him for the Gáe Bulg. Should you ever require the assistance of Ulster, you need only ask and Ulster will answer.” The Ulstermen who had already boarded the little boat cheered.

Scáthach inclined her head. “That is very kind. I wish you a safe journey home, King Conchobar. It was my honor to train the Hero of Ulster.” As the king followed his men into the boat, Cuchulainn stopped in front of Scáthach. He crouched down and took Leannan’s head between his hands.

“Be a good girl,” he told the big dog. “Take care of Scáthach, even when she says she doesn’t need caring for.” Leannan woofed softly and licked him.

Cuchulainn stood. Scáthach met his gaze and saw a world of sorrow there.

He spoke low and urgently. “One word from you and I will send them all away. I will stay.”

“Were that true, you would shout it—not whisper it,” she said as softly. Scáthach pressed her palm to his chest. “Go. We have chosen our fates.”

“Come with me!” Cuchulainn said in a voice that rang in the stone room and out to the dock and the men waiting in the boat. “Dance with me for the short life I have left.”

Scáthach felt everyone looking at her. She ignored them and saw only Cuchulainn. “No, love. The music I move to is here. Sentanta knows.”

“Sentanta is right here!” He covered her hand with his.

“No, love,” she repeated. “It is not Sentanta who asks me to join him. It is Cuchulainn, the warrior whose name will be sung for generations. Cu, the only place for me in those ballads is as an afterthought.” Gently, she pulled her hand from under his and pressed her palm over her own heart. “I’m worth more. I am enough.”

“But I—”

“No!” Her voice was sharp. “I will not watch you hurl yourself toward death.”

Cuchulainn’s broad chest lifted and then fell as he sighed. His shoulders bowed. “I wish it could be different.”

“It was—for one year and one day it was different. Goodbye, Cuchulainn.”

“Will I ever see you again?”

Scáthach smiled, slid her arms around his neck, and kissed him. “Don’t forget—no matter what your father says, no matter what that king says,you are enough,” she whispered before they parted.

“I won’t forget anything from our time together,” said Cuchulainn.

Scáthach and Leannan walked down to the end of the dock with Cuchulainn. He boarded and she unwrapped the rope tether. She and the King of Ulster bowed to each other one last time before the warriors began rowing to their ship.

“Little Fry,” Scáthach spoke softly, but her daughter was at her side in a moment. “I need to be alone.”

“Of course, Mama.” She ushered everyone away, then returned to her mother’s side. “Shall I take Leannan with me?”