Page 39 of Queen of the Shadow

The bard didn’t even finish his question. Together Scáthach, Cuchulainn, Uathach, and Tabiti shouted,“No!”

Chapter 9

Sentanta would never forget that day. For so much of his life he’d felt separate, a mortal whose blood held just enough divinity to make him an outsider to other mortals. He was named the Hero of Ulster, cheered on by warriors, but not beloved by them—only envied, studied, used.

Until he came to Dunscáith.

Here Sentanta found comradery. The other students accepted him, and not as an untouchable demigod. They called him Cu! They joked with him. And when he conquered a feat faster than they did, they clapped him on the back and celebrated with him!

He wasn’t fated to live long. He’d known that since he was a boy. But for the rest of his short life, he would cherish the memory of his time at Dunscáith and, even after his death, he would eternally remember that afternoon on the beach with her, the race to the rocky point, the sparkle of her joy and the sound of her laughter. It infused him with happiness he thought he’d never know. He wished he could capture that happiness, hold it and keep it with him. Hold her and keep her with him...

* * *

The student test had begun at dawn with the boats launching to sea with the student warriors and their reeds as the sun lifted above the horizon, so it was not yet midmorning when Scáthach, Cuchulainn, and Leannan left Dunscáith in a wagon with three cows tied to it and headed south.

Scáthach had been looking forward to the solitary trip, so much so that when Cuchulainn named his boon, she’d been annoyed that her peace would be broken. But Cuchulainn immediately proved helpful instead of irritating. He’d quickly harnessed the team that pulled their wagon as she haltered and secured the cows, and then sprinted to the kitchen to get food for the trip—something Scáthach wouldn’t have bothered with had she been alone but knew she’d appreciate when her stomach growled midday. Before they left the castle, Cuchulainn asked to drive, explaining that it would give her a chance to relax.

She didn’t say much to him. The Queen of Shadow was rarely alone—rarely had an opportunity to enjoy quiet and solitude—and she’d wanted the short trip to be filled with both. Surprisingly, it didn’t take long for the quiet between them to feel easy. Scáthach wasn’t compelled to fill silence with chatter; apparently she had that in common with Cuchulainn. He held the reins loosely as he followed the dirt road, keeping the sea to the right and copses of pine, yew, and rowan trees to their left. They crossed several streams, wading the wagon and the cows through those that were shallow, clambering over the old wooden bridges that had been built to cross the deeper ones. When neither option was available, Cuchulainn followed the path and meandered inland around the stream.

Between Dunscáith and the Aird of Sleat, the southernmost village on the island, the terrain was a familiar mixture of craggy hills and valleys, clusters of trees—often surrounded by thickets of brambles—and waves of heather that were just beginning to show their purplish blooms.

It was beautiful and restful, and it wasn’t long before Scáthach was glad of the warrior’s company. He’d been correct. Because she didn’t have to drive the wagon, all she needed to do was to lean back, relax, and take in the loveliness of her island.

Leannan trotted along beside the wagon, taking many detours to the shore to chase seabirds, which made Cuchulainn laugh as she barked with frustration at not catching one.

“Where did you get Leannan?”

Scáthach smiled as the hound stalked yet another seabird, leaped, and missed catching it. The bird lifted into the sky only to circle around and dive at Leannan, who snapped futilely at the air. “My mother always has deerhounds. Leannan was a gift to me from her.”

Cuchulainn laughed again as Leannan, paying too much attention to the diving seabird, tripped over a rock and fell on her face, tumbling snout over tail before she stood, shook herself, and snorted sand out of her nose indignantly. “You’ve had her since she was a pup?”

Scáthach nodded. “She was just weaned. Uathach tried to coax her away from me, but Leannan would have none of it. She decided as a pup that I belong to her, and that was that.” She glanced from the deerhound to him. “Though she does love my Little Fry.”

Cuchulainn grinned. “I like the nickname. How did she come by it?”

Scáthach smiled warmly. “Baby sturgeons are called fry. When she was a little girl, she swam with them quite a lot, looking like one of their young. Well, without the boney scutes and fins and such.”

Cuchulainn laughed softly. “A nickname as unique as your daughter. So, Leannan loves Little Fry. How about Tabiti?”

“She loves testing Tabiti’s patience. I’m not sure that’s the same as loving Tabiti herself.”

Cuchulainn’s grin gentled as he continued to watch the big dog. “She’s a good girl.”

“She is,” agreed Scáthach. “Has your father given you any gifts?”

His expression went flat and his gaze shifted to stare ahead of them. “The berserker.”

“It is not an easy thing to be the child of a god,” said Scáthach.

“Béfionn loves you.”

Scáthach nodded. “She does.”

Cuchulainn blew out a long breath before he said, “I do not believe Lugh is capable of love.”

Scáthach studied his sad, handsome face. “I am sorry.”

“I’ve never told anyone that. I’ve never even said it aloud,” he said without looking at her. “I don’t think anyone except you would understand.”