Between Father’s hands lay a map of Glasnith, detailing all the village names and the clans who controlled them. I could see Stony Harbor depicted at the very top of the map—the seat of clan Stone, ruled by Lord Aengus, my grandfather. Our village was reduced to a name and the triad of swords that was our clan’s symbol. I’d often watched my father study this map, seeing the keen way his mind sorted through lists of landholdings and goods produced, access to ports and trade routes, quality and quantity of combat forces. He was always looking for opportunities to strengthen our clan’s position within the convoluted web of alliances.
My brothers and I had been taught to be silent and still when our father conducted clan business. We stood like statues, waiting for him to address us.
“Garreth.” Father’s voice cut through the air like a lash. My brother straightened his spine even further, pulling his shoulders back. “You cannot allow your anger to get the best of you. Beating an unconscious prisoner is unseemly and beneath your station.”
Garreth stepped forward. “The thief went after Lira, Commander. I should have done worse.” He spoke with quiet respect, but rage simmered beneath the surface.
“If you wish to be commander one day, you must conduct yourself as a highborn warrior rather than a witless barbarian.” Father stood eye-to-eye with his eldest child, regarding him with deep-seated frustration. The resemblance between them was so strong they looked like different-aged versions of the same man. “You’ll be mucking out the hog sties this week instead of patrolling. That ought to cool your temper.”
Garreth’s face reddened. “But, Father—”
“Commander,” he corrected. “And that was an order, not a request. You are dismissed.” For a moment, I thought Garreth would argue, but then his mouth clicked shut. His steps, as he departed, were louder than necessary.
Father had always been hard on Garreth, grooming him to be a commander, possibly a chieftain. I knew he feared Garreth’s dark moods and quick temper might turn him into a man more like Madoc than himself.
“Are you all right, daughter?” Father turned to me. When I nodded, he sighed again and ran a hand across his jaw. “What your brother did was wrong, but I cannot say the prisoner didn’t deserve it.”
“Father.” I approached the table. “Please. Don’t execute him. Dyfed is not an evil man. I saw—”
“Lira. As always, I thank you for your help, but you must leave decisions regarding men’s punishments to me.” He kissed the top of my head, a doting gesture left over from when I was small. Sadness glinted in his gaze. With each passing year, I looked more like my mother. I had the same long hair, a deep shade of burgundy. I had her same eyes too, a color Father called springtime grass. It must have hurt him to look at me, a constant reminder of what he’d lost. What we’d all lost.
“Rhys?” At the sound of his name, my younger brother’s face lit up, eager for our father’s attention. “Escort your sister home.”
“Aye, Commander.”
“No,” I said. “I condemned Dyfed to death. I must bear witness to his execution.” When Father started to protest, I overruled him with the logic he used on his own warriors. “How can I understand the consequences of my actions if I do not see them through to the end?”
Father regarded me. “Condemning a man is very different than watching him die. I’d prefer to spare you this, but if it’s what you wish, I’ll allow it.”
“It is.”
“Very well. Rhys, escort your sister to the gallows.”
My brother led me out of the great hall, past the block of stone cells reserved for holding prisoners until their punishments were decided. We stopped at the back of the crowd that was already gathering around the gallows. The grim tidings had spread quickly.
“Why are you doing this?” Rhys asked.
“You know why.” I loved both of my brothers dearly, but they filled very different spaces within my life. Garreth was my self-appointed mentor and protector, and Rhys was my friend. He understood me, as I did him.
“It’s not your fault, Lir. Dyfed stole from our clan. That makes him a traitor. He earned his death sentence.” These were Father’s declarations, coming from my brother’s mouth.
“You believe that no more than I do.”
“It doesn’t matter what we believe. Grandfather is chieftain. Father and Madoc are commanders, as Garreth will be one day. But you and I are followers. I’m a second-born son and a terrible warrior. You’re god-gifted and smart, but you’re still only a girl to them. Our place is to do as we’re told. We’ve no other worth.”
“Father’s a second son.”
“I’m not Torin.” Rhys had the same nut-brown hair and eyes as Father and Garreth, but the similarities ended there—they were born warriors, but Rhys was a quiet, gentle soul. “You should leave Stony Harbor, Lir. You should go to Aillira’s Temple. At least there you’ll be allowed to make your own choices.”
There were two diverging paths my life could take. As a god-gifted Daughter of Aillira, I could pledge myself to Aillira’s Temple, a sanctuary in the center of Glasnith where girls like me went to study with priestesses, learning how to hone their abilities and use them to serve the gods. Or I could marry a highborn lord from an allied clan and sire children to continue the traditions of our clans and country. Both were lifelong commitments. My father had left it for me to decide, but there was little time left. It was only half a year until my eighteenth birthday, when I would have to give an answer. I’d not yet chosen. The notion that I must choose one, and that there were no options but these, rankled me.
“What, and leave my wee brother to care for himself?” I spoke in jest, but it was the truth. How could I leave Rhys? Or Garreth or Father? How could I ever choose to be parted from my family? “You’re more than a second son and a lousy warrior to me, you know.”
“Aye, I’m the sap who helps you sneak around and defy Father’s orders all the time.” Rhys’s tone was light, but his grip on my arm tightened. The crowd around us had grown. Dyfed’s son Ennis was here, pale and frightened, glaring when he saw me.
I was the soul-reader, the one who judged men’s guilt. The one who’d damned his father.
Would the other Daughters of Aillira at the temple hate or fear me as the villagers did?
Garreth spotted us, pushing his way through the crowd. “What are you doing here?” He stepped to my side, taking my other arm. “We’re going home, Lira. I won’t let you watch this.”
“No.” I held firm. “This is my choice. I’m staying.”
Besides, it was too late. Father and Madoc were already steering Dyfed toward the scaffolding steps, his wrists and ankles still chained. Lord Aengus was with them. The chieftain was an older man, his hair and beard gray, his face wrinkled, but he still carried himself like the great warrior he’d once been.