Oath of the Brotherhood by C. E. Laureano

chairs, had been placed strategically around the room. Niamh sat at one of them, her glare warning Conor away from the empty seat beside her. He chose another spot and turned his attention to his new teacher.
    One thing seemed certain about Treasach: priesthood was a recent avocation. In contrast to the soft, contemplative look of the priests he’d encountered, Treasach was built like a fighter, broad-shouldered and heavily muscled, with large, scarred hands. The scholar’s queue at the nape of his neck struck Conor as a ridiculous disguise, like putting a collar on a warhorse and calling it a hunting dog.
    His smile of welcome was genuine, though, and he approached Conor with an outstretched hand. “You must be Conor. Welcome. I’m Brother Treasach.”
    “Thank you.” Conor gave him something halfway between a nod and a bow. “I’m looking forward to returning to my studies.”
    “Good! Let’s begin then. I take it Lady Aine’s not coming?”
    “She had other business. The Mac Cuillinn approved.”
    Treasach nodded and retrieved a large tome from the table. To Conor’s relief, the topic was not language, but history, specifically Ciraean social and political structure. Within minutes, Treasach had drawn Conor into a lively debate about the merits of republican and monarchical rule.
    “Seareanns have combined the best of both methods,” Conor said. “The Senate never could have accomplished what the emperor did because they spent too much time debating theoretical topics. Likewise, Cira had too many tyrannical rulers for the people to ever fully embrace such a method of government.”
    Treasach smiled wryly. “You do realize the Seareann kingdoms are monarchies?”
    “Of course. But even in Daimhin’s time, the clans were free to rule themselves and elect their own kings, while having the advantage of a higher authority to settle disputes, make peace, and organize an army.”
    “So you’re a proponent of reinstating the High Kingship?”
    Conor hesitated. “I think there are some tactical advantages to centralized rule, especially in times of war. But it would take a catastrophe of unprecedented proportions to bring it about now.”
    “Well put, Conor.” Treasach gave a satisfied nod. “Have you aspirations of politics then?”
    “Certainly not, sir.”
    Treasach smiled and closed the book. “I think that’s enough for today. I’ll see you, and hopefully Aine, tomorrow.”
    Conor rose from his seat and moved toward Niamh. Rude or not, she deserved an apology for his harsh words. But she rushed from the room before he could reach her.
    “Give her time,” Treasach said softly at Conor’s shoulder. “She’ll come around.”
    Conor wasn’t so sure. If he hadn’t let his anger get the better of him, he wouldn’t have to work twice as hard to win her over. As he left the library, though, he remembered her dismay at being seated with him at the feast. Somehow, he doubted anything he did would make her view him with less than contempt.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    Aine Nic Tamhais left Calhoun’s study with a distinct uneasiness in her stomach. Truthfully, the sensation had not been far from her since coming to Lisdara four months before.
    Her father, Alsandair Mac Tamhais, had always spoken of Seare as a wild place, barely one step removed from its pagan roots, enmeshed in magic both dark and mysterious. Aronans thought themselves highly civilized and pragmatic, an affectation that made them closed-minded about anything that hinted at the supernatural. Lord Balus’s coming had ended the need for magic, they said, and anyone who practiced it must serve a darker power.
    Aine’s pace quickened as she returned to the chamber she shared with Niamh. Magic hung heavy over Seare. She had felt it as soon as she set foot on the dock: the pulse of a pure, brilliant power, and beneath it, a sinuous strand of something older and much darker. That same darkness lingered in the forest beyond Lisdara, and sometimes she