Persephone nodded. “It can seem that way at times.”
“Yep. The gods are jealous of even the few fleeting instances of joy we manage to sneak in. Laughter rankles them, makes them think we have it better than we should, and they can’t stand that.” He lowered his voice a bit, as if imparting a secret or trying to prevent the gods from hearing. “You can tell because terrible things always follow fortune. If there’s a birth, someone will die. If there’s a good harvest, the next year there’s a blight. Maybe the gods just love to see us suffer. That would explain why we still exist. We’re toys—toys that the gods break and reassemble so they can experience the pleasure of breaking us again. The trick is to avoid being the toy that’s smashed by being the toy that does the smashing.”
He stared at her then, a long hard study, then nodded with some approved decision. “You’re smarter than I expected. I admit I underestimated you. I bought the illusion that Reglan was brilliant; now I see it was all you. He tried to tell me once. Right after my father died, the day he asked me to be his Shield, Reglan told me you were the one that made everything work. I never thought he was serious. He was drunk at the time. We both were. People say stupid things when they’re toasting the dead. He said you were the heart of this dahl, the real chieftain. You were the one with all the ideas, the one with the courage, the one with the passion.” He paused, watching her.
Persephone felt he was giving her a chance to speak, but she had no words.
What can I say to that? Yes, I’m great, or no, the love of my life was a fool?
A moment later, Konniger went on. “After I became chieftain, I thought you’d be a good girl and quietly step aside, disappear into widowhood, and everything would work out. Tressa would have her fine house, and I would rule the way my father never got a chance to because the gods thought it was funny to drop an oak on him. Only it didn’t work out that way, did it?”
“You’re the chieftain, Konniger. I’ve never disputed that.”
He smiled at her then, a disbelieving smirk. “All these years with Reglan, I knew you had friends in the other clans, but damn, woman.” He laughed. “A Dureyan mercenary, seven Fhrey, a goblin, and a giant. You really called in some favors, didn’t you? Don’t know why you went to all the trouble. The God Killer would have been enough. He’s a foot taller than I am and has a sword, for Mari’s sake. Probably been fighting since he could walk. I think we all know he can beat me.”
“I didn’t bring him here to challenge you.”
“I’m not an idiot, Seph. Of course you didn’t. No one brings that much muscle just to oust someone like me from a chair. You have bigger plans, don’t you?” He smiled. “You gave it away at the meeting, you know? That comment about uniting the clans. That’s it, isn’t it? Reglan was right. You’re smart, but he never mentioned the ambition.”
“Listen, Konniger. I don’t know where you’re getting all—”
“Easy, Seph. Relax. I’m not ambushing you, and I’m not here to scold you for disobedience.”
“You don’t sound like you’re here to make peace, either.”
“Not really.”
“What, then?”
Above them, Persephone heard Minna’s scratching and whining again, louder this time.
The noise made Konniger look up. “Your mystic left, and her wolf is still up there. I thought you might be confused when you found her gone. You came to me the day the Fhrey arrived to explain what was going on. That was big of you, so I figured I’d return the favor.”
“And what is going on? Where’s Suri?”
“She and Maeve went hunting the big brown bear together.”
“Suri and Maeve went—? What are you talking about?”
“The two left a few hours ago to save Maeve’s daughter.”
“Daughter?”
“Ha!” he exclaimed, withdrawing into the chair, pulling himself tighter. “You didn’t know Maeve had a daughter, did you?”
“Maeve doesn’t have a daughter.”
“She did. The old woman gave birth some fourteen years ago.”
Persephone shook her head. “You’re not making any sense. Have you been drinking?”
“Not a drop, but I assure you Maeve did have a child.”
“It’s not possible; everyone on the dahl would have known.”
He shook his head. “Reglan kept it a secret. Hid Maeve somewhere—I don’t know where—told everyone she had to go on a long trip to visit each of the other dahls and collect stories from the other clans or some such nonsense. Took her over a year. You remember that, don’t you?”
Persephone did remember when Maeve had disappeared. She recalled how frustrating it was to be missing their Keeper. There were always things coming up, things Persephone didn’t know the answers to, things that needed to be verified, and all of it had to be delayed until Maeve got back.
“But why would Reglan—”
“Reglan wouldn’t let her keep it, of course. He couldn’t. People would ask who the father was, and the answer would be awkward seeing as how he was married to you. What if the child bore a resemblance? Had her father’s eyes?”
Persephone stumbled backward as if Konniger had shoved her. She laid a hand on the nearby autumn pillar for support.
“That’s why you didn’t know. You weren’t allowed to. Wives never understand such things. He figured a lot of people might not, so Reglan kept things quiet. Sent Maeve away, and when she came back, she was supposed to come alone. Only problem was Maeve couldn’t give up the child. She should have run off and not returned, but she’s not smart like you. She came back to the dahl with the infant in tow. Maybe she thought if Reglan saw it, he’d change his mind. That’s not what happened.”
Konniger looked away at the fire, his hands squeezing tightly.
“When she showed up, Reglan called for me and my dad. The child had to be abandoned in the forest. Maeve put up a fight. What mother wouldn’t? The task fell to me. I was the son of the Shield, invisible, trustworthy, and eager to prove my worth. They told me it was an easy task. Just take the infant to the forest and dump it, they said. Someplace deep, they said, so she can’t find it. That part was easy. The hard part was taking the baby from Maeve, taking it and…” Konniger’s face turned into a distasteful grimace. “And seeing her when I got back.”
Konniger paused a moment and swallowed. “Maeve screamed.” He made a sound like a laugh, but there was no mirth in it. “I never heard a grown woman sound like that before. You’d have thought I was killing her. I can still hear it, still hear that high-pitched shriek. The baby cried, too, a chugging kind of wail. You know the sort they do? Did it all the way out there. Louder even than Autumn’s brats when they’re really worked up. I was glad to be rid of the thing.”
Persephone leaned on the pillar. He’s lying. Reglan would never—
“Kept crying, though. Amazing how far sound carries. I dumped her next to that cascade—same one where you killed Sackett and Adler—but even the sound of the falling water couldn’t drown out the cries. Reglan and my father were so proud; I’d become a man in their eyes. But I didn’t feel like a man. I swore I could still hear that baby crying—still do sometimes. That’s why I hate Autumn’s kids. They all sound the same.”