Diarmit leaned back in his throne.

“What did my cousin do now?”

Seachta hesitated.

“Well?”

“He took the book. He’s gone.”

Anger rolled across Diarmit’s face like a winter storm sweeping across frozen fields. He glared at Seachta. Yet there was silence.

“We’ve begun the search,” Seachta continued. “He likely left in the afternoon with the girl. They could not have kept at it all night. They must have stopped and rested. Even then, they probably have a half day start. Our best will overtake and catch them before...”

“Silence!” Diarmit roared.

Seachta clamped his jaw shut. Stillness descended on the hall and smothered it. Diarmit’s jaw worked furiously, but no words came out of his mouth. Seachta looked nervously at his hands.

When the silence ended, Diarmit spoke quietly but firmly.

“That impudent bastard. He’ll go to the northwest. If he can reach there, the Twins will support him. They’re itching for a reason to get in a fight. They’ll have one. Either defending Colm or honoring Curnan. It’ll be useless, of course. But it’ll be an enormous mess.”

Diarmit looked around the hall. Everyone desperately tried to avoid contact with his eyes. All except the Lead of the Guard. He stood resolutely, staring back.

Diarmit spoke to Seachta but it was the Lead of the Guard who held his gaze.

“Hunt the traitors down, and bring them back to me alive.”

With that, the hall came alive. Diarmit covered his eyes and sagged in his chair. He had no qualms about the troubles ahead. But he knew it would all be very messy indeed.