If the feasting hall had been stifling when it was empty, it was utterly claustrophobic filled with people, almost all of whom were men. The few warrior women were there, but they blended in seamlessly with their male counterparts. Tess and Emery sat with Cathbad and the Red Branch, Tess in a lovely green dress and Emery in a red one, a multi-colored checkered shawl pinned across one shoulder. She wore her dagger as well, though, sheathed on her belt. It gave her a sense of pride. They hadn't had much say in where they positioned themselves; they were just led to a table, and it happened to be right up next to the king's chair. Emery sat with Tess on one side of her, Bricriu on the other, and Ainle and Lóegaire across the way. Cathbad was on the other side of Tess, and Cullen was toward the end of the table, where he could converse with Cú Roí. Somehow, though, the end of the table didn't seem far enough from his gaze.

The meal carried on boisterously, with a skilled singer and poet offering entertainment along with musicians (though Emery made sure to tell Bricriu that his song had been far better). The men here seemed to behave differently; there were lewd gestures and yells, food and drink were in the air as much as on the tables, and even when the poet sang, he was spoken over. Emery found herself more self-conscious than she'd ever been. Certainly no man would treat her poorly as Cullen's wife, but the respect they showed her was tenuous, at best. At least she had the Red Branch around her. Even Lóegaire, haphazard as he was, strove to help her when she needed something or appeared uncomfortable. Cullen's men were indeed of a different sort.

And then there was King Cú Roí himself. He'd entered the hall about fifteen minutes after everyone else had assembled, and though Ainle had mentioned him being a giant, Emery couldn't see anything particularly frightening about him except for the fact that he was tall--about seven feet--and wide as a horse. He strode down the hall with a fast military gait, moving more quickly than his stature led Emery to believe he could, and practically jumped up onto the platform where his chair sat. There was something a bit familiar about him, about his full, pumpkin-orange beard and head of hair, which was shaved into something like a mohawk, beaded strands hanging down the back of his head. He wore leather everything--straps and buckles and legwear--studded with iron pegs. Craning to see the man, Emery caught sight of another orange-haired figure and realized that the soldier that had ridden to meet them upon their arrival was similar though tamer in look. Probably his son, she thought.

"Ulster!" King Cú Roí roared when he seated himself. For the first time, the hall quieted to some degree. An attendant approached and passed him a horn of wine. "Sláinte!" He raised the horn erratically toward Cullen and the Red Branch, red liquid sloshing out of it, and then everyone else in the hall followed suit and drank.

Emery gave side-eye to Tess as everyone around them yelled and spilled and someone far down the table turned and vomited and went right back to drinking. "Now I know why women don't usually come to these things." They'd attended as honored guests, but Emery wasn't feeling particularly honored at the moment. She glanced back to Cú Roí, who had momentarily stepped off his platform to speak with Cullen. The men appeared at ease with one another, and yet Emery was wary. Hadn't Cullen told her a while back that he'd gone to Emain Macha because Munster raised troops as a potential threat? He'd told her something like that. Why hadn't she remembered it until now?

Cú Roí returned to his platform where he towered so high his mohawk brushed the timbers overhead. He roared something unintelligible, and the hall quieted again. Some even raised their drinking horns and cups in anticipation of another jolly toast, but a toast wasn't what the king had in mind.

"We welcome our friend Ulstermen--and women." He nodded in Tess and Emery's direction, and Emery warmed uncomfortably. "We here in our far-away corner of the world are honored by your presence. As you are fully aware--and your Ulster king is aware--an abomination has been perpetrated on holy ground. Ulster, Connacht, Munster, Leinster--who amongst us is responsible? None will say, but some must pay!"

A roar of agreement erupted amongst the revelers, some of whom were so drunk they mistook it for another toast and drank.

Cú Roí waved a hand, and the hall calmed again (though reluctantly). "We Munstermen love a good war, we do, and yet our friend Cuchulain is not a one we wish to quarrel with. And so, I've asked you here to strike a bargain." He glanced at Cullen and the members of the Red Branch, an almost sinister twinkle in his eye. "So here's my offer: you, Cuchulain, accompany me on a raid of Fir Fálgae. Help me to bring home the treasures of the island, and I will pledge to you and your King Conchobar that if and when this war comes, he and I will never be in opposition to one another. What say you?"

Emery looked to Cullen, whose typical stoicism prevented her from reading emotion. None of the Red Branch appeared surprised, though, so she assumed he'd known what Cú Roí was going to ask of him. Standing, Cullen slowly looked around the hall, at his men, at her (lingeringly), and then back to the king. Raising his own cup, he replied only with a firm nod, and the hall again resounded with cheers. The musicians picked back up their instruments and began to play, and the noise rose to deafening levels.

Her own head spinning with the clamor and closeness and wine, Emery noticed that Lóegaire was at present not engaged in any conversation. So she leaned across the table, he noticing and leaning toward her, and she asked, "What is the war for? What's the abomination?"

Shaking his head of shaggy brown hair, his large nose so prominent that though their faces were distanced, it was near enough to touch her own, Lóegaire replied, "Ah, Lady! It's The Lia Fáil, the Stone of Destiny! It's been discovered that someone's stolen it from the Hill of Tara. It's a sacred stone. No High King can be confirmed without it, so the kings and queen of the four provinces are in a fury, as you can be sure."

Emery frowned. Her stomach turned. "Wh-what does it look like?"

"The stone?"

"Yes. What does it look like?"

Lóegaire grinned, which annoyed Emery. "I've never seen it myself, though it's said to be about so high--" he indicated a little more than three feet, "--and so wide. And it's all carved up with signs and symbols. It's stood for as long as anyone can tell, until now."

Whether the man wanted to say more, Emery didn't know, but her thoughts were beginning to whirl. She sat back slowly, her own breathing loud against her ears. Could he really have done it? Could Cullen have been the one--? But why? Turning her face toward him, she watched as he spoke to Keltar. His eyes glanced toward her then back to Keltar, but he must've seen the look on her face and did a double-take. The hall seemed to quiet around them, the bodies blurred, as they locked eyes. Emery was unaware of her own expression, but Cullen's brow lowered considerably, his features darkened. Whether it was her creeping sense of dread, the thick warm atmosphere, or the sudden vertigo, Emery had to get out of the hall or risk being ill. She rose, gave Tess some comment about getting air, and hurried under a thick curtain and into the outer passage leading to her room.

Away from the others, in the relative cool and quiet in the dark empty hall, Emery turned to the stone wall and pressed her hands, her forehead against it. She couldn't escape the sounds of everyone, but at least they were dulled here, and she could breathe.

"Emery, what ails you?"

She spun to see Cullen approaching, worried. She tried to read him, studied his face, then asked, "Did you take it? Was it you?"

He was confused; his jaw lowered as he half-opened his mouth but said nothing.

"The stone! Did you steal it?"

Those words had an immediate effect on the man. He startled, scowled, looked around to make sure they hadn't been overheard, then took Emery by the arm and led her a bit forcefully down the passage and up the stairs until they reached her bedchamber. He pulled her inside, shutting the door behind him. "By the Gods, Emery! You can't say such things, here!"

"But you did take it, didn't you?"

He didn't answer at once, but he was breathing heavily, and his anxious silence would've betrayed any denial. The tension was tangible, until he at last broke it. "How can you claim this with such certainty?"

"Because I've seen it in your house! I saw it! I didn't know what it was until just now, when Lóegaire told me about how that Stone of Destiny went missing--that was the abomination--and he told me what it looked like. So--so that means your men don't know you have it, either!" Emery was beginning to pace frantically. The stone she'd touched, the images it had brought her, the darkness it had sent her spiraling into . . . it was this sacred artifact! No wonder it'd shown her such wild things. Was Cullen a criminal?

"You--you were in my house?"

Emery stopped moving, sucked in whatever words she'd been about to say; she'd forgotten that'd been a secret. Well, there was no point lying about it, now. "I'm sorry. I--I went in one night, when you'd gone to Emain Macha. I was just . . . I was curious." She was unable to face him as she confessed. "I shouldn't have done it; I'm sorry."

Cullen didn't respond. Emery was sure he was glowering at her, furious--she expected a scolding any second, but when his tirade didn't arrive, she raised her eyes to him to find him staring peculiarly at her, as if he were hovering between sternness and interest.

The girl was flustered by his perplexing reaction. "Well anyway, that doesn't change the fact that you do have it!"

Cullen sighed. He lowered his arms, which had been bent, hands on hips, and rubbed his face in frustration. Shaking his head, he was defeated. "Emery--"

"What does it mean?"

"Emery--"

"Why would you steal it?"

"Emery!" he practically shouted, startling her into silence. He closed his eyes, regained his composure, then said to her, "We stole it. You and I, the night we went to Tara."

The girl just stared at him as if she hadn't heard properly. "What?"

"Together, you and I."

Cathbad had been right! Whatever they'd done that night, it had been something sacrilegious--they'd surely angered the Gods! "Why?"

Another sigh, then, "We were asked to."

"By who?"

"By the Dagda himself." He realized she'd not understood. "The all-father--the father of the Gods . . . he gave us the stone through his messenger. There's a portal to the Otherworld at Tara, Emery. The Gods asked us to care for the stone, as well as the other three treasures of the Tuatha Dé."

"My spear?"

"Lugh's Spear, yes--it was no accident it found you. And Claíomh Solais, my sword."

"What's the fourth?"

"The Cauldron of the Dagda."

"He didn't know where his own cauldron was?"

"He did--it's on Fir Fálgae, the island Cú Roí wishes me to help him raid."

Emery nodded. "So it isn't just by chance that we came here; you knew he was going to ask you--does he know?"

"That I seek the Cauldron? No. He surely doesn't even know what it is. But I plan to claim it as part of my spoils."

Falling into silence, Emery thought over everything that Cullen had just said. She didn't know what to feel. Angry or frightened or happy to know something--she couldn't say. Perhaps she felt a little bit of all of it. The girl crossed her arms. "Why didn't you tell me?"

The man stood solemn as anything, his features shifting back into inscrutability. Emery realized for the first time that he almost matched her in his clothing: a deep red tunic over leather breeches and boots, a checked tartan in similar hues to her own--the only difference his dog's head brooch for her stag's head holding it all together. She half-wondered if he'd done it on purpose but then realized how silly that notion was. He was impossibly handsome all of a sudden, though, so serious it was almost ridiculous, and now that her temper was beginning to simmer, awkwardness set in. She became conscious of her appearance and inadvertently pushed her hair behind her ears.

"I didn't tell you," Cullen said quietly, "because I deemed it no good to endanger you more than necessary. The task is not without peril."

Emery's anger flared in spite of her intentions. "You have a habit of doing what you think is best for me without even asking me what I want. If there's something I should know, you need to tell me, even if you don't want to. I deserve that."

Some sharpness crept into his eyes. "I would ask the same of you, then."

A shiver ran through her shoulders and down her back as she remembered Charlie's arms around her. Did Cullen know about her dream? No. There was no way. Nobody knew about it, and it'd been a dream. But maybe he sensed that she was holding back.

Best to change the subject. "So we have three, and we need the fourth. What will we do once we have them?"

"That, indeed, I do not know."

"Why did they ask us to do this?"

He shook his head to indicate his ignorance. "When a God asks, a man must answer. Who can understand their ways?"

Asking and answering . . . Emery was reminded of The Dark Man--his question, and the right answer, whatever it was. "Is there anything else I should know about that night? Any--any other crimes I committed?" she hastened to add, the image of their bodies, their mouths close together throbbing in her mind.

The right corner of Cullen's mouth turned up ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly . . . almost. "None, Lady."

"Why--why did we go there, to get . . . married? Why there?"

The corner turned back down quite noticeably. "We wished . . ."

"What? What did we wish?"

"To defy the Gods."

Defying gods? That sounded . . . serious.

"Emery," Cullen stepped toward her, worried. "We were not meant to wed. Our love was forbidden. But it's passed . . . we--"

"That's why Forgall said it. He called you treacherous, said I was disloyal, you were damned. It's because we went against our fate?"

At a loss, Cullen slowly lowered the hands he'd risen, his eyes searching, forlorn. Emery was right; she knew she was.

"Well," she said at last, after a long and painful uncertainty. "The least you can do is hide the stone better."

Cullen's mouth just barely flickered into a smile before he opened the door, stood aside, and gestured Emery through.