Page 42 of Honour Bound
‘Morna Carnegie. She calls nature,’ the MacQuarrie competitor next to me said, registering my curiosity. He stuck out his hand and grinned. ‘Nice to meet you. I’m Angus.’
I smiled back and shook his hand. ‘Integrity,’ I murmured.
‘I know. I don’t think there’s anyone here who isn’t aware of who you are.’
‘I’m not convinced that’s a good thing.’
‘Are you kidding? The other Clans have been at the top for so long, they’ve forgotten what it’s like to have some real competition on their hands. I’m expecting good things from you, Integrity Adair.’ My unspoken question must have been reflected in my face. ‘Lily was my cousin,’ Angus MacQuarrie told me. ‘She was a good person.’
A wash of sadness overtook me. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, inadequately. ‘She helped me a lot.’ I sucked in a breath. ‘She deserved a better end.’
He touched my arm. ‘You brought her to us so we could lay her to rest in the MacQuarrie grove. A lot of others wouldn’t have bothered, not least because we’re considered the weakest and most unimportant of all the Clans.’ He grimaced. ‘The madness we experience has a lot to do with that.’
I felt a prickle along the back of my neck and turned to see Byron glaring at me. What was his problem? I looked back at Angus, wanting to ask him more about the infamous MacQuarrie insanity, but the boom of a cannon drew my attention.
‘Watch this,’ Angus whispered. ‘Morna’s amazing.’
The Carnegie woman reached the centre of field and raised her arms to the heavens, her head tilted back as if she were talking to the clouds. A heartbeat later, the ground beneath my feet began to vibrate. I jerked up my feet, alarmed. Angus laughed although I noticed that a few others had reacted the same way as me.
The air crackled as if coalescing into something heavier and more oppressive. I didn’t like this at all and I sat up straight, ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. There was no need, though – it was all part of the show. As I watched, gobsmacked, Morna Carnegie snapped her fingers and a row of purple heather sprang out from her left. I gaped. She clicked again and the same thing happened from her right hand. She spun, moving faster and faster. Now more and more lines of different coloured heather appeared in an intricate and predesigned pattern. I shook my head in amazement. ‘How…?’
‘Impressive, right? When it comes to flora, there’s very little that she can’t call up.’
This was a Gift that I wanted. I sat on my hands, willing myself not to unconsciously steal it. I couldn’t just go around ripping magic from everyone I met. It was too late, though: whatever made my blood sing when I saw Morna Carnegie’s Gift was already working. My senses swam with the now-familiar head rush and stomach-churning nausea. I closed my eyes to steady myself while next to me Angus stiffened.
‘I’ve never seen her falter before.’
Shite. I opened one eye, worried about what I’d see. This was an elderly woman; who knew what would happen if I stole part of her Sidhe nature? I bit my lip while Morna Carnegie paused, confusion clouding her face. All around her the banks of multi-coloured heather swayed, their tips leaning towards her as if they were concerned about her. She blinked once, twice, shook herself and continued. I breathed out. She’d obviously felt something happen but she still had some of her Gift left.
I had to find a way to control my new power. I couldn’t be responsible for sending Sidhe, who were no more of a danger than professional flower arrangers, into an early grave.
‘What happened there?’ I asked, wishing my heart would stop racing.
Angus looked puzzled. ‘I don’t know. Maybe she skipped breakfast or something.’
I leaned back, sitting on my hands to stop them trembling, and watched her finish. She certainly had amazing control. As her arms continued to flick out around her and her fingers snapped with increasing speed, the design of the flowers around her started to take shape. A Celtic knot entirely made out of heather ? damn, that was clever. Everyone else obviously agreed with me, leaping to their feet with thunderous applause.
Morna curtsied, although there was no denying she still looked shaken. She walked off, the flowers parting to allow her to leave without trampling on a single bloom. Then a man of similar age strode out to take her place.
‘Who’s that?’ I asked.
Angus scowled. ‘Morna’s opposite.’
His actions were similar to hers: he raised his arms, swung them out with a flourish and clicked his fingers. The first row of blooming heather withered and died. An involuntary cry escaped me, followed by a snicker from several of the other competitors. At least Angus didn’t laugh this time and he squeezed my hand reassuringly.
The man spun round, snapping away. One by one, each row of flowers died. What a shitty Gift. Where Morna had provided life – natural life filled with beauty and optimism – this Sidhe was completely different. I glared at him as he killed off the intricate design, leaving behind little more than blackened roots. Needless to say, I felt no dizziness; I wanted no part of this Gift, subconsciously or otherwise.
He bowed. The response from the crowd this time was less enthusiastic. As he strode off arrogantly, there was a whine from the microphone and the Carnegie lordling spoke up once more.
‘I am sure the symbolism is not lost on this esteemed crowd,’ he intoned. ‘With one breath, you can be riding high and winning. But these are the Games; one false step and your success will wither and die before your very eyes. As might you. We have done what we can to assure competitors that their safety is uppermost in our minds, but accidents do happen. There may be severe consequences for those who fail in the two more risky challenges.’
I didn’t think I was imagining the bloodthirsty glint in his eyes, or that he flicked a look at me. I straightened my shoulders. They could underestimate me all they wished; it would only serve to make my win sweeter.
‘The Artistry challenge will begin at dawn tomorrow. We don’t expect any life-threatening wounds in that one.’ He paused while the crowd dutifully chuckled. ‘Until then, we beg you to enjoy the refreshments we have arranged. These Games will go down in history as the best ever. The Carnegie Clan will see to that.’ He stepped down from the dais.
‘Yeah, right,’ Angus whispered in my ear. ‘Last time around, when Gale Adair ? your father ? won, the Jardine Clan were the organisers. They had twelve Gifted illusionists. Apparently the show they put on was so spectacular it will never be beaten. The Carnegies hate the Jardines but it doesn’t matter what they do, they can’t surpass that kind of spectacle.’
I raised my eyebrows. ‘Were you even born when the last Games took place?’
