Of Fate and Freedom

Chapter Eight

After the meeting, the room disperses pretty fast. Beta Nessa and Isleen led the Elders to the Great Hall near the middle of the estate for dinner, and Mother left to meet with Róisín's hospitality committee about the accommodations on base for the Elders. Moira, still visibly in shock from the meeting, retreated to her room in our family wing, muttering something about her Affinity course homework. I'm on my way to find Father or Aedan, desperately in need of a sparring partner to help me work out my pent-up aggression, when I hear a solitary voice from behind me in the now empty meeting room.

"Well, well, it looks like you have a solution for your predicament. All is well in the 'Clan of the Roses,'" Niall's smooth baritone voice mocks as I turn to see him sauntering towards me. "Mother will be so pleased to hear this profound revelation."

I narrow my eyes at him. "Is that why she sent you here? To spy on us?" I inquire, feeling annoyed and somewhat defensive.

"Not at all, Miss Conall. She simply had other matters to attend to."

"Seems kinda disrespectful, ya know, sending an Alpha's child to do an Elder's job. Just because you lost your Great Elder doesn't mean you lost the rest of the Elders in the clan. Tell me, Mr. Kane, did they have more pressing business as well?" I sneer. Typically, every clan's Elder council is run by a former Alpha or a member of the reigning Alpha's bloodline who assumes the position of Great Elder, but in rare cases like that of Niall's clan, a non-familial member of the council would be appointed to the position. It strikes me as odd that the Ceallach Clan hasn't done that yet.

"Mother intended no disrespect. She simply believed I was best fit for the job. Our Elders are getting well up there in age and didn't feel up to the journey," he offers in a disinterested, matter-of-fact manner.

"Oh, that's a load of bollocks!" I exclaim. "The Ceallach base is only a three hour's drive from here! Both the Altra and Murchadh Great Elders made it here just fine, and they're old as hell and live on the far side of the country!"

"You're quite right," he replies, obviously amused at my hastily growing frustration. "However, that's their duty as their clan's Great Elder. We currently have no Great Elder, and therefore it was none of the Elders' responsibility."

"And why is it that Alpha Kane hasn't appointed one? It's been, what, four months now since your grandmother passed?" I challenge him, refusing to be the one to back down. I feel bad for throwing a family death in his face like that, even though he’s earned no right to my sympathy. It's a legitimate question, though. Clans aren't meant to go more than a month without a Great Elder, though usually the most recent former Alpha of a clan takes over when their Heir ascends to leadership. Seeing as the average conroicht lives to be about 120 years old since we age slower than the average human, it's exceedingly unheard of that a Clan's current Great Elder is dead when the shift of power happens.

Niall c***s his head ever so slightly to the left, seeming otherwise unfazed by my inquisition. His bluish-purple eyes are devoid of any emotion, shielding from me any thoughts that might lurk under their surface. "Not that it's the business of an Heir Alpha, but Mother is naming a successor soon, so she didn't see a need to appoint anyone to the position."

"Sure." The Kanes are like my family: they’re direct descendants from the original three Alphas, and another pure, uncontested line. Sloane Kane is proud of that heritage and not the kind of woman to hand her position over so easily. She's a cunning, pompous leader obsessed with her title, something she wouldn't give up to just anyone. Everyone in Northern Ossory knows that, so I knew his admission was a load of rubbish, but I'm even more wound up than before he distracted me, so I turn to leave. "The rest of your group is in the Great Hall on the main floor for dinner. I'm not sure if it's an open invite for placeholders such as yourself, but I'm sure you're more than welcome to give it a try. I have things to do."

"How kind of you to offer. Please lead the way, Miss Conall," he says with a sly smile. I audibly groan, lifting my chin and dragging my hand up the side of my face towards my forehead, and begrudgingly lead him out of the main entrance.

As he silently traipses down the steps behind me, I shoot a quick text to both Aedan and my father, hoping one of them answers soon so I don't have to spend a moment longer with this insolent prick. We descend down the broad staircase in blessed silence, with nothing other than the sharp tapping of my heels and nearly inaudible whispers of his Italian leather soles against the recently polished hardwood filling the air. As the staircase bottoms out, my phone vibrates in my hand, and I lift it up eagerly to see a text from Father flash across my screen:

No time. Meeting with Sentries. Sorry love x.

My heart sinks a bit, but I haven’t heard from Aedan yet, so I still hope for the best as I continue to lead Niall to the Great Hall. As we pass back through the corridor that connects the main house to my family’s wing, Niall’s footfalls relent from behind me, giving way to his unwelcome silken voice.

“You look like her, you know,” he states simply. I turn to see him regarding one of the many paintings that line the hall. He’s stopped in front of a notably archaic canvas, and upon further inspection as I reluctantly close the gap between us, I see that it’s a rendering of the First Family, as we call the original Alphas who began the conriocht line. He continues,“We have this same painting in our own Alpha wing back home. Of course, Mother’s a far cry from the first Kane, but you’re practically Orla’s spitting image.”

I’ve heard this a lot growing up — that I looked like our founding Alpha, Orla Conall — but it was strange that he of all people would notice it. I say nothing, instead turning my attention to study his face as he continues to take in the painting, seemingly unaware of my redirected gaze. He has an unreadable expression on his face, but it looks almost… pleasant? Or thoughtful? I can’t be sure. He doesn’t seem to show much emotion, if any at all, from what I can tell, making it even harder to get a read on him. I notice his eyes flitting every so slightly as he peruses over the artwork, and his jaw sporadically clenching, no doubt a subconscious action.

Suddenly, he turns his attention back towards me, his movements startling me out of my thoughts. I do my best to recover quickly, hoping he doesn’t notice how intently I was trying to figure him out.

“Everyone says Mother looks more like her than I do. That’s why she was named after her,” I finally respond.

He raises his eyebrows just a hair, once again appearing thoughtful. “I suppose they would. It’s hard to see past the white hair. It’s so rare, after all,” he muses. “But, your bone structure favors Orla more than your mother’s does. And, of course, there’s the matter of personality…” He chuckles quietly, not bothering to finish his thought.

Just like that, my contemplative demeanor is once again replaced by exasperation. “Whatever. Come on,” I tell him, fixing my lips into a hard line. I turn on my heel and continue towards the end of the hall, not caring whether he follows at this point.

His long, effortless gait paired with my restricted ease of movement due to my skirt and heels helps him to quickly close the distance between us, and he adjusts his strides to match my speed. “I get the feeling that you aren’t fond of me, Miss Conall.”

“Saoirse.”

“Hmm?”

“Quit with the ‘Miss Conall’ business. You sound like my professors,” I huff, rolling my eyes. “My name is Saoirse.”

“You’re evading the conversation, Saoirse.”

“That’s the point, Niall.”

“Ahh,” he chuckles, a subtle look of amused understanding crossing his face. “You’re vexed because of my comments in the meeting. Is that it?”

I continue walking in silence, doing my best to seem nonchalant. Internally, I was weighing whether his Affinity was annoying people or if that was just a messed-up pastime of his.

“Oh, lighten up, love. I meant no harm by it all.”

I shoot a piercing gaze towards him. “Don’t call me that. And if you must know, I just don’t like you.”

“You don’t know me, love. How could you know that you don’t like me?” he inquires as we round a corner, finally closing in on the Great Hall. I can hear muffled chatter from behind the doors of the room, mentally leaping for joy that I would finally be rid of Niall. Just then, the voices become louder as Aedan pushes through one of the doors.

“Aedan, there you are,” I practically sigh in relief. “I need a sparring partner.”

“No can do, Shay,” he smiles halfheartedly as he brushes past us. “Your father needs me at the guardian meeting.” With that, he disappears just as soon as he came, and with him, my hopes of any exercise for the evening.

“If you’d like a partner, I’m available,” Niall offers, wearing yet again an indiscernible expression.

“No. Thanks,” I shut him down quickly. What is with this guy?

“Oh, come now, Shay,” he laughs, emphasizing Aedan’s pet name for me and further fueling my frustration.

“Don’t call me that, either,” I order him as I begin to back away.

“You know, us Ceallachs are some of the best warriors in Northern Ossory. Just ask your father; he’s one of us.”

“Enjoy your meal, Mr. Kane.” I swear I can hear him laughing behind me as I storm away.

Sparring partner or not, I’m too wound up to focus on anything at the moment, so I head back to my room to change and shoot Isleen a quick text to see if she’s free. I need someone to talk to at the very least, and she knows me better than anyone.

I kick off my heels the second I’m through the door, startling Orrin as one tumbles over near his bed. “Sorry, boy,” I murmur before raiding my closet for some much more comfortable clothes. I quickly pull on some fleece-lined workout leggings, a skintight long sleeve shirt, my favorite trainers, and a snug zippered hoodie, and then head to the bathroom to remove my makeup and the assorted pins in my hair. Just as I’m removing the last pin, Isleen’s name pops across my screen asking what I need. I tell her where to meet me, then let down the remnants of the bun Moira had arranged and pull my unruly curls into a hasty high ponytail.

“C’mon, boy,” I call to Orrin. He happily follows me out of the room and down the expansive corridor of my family’s wing. When we reach the back door, I open it and let him through first, and he bounds joyfully through the doorway, no doubt excited to explore the grounds. I got him as a puppy not long after moving to Cape Denia and he’s never been on base before, so the rolling hills held new and intriguing smells for him to discover. He darts aimlessly on and off the path in front of me as I begin to jog to the training grounds, his tail wagging and tongue hanging out of his jowls as we set off in the brisk winter evening.

My feet settle into a steady rhythm, their percussion ringing out across the paved trail as I take in my surroundings. Even though I visit the training grounds on base quite often, it’s been some time since I’ve gone on a run through this part of the base. The grounds are about a kilometer from the main estate where I grew up, and this path weaves through the residential part of the clan. I scan the hills to my right as I run, appreciating the way the assorted lights from the different buildings seem to twinkle against the twilight sky.

The first buildings I pass by are a few rows of stunning maisonettes, their Venetian cobblestone exteriors decorated by well-kept ivy and red-shuttered windows. This is where our visitors stay, and as we’re a larger clan, we have just under 200 in total. They’re built to house a standard diplomatic caravan, which usually consists of about four to six members. A few members of the hospitality committee wave at me as they finish preparing the accommodations for our guests. Mother is around here somewhere I’m sure, but I don’t see her alabaster locks as I glance over the doorways.

Further down, at the end of the rows, I can just make out the family homes in the distance. These are more sporadic in size and design, ranging from small cottages to a few multistory mansions. The bulk of the clan lives there, but I can’t recall how many residences we have at this point.

Opposite from the visitor’s housing and across a meticulously manicured garden is the Elder’s Block, an assortment of bungalows reserved for our clan Elders and their mates. We have 40 Elders that handle a variety of different responsibilities, but mostly they serve as representatives of the clan body, similar to a parliament. In the middle of their block is their administrative building, an old castle of sorts that’s been converted into offices and meeting rooms, with the top floor reserved for the Great Elder.

Finally, I reach the last incline on the path that leads to the training grounds on the left, and across from them is what most of us call the Single’s Block. These four high rise flats are much newer buildings than any of the others, but they’re more secluded from the rest of the housing blocks, so they don’t seem out of place. Conroicht move here after their first Transfiguration and usually only stay until they’ve mated, but some stay longer if they don’t plan on starting a family soon. I look up at the sprawling modern architecture, noting the dying sunlight reflecting off of the mostly dark windows and realizing that it was a Saturday night, so most of the clan members around my age were likely in town if they weren’t on duty.

I finally slow to a walk as I reach the training grounds and see Orrin padding up behind me in the large glass windows of the indoor facility, having happily exerted his pent up energy. My blood is pumping from my warm up jog, though it wasn’t enough to fully clear my mind, so I head inside to let off some steam.

Halfway through wrapping my hands in my Kumpur wrap, Isleen pulls up in a golf buggy and makes her way inside. “Hey,” I call to her, still a bit breathless.

“Hey, what’s going on?” she asks. Looking at my hands, her eyes widen. “Ohhh, no, I am not sparring with you! Last time I did I was sore for days, and I just had my nails done!”

I crack up when she holds her hands up as proof, wiggling her fingers to show off her sparkly blue nails. “Relax, drama queen,” I tell her. “I just need someone to hold the bag and talk to while I blow off some steam. Besides, you wouldn’t have hurt so much if you didn’t skimp out on trainings.”

“I wouldn’t miss so many trainings if you were here to handle your duties. Instead, I’m at your mother’s beck and call while you’re off having the time of your life at OA,” Isleen huffs, but I know she has no actual qualms about missing trainings.

“Hmm. Fair,” I admit as I finish wrapping my hands and head for my favorite heavy bag. As I begin stretching, she pulls up a foam plyobox and plops down.

“So, what’s going on?” she prods again. Orrin saunters lazily over to her and joins her on the box, laying his head in her lap. I begin relaying the conversation to Niall with her. After a few minutes of stretching, she hops up to hold the heavy bag as I take my anger out on it one jab at a time, continuing to talk between breaths. She listens intently, nodding but staying mostly silent until I finish filling her in.

By this time, I’ve worked up a good sweat and I start to feel my mind and heightened emotions relaxing. I sit down on the box she pulled up earlier to kick off my shoes and wrap my feet. Isleen joins me, happy to take a break from the exertion of bracing the bag for me.

“Okay, so let me get this straight: he waited until the room cleared and it was just the two of you all alone, then talked you into taking him across the entire house so he could talk to you more?” she asks quizzically.

“I guess,” I reply, more focused on my wraps than her line of questioning.

“And then he talked about how you look more like your super old ancestor than your mother, and that you act like her, too?”

“Yup.”

“And then he offered to spar with you?”

“Mmhm,” I grunt, rising up from my seat and heading back to the bag. “Weird, right? Like, you insult me in front of the entire Great Elder Council as if I don’t matter, and then strike up a conversation like nothing ever happened? It makes no sense to me.”

Isleen pops her head around the side of the bag to look at me as I start throwing combos, my brow furrowed as I focus on the bag. “Why didn’t you take him up on it?”

“What?” I land a kick harder than I intended on the bag, sending her staggering back a bit. She recovers, then repeats her question.

“Well, why didn’t you? He offered to be your living, breathing punching bag after being the reason you needed one in the first place. Why’d you say no?”

I resume my rhythmic assault on the bag. “Honestly? I’d reached my quota of hearing him speak. It’s like he was purposefully trying to get a rise out of me. And if I’d said yes, I’d be subjected to at least two more hours of hearing him talk. Pair that with the fact that he’s almost a head taller than me and probably thirty kilograms heavier — leaving me severely outmatched — it just wasn’t worth any joy I might get from maybe landing a couple of solid blows,” I admit between strikes.

“Hmm. Well, if you ask me, it seems like he wants to be around you,” she mocks, wiggling her eyebrows at me. “Like, around around.”

“Ew! Isleen, no,” I spit out, my face twisting in disgust. “Did you not hear a single thing I said?”

“Of course I did. But he referenced your bone structure, Saoirse. Guys don’t typically notice things like that.”

“Yeah, I know. Emphasis on my ‘ew’ from earlier. Why does it sound like you’re defending his actions?”

“Because you’re on the defensive,” she replies stoically. “Your first two interactions with him were pretty intense, and he was harsh, but he also didn’t know you. So, now you feel like everything he does is an attack on you — which, by the way, I’m not saying is an unreasonable reaction. He upset you, and I think you reacted fairly — poorly, but fair, given the circumstances. But it sounds like he was trying to get to know you afterwards. That’s my take, at least.”

I can’t argue with her logic. Now that I’ve calmed down, her opinion on the matter makes sense, it’s just not what I want to hear. My best friend, ever the voice of reason in my life. I sigh, releasing one last combo on the bag. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Always am,” she beams, laughing as I roll my eyes at her.

I slip my socks and shoes back on, not bothering to remove my wraps. “Give me a ride home?”

“Anything for my Alpha,” she croons, giving me an unnecessarily deep and exaggerated bow. I shove her shoulder playfully, almost knocking her over, and we giggle as we head to the door, Orrin barking excitedly behind us.