The Lamb and the Gray Battle

September 23, 1446

Every day for a week, Aoibh went to the hall. The shards were cleaned up, so Aoibh destroyed more vases and trinkets and stabbed into the bubble until she exhausted herself.

All the while, BoBo would stand by and smirk. He didn't even bother to fight her, the conceited arse.

Since she was now allowed to see Gran, she went down to her room. She'd only been in this room once as a child, to be presented to Madame Long, who sneered at her. What she immediately noticed was that the room siphoned off her energy, made her sleepy.

Gran, who'd been in this room for months, had adjusted to the energy vortex. As soon as she saw Aoibh, she rose from her chair and spit at her. "Whore."

"I want to see my son," Aoibh said, her eyes red and raw. "Then we can leave."

Gran swore, "If only that villain had beheaded me when they first captured us. You gave him exactly what he wanted! How dare you stand before me, you demon whore!" Gran collected all the saliva in her mouth and hurled it at Aoibh.

"What was I supposed to do?" Aoibh screamed. "I just want to see my son."

Gran fumed, her arms folded across her chest.

"I'm not evil!" Aoibh's hair shot in every direction and fire burned in her chest. She snorted, felt the blaze. "Most holy Apostle, St. Jude, faithful servant and friend of Jesus, the Church honors and invokes you universally, as the patron of difficult cases, of things almost despaired of, Pray for me, I am so helpless and alone."

"Fine," Gran interrupted. "Be a good girl. Kneel down. God forgives all."

Aoibh didn't really believe her, but Gran came to her side, patted her head, hugged her.

Gran tolerated one more week of hysterics from Aoibh. She wasn't permitted out of the cage, so she didn't get to sojourn to the bubble, attack the energy field, swear at BoBo, but she got to hear Aoibh's sobs and whines until Aoibh agreed to leave.

Gran told stories of the Ireland of her youth, an idyllic land of green. An Mhor sisters would welcome them. Perhaps, they could assert some of their old authority, reclaim a bit of land for themselves. Gran didn't dream of rallying against King Ao Guang. She dreamt of resting in a comfy chair. Gran did nothing to provoke the other tribes, months in prison having sapped away her energy. The old woman had broken her leg and it hadn't healed properly. The scowl never left Gran's face. Silently, she followed Aoibh as they picked an abandoned spot.

"Now that the Ban clan is dead, we can have a house, live in peace," Gran said.

Aoibh had run so long, she didn't believe she'd ever find peace. Ren's heartbeat thundered in her head. She'd never escape it.

Gran tugged her along. "Get used to it. Our new King has founded his kingdom above ground. You made a bastard with that reptilian Hell-beast. What did you expect would happen?"

Aoibh cried louder.

Within twenty-four hours of the pair setting up camp, a man who identified himself as Bartholomew Morgan arrived to have a house built. He had a cow, a cock and three hens brought to them as well.

Aoibh jumped up, took the rooster, cradled him and stroked his feathers. Her tears stopped and she hummed, "I'm going to name him Buck."

Gran sniffed Bartholomew Mogan, the demon blood flowing through his veins. His scent wasn't unlike Apollo's, likely some relation of Clio.

"What else may I provide you with, My Queen?" the thin, delicate man said.

Aoibh was enchanted by the rooster, the red and orange feathers.

"Why are you doing this?" Gran squawked.

"Our King swore an oath. His wife shall be warm, clothed and fed. I am here to fulfill that oath." This Bartholomew produced a card. "You may send a letter, note, visit. I will check on you again next week."