It was plain that Conor was not destined for a warrior. My father, rich in sons, grudgingly accepted this. He could see, perhaps, that a scholar in the family might be of some use. There was always record keeping and accounts to be done and maps to be crafted, and my father’s own scribe was getting on in years. Conor, therefore, found his place in the household and settled into it with content. His days were full, but he always had time for Finbar and me, and the three of us became close, linked by our thirst for knowledge and a deep, unspoken understanding.

As for Padriac, he could turn his hand to anything, but his great love was to examine things and find out how they worked; he would ask questions till it drove you crazy. Padriac was the only one that could break through Father’s guard; sometimes you’d catch the ghost of a smile on Colum’s dour features when he looked at his youngest son. He didn’t smile at me. Or at Finbar. Finbar said that was because we reminded Father of our mother, who had died. We were the two who inherited her curling, wild hair. I had her green eyes, and Finbar her gift of stillness. Besides, by being born, I had killed her. No wonder Father found it hard to look at me. But when he spoke to Finbar his eyes were like winter. There was one time in particular. It was not long before she came, and our lives changed forever. Finbar was fifteen; not yet a man, but most certainly no longer a child.

Father had summoned us, and we were all assembled in the great hall. Finbar stood before Lord Colum’s chair, back straight as a spear, waiting for the ritual inquisition. Liam and Diarmid were young men now, and so were spared this ordeal. But they were present on the sidelines, knowing that this reassured the rest of us.

“Finbar. I have spoken to your instructors.”

Silence. Finbar’s wide gray eyes appeared to look straight through Father’s.

“I’m told your skills are developing well. This pleases me.” Despite these words of praise, Father’s gaze was chill, his tone remote. Liam glanced at Diarmid and Diarmid grimaced back, as if to say, here it comes.

“Your attitude, however, apparently leaves a great deal to be desired. I’m told that you have achieved these results without applying a great deal of effort or interest, and in particular, that you frequently absent yourself from training with no reason.”

Another pause. At this point it would most certainly have been a good idea to say something, just to avoid trouble; “yes, Father” would have been enough. Finbar’s utter stillness was an insult in itself.

“What’s your explanation, boy? And none of your insolent looks, I want an answer!”

Father leaned forward, his face close to Finbar’s, and the expression on his face made me shiver and move nearer to Conor. It was a look to terrify a grown man. “You are of an age now to join your brothers at my side, at least while I remain here; and before long, in the field. But there’s no place for dumb insolence on a campaign. A man must learn to obey without question. Well, speak up! How do you account for this behavior?”