Meán Earraigh was one of my favorite feasts. Down on the grass by the lake shore we marked out a circle with leaves and flower petals. There the ritual was celebrated, with family and guests joining the chanting and the sharing of mead and herbs. We bade farewell to winter and greeted the new season’s warmth and promise. Sibeal played the part of the maiden, wearing a circlet of blossom as she danced in the circle. She was exactly the right age this season, just barely come to her monthly bleeding. She danced without awareness of self, her dark hair rippling down her back, her eyes distant, her features gravely composed. For as long as her part in the ritual lasted she was not a reserved girl of twelve, but the embodiment of the goddess in her youthful, budding form.

Alongside my sister danced the young son of one of Father’s freemen, representing the sun in its nascent power. The whistle and drum, the reed pipe and harp set my feet tapping, though the pace of this measure was contemplative. Conor made an imposing figure in his white robe and golden torc, with his snowy hair bound into many small braids. He watched the young dancers with pride, but there was a shadow over Ciarán’s features, as if the pair’s very freshness and innocence touched a secret sorrow in him. The dance drew to a close. The boy put a sheaf of spring flowers in Sibeal’s hands, representing the burgeoning growth of the season, and she dipped a little curtsy.

Unlike some of his Uí Néill kinsmen, who had turned to the Christian religion, Illann was steadfast in the old faith. This had strengthened his suitability as a husband for Deirdre, and it meant the hand-fasting that followed the spring ritual could be conducted with a full druidic ceremony. I had never thought Deirdre especially beautiful; to do so would have felt a little like admiring myself—vain and wrong. But my twin looked lovely today, her happiness shining from her face, the green gown perfectly setting off her bright eyes, her hair tumbling over her shoulders from the ribbons that caught it high at the back. She was a perfect young bride, and admiration lit Illann’s eyes as the two of them joined hands before Conor, promising to love, trust and be truthful to each other until death sundered them forever. Deirdre’s happiness made me happy. But I could not stop thinking of going to bed tonight all by myself in our chamber, without my twin to say good night to. My mind was full of the long months stretching ahead with not a word from the sister who had been closer to me than anyone else in the world.