Part I: The False Spring The Great Hall of the Keep smelled of beeswax, venison, and the damp, ancient stone of the Highlands. It was a place of rigid lines and heavy tapestries, a stark contrast to the wind-scoured, chaotic beauty of the Ring of Brodgar where Colum mac Eòghain made his home. Colum stood before the hearth, his boots muddy, his hands stained with the dark earth of the peat bogs. He looked like a wild thing trapped in a cage of polite society. Across from him sat Lady Moira. She was a woman of terrifying composure, her silver hair braided like a crown, her gown the colour of a winter loch. She did not just occupy the room. She ruled it. “You have the spark, Colum,” Moira said, her voice low and smooth, like a stone skipping over water. “I do not deny that. You pull life from …
