Deception's Pawn (Princesses of Myth) (10 page)

For days after that, I wore my confidence like the richest, heaviest gold torque a king could bestow. It was a heavy burden, but I forced myself to hold my head high, even if it cost me a snapped neck. Wherever I went in the great house, whispers followed—a rushing sound, a stream in full springtime flood that would have swept me off my feet if I took a single misstep. I stood firm and let it rush past me. I pretended that all the delighted, scandalized, speculating murmurs were the rustle of wind through the dying leaves.

To my surprise, the one refuge I had from all those rumbling rumors was behind the bull-hide curtain of my sleeping chamber in the company of Ula, Gormlaith, and Dairine. That first evening after I returned to the ringfort with Kian, Ula remarked, “You’re quite the huntress, aren’t you, Maeve? When I go into the woods, I only come back with mushrooms.”

“I didn’t go there for any sort of sweethearts’ meeting,” I replied calmly. “If you think that, stop hinting and say so straight out.”

She spread her hands. “If that’s how it was, I take your word for it. What I saw from up on the wall could mean many things, but you’re the only one who knows the truth.”

Dairine couldn’t resist adding: “Kian knows a bit about it too.” Her mischief earned her a slap from Ula.

“How would you like it if we didn’t defend you when those magpies out there started twittering about
your
escapades?” she demanded, jerking her thumb at the doorway. “If Maeve says there’s nothing between her and Kian, that’s that.”

“Thank you, Ula.”

I hugged her and then Gormlaith, but when I came to Dairine, the dark-haired girl took advantage of our closeness to hiss in my ear: “You do know she’s only on your side because she wants to believe you’ve got no claim? She’s been after him for years.”

“She can have him,” I whispered back, though a small part of me countered with a beguiling vision of Kian and a whisper of its own:
Are you
sure
of that, Maeve?

Autumn turned the birches’ leaves to honey-gold and Dún Beithe buzzed with activity like a hive of bees. Everyone was caught up in preparations for the coming winter. Gossip grows stronger when people have nothing else to do, so that busy time of year killed the rumors about Kian and me the way frost kills flowers. Or so I thought.

Samhain and all its solemn rites came rushing toward us in a war chariot’s headlong charge. It marked one of the great
divisions of the year, a time of awe and dread. On that night the barrier between our mortal lives and the unknown realm of the Otherworld would grow thin enough to let the spirits of the dead slip through. Sometimes they didn’t return alone, but traveled in the company of monstrous beasts, tusked, taloned, and fanged, with flaming eyes. Sometimes they rode on dark whirlwinds as they followed the Fair Folk’s wild hunt through the night. When dawn came, they plunged back through their gateway mounds and took the earth’s warmth and light away with them until spring.

As Kian foretold, we had far too few opportunities to steal off so that I could continue my practice with the sling and share his forays with Ea. Lady Moriath recovered her health, so I was still able to visit my sweet kestrel on her perch when we renewed our embroidery lessons, but it wasn’t the same as seeing those wings slice effortlessly through the sky.

Kian did find one chance to meet with me before his own duties claimed him completely. The night before he left Dún Beithe to help his father thin the herds, he sat beside me at dinner and murmured, “It’s dark out, but can you find your way to the place where I keep the kestrel?”

“Tonight?” I whispered, taken aback by such a strange request. “Yes, easily; the moon’s full. But why? There’ll be more talk if anyone sees—”

“Where’s the brave girl who didn’t care how loudly those dogs bark?” he replied smoothly, then moved on to join his friend Connla, leaving it for me to decide whether I’d accept or refuse his dare.

I took it, of course, and I made it a point of honor to find my way to the storehouse without being seen. He was waiting
by Ea’s perch, holding a small oil lamp. “I knew you’d come, Maeve. Here, this is for you.”

I stared at the gift he dropped into my cupped hands. “Why are you giving me your sling and shot pouch, Kian?”

“Look again. Those are new and they’re yours. I don’t know when I’ll be able to continue our lessons, but why can’t you practice what I’ve already taught you?”

I loosened the thong sealing the small leather pouch and poured the contents into my hand. “These are real slingstones!” I exclaimed. I recognized the specially formed round missiles that Kian used when he showed me how to use his weapon. He always tried to recover them after a cast, and he gave me only ordinary pebbles and rocks when it was my turn.

“Yes, so don’t be careless with them. When I come back I’ll want to hear that you never miss your mark.”

“You will, I promise! Thank you, Kian.” I turned my eyes to Ea. “Who’ll take care of her while you’re away?”

“She comes with me.”

“Oh.” I tried not to sound downcast.

Kian chuckled. “Sorry, Maeve. You know I’d trust her to you in a heartbeat, but you’re going to have enough to do without the added responsibility of looking after this pretty lady.” Before I could argue, he put on a soppy face and added in the most ridiculous lovesick tones: “My beloved princess, I’ll die of loneliness without her, and every time I gaze into her eyes, I’ll think of you.”

I laughed so much that he had to beg me to stop before the noise drew unwelcome ears to the storehouse. Biting my knuckles to keep silent, I slipped back through the night to the great house.

Kian was right: it would have been difficult for me to care for Ea in his absence, exhausting if not impossible. Too soon the demands of the harvest season took over every aspect of my life in Lord Artegal’s stronghold. Lady Lassaire became a war leader, commanding every girl and woman in her household as we all fought against the threatening spirits of oncoming hunger and cold.

We fosterlings had to master all ways of readying a settlement for winter. The day would come when we’d have households of our own to manage. I relished the work. I was in no hurry to have a husband, but the idea of being responsible for the comfort and security of others appealed to me. I wanted to learn all the skills I’d use for my people’s benefit when the time came.

My friends didn’t share my enthusiasm. Dairine dragged herself from task to task, muttering and doing work that was just barely good enough. Ula was silent and competent, but she went about her duties with such a look of disdain and cold fury that no one dared to correct her mistakes except Lady Lassaire.

And Gormlaith? The nearer we came to Samhain, the less we saw of her. She’d disappear before breakfast and not show herself again until sundown. Her strange absence bothered me, but I was the only one who seemed to care about her whereabouts.

“Does she always do this?” I asked Dairine quietly while the two of us toted a barrel filled with butter to the cold storage shed.

“Just for the past few years. Ugh, this is heavy! Is it filled with butter or rocks?”

“Have you got any idea where she goes?”

“What do you care, as long as she comes back?” Dairine snapped. “Are you carrying your share of the load, or are you tilting it so that I’m stuck with the whole weight?”

I could see I wasn’t going to get any answers the direct way, so I changed tactics. “Poor Dairine, I know how you feel. It’s not fair that Gormlaith vanishes and leaves you stuck with her work and your own. If I had even a hint of where to find her, I’d put a stop to that.”

Dairine’s scowl softened and her voice dripped honey. “That’s so sweet, Maeve. You’re my best friend, and you must know that I’m yours.”

“What, not Ula?” I teased gently.

“
That
envious thing?” Dairine made a rude sound. “Until you came here, she was our Lady Most:
most
highborn,
most
graceful,
most
beautiful, and
most
important. Oh, and did I forget
most
courted by all the best young men? Not that she lowered her precious self to encourage any one of them. She’d like to snare no one less than Lord Kian.”

“Who’s stopping her?”

“Lord Kian himself.” Dairine snickered. “She found
that
out once the field was cleared and it was safe for her to go after him. I wish you could’ve seen her face when all she won was the kind of smile you’d get from a big brother.”

“What do you mean, ‘once the field was cleared’?” I asked.

“Oh, just that if you want to steal a prime cut of beef, it’s smarter to try taking it from a puppy than from a wolf. Ula expects to get things, not fight for them, especially if it’s a messy fight she’s bound to lose.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t need to.” And no matter how many additional
questions I asked, Dairine brushed them aside like a cloud of mayflies.

I did want to find out where Gormlaith went when she vanished day after day. I believed her disappearance had nothing to do with avoiding work, and I was growing more and more concerned about what unhappy shadow might lie at the root of it. All I desired was to speak with her about it privately.

I never got the chance. One morning I woke up to hear her mewling in distress. Ula and Dairine stood over her bed with their backs to me, so I couldn’t tell what was going on. I put on the nearest garment I could find and rushed up behind them.

“Gormlaith, what is it? Are you sick?” I cried, peering over Ula’s shoulder.

No light was kindled, but enough seeped in from the great hall to let me see the rope binding the girl’s ankle to one leg of her bed.

“Sick of doing her fair share,” Dairine said, without bothering to look at me. “We should have thought of this days ago.”

“Here she is and here she stays until she swears that she’ll stop running off, leaving us to do all her work,” Ula decreed. “
Swears
it!”

In three strides I was on the far side of Gormlaith’s bed, facing her captors, so indignant that my skin prickled as though a thunderstorm were rising through my bones. “Let her go.”

“Not until she gives her word—No, not until she swears a
blood oath.
” Dairine grinned. “Something strong enough to bring the gods’ wrath on her if she breaks it.”

“I’m sorry … I couldn’t help it … I’ve been so upset, so scared,” Gormlaith moaned. “You know how bad it is at this
time of year; I can’t help thinking of her, remembering—don’t you feel it too? Don’t you worry if this will be the Samhain that she … that she comes back?” She was trembling.

“Be quiet,” Ula snarled, but her face turned pale and so did Dairine’s.

“Who’ll come back?” I asked. When they ignored my question, I shrugged, dropped onto Gormlaith’s mattress, and began untying the rope on her ankle.

Ula made a grab for my wrists, trying to stop me. I swatted her hands aside, but she persisted, striking back. What could I do but defend myself? Gormlaith lay like a log and Dairine stood bouncing in place, richly enjoying every moment of our fight.

It ended when Ula drove her fingernails into my flesh and I reacted with a violent shove, toppling her backward. Her head struck the corner of a wooden chest and she let out such a yowl that our sleeping chamber flooded with all manner of people, from Lady Lassaire’s noble attendants to the cook’s soot-smudged assistant. I took advantage of the confusion to set Gormlaith free.

Later that morning, the four of us got a harsh lecture about how horseplay was for boys and
not
young ladies. Ula didn’t speak to me for the rest of the day, though by evening her mood had softened.

“You were right, Maeve,” she said reluctantly as we sat at dinner. “Snaring Gormlaith that way solved nothing.”

“And I’m sorry you were hurt,” I replied.

Ula touched the back of her head gingerly. “No lump, no blood, no harm done.” But though she smiled at me, I thought I saw an iron-hard speck glinting in her eyes.

Gormlaith no longer ran away from our chores. She did her share quickly and without complaint, but also without volunteering a word beyond
yes
and
no, please
and
thank you.
She shrugged off my attempts to bring her into conversation, and if I tried to break through to her with a joke, all I got was a brief, wobbly smile.

“You might as well give up,” Dairine whispered to me. We fosterlings were elbow to elbow at a long board, salting the newly butchered beef to preserve it. “It’s painful watching you waste your time on that tongue-tied lump.”

“That ‘tongue-tied lump’ is my friend,” I muttered hotly. “I thought she was yours as well.”

Dairine rolled her eyes. “We’re
all
friends here. Who else have we got? But that doesn’t change who she is. Listen, if you’re fretting about her, let it go: she’s always like this when Samhain comes, but she’s her old, dull self as soon as it’s over.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why does she act this way?”

Dairine made an impatient sound, as if she were trying to explain things to a doorpost. “I
told
you, it’s because of Samhain. It’s a bad time of year to be a coward.”

I rubbed more salt into the bloody flank in front of me and frowned. “We’re all afraid of what happens on that night, Dairine, but that doesn’t make all of us cowards. Or is that what you think I am too?”

Immediately she changed her tone, showering me with apologies and excuses, swearing that she’d never question my courage. “Amn’t I your best friend, dear Maeve?” she wheedled. “Oh, I know I’m nowhere near your equal—my father
wasn’t highborn and he’s only chief of a petty kingdom—but you’re not a snob like Ula. You never act like you’re too good for me or the rest of us, even if you think it.”

“I never thought—”

“Tsk, there I go again, tripping over my own stupid tongue.
You
know what I mean.” She threw herself back into our chore, humming merrily.

Lady Lassaire’s war against a hungry winter ended in victory. All of Dún Beithe celebrated Samhain knowing that our supplies of meat and drink were more than enough to see us through the cold, dark days. We stood together, massed around the great bonfires, clinging to their light. Mead flowed, songs soared from the earth to the stars, and we feasted until we fell into our beds to welcome the first sliver of sunlight at dawn.