Deception's Pawn (Princesses of Myth) (16 page)

“Me too,” said Gormlaith, and Ula murmured her agreement.

Their support made me feel warm and secure, even if I thought they were dressing a mouse in a wolf’s skin. “Then none of us needs to worry,” I said affectionately. “As long as I have my friends, I can face my enemies.”

C
HAPTER
T
EN

Travelers on a Winter Road

O
N A DAY
made remarkable by snowfall, two travelers appeared on the road to Dún Beithe. My friends and I saw them coming at almost the same time as the sentry atop the ringfort wall. We were at the foot of the stronghold’s mound, tasting the falling flakes and flinging handfuls of sparkling whiteness at each other, shrieking whenever a wet, icy lump slid up our sleeves, down our necks, or into our shoes.

We’d been at these games since the earliest, darkest part of the morning. We wrapped ourselves in our thick wool cloaks and ran out of the great house the instant we overheard the servants remarking about the weather. If they were telling the truth, we had to see the miracle before it melted. We girls couldn’t treat such a rare event like any ordinary day, so we drowned out the rumbling of our bellies with cries of delight as we romped through the whiteness.

Gormlaith was the first to spy the travelers. “Someone’s coming!” she cried, pointing down the road an instant before
Dairine pitched a fistful of snow into her mouth. While she coughed and spit it out, we turned our eyes in the direction she’d indicated and saw two dark shapes approaching. Like us, they were swathed in heavy cloaks. The taller of the two walked with a short wooden staff and looked oddly misshapen. The other came a few steps behind.

By now, the watchman on the ramparts was sounding the alert. A band of young men came pounding down the slope, Kian and Connla in the lead. They raced past us, though Connla dropped back. With every other eye on the travelers, I was the only one who noticed that he paused long enough to ask a still-coughing Gormlaith if she was all right. The smile she gave him wasn’t the shy, humble one I knew. She beamed at him with gratitude, but also with something more. He patted her on the back and sped off to rejoin his companions. The incident I’d just witnessed was over in less than three breaths, but it told me a tale worthy of the most eloquent bard.

So
she’s
Connla’s mysterious sweetheart!
I was happy for her.

She looked my way, saw the expression on my face, and realized I’d spied out her secret. The poor girl turned whiter than the snow. Her eyes begged me not to speak.

I shook my head and laid a finger to my lips, smiling. I would not betray her, even if she never gave me any sign to let her secret stay untold. The thought of how Dairine and Ula would tease her about it was enough to tie my tongue forever.

By this time Kian and our warriors had reached the travelers and surrounded them. We girls went after them, eager to discover who the wanderers might be. Why would anyone journey at this time of year, and on foot? We held our dresses high as we ran. Long-legged Ula outdistanced the rest of us
easily and was soon shouldering her way between the men to catch a glimpse of the strangers.

Her cry of surprise and joy rang through the frosty air: “Bryg! Oh, Bryg, is it you?” I reached the crowd in time to see her throw her arms around the smaller figure, a sallow, thin-faced girl, and envelop her in a hug. Our proud, self-possessed Ula was a wild muddle of laughter, tears, squeals, and gasps of amazement.

“Bryg! Bryg!” Dairine shoved aside everyone in her path until she, too, was embracing the girl. Gormlaith hung back, pleased but hesitant, and I kept my distance, not wanting to interrupt such a festive reunion.

Meanwhile, Kian was speaking to the other traveler, a man whose dark-brown hair was shot through with streaks of white and gray. His blue eyes were deeply set in nests of wrinkles, like an old man’s, and they held a great weariness. Nothing else about him spoke of age. There was a strange, irregular lump on his back, under the woolen cloak. If it was some deformity, it didn’t prevent him from standing straight and tall.

He noticed me staring at him and smiled. “I don’t remember this pretty face, Kian,” he said. “What other changes have come to Dún Beithe since our departure?” His voice lilted beautifully, like Devnet’s. Even if I hadn’t known that Bryg was the daughter of a bard, I would have guessed his calling.

“Master Fintan, it’s my pleasure to introduce Lady Maeve of Connacht, daughter of Lord Eochu Feidlech, the son of Finn and High King of Èriu.” Kian spoke formally, which meant he behaved as though he’d been carved of stone and given a mouth that could only utter words like blocks of wood. His fellow warriors hooted at him mercilessly for that until he blushed
crimson with embarrassment and knocked down the ones standing closest. When they got up they struck back, until it looked as if the travelers’ welcome was going to turn into a brawl.

Fintan’s laugh held even more music than his speech. “I see that the spell condemning all of you lads to perpetual childhood hasn’t been lifted yet! At least that’s still the same. When you die, I’ll see to it that you’re buried with your favorite toys and a scrap of your mother’s skirts to clutch for comfort.” He spoke with good humor, but that didn’t change the bard’s sharp gift for satire. Kian’s comrades looked abashed and my friend apologized for his show of temper.

“Please, there’s no need for that.” Fintan raised the hand not holding his walking staff and smiled with such benevolence that you’d never know a barbed tongue lurked behind those lips. “My darling Bryg and I have come a long way. We’d rather have something hot in our stomachs than ten thousand apologies in our ears.”

He didn’t have to wait long to receive the hospitality he desired. By the time we all trooped back through the ringfort gate, Lord Artegal was on the threshold of the great house, poised to greet his guests. From behind him came Lady Lassaire’s imperious voice, loudly giving commands to the cook and the rest of the servants. Our simple everyday breakfast fare was magically transformed into a miniature feast, which she offered to the bard as soon as he entered her home.

Fintan cast his cloak aside and took the place of honor beside Lord Artegal. The odd shape I’d seen bulging on his back turned out to be a fine harp. I felt silly for not having guessed that as soon as I learned Fintan’s identity. The bard
placed his cherished instrument tenderly at his feet, glowering at any servant who ventured too close and risked bumping it.

Meanwhile, Bryg seated herself at Kian’s right. Ula and Dairine both lunged to claim the place at her other side, with Ula ending up the winner. Dairine tried to act as though it didn’t matter, but the dark looks she continually jabbed at Ula told a different tale. Gormlaith wasn’t as keen to be near Bryg. She showed not a moment’s regret as she sat down with me, all the way across the central hearth from the three of them.

“What a nice surprise,” I remarked as we ate. “Did you ever expect to see your friend again?”

Gormlaith kept eating.

“I guess you weren’t as close to her as Ula and Dairine,” I went on. “Do you think she’s back to stay? I heard that she was … that she fell ill and had to go to Avallach for healing. She looks rather frail and thin, but she’s got a healthy laugh.”

“She always looked that way,” Gormlaith muttered. “No matter how much she ate, it all burned away. She hated that. Stupid bag of bones.”

Was this Gormlaith, meek Gormlaith saying such a nasty thing about a girl who’d suffered so badly? I blinked in case I’d stumbled into a dream. I wanted to ask her why she felt that way about Bryg, but just then the girl herself was standing before us.

“Hello, Maeve,” the bard’s daughter said, holding out both hands to clasp mine. “I had to come over and meet you. Ula and Dairine haven’t stopped telling me how happy they are to have you as a new friend. I wish I’d been here to welcome you when you first came to Dún Beithe, but I hope we can make up for lost time now that I’m back.” She turned to Gormlaith
and added: “I’ve missed you, dear one. I always loved our conversations. When it’s time for dinner, I want both of you to sit with me. The others have had their turn.” She laughed. “Oh no, just listen to me, speaking as if it’s some sort of honor to keep me company! Maeve, please don’t think ill of me. Once we get to know each other better, you’ll see that I’m really not
that
conceited.”

She was completely charming. I warmed to her at once. “I’d never think that,” I told her. “Everything I’ve heard about you has been praise.”

“If it came from these three”—she dropped my hands to indicate Gormlaith, Dairine, and Ula—“don’t believe it without a
few
questions. Haven’t you been here long enough to know that we fosterlings stick together?”

“They’re not the only ones who’ve mentioned you. Lord Kian is in your debt for how you helped him save the wounded bird he found.”

A faint tinge of color fleetingly rose and faded from Bryg’s pinched cheeks. “He told you about that?”

I nodded. “The kestrel is alive and well, thanks to you. Kian knows it, and he’ll never forget what you did for her.”

“Her?” she repeated. “When we took care of the creature, I said we should name it together, but he insisted we should wait until we found out if it was male or female. How did he discover the truth?”

“I told him. I learned how to tell the difference from a good friend of mine when I still lived at home. He had your gift for healing animals.” When I spoke of Odran, my voice became tender and fond in spite of myself.

Bryg noticed. A knowing look showed in her gray eyes. “It sounds as if your ‘good friend’ had a gift for more than that. I envy you, Maeve, though you must miss him dreadfully now.”

“He and I weren’t—” My false protest was cut off by a stir from the other side of the hearth.

Master Fintan was on his feet, harp in hand, about to sing. The entire household stilled, eagerly waiting. He struck the strings and gave us the tale of how King Nuada lost his arm in combat only to have Dian Cecht, god of healing, replace it with a miraculous limb made of silver. His words were so eloquent and persuasive that I could almost smell the bloodshed of battle and see the sparkle of sunlight on the king’s new arm.

Fintan ended his song to roaring approval and set his harp down once more. Lord Artegal took off both of his gold bracelets and offered them to the bard, but was refused with a smile.

“If I take your generous gift, it means I’ve given you no gift of my own,” he told the lord of Dún Beithe. “A wise king knows how to accept tribute as graciously as he gives it.”

“Then take this as part of my welcome,” Lord Artegal said, seizing the bard’s hand and forcing one of the rich ornaments onto his wrist. “Come here, Bryg, my dear child!” he called out, waving the second bracelet overhead. “This one is yours.”

“What a clever man you are, my lord,” Fintan said lightly as Bryg hurried forward to claim her prize. “You make it impossible for me to turn down your gift without making my daughter give back hers as well. I’m too fond of peaceful living to get between a young woman and her pretty adornments.” He heaved such an exaggerated sigh that no one could take it seriously. “Now we are so beholden to you that we must leave
Dún Beithe without telling you the reason we’ve come. Bryg, my treasure, fetch my cloak, put on your own, and pick up your belongings again. We’ll be gone before noon.”

Everyone present joined in the bard’s jest, raising a storm of protest against his departure. Some of the ladies pretended to weep, others howled as if the sky were falling. Kian declared that he’d guard the great house doorway with sword and spear to prevent Fintan from leaving. A pair of young men lifted Bryg off her feet and seated her on their shoulders, shouting that she was their captive, not to be released until her father swore he’d stay at Dún Beithe after all. I never heard so much boisterous laughter in my life, and I took part in it willingly.

“Peace, peace!” Fintan’s trained voice was enough to recapture our attention. He raised his hands in surrender. “My friends, how can I do anything but bow to your wishes? Bryg and I will stay”—he let a wave of loud cheers rise and subside—“with Lord Artegal’s consent.”

“I don’t consent; I insist!” Kian’s father boomed. “This is your home for as long as you can tolerate us. In fact, nothing would make me happier than to have you stay here always.”

Fintan looked wistful. “It wounds my heart to hear what I can’t accept. You know I’ve already bound myself to serve Lord Rus of Laigin. That is my home, though I’ve been gone from it for so long. When I return, they’ll say I was kept prisoner by the People of the Mounds.” One corner of his mouth lifted in a roguish smile. “I’d better weave a song about that.”

“You must stay with us until spring comes, at least,” Lady Lassaire said in her soft, wheedling way. “See how happy my girls are to have your daughter with them again!” She gestured to where Ula and Dairine were clinging to Bryg’s feet, trying
to get her two bearers to set her down again. “If you leave any sooner, I’m afraid they’ll weep themselves sick.”