Deception's Pawn (Princesses of Myth) (2 page)

A tear trickled down the side of my nose, shaming me.
Why am I crying?
I thought, angry at myself.
Ridiculous. This is what I wanted. I
asked
to leave home!

I’d cast away the dust and shadows of my father’s house to seek a fresh life of my own making. I would not let the lies and broken promises and deaths of the past touch it. Like a newly forged sword, I would draw it from the smith’s fire and brandish it so that all the world could see how bright it shined.

Bold words, pretty words, and not one speck of a notion
how
to turn them into reality. I was free to be myself, but … what did that mean? My fingers clutched the bedclothes like a kestrel’s talons, as if holding the cloth in a tight grip would also hold back more tears.

It didn’t work. I buried my head and wept without a sound until my eyes were dry and I could take a deep breath that wouldn’t come out as a sob.

“Lady Maeve?” A girl’s voice sounded tentatively behind
me. “Lady Maeve, are you all right?” I felt the bed give a bit and heard the dried grass in the mattress crunch under her weight as she rested her hand gently on my shoulder. “Did you have a bad dream?”

“I’m fine.” I wiped away the last of my tears and sat up, tucking the blanket under my arms. “Thank you, um …”

What was her name? We’d been introduced last night, during my welcome feast. What an uproar that had been! In the midst of the festive din, Lord Artegal and his wife, Lady Lassaire, took turns introducing me to every person present. So many! I smiled, nodded, and said how happy I was to meet them, but the noise that filled the great room swallowed all their names before they reached my ears. By the time I was allowed to stumble sleepily off to bed, I was still surrounded by total strangers.

The plump girl who perched on the edge of my bed was one of my fellow fosterlings. Why couldn’t I recall
her
name, at least? I blushed with embarrassment. She’d believe I was too haughty, that I didn’t think her name was worth remembering. Oh, what a bad start to a new life!

To my great relief, the girl gave me a shy smile and said, “I’m Gormlaith.” She showed no sign that I’d insulted her by failing to recall who she was.

“Thank you, Gormlaith.” I took her hand. It was a simple gesture of friendship, but it made her round, ruddy face dimple with pleasure. “I’m sorry. I’m still so tired from traveling that I can barely remember my
own
name.”

“I hope you rested well, then, Lady Maeve.”

“I’m not
Lady
Maeve to you.”

“But you’re the High King’s daughter!” She had the most
astonishing blue eyes, bright as a summer sky. “Lady Lassaire hasn’t stopped talking about what an honor it is to have you as one of Dún Beithe’s fosterlings. She said we have to remember that always, and make sure you feel at home and happy here.”

“I was just Maeve at home,” I replied with a smile.

“But Lady—”

“Please?”

Gormlaith nodded and her dull blond hair fell forward like a faded curtain, dozens of small, untidy plaits hiding her face. Though we sat close together, I had to strain my ears to hear her say, “All right.”

“I’d also be grateful if you’ll be my guide,” I added.

She raised her chin and looked puzzled. “Your guide? Dún Beithe’s not that big. I don’t think you’ll get lost unless you go outside the ringfort walls.”

“That’s not what I mean. How long have you lived here, Gormlaith?”

“Eleven years, I think. I was five or six when I arrived.”

“So you’ve grown up here. You know where things are but you also know
how
things are done. All the people I met last night are only names and faces to me.”
And sometimes only faces
, I thought ruefully. “
You
know what they’re like. I don’t want to tread on anyone’s toes by saying the wrong thing to the wrong person. And what should I expect day to day? Is Lady Lassaire our only teacher or do some of her ladies help? Who’s strict and who’s kind? Who’ll help me if I need something I forgot to bring with me? And what if I—?”

Gormlaith laughed softly, as if she had no right to be heard. “So many questions, Lady—I mean, Maeve. I’ll do my best to answer them, but you’ll know as much as I do in a day or two.”

“That’s for sure.” A second voice came from the dimmest corner of our room. It sounded sweet, but there was a definite sting to the words, like the speaker had gulped a spoonful of honey and discovered it concealed a thorn. A shadowy form rose and glided across the floor to join us. I’d never seen such a tall girl, or such a pretty one. She loomed over me like one of the towering, graceful birch trees that gave Dún Beithe its name. Her gleaming flame-colored hair fell unbound down her back, all the way to her hips. Like me, she hadn’t braided it before bedtime, but hers remained smooth and free of tangles, as if by magic. I envied her wildly. The only sour note to her beauty was the iciness of her storm-gray eyes and the slightly mocking twist of her mouth.

“Good morning, Maeve,” she said. “I see Gormlaith hasn’t wasted any time in trying to lay claim to you. Don’t pay too much attention to her. She clings like a burr if you let her.” She was quick to give the other girl a small, brittle smile and added, “You know I’m only joking, Gormlaith, but you must admit I’m right. We all want to share Maeve’s friendship, so don’t keep her to yourself.”

“I wasn’t going to do that,” Gormlaith muttered.

“Really?” One perfect eyebrow went up. “Well, maybe so. You might have learned your lesson after what happened with Aifric, but—”

“That wasn’t my fault, Ula. Stop talking about it.” Gormlaith hunched her shoulders and drew in her head, as though protecting herself from a beating. “I thought I heard Maeve crying and I only came to see if I could help her.”

Her words made both of Ula’s brows rise sharply. “Were you crying, Maeve?” The chill distance vanished from her
voice. She sounded sincerely concerned. “You’re not sick, are you?” I shook my head and she let out a sigh of relief. “That’s good. I still remember how much my stomach ached after my welcome feast. I was nine years old and I’d never seen so much food set in front of me in my life! I gobbled it up like a starving dog.”

“And then she was
sick
as a dog the next day.” My third roommate spoke up drowsily from her bed. “Bryg and I laughed and laughed until Lady Lassaire scolded us and said that since we were so amused by the show, we could do all of the cleaning up after it.” A loud yawn and a rustle of bedclothes ended her words.

“No one asked you to tell
my
story, Dairine.” Ula strode straight for the girl’s bed, grabbed the short end of the mattress, and then jerked it up and gave it a violent twist. There was a shriek and a thud followed by an outraged “Ula, you
sow
!” from the floor. Gormlaith smothered her giggles with a fist pressed tightly to her mouth, but I laughed out loud. I couldn’t help it.

“Very funny, Lady Maeve.” Dairine scrambled to her feet, scowling, and wriggled into her clothes as fast as she could. “You’re next. Let’s see how
you
like being dumped on the ground.” She tried to sound threatening, but the playfulness in her voice betrayed her. “Just wait until I’m dressed and—”

“Not if I’m up first,” I replied lightly. I peered over one side of the bed and then the other, looking for the garments I’d dropped there last night.

I found nothing. “Gormlaith, do you know where the servants put my—?” I began.

“Don’t blame the servants, Maeve,” Ula said. The green
gown I’d worn to the feast dangled from her grip. She exchanged a wicked grin with Dairine, who flaunted the blue dress I’d worn when I arrived at Dún Beithe. The two girls used my garments for partners in a merry dance, threading their way between the beds, always staying just beyond my reach.

“Oh dear,
this
again.” Gormlaith sighed.

“Tsk. Don’t feel left out, dear.” Dairine ducked for a moment and rummaged briefly under her bed frame. “Here’s something for you to play with too!” She yanked out my third gown and tossed it to Gormlaith, who stopped disapproving of the game the moment she became part of it.

“Give those back,” I called out, trying to sound angry. It was no use; I laughed instead. This mischief was too harmless to take seriously. In fact, it was a welcome distraction from my waking doubts and worries. “Do you want me to start my first day at Dún Beithe naked?”

“If you dare,” Ula replied cheerfully.

“Don’t listen to her, Lady Maeve,” Dairine said. “The less our lads see of you, the happier she’ll be. The men are already talking about how beautiful you are. The poor thing’s dying of envy! Isn’t that right, Ula dear?”

The tall girl shrugged. “Men pay no attention to women’s chatter and I pay no attention to men’s jabbering. They’re nothing but overgrown boys.”

“So you
don’t
want to marry one of them?” Dairine looked sly. “No, you’d rather stay here as a fosterling forever, or until one of your brothers takes pity on you, brings you home, and lets you raise his brats.”

“At least I’m not
frantic
to get married. At least my brothers
want
to bring me—” Ula cut herself short and laughed a bit too
loudly. “Why don’t we put it to the test? Toss Maeve out the door right now, just as she is. If you’re right, every one of Dún Beithe’s warriors will fall in love on the spot. None will be left to woo us and we can
all
die unmarried.”

“Speak for yourself,” Dairine replied a bit testily. “I might not have your high-and-mighty family, but someday I’ll get a husband even you will envy.”

I thought Dairine was only pretending to be cross as part of the game, so I decided to join in. “If you want to get married, you’d better give me back my clothes. Otherwise I’ll walk out of this room bare as an egg and reap a
harvest
of husbands. I won’t even leave you a stableboy.”

“Do as she says, Dairine,” Ula urged. “Give her back that gown and she might let you have one of her men in exchange. You’d like that bargain, wouldn’t you? Trading a dress for a highborn husband? Maybe even Lord Kian!”

Dairine’s pale face flushed. “Don’t give away what you want for yourself, Ula,” she said in wintry tones. “Or what’s not yours to give.”

Ula’s back straightened. She glared at Dairine with narrowed eyes. My green gown dropped from her hands and puddled on the floor between her feet. I wasn’t sure what was going on between those two, and I didn’t care; I saw my chance. I cast aside the bedcover and sprang, swooping down on the green dress right under Ula’s nose.

“I’ve got it!” I cried, holding it close and twirling on the balls of my feet in a dance of triumph.

“What’s all this racket? What are you girls up to in there? Are you slaughtering each other?” A deep voice broke like a thunderclap over our heads.

The bull-hide curtain in the doorway whipped aside. A tall, brawny young man stood grinning in the wooden arch, fists on hips. His short blond hair was spiked like a hedgehog’s back and he wore such a thick gold torque around his neck that the weight would have brought a weaker lad to his knees.

His gaze focused on me where I poised in shock, holding my crumpled dress to my bare skin with trembling hands. His grin changed to a look of alarm. A bright blush came out in scarlet patches on his beardless cheeks. His jaw dropped, but soon began moving rapidly as a stream of stammered apologies rushed from his lips.

“Get out!” I cried, clutching my gown to my chest with one hand while fumbling to hold the flapping cloth closed behind me. “Get out, get out, get
out
!” My voice rose to a wail.

“I … you … didn’t mean to … everyone’s usually all awake and dressed by …,” he went on, frozen in place.

“Hey, Kian, what are you doing over there?” Another male voice sounded from the main area of the great house. “You know what Lady Lassaire told us about bothering her girls. If she catches you spying on them she’ll box your ears, even if you are her
precious
little boy.”

A burst of mocking laughter from Kian’s unseen comrade shattered the petrifying spell on him. He whispered one final “Sorry, milady” and bolted. The bull hide swung back into place and I collapsed on the nearest bed with a groan, burying my face in the bedclothes.

The other girls gathered around me in silence. No one knew what to say. Finally, Ula spoke up. “We’d better go to breakfast. Lady Lassaire will be wondering why we’re so late.”

“I don’t want breakfast,” I said. “I want to die.”

“I don’t care what you want to do;
I’m
hungry. Breakfast first, dying later.” Ula’s mild joke made me giggle in spite of myself. She tugged gently at a strand of my hair. “Dairine, bring me my comb; you know where I keep it. While I unsnarl these tangles, you and Gormlaith can pick out something for Maeve to wear.” She got no arguments. Any quarrels that had sparked among them were extinguished. I let myself be dressed and groomed as if I were a toddler. My mind was too overrun by humiliating memories for me to object.

When they were done, Dairine smiled and asked, “Ready for your first day at Dún Beithe, Lady Maeve?”

“I’d better be,” I replied with a grimace. “It’s off to a
wonderful
start.”

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