Deception's Pawn (Princesses of Myth) (24 page)

My plan worked, but only in my head. When I tried it, I
learned just how resourceful some people can be when malice is at stake.

“Bryg, what do you think of this pattern I’m embroidering?” I asked in a clear, loud voice, standing in front of her so she couldn’t pretend not to hear me. I was ornamenting the sleeve of the blue gown she and the others had rescued after our last violent set-to. I still didn’t understand why they’d done that, but I wasn’t going to question their lone kindness too closely.

She looked up from her own needlework and glanced in Lady Lassaire’s direction. The mistress of Dún Beithe was watching us with her usual bland smile. Bryg looked back to me and opened her mouth. She was going to break her silence. I’d won!

Her hands flitted under her embroidery. She shrieked and leaped to her feet, a thread of blood already creeping down the needle embedded in her palm.

Ula was at her side even before her first scream faded. “Gormlaith and I will take her to Master Cairpre,” she announced, and did so without waiting to be told otherwise. Though Lady Lassaire gasped and fluttered over what had happened, it didn’t take long for her to sink back to her jealously guarded serenity. She never paused to question why it should take two girls to escort one.

I knew the answer:
If they’re gone, they don’t have to talk to me, no matter what I do.
I looked at Dairine, still seated and stitching away.
I should try again. It might work, especially if Dairine remembers how I saved her from being shamed that time with Bran.
I cleared my throat and turned to her.

Dairine met my eyes, held up her needle in one hand, and
deliberately spread the other on her lap, palm up. The threat was clear:
I would rather stab myself than talk to you.
I swallowed my words and bent over my own work, defeated.

It hurt to be shut out. At least Bryg believed she had cause for shunning me, whether or not she was right. What reason did the others have for treating me this way? None except Bryg’s command. Kian told me about how she dominated them, but I’d clung to the hope that they cared for me just enough to defy her. When the distance between us continued to grow, I felt like a fool.

Was there ever any bond between us or did I imagine it because I longed for it to be there?
I wondered.
Are they betraying a friendship that never existed? Have I been deceiving myself?

I sat with Lady Moriath at dinner. I’d had enough of the fosterlings’ wall of silence. I would have joined Kian, but he was deep in conversation with a group of his fellow warriors. The warming weather meant it would soon be the season for the young men of Dún Beithe to prove themselves by riding out to raid their neighbors’ herds or defend their own. They had plans to make, arguments to raise over those plans, and a fight or two to start when they knew the girls were watching.

Lady Moriath looked unwell. I feared she’d lost weight, and she was only pecking at her dinner. When I asked if I could bring her some other dish to tempt her appetite, she declined with a weak smile.

“You shouldn’t be fussing over me, Lady Maeve. I always fall slightly ill when the seasons change, but I get better quickly.”

“You’d recover even sooner if you ate more,” I said more sternly than I intended.

She chuckled. “What has this world come to when the
gosling’s telling the goose how to lay eggs? You sound like my mother. Mother, is that you in there?” She cocked her head and peered deep into my eyes. “Have you come back to guide me to Tech Duinn?”

I knew she wasn’t serious, but I still felt a chill to hear her name the land of the dead. “Don’t say such things, Lady Moriath. You can’t leave us yet.” I smiled and added, “My embroidery is still hideous. I need you!”

She shook her head. “How sweet of you to say that, even if it’s not true. I’ve heard Lady Lassaire herself praise your needlework. She says you have a wonderful talent.”

“I had a wonderful teacher. I wish there were something I could do to repay you for the time you spent on me.”

“Hmm.” Her mischievous smile let me glimpse the girl she had once been. “You might start by embroidering the cuffs of my new summer gown—”

“Done,” I agreed happily.

“—and then by filling these aged hands with gold—” She purposely cupped them together so tightly that a single pair of earrings would do the job.

“Done!” I cried, enjoying our jest.

“—and finally by giving me your promise to keep me as one of your attendants when you become the lady of Dún Beithe. I’m much too old to go seeking—”

“What did you say?” The words came out harsh and angry. The joke was over for me.

Lady Moriath was taken aback by my reaction. “I mean when you wed Lord Kian. That’s all Lady Lassaire talks about.”

“Not to me.” My mouth turned down sharply.

The older woman looked contrite. “My dear, I never
wanted to upset you. It’s all just talk. Lady Lassaire loves to weave her son’s future even more than his clothes. She has no way of knowing if the High King would choose such a match for you, though she has said that if you told your father how much you love Kian, Lord Eochu might be swayed into giving his consent.”

“She’s thought of everything, hasn’t she,” I stated.
Everything but what I’ve got to say about this. What’s the use of leaving home if I’m still confronting people who think they can live my life for me?

If I let them.

I didn’t want to dwell on Lady Lassaire’s one-sided decision about my marriage, so I steered the conversation away from it. Perhaps Lady Moriath would have some suggestion for how to deal with Bryg and her hunting pack? Surely at her age she’d seen similar incidents, perhaps even a few that ended more happily than Aifric’s story.

I brought up the subject casually, without revealing how much the girls’ silence hurt. I wanted advice, but not at the cost of making Lady Moriath fret about me. That was why I described the situation as though pointing out a pesky fly. The unwelcome insect should be swatted, but there was no pressing need to do it.

The older woman frowned. “You should tell Lady Lassaire.”

I remembered what Kian had said about his mother:
“She doesn’t like hearing bad news or having to deal with problems.”

“I don’t think it will do any good.”

“You ought to try anyway. Or if it will help, I’ll talk to her. There might be less chance of her dismissing it as a girls’ silly spat if I speak for you. At least I can make her
listen.
” Lady
Moriath smiled. “I’m old, but I’m not toothless. Once I bite, I hold on.”

I thanked her, but privately doubted she’d succeed. Another day of chill silence passed for me, and when I looked for Lady Moriath that evening, she wasn’t there. Had she offended or annoyed her mistress somehow? Had she insisted too strongly that Lady Lassaire step out of her placid, trouble-free world and actually
help
one of her fosterlings? I hated the thought of my kindly teacher being banished to her sleeping chamber as though she were a naughty child.

I never should have agreed to let her fight my battle
, I thought.
I’m going to talk to Lady Lassaire about Bryg and the others right now, and while I’m at it, I’ll ask her not to blame Lady Moriath for speaking for me.

I started across the great hall at once. Lady Lassaire was seated in her usual place at her husband’s side, attended by her three favorite companions. They had all received their portions and were eating heartily. I had to thread my way through a crowd to reach them. The space around the central hearth was bustling with people too impatient to wait for servants to fill their platters and too lowborn to be given their food first.

I glanced behind me briefly, just in time to see my former friends settling down on a bench together. Bryg saw where I was headed and gave me a look of pure rage. Then she swallowed her resentment, put on a broad smile, and used her bard’s voice to declaim: “Why are you in such a hurry to fill your belly, Lady Maeve? Or do you
need
to gobble two dinners?” She stood up, stuck out her stomach, and used her hands to describe the bulging shape of a pregnant woman’s body. The men and women nearest the group of fosterlings laughed.

Ula uttered a shocked gasp so blatant that an infant could tell it was false. When she spoke, it was plain that she’d picked up Bryg’s trick of whispering at the top of her lungs. “Oh! How can you say such things? Everyone knows Lady Maeve has never let any man claim her.”

“Really?” Dairine feigned surprise even worse than Ula. “Why is that? She told me how much she despises Lord Kian, but she
must
have some other lover!”

“Do you want to know the truth?” Ula asked. She no longer needed to raise her voice. Dairine’s lie had silenced every other conversation. All ears perked up, ravenous to hear more. “It’s because of the
curse.
”

“The curse?” Dairine wrung her hands. “Poor Lady Maeve! What is it?”

“I’ll tell you,” Ula said. “But it’s so dreadful, I don’t think you’ll be able to hear it without fainting.” She paused dramatically.

The great hall became a beehive, filled with the buzzing of countless muttered speculations. Everyone had a guess to make about my supposed bane. No one thought to question whether it really existed.

Ula decided that she had her audience sufficiently enthralled. She spoke again, as though Dairine were the only person eagerly awaiting her next words: “On second thought, I shouldn’t be the one to say anything about it.” Several poorly smothered groans of disappointment rose from among Lord Artegal’s household. “Gormlaith’s the one who revealed it to me. She should tell you.”

Now all the attention fell on Gormlaith, who didn’t want it. The plump girl remained hunched over her dinner. I swear
she looked as if she were trying to turn herself to water, trickle off the bench, and soak out of sight into the floor.

“Don’t be difficult, Gormlaith,” Bryg said crisply. “Speak up. I want to know too.”

“I—I don’t know—I never—” Gormlaith was shaking.

“Yes, you
do
know.” Bryg was relentless. “Be a good friend and share.”

“She, uh, Lady Maeve can never have—have a sweetheart because—because she—she”—Gormlaith took a deep breath—“because she’s got a pig’s tail growing out of her backside and she’s covered in bristles and if any man sees it, the rest of her will turn into a pig too!” She spewed the ugly lie quickly, spitting it out like the mud it was.

I stood by the hearthside and blazed hotter than the cookfire with embarrassment and anger. All around me the great hall rang with the sound of scandalized shrieks and mocking laughter. Even when I closed my eyes, I still saw a swarm of faces contorted by mirth at my expense.

Someone began oinking. I felt the sting of tears.

“Enough!” Lord Artegal was on his feet. “The next man who insults the High King’s daughter so rudely will sleep with
my
pigs for five nights!”

Lady Lassaire giggled. “Dear husband, listen to you! What next? Will you insist on sewing a pig’s tail to poor Gormlaith’s dress to teach her a lesson? All she’ll learn is that you have no sense of humor. Maeve, sweet child, come sit by me.” She stretched out both arms, beckoning. “You weren’t upset by such a trifling joke, were you?”

If I said no, I’d be lying. If I said yes, I’d be admitting that Bryg had the same power over me that she already had over the
others. I chose to say nothing and took the seat Lady Lassaire offered.

Lord Artegal ordered a servant to bring me food. “Thank you,” I said, accepting the platter. “For this and for putting a stop to that ugliness before. The other girls and I—Things haven’t been good between us.”

Lady Lassaire overheard and swooped in. “Nonsense! It’s only that you’re fairly new to fosterage. When I was younger, the same sort of thing happened all the time. You must learn to deal with it. Trust me, it means nothing.”

“Aifric didn’t feel that way.”

The lady’s face went from smiling to scowling in a blink. “How would you know anything about that? You weren’t here.” Her frown melted into a look of self-pity. “It wasn’t my fault. Something was wrong with that girl or she wouldn’t have run away. I did my best for her, counseling her to ignore all the jokes the others played on her, but she pretended she couldn’t do that. Aifric always made a fuss over trifles. She had no mother, so perhaps that was her way of trying to hold my attention. If I’d given in, she never would’ve learned how to stand up for herself.”

She did more than stand up
, I thought.
She ran.

I lowered my voice. “With respect, my lady, how do you know when it’s no longer a joke?”

Lady Lassaire patted my cheek and gave me her most benevolent, condescending smile. “Sweet Maeve, you’re making this seem like more than it is because you have nothing truly important to fill your days. Don’t worry, you’ll be married before you know it. Once you’re a bride, you’ll be too content and
much
too busy to go around seeing problems where
there are none. I can tell you that there’s at least one young man who’d gladly rescue you from all these imaginary quarrels. I swear by my honor, he is a very worthy warrior and sure to be a king one day. If you agree to accept … 
him
, whoever he may be”—she was trying to be coy and only succeeded in sounding ridiculous—“we can send a messenger to Cruachan straightaway. You could be a happy wife by Beltane.”

It was no use striving to make Lady Lassaire see things as they were when she’d decided how they
must
be. She’d just witnessed an incident bad enough to make Lord Artegal himself intervene, yet she still insisted I faced “imaginary” quarrels? The only way I’d get her help was by marrying Kian, and that was not going to happen.

I set my platter aside. “My lady, I’m flattered to hear that I’ve got one admirer who’s willing to wed me, pig’s tail and all,” I said with a smile. “But he should know that I’m no longer the prize I used to be. My brothers will rule Connacht, not me. I won’t bring much wealth or power to my husband. If this young man, whoever he may be”—I deliberately repeated her words—“is as wonderful as you say, he deserves a better bride.”