Deception's Pawn (Princesses of Myth) (25 page)

She pooh-poohed my objections. “Everyone knows how dearly the High King loves you. He won’t send you to your husband empty-handed, and he’s sure to show favor to the man you love. Let’s end these games, dearest Maeve; we both know who I mean. He cherishes you, and though you’re too modest to admit your feelings for him, all Dún Beithe’s noticed how much time the two of you spend in each other’s company. If you’ll just say the word, I’ll gladly speak to—”

“Where is Lady Moriath?” I broke in, desperate to keep Kian’s mother from taking things past the point of no return.
“I don’t see her here tonight. My lady,
I
was the one who sent her to tell you about my troubles with the other fosterlings. I should have spoken for myself sooner. I’m the one to blame if you didn’t want to hear about such things, not she.”

With a quizzical look, Lady Lassaire tilted her head to one side and asked, “What are you talking about? Lady Moriath has been sick in her bed since last night.”

“Maeve, you sweet girl, what have I done to deserve such tender care?” Lady Moriath asked. “It can’t be fun for you, stuck here day after day, looking after me.” She sighed, her hands very white against the earth-colored cover. “You’ve done more than enough.”

“That’s not true.” I finished folding another blanket and raised her head gently as I tucked it behind her shoulders. Master Cairpre said she’d breathe more easily if she lay propped up. “You’re the one doing
me
a favor. Every night I spend here is one less I have to spend crammed into that room with four other girls. And one of them
snores
.” I tried to sound cheerful. She was still wheezing badly and her coughing spells showed no sign of going away.

She made a rasping noise when she laughed. “There’s
always
one girl in every group who snores. I’ve heard every one of Dún Beithe’s ladies say so when we talk about our time as fosterlings.”

“Then you understand why I’m in no rush to go back.” I filled a cup with watered-down wine and offered her a drink. She took a single sip and waved it away weakly.

“I understand more than you think. They’re still tormenting you.”

“I wouldn’t call it
torment
,” I began, not wanting to upset her with my problems.

“Now you sound like Lady Lassaire.” She sighed again, a breath that became a short burst of coughing. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to speak to her for you.”

“Never mind that; I spoke to her myself.”

And suffered for it afterward
, I thought, recalling how Bryg and the rest had leaped on me that night.

“Well
, you
certainly had a lot to say to Lady Lightning at dinner. What did you tell her?”

“Tsk. What do you
think
she told her? Lies and more lies.”

“If you want to get us into trouble, think twice.”

“Yes, or learn to sleep with your eyes open.”

I tried to explain and they shouted me down. I tried to leave and Bryg ordered Gormlaith to block the doorway. They flung me facedown into my bed so violently that my head hit the edge of the wooden storage chest at its foot. Blue and yellow stars exploded in the darkness. I was too shocked to cry out, and the next instant I couldn’t catch a breath at all because one of them was sitting on me. They didn’t get up until they heard the sound of my indignant, frustrated tears.

Lady Moriath’s cough yanked me out of those painful memories. I gave her a spoonful of honey and some more to drink. “Shall I fetch Master Cairpre?” I asked anxiously.

“No, I’m all right now.” She clasped my hand. Her skin felt dry and fragile as a fallen leaf. “You should go.”

“I don’t want—”

“You should leave Dún Beithe. You can’t take refuge here with me forever. I can imagine how bad things must be between you and those girls. If they were your friends, you’d
want to spend
some
time with them and leave part of my care to others. Why suffer their cruelties when you have a choice? Go home, Maeve.” Her grip tightened.
“Go home.”

I knew she said that out of love.
She must have thought: I couldn’t save Aifric, but I can save this girl. If she returns to her family, she’ll be safe.

I thanked Lady Moriath and said I’d think about it. There was no need to tell her that I’d already decided not to leave. Going home would mean renouncing the freedom that I’d fought so hard to gain. It would mean returning to Cruachan and once more becoming no more than my father’s daughter. Worst of all, it would mean leaving Ea behind. I’d sooner abandon a piece of my heart.

No matter how viciously Bryg tried to punish me for Kelan’s death, I would endure it. If I fled back into Father’s shadow, I could live a safe life, but I wouldn’t be living a life that was truly mine.

Lady Moriath recovered her health and rejoined the household. I rejoiced to see her well, even though it meant I had to share the fosterlings’ sleeping chamber again.

On my first night back, I lay down wondering if I’d have to deal with silence or taunting. Instead I distinctly heard Ula say, “Sleep well, Maeve.” Dairine, too, wished me a good rest, and I thought I caught Gormlaith mumbling the same. Bryg didn’t say a word; I expected as much.

What I didn’t expect was to wake the next morning and find my new blue summer dress tossed across my bed, the backside stained with blood.

Bryg stood over me, her hands on her hips, relishing my
shock as I stared at the ruined garment. “Oh my, Maeve, don’t the women of Cruachan teach you how to protect your clothing when the moon touches you? I’m not surprised; piglets always come from a pigsty.”

I got up, shouldered past her, and flung open the lid of my storage chest, searching for something to wear. The wooden box was empty. Bryg cackled and flapped my bloodstained dress at me as if to say:
You’ve got no choice but to wear this in front of everyone!

I am Maeve. As long as I live, I will
always
have a choice.

I crossed the room and pulled one of Bryg’s gowns from the chest beside her bed. I wriggled into it and sailed out of our room with my head held high while she was still gaping at my nerve.

She was shorter and thinner than I, so the dress was a poor fit. Lady Lassaire took notice and questioned me about it at breakfast. Bryg rushed to complain about the theft when she saw Lady Lassaire talking with me, but I interrupted her grievance.

“This is Bryg’s gown, as she says, my lady. She wove a spell that made all of my clothes disappear, so I borrowed a bit of her magic, tit for tat, and made one of
her
dresses vanish right before her eyes.” I smiled sweetly at the bard’s daughter. “Don’t glower like that, Bryg. Surely
you
can take a joke.”

Lady Lassaire rolled her eyes. “You girls are too much for me. Bryg, give Maeve back her clothing. Maeve, put on your own dress. And don’t let me hear about
any
of you meddling with each other’s things again!”

We all promised and she was content. Why wouldn’t she
be? As long as she didn’t have to
hear
about the little war being waged under her roof, she could believe it wasn’t there.

I got all of my clothes back and they were never stolen, soiled, or mangled again. I was able to soak and scrub most of the stain out of the blue dress, but so many washings made it fade to the drab shade of an overcast autumn sky. I wish that had been my only loss.

They couldn’t steal my garments, so they stole my peace. They hid the half-rotted corpse of a fish under my bed.
Oh! How did
that
get there, Maeve? Were you hungry?
They woke me before dawn by flicking water on my face and gulped down the evidence as soon as I sat up. They begged me to join them in talking about the dreams we’d had the previous night. How
funny
that all of theirs were about me doing crude or stupid or disgusting things.
But it was only a dream, Maeve!
they chirped, and ended the game before it was my turn to play.

Nights were bad, but daylight was no better. They insulted me to my face and spread lies about me behind my back. They became inexplicably clumsy whenever they were carrying anything they could “accidentally” spill on me. If I took my eyes off my platter at mealtimes, even for an instant, I’d choke on a beetle or a long strand of hair with my next mouthful.

If I ever have charge of fosterlings, I won’t pretend I’m blind to such ugliness
, I thought grimly.
I’m no Lady Lassaire. When I see another person being treated like this, I
will
speak out. I
will
defend her.

But right now, I have to defend myself.

It was difficult because I’d decided not to fight them on their own dishonorable level. What good would it do to
retaliate prank for prank, lie for lie? They wanted to drag me down into the muck. I wouldn’t help them by diving in.

I wasn’t always able to stick to my resolution. There were times when they nibbled at my nerves so skillfully, I’d snap and give them a taste of their own rotten meat. When Dairine teased me with a midnight sprinkle of water on my face, I countered with a bowlful dumped over her head. When Gormlaith purposely stumbled and dumped stew in my lap, I gave her a double serving of the same thing. And the foul-smelling dead fish under my bed? My Ea’s skill at rodent hunting let me “share” her day’s catch with Bryg.

Father always said that a king accepts gifts graciously and gives three times as much in return.

I was ashamed of myself after these incidents and didn’t repeat them. How could I gloat over using Ea’s kill to get back at Bryg when I remembered that I owed the kestrel’s life to that unreasonable girl? How could I hate her the way she hated me when I knew how her brother’s death had shattered her?

I could ignore what my onetime friends did to me, but I couldn’t close my ears to what they said. If you throw filth hard enough, it clings. Cast a net of nasty rumor and you’ll always find someone ready and willing to help you haul it ashore.

Even when Bryg and the others were nowhere nearby, I heard my name spoken in whispers as I passed. Men and women put their heads together and murmured, “Did you hear what she—?” and “Isn’t it awful? But I can’t say I’m surprised.” All that saved me from despair was overhearing the occasional “Yes, I heard that, and I thank the gods I’m not enough of an imbecile to believe such tripe about Lady Maeve.”

It was harder hearing the girls smear my family. When they
heaped slander on my blood kin within earshot, I wouldn’t let it pass unchallenged. I grew a wolf’s fangs.

For all the good
that
did. Whenever I confronted the fosterlings in midgossip, I was met by the same reaction.

“We weren’t speaking to
you.
”

“Mind your own business.”

“If your ears get any bigger, I hope you tie them around your throat and choke yourself to death!”

Gormlaith was the only one who never looked like she was enjoying their malicious games.
If I can speak to her without Bryg nearby, maybe I can persuade her to leave their side and join mine
, I thought.
Having even one ally would be a victory.

I bided my time, kept my eyes open, and found my opportunity when it was the blond girl’s turn to bring the midday meal to Dún Beithe’s blacksmith. He was an eccentric man, but his mastery of iron gave him special status. If he insisted on having highborn girls and women bring him his food, Lord Artegal indulged his whim.

I trailed Gormlaith to the forge and intercepted her when she left. She reacted to my friendly greeting like a cornered doe, frozen and staring. All my efforts to make her relax failed. I might as well have spoken every one of my carefully prepared words to a wall. In the end, I found myself pleading with her to remember how I’d taken her side in the past, how I wanted us to be friends again, and how my situation was the same as the circumstances that had driven her close friend Aifric to run away.

That was a mistake. Gormlaith’s face twisted in a look of agony. She lowered her head and rushed past me, sobbing.

Later that day Connla sought me out. “Lady Maeve, I don’t
care if you are the High King’s daughter,” Kian’s friend told me sternly. “You had no right to make my Gormlaith suffer like that. She mourns Aifric to this very day.”

His accusation rattled me so badly that I blurted in reply: “Then tell her to stop helping the others plague me the way they tormented her friend!”

“Girls’ quarrels,” he muttered. “I don’t understand them. If I meddle deeper, I could do my sweet lass more harm than good.” He looked uneasy, a warrior desperate to protect his beloved from an enemy that laughed at swords.

“Connla—”

He gave me no chance to speak. “I’ve said what I came to say. We’re done, Lady Maeve.” His long legs put ten paces between us when he paused, looked back at me, and added, “I thought you were kind.”

C
HAPTER
S
IXTEEN

Kestrel’s Flight