Deception's Pawn (Princesses of Myth) (32 page)

The fisherman recovered enough of his nerve before we landed to punish us for thwarting his greed. He took us much farther south than we wanted to go, claiming that the weather made any other course out of the question. He also insisted that he could not take us close to shore. We had to wade through chilly water that came up to my chest. By the time I reached the beach, my right arm felt ready to fall off from holding Ea high out of harm’s way. Odran and his father had the advantage of being taller, but they were still thoroughly soaked by the time we turned to see the little boat sailing off in precisely the direction the fisherman swore was impossible.

We had no idea where we were, which tribe held the land we traveled, or the name of the king who ruled it. All we knew was that Cruachan lay to the west, though whether it was north or south was a mystery. The downpour persisted, and the road from the coast didn’t offer much hope of shelter. We saw woodland in the distance, but no sign of people or even cattle. Herds would mean herdsmen and some hope of being put on the right path.

The foul weather dwindled to a drizzle by the time we reached the trees. Even the drizzle ended by sunset and the clear night air brought stars peeping through the leaves. Their beauty didn’t make up for the fact that we had to forego the warmth and light of a fire. Master Íobar had the means for kindling one, but the rain had drenched every twig. Ea was a wet, furious ball of feathers. When I placed her on a low branch, she snapped her beak at me.

I resigned myself to our plight only to catch the faint scent
of smoke from a distant hearth. “Do you smell that?” I asked. Soon we were all sniffing like a pack of hunting hounds, trying to gauge where it was coming from until we realized we’d never be able to find the source of that delicious aroma in the dark.

“I think it’s venison,” Master Íobar said as plaintively as a little boy yearning for a slab of honeycomb. “I love venison.”

“At least we have something to eat,” I pointed out, digging into one of the provision sacks we’d each carried from Avallach. “Look, the seawater didn’t get into the bread, and the cheese and dried beef are safe too. What luck!”

“Luck isn’t hot roasted venison,” the druid grumbled.

I awoke in the middle of the night to the sound of Odran coughing. He had his head tucked under his cloak, trying to stifle the sound. It didn’t work; the racking noise grew louder, spiking between the rolling waves of Master Íobar’s snore.

I crept close and put my arm over Odran’s shaking body. “What can I do to help?” I whispered.

“N-nothing. My throat’s dry, that’s—that’s all.”

“Where’s your waterskin? If it’s empty, I’ll give you a drink from mine.”

He tensed in my embrace. “
No.
This will go away on its own. Sleep—sleep is the best cure, but I can’t rest comfortably with you hanging on to me.” He wriggled out of my arms. “Leave me alone.”

I withdrew, not wanting to upset him further. His rejection hurt me deeply. This was the first opportunity we’d had since Avallach to hold each other close. That was all I’d wanted, to feel his remembered warmth again, to recall those lost times
when we’d both believed there was only one future for the two of us. I curled up on my side, too sad to cry.

Odran was worse in the morning. He lay shivering in his cloak, unable to rise, the cough stronger than the night before. When I touched his forehead, it was so hot that I thought my hand would catch fire.

Master Íobar and I did all we could for him. We didn’t speak at first, but worked in grim, desperate silence. Neither one of us wanted to voice our deepest fear. I insisted on giving up my cloak and Master Íobar did the same. We soon had our patient cocooned like a moth. It was the best we could do. As part of his training to become a druid, Odran’s father had been taught some healing skills, but he could do very little without the proper ingredients for a fever-quelling potion.

“Willow bark,” he muttered, using the last of his water to cool Odran’s brow. “We must find a stream, and if we’re fortunate there will be willows growing near it.”

“Let me search,” I said, picking up all three waterskins, which were now empty.

“You’ll get lost.”

“I know how to retrace my steps, and the ground is soft, thanks to the rain. I’ll leave a clear trail, and I promise I won’t be gone long. Don’t worry about me; look after him. You can do it better than I.”

Master Íobar shook his head. “We have to find shelter. He needs a roof and a fire and something hot to drink. I can carry him.”

“Carry him where?” I countered. “We still don’t know where we are or where the nearest dwelling lies. If we set off wandering in the wrong direction, you’ll waste your strength.”

“And why are you so sure you know which is the
right
direction?”

“I’m going to try finding the source of those tasty smells that plagued us last night. Even if no one’s roasting meat at this time of day, I might catch a whiff of bread baking.”

“Hmph. Clever,” Master Íobar conceded. “Fine, go, but come back quickly, don’t forget we have to have fresh water, look for willow trees, and if you see any strangers, keep your distance and watch them from a hiding place.”

I showed him my sling. “Don’t worry.”

I walked through the trees alert for any sight, smell, or sound that might lead me to food, shelter, and help. Did I hear the sound of rushing water? I turned my footsteps that way.

The stream was waiting for me when I emerged from the woodland. It ran like a glittering strand of silver through a rich meadow, where several fat cows grazed. Cattle meant people, and I was overjoyed to see a small house not too far away. As I moved nearer, a young woman emerged from the modest dwelling. She had two children with her, an infant cradled in the crook of one arm, and a fourth on the way. I had never seen such a welcome sight.

I started toward the house, rehearsing in my mind how I’d greet the mistress of it.
Perhaps she knows of a healer nearby who can help Odran
, I thought.
He’ll be safe and warm soon, thank the gods! Let him get well and I won’t care if he never speaks to me again.

The young mother opened her house and heart to me almost immediately and insisted that her older child fill my waterskins in the stream before allowing me to go back and fetch Master Íobar and Odran. When the druid arrived carrying
his son, he had to do everything but threaten her with a curse to dissuade her from giving up her own bed. By the time her husband came home, Odran was resting on a pallet, Ea was perched on a beam just out of the children’s reach, and Master Íobar and I were well fed and busy spreading our wet cloaks to dry by the hearth.

Everything would have been perfect if only Odran’s fever hadn’t risen even more. Our hosts became as concerned for him as we were. “Master Íobar, can’t you cure him?” the woman asked anxiously.

“I’ve done what I can,” the druid replied.

The man drew his wife aside to whisper, but in the small house there could be no secrets. I overheard them whether I wanted to or not.

“We’ve got to do something, wife. If the lad dies, Master Íobar will set a blight on us.”

“Oh, I don’t think he’d do that.”

“Can we be sure? I’m going to go fetch help from our chief’s household.”

“I’ve heard that the king’s healer is so arrogant and full of himself that he won’t tend anyone outside the royal family. He won’t come here at your bidding.”

“He will if the king commands it.”

“Husband, you can’t just saunter into our chief’s stronghold and declare you want to talk to him! You won’t even get past the guards.”

“Why not? I’ll tell them we’re caring for a druid’s son, and that the lad’s traveling with a nobly born girl.”

“They’ll never believe you. They’ll say you’re mad and hold you prisoner!”

I approached the couple discreetly. “No they won’t.” I removed my gold torque and handed it to the man. “Not when you show them this.”

The king’s healer did not come to us; the king did, and at the head of a party of servants and warriors. He burst into the humble house and filled it with his presence and a voice that shook dust from the thatch as he boomed, “Maeve? Lady Maeve, is it
you
?”

In their hidden realm, the People of the Mounds dropped to the ground, helpless with laughter, knowing that their wicked tricks had brought me face to face with Conchobar of the Ulaidh once more.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY

The High King’s Folly

W
ITH MY TORQUE
safely back around my neck, I rode to Emain Macha with Conchobar. The farmer helped me mount behind his chief, though he made an awkward job of it. He wasn’t used to wearing the heavy gold bracelets the king had given him for a reward. His little family clustered in the doorway of their home to watch us go. Conchobar had promised to send them twenty of his best cows. The young mother shouted thanks and blessings after us.

Emain Macha was a tumult of activity when we arrived. I wondered why so many armed men were dashing here and there, but I couldn’t spare the scene more than a passing thought until I knew Odran’s care was assured. The healer who served Conchobar was talented, but he was also just as self-important as the farmer’s young wife said. As soon as Odran was carried into a sleeping chamber, that conceited man banished everyone from it with the exception of Master Íobar. I don’t know if he
did so out of compassion, respect, or just because the druid scared the porridge out of him.

I was left out and far from pleased. Conchobar noticed. “If you want to share your sweetheart’s room, I’ll make it so,” he told me as we stood outside the great house together. The words were willing, but the look on his face was much the same as if he’d said,
I’m going to eat a handful of meadow saffron seeds and die.

“Thank you, no,” I replied. “I trust your healer’s judgment and I don’t want to do anything that will hinder Odran’s recovery.”

“Oh.” Conchobar’s broad shoulders seemed to slump without actually doing so. “Then he is your darling.”

“You were the one who called him that.”

“You were the one who didn’t deny it. Why else would the pair of you be traipsing all over Èriu together?”

“Are you forgetting that his father’s ‘traipsing’ with us?” I asked archly. “It’s not a very romantic arrangement.”

“Master Íobar wasn’t there when you ran away from Dún Beithe and flew straight into that boy’s arms.”

“What do you know of that?”

“More now than when your disappearance was first discovered. I was still there, a welcome guest, even if I did give Kian the thrashing he was begging for.” He preened.

“I doubt you were welcome if you won the fight. Lady Lassaire would have something to say about it.”

“That she did. She tried to send me on my way, but Lord Artegal reminded her that
he
rules Dún Beithe and I could stay as long as I liked. She wouldn’t speak to him for two days. Then they found out you’d gone missing and she had enough to handle besides fussing over her baby boy.”

“It took them
two days
to realize I was gone?”

“Yes, and it would’ve been more if not for what’s-her-name, the plump one. Those fosterlings knew right away that you’d scampered—it stands to reason—but they hid it and claimed you were ailing.”

“I did not ‘scamper,’ ” I said with a resentful snort.

“Scampered, marched, waddled, it was all the same to Lady Lassaire once she found out. I never saw a woman turn a ringfort inside out with her bare hands before. And the tongue-lashings she gave those girls—! She had them in tears.” The corners of his mouth turned down. “So were we all, when Lord Artegal’s search parties came back empty-handed. We thought you were dead.”

A massive pang of guilt struck me. “You … and my family. Oh, Conchobar, I’m a fool! I went to Avallach to help Odran, but how much harm have I done as well?”

“Maybe not so much as you fear. Lord Artegal sealed every pair of lips at Dún Beithe and made me swear an oath to tell no one here about your disappearance. Anything to delay your father finding out about it!”

“But he’d have to, eventually.”

“Yes, but Artegal chose to play a gambler’s game. Maybe he’d come up with an explanation good enough to justify your absence. Maybe Eochu would die before he called anyone to account for you. Maybe you’d turn up at last.” He laughed briefly, under his breath. “You win, Artegal.”

“I have to send a messenger to Cruachan,” I said anxiously. “And one to Dún Beithe as well. It can’t wait until I travel on. My parents and Lord Artegal must know I’m alive and well
now
.”

“It’ll take more than a couple of messengers to make this right,” Conchobar said. “I’ll speak to Artegal myself when I see him at Tara. We’ve both been summoned there, and who knows how many of the other kings?”

“Tara!” I exclaimed. So that’s the cause of all the bustle at Emain Macha. Conchobar’s men are getting ready to accompany him, a properly impressive escort for the lord of the Ulaidh. I didn’t need to ask who’d commanded him to undertake the journey. The only one with the power to command a king’s appearance was a higher-ranking king, and that could only be: “Father wants you there? Why?”