Deception's Pawn (Princesses of Myth) (33 page)

“His messenger didn’t give me a reason; he just said I should attend the High King within three days. I reckon the fellow would’ve told me more if he knew it; he was chatty enough otherwise, especially once I filled him to the eyeballs with food and drink. He let me know I’m not the only chief Eochu’s ordered to be there.”

“Yes, but
Tara
—!” I didn’t know what to make of this. Tara was a site of great power and significance: holy ground, a gateway to the Otherworld, the dwelling place of the gods. They had traveled there in a time before time and set up a towering stone that possessed the magic power to recognize the true king of Èriu by roaring at his touch. The lords of our land gathered there at certain sacred seasons of the year—Samhain, Beltane, and the rest—but it was nowhere near time for any of the great and solemn festivals now. “What could be important enough for Father to call you all there?”

Conchobar made a noncommittal gesture. “Feel free to guess. I’ll find out when I get there.”

“No,” I said. “We’ll find out together. I’m going with you.”

He grinned so broadly I thought his face would split. “Truly? With that skinny boy lying ill under this roof, you’d rather come with me than stay with him? Ha! What do you know? He’s not your sweetheart after all.”

“Whatever Odran and I are to each other doesn’t touch this.” I spoke in measured tones, keeping tight reins on my impulse to snap at Conchobar for being so reliably provoking. “Friend, sweetheart, even husband—no matter how he touches my life, I would still go to Tara. Odran is in good hands with your healer. He doesn’t need to have me here to get better, but I
do
need to show Father and Lord Artegal that I’m all right. Do you understand?”

Conchobar looked crestfallen. “He’s your husband?
That
scrawny thing?”

I groaned and covered my face with my hands until I felt calm enough to deal with him again. “Forget about Odran. In fact, forget about me talking to Father when we reach Tara. You say he doesn’t know I’m missing. Let him go on thinking I’m safe at Dún Beithe. It would only stir up pointless trouble if he learned otherwise. Take me to Tara, Conchobar, and help me reach Lord Artegal secretly. No one but he should be aware I’m there. Can you do that for me?”

“That and more, my beautiful lady. Just ask!” He lifted me off my feet and kissed me, but only on the brow. I confess I was a bit disappointed.

We departed for Tara the next day. In spite of my bold words to Conchobar, I had misgivings about leaving Odran behind. The healer reassured me that things were looking better, the fever was down, and the patient was resting comfortably, but I still harried him with countless questions.

“I only want to be certain he won’t get worse while I’m gone,” I said, trying to justify my pestering.

“Why don’t I smother him for you right now?” the healer replied peevishly. “I can guarantee he won’t get worse than that!”

I asked Master Íobar to look after Ea. My request took him by surprise. “You’d trust me with her, after what I once did?”

“Think of this as a chance to undo it,” I said, meaning every word. I handed him my leather armguard. “Always wear this when you handle her. I hope it will be big enough to fit. I don’t want either of you to be hurt.” I gave him instructions for her care and for how to use the lure to bring her back when he flew her.

“I’ll do my best,” he said. “But if she escapes and won’t come back—” He looked worried. “Maybe I should keep her safe inside until you return.”

“That would be worse than if she got away,” I said. “Let her fly.”

I slipped into Odran’s room just before it was time to go. He lay with his eyes closed, breathing without difficulty. I knelt by his bedside and gazed at him in silence, believing he slept. I remembered how happy I’d been in his arms, and for a moment I wondered if we could find a way to bring back that time.
We can try, can’t we?
I thought as I rose and leaned over him to place a light kiss on his forehead.

His eyes opened. “You’re going now, aren’t you? To Tara. My father told me.” His lips were pale and tight. “I should have heard it from you.”

“I tried to tell you as soon as it was decided,” I replied. “Every time I came in here, you were sleeping.”

“And yet somehow, Father managed to catch me waking. You didn’t try hard enough. You didn’t want to.” He turned his face to the wall.

“Odran, why won’t you understand?” I cried. “I left Dún Beithe for your sake, but I was wrong not to send them word that I was alive.” As I spoke, I realized something: I couldn’t have contacted Lord Artegal from Avallach even if I hadn’t feared he’d demand my return. I was living there in hiding, a fugitive. Where and how would I have found a willing messenger?

Odran flung himself back to confront me. “Oh, be
honest
, Maeve! You told me how badly your so-called friends treated you at Dún Beithe, and no one did anything about it. Yet here you are, rushing off to ease their worries. You’re not going to Tara to help them, you’re doing it because you’re through with me and this is the easiest way out. Reveal yourself and be swept back to the life you really want, the one that’s got no room for me in it.” His voice was rough and biting. It made me feel like I’d been slapped.

“I have to, Odran,” I said, striving to keep him from hearing how much he’d hurt me.

“Then go.”

“If you’ll only—”

“Go.”

I sat in the darkness of a tent pitched within sight of the great hill of Tara and waited for Conchobar to return. We’d reached
the sacred ground after three days on the road, the last of these devoted to the challenge of keeping me hidden from the other kings and warriors who’d arrived before us. Conchobar wanted to wrap me in a cloak, sling me over one shoulder, and carry me into his tent, but I’d see myself halfway to Tech Duinn before I’d let him treat me like a bundle again. I suggested he and the men who’d traveled on horseback go up to Tara first and set up the tents. I’d lag behind with the warriors who’d come from Emain Macha on foot and at sunset simply march into camp with all of them massed around me.

“At twilight, even the keenest eye can’t spy the bird hidden in the blackthorn,” I argued. Conchobar grudgingly agreed to do things my way.

Now it was a matter of waiting for word that Lord Artegal had arrived. Conchobar was out mingling with his fellow chieftains, trying to learn if they’d heard anything about the master of Dún Beithe. As soon as I found out where he’d camped, I’d go to him and all would be well.

Will it?
I wondered, resting my chin on my knees.
I’ll return to Dún Beithe and then what? Bryg will still be there, goading the others against me. Kian will want “his” kestrel back, and I’ll wager he won’t let me near her again. I could try cajoling him, but
—
No. I refuse. Why must I coax and flirt and use false tears to sway Kian or any other man? If I’d been born a prince of Connacht, I’d speak frankly to him and he wouldn’t dare dismiss me unless he wanted to be challenged to a duel. And why can’t I do that now? My skill with the sling equals his
—
I’ll stake Ea on that—and in a fair contest
—

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of voices outside
the tent. One was Conchobar’s, but the other was unfamiliar. I had no choice but to hear them.

“—sure you want no help with that, Cairill?”

A low laugh responded to Conchobar’s question. “You mean help drinking it?”

“Well, a swallow or two would lighten your load.” More laughter followed, now from both of them.

“No thank you, friend. I’ve seen you guzzle. It wouldn’t do to present the High King with a cask of mead that’s half full of air. You know his temper.”

“Not at close range, thank the gods. I stay as far from him as I can and still pay him my respects,” Conchobar said. “You know, Cairill”—he went on in a wheedling tone—“Eochu isn’t
expecting
to receive a gift of mead from you. The two of us could share it and he’d never know.”

“Ha! You’re as silver-tongued as your father was. Too bad he couldn’t talk his way out of fighting Eochu on that cursed day. He was a good friend, always openhanded to me, willing to hear my counsel, and a better High King than the one we’re burdened with now. I long for the day we’ll see you in his place.
You
won’t stop your ears when wiser men offer you advice; not like Eochu. If only that man weren’t such an able fighter—!”

“Are you sure you haven’t been sampling that mead yourself?” Conchobar joked, but it sounded forced. “You’d better not babble like that where Eochu can hear you.”

“Don’t fret over it, lad. Eochu’s only one man. Sleep well.” I heard Cairill’s departing footsteps.

“What was that about?” I asked the instant Conchobar ducked into the tent.

“Hey, easy there! You scared me. Why aren’t you asleep?”

“I heard you call that man Cairill,” I said, not about to be distracted. “Is he the same Lord Cairill who was plotting against Father?” No answer came, so I added: “You know, Conchobar, it’s too dark in here for me to see if you nodded your head or shook it.”

“Yes, he’s the same one,” Conchobar responded.

“And you let him go to my father with a gift of mead?” I said. “A gift he refused to let
you
taste!”

“I doubt it’s poisoned. Eochu’s a wise old badger. He’d have Cairill take the first sip. Besides, I wasn’t the only one who saw Cairill toting that cask. He told every man he met who it was for. There’d be no way he could dodge the blame if the High King died after drinking it.”

“What do you think he meant, saying my father’s only one man? It’s not like Lord Cairill’s going to challenge him to single combat. He’d have done it by now if he weren’t a sneaking coward. Father doesn’t stand alone; he has allies, faithful lords who’ll follow him against his enemies!”

“Shhh. Not so fierce, Maeve, and not so loud. My men know I’ll skin them alive if they betray your presence, but what if you do it yourself? Eochu’s a fortunate man to have a fighter like you on his side.”

He spoke in jest, but jests can carry truth within. Was I on Father’s side again? Was I ready to forgive him for his past wrongs the way I’d pardoned Master Íobar? Kelan’s death would always stand between us, and all of the lesser offenses could not be forgotten, but neither could all the love and kindness and trust my father had showed me. I now saw good deeds and bad like sunbeams shining through wind-tossed willow
leaves, the bright flicker of light dancing with the somber touch of shadow. The girl who’d made my life unbearable had also saved the bird who meant the world to me. The man who’d saved me from a hideous death in the bog had tried to rape me. The boy I’d loved first and best and completely now filled me with doubt more than desire.

I couldn’t worship my father and I couldn’t condemn him, but maybe I could save him. Lord Cairill was up to something, and I was going to discover it.

I yawned loudly. Conchobar snickered. “You sound like a bawling heifer.”

“I’m a
sleepy
heifer,” I replied. “You want me to be quiet? Get out of here and let me close my eyes. If Lord Artegal arrives tomorrow, I’ll need to be refreshed and alert for what’s to come.”

“I could stay here,” he said in a coaxing tone. “It’s so cold outside, and there’s plenty of room, and—”

“I snore,” I said. “And I thrash. And since when is the mighty king of the Ulaidh afraid of a little chill that
doesn’t exist
? It’s almost summer, Conchobar. Your argument’s got more holes than a fishnet.”

“Well, you can’t blame me for trying,” he said. I couldn’t see his face, but I had the unshakable feeling he was grinning.

“Or blame
me
for sending you on your way.”

I waited for a while after he left, then peeked outside. It was a cloudy night and the quarter moon didn’t give much light, but I could see well enough to get by. I picked my way past the sleeping men of the Ulaidh who surrounded the tent. Once I left Conchobar’s encampment behind, I did not go stealthily but walked as though I had every right to be there. Not everyone at Tara was asleep, and I observed a good deal of comings
and goings as men of one tribe struck up conversations with those of another. In the dark, from a distance, my cloak and long hair could belong to a young warrior as well as to a girl. People see what they expect. No one was expecting to see me.

I didn’t know where Father was camped, so I had to explore until I heard familiar voices. After my time away, it was good to hear the accent of Connacht and recognize some of the speakers. My people were settled around a large tent, which I presumed was Father’s. Like Conchobar, he didn’t need it for shelter, but it was a symbol of his rank and power, suitable for impressing the other chieftains.

Now that I was near those who could recognize me, I had to be furtive again. I kept my distance from the few campfires still burning and slipped around to the back of Father’s tent. Two shadows showed against the cloth walls, most likely cast by a small oil lamp. I sank into a crouch, swathing myself entirely in my cloak, and harkened to what was happening inside.

It took me a while to adjust my ears so that I could make sense of the low, garbled voices. I recognized Father’s and concluded that the other must be Lord Cairill. They both sounded as if they’d fallen under the mead’s spell, but Father’s tongue stumbled much more.

“—reconsider. Artegal’s a good—a good man, Cairill. If I challenge him f’no reason—”

“He was entrusted with your daughter. Where’s she now, eh? Eh? Gone.” I heard a resounding blow, which might have been Lord Cairill emphasizing his words by pounding the mead cask. “Gone, gone,
gone
!”

“Uh … you—you’re sure?”

“I told you what I heard ’bout it. Don’t you trust me? But Artegal, he’s covering it up.”

“Gone. Gone, my spark, my little girl, my Maeve, gone.” Father’s plaintive voice twisted my heart. “D’you think she’s … dead?”

“I hope not, my lord, but what difference does that make concerning Lord Artegal? Whether Lady Maeve’s alive or dead, it’s still his fault for letting her get away—for not taking better care of her, keeping watch, protecting her as you would have done yourself.” How strange: suddenly Lord Cairill sounded totally sober. “When I first told you what I knew of your daughter’s disappearance, you swore you’d make him pay for it with his head, and his son’s too!”