Deception's Pawn (Princesses of Myth) (34 page)

“Did I?” Father sounded weak, confused. “But the boy wasn’t responsible—”

“Unless he was the reason your precious child vanished.” As soon as the ugly insinuation left his lips, Lord Cairill changed his tactics. Now he addressed Father with honeyed sympathy. “My lord, don’t look so unhappy. I might have heard a false rumor and your daughter is safe in Lord Artegal’s care.”

“You think so?” Father sounded pathetically hopeful. “But why did you advise me to summon him and the other lords here? I could’ve just”—he hiccuped—“just sent a message to Dún Beithe t’ask about my spark.”

“And he could have sent one back saying Lady Maeve is well, even if that’s not the case,” Lord Cairill returned smoothly.

“My messenger wouldn’t carry a lie back to me. Not on his life.”

“Messengers can be tricked or bribed, or … eliminated,
my lord Eochu. No, your plan is best. Lord Artegal and his son will come here and take an oath at the mouth of the great mound, where the breath of the Otherworld seeps into our own. They will be compelled by the holy power of Tara’s ground to reveal the truth about your child’s whereabouts, and once you know”—his voice dropped so that I could barely hear him—“you will either circle their necks with gold or cut their throats with steel, for Lady Maeve’s sake.”

For
my
sake, is it?
I thought indignantly.
Cairill, you slithering worm, why do you call this deceitful ploy Father’s idea when it’s plainly yours? Bringing Lord Artegal and Kian here for questioning’s one thing, but I heard him say you’re the one who advised him to bring the other lords of Èriu here. Why? How will this advance your plot to tear the High King’s name away from—?

All at once, I knew. “No,” I whispered into my cupped hand. “Oh no.”

It was no secret that my father loved and favored me. It was likewise well known that Eochu Feidlech was a renowned fighter. Challenging him to a duel was serious business, not for any upstart to try lightly. It would take a great provocation to make any man raise a sword against him.

A great provocation …

What if the High King showed himself unworthy to rule? What if he demonstrated willingness to abuse his power, ordering his subject kings to make the trek to Tara solely to witness him cut down two of their own? And for what? For failing to keep me from slipping away.

I could imagine their reactions:
Girls are flighty things. They toss their heart at any lad who takes their fancy. Lady Maeve’s no different. She’s probably gone off with some boy and will return when she’s carrying his child. Is it worth destroying a good man for that, and for sending his son with him to Donn’s death-shadowed land? Why couldn’t he have all of us scour the realm in search of her, and give Artegal and his boy a chance to make things right? But Eochu’s fury stole his sanity, or maybe he was mad to begin with, as blood-hungry as the Morrígan’s ravens. Cross him and you’re doomed. If he’s capable of doing something like this once, he’ll do it again. I could be next. I cannot live like that, waiting for the blade to fall. I will not live meekly under such a High King.

It wouldn’t be long before someone found a pretense to face him in combat. If the first man to raise his sword against Father failed, another would take his place, and another after that, and so on until the High King fell, exhausted, defeated, slain. Then it would be just a matter of Cairill using his poisonous skills of persuasion on Conchobar. The lord of the Ulaidh was young, strong, and most likely a capable fighter. A second High King would die, Conchobar would take his place, and Cairill would be at his side, ready to feast on the body of Èriu.

Meanwhile, what would become of my family? What would become of Connacht? My brothers were babies, unable to defend us against raiders eager to despoil a land without a leader. Father’s warriors would fight for them, but for how long? And could we trust all of them to keep faith with a dead man’s children? The kingship of Connacht was a fine prize. Who knew whether some of our men would fight harder to protect it or to take it?

And throughout the raids and battles, those who would suffer most would be our people.

I had to stop Cairill.

My thoughts darted like swift-winged swallows.
If I go to
Father now, he’ll still hold Lord Artegal to blame for not keeping watch over me. Who knows how he’d react? I can’t risk it. What if I go out to meet Lord Artegal on his way here? He could send me back to Dún Beithe with some of his men and be able to swear truly under oath that he
does
have me safe in his care!

It seemed like a good idea, but only for a moment.
I don’t know which road he’ll take. I can’t go seeking him in the dark, and if I travel on my own by daylight, the land around Tara offers clear views and nowhere to hide. I’ll be seen. If I ask Conchobar to help me, sending me out to meet Lord Artegal with the Ulaidh warriors shielding me from others’ sight, it will draw every eye. “Why are Lord Conchobar’s men on the move like that? Let’s go after them and see!” No, too dangerous, impossible.

I buried my face against my updrawn knees, desperately seeking a way out that would save Lord Artgeal and Kian and save my father from himself.

Oh sweet goddess Brigid, lend me your power to see things that are to come! Show me the path that will let Lord Artegal admit that I left Dún Beithe but that he could not have done anything to prevent my flight! Give me a bard’s tongue to tell a tale that will leave him as blameless as though he’d seen the earth open beneath my feet and gulp me—gulp me
—

I raised my head. The goddess had spoken through my own thoughts. I had my answer.

I huddled in my cloak outside of the High King’s tent until I was assured that Lord Cairill had left him. I noted the moment when Father extinguished the light, then waited longer, listening for the faint sounds of deep, regular breathing that would tell me he was asleep. When I felt certain that the
mead had sealed him in slumber, I stole to the front of the tent and darted inside.

The darkness within was absolute. I dropped to my hands and knees, feeling my way cautiously, guided only by the sound of Father’s breath. I yearned to move faster but had to hold myself in check. Haste would make me reckless, and I could not afford to bump into anything that might make a noise and rouse the sleeper.

I knew what I sought and where it would be: my father’s sword, never more than arm’s length from him. My questing fingers touched the faithful blade and carefully closed around its hilt. Holding it close, I flitted back into the open air, into the night, and away.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-O
NE

Oath at Tara

I
SLEPT ON
sacred ground. I waited within the darkness of the great mound at the heart of Tara for my destiny or my death. It was not the first time I’d taken refuge in such a place. When Lord Morann held Devnet hostage, I’d eluded his men by sheltering in a gateway sacred to the Fair Folk. I asked their pardon reverently and they did not punish me for my presence then. Perhaps they took pity on me, if the People of the Mounds can feel compassion for mortals.

This time they might not be as forgiving. So be it.

I thought of Conchobar, remembering his expression when I’d roused him from sleep, told him my intentions, and showed him Father’s sword. He tried to talk me out of it, even threatened to drag me to the High King, but I soon persuaded him to see things my way. (Menacing
him
with how I’d explain my presence in his company was quite convincing.) He vowed to keep my secret and gave me what he could to help me with my plan, but he refused to see me enter the great mound.

“I can’t watch you go, knowing you might not come out again,” he said. “You’re taking a greater risk than any man I know, and that includes myself. If you offend the Fair Folk—” He shivered.

“I’ll ask them for pardon and permission. That’s all I can do.”

“You could stay. You could try to reason with your father.”

“Even if he’d listen to me, he’d still have to do something to save face after calling you and the other kings here. For what? An offense that never happened. Can you swear there won’t be some among them who’ll resent him for taking them from their homes for nothing? Ambitious men will see it as weakness, and you can guess the fate of a weak High King.” I kissed his cheek. “I’ve chosen.”

Now I waited, cold stone at my back, the air of the Otherworld sighing through my hair. Daylight glowed at the mouth of the passageway, but it did not penetrate my lair. I heard the sound of kings arriving at Tara with their escorts, the outcry as men scrambled to discover the whereabouts of the High King’s sword, the murmur of nervous voices speaking of omens, and the comings and goings of druids who watched over the holy site.

A great host began massing before the stone-framed portal, my father at the fore, Lord Artegal and Kian with him. I rose slowly, taking care not to strike my head on the ceiling of the passageway, and moved silently toward the light.

Father’s voice reached my ears: “—swear by this sacred gateway to the Otherworld and by the gods who guard and govern it to speak the truth?”

“
Swear
to that, my lord Eochu?” Lord Artegal replied,
suspicion, resentment, and a trace of anxiety in his tone. “You never thought to question my honesty before.”

“My father is no liar!” That was Kian, leaping to the defense. “Why must he take an oath? Will you ask all of these men here to do the same? Do you trust none of us?”

Father laughed dismissively. “My question is not for them, boy, but I have called them to witness your father’s answer so that afterward there can be no room to doubt it.”

“What do you want from him?” Kian would not back down. “Do you question his loyalty? Has some poison-tongued wretch turned you against him? Will you take that creature at his word, whoever he may be, but refuse to hear my father’s denial unless he swears by the holy stones and soil of Tara? How can you—?”

“Hush, my son.” Lord Artegal intervened before Father’s temper could kindle against Kian. “If the High King of Èriu asks for this, he has his reasons and I will prove my fidelity by giving him what he wants.”

I heard footsteps and saw a shadow cast across the grass outside. Lord Artegal must have been standing at the side of the mound, his hand on one of the gateway stones. The master of Dún Beithe raised his voice so that no one could deny his words: “I swear by wind and water; by earth and air; by my hand, my head, and my heart; by my blood and the blood of all my kin; by the sword and spear that sustain me in battle; and above all, by the sacred power of this place that I will speak the truth to any question Lord Eochu asks of me. May my bones burn and my blood boil within me for a hundred years before I win death’s release if I break this oath.”

A rumble of approval and admiration came from the gathered
kings. Even Father must have been impressed, for it took him a while before he could speak again. “I accept your pledge. I wouldn’t have asked it of you if this were a small matter. Lord Artegal, some time ago I entrusted you with my greatest treasure, after my sons. I was confident I’d picked the right man to guard something so priceless, but lately I have heard—”

I lost some of what he said in the loud muttering of the crowd. Many of them already knew the rumors of my disappearance, and soon they all would. Their voices ebbed as fast as they had risen. I sensed the chieftains bracing themselves to witness what must follow, and I could hear my father clearly once again as he demanded: “—if you can tell me by your oath that you now have my daughter Maeve safe in your keeping?”

“By this blade and by my life, he cannot!” I stepped back into the land of the living and lifted the High King’s sword above my head with both hands.

The roar that greeted me was deafening. It raged through the crowd long enough for my eyes to adjust to the light. Questions slammed against me from every side. The druids of Tara called for silence as they strode forward to surround me, staring as if they were children beholding the terror and marvel of their first lightning storm. I grew weary from keeping Father’s sword raised, but it would spoil the spectacle of my appearance if I lowered it too soon.

At last it was Father who provided me with the chance I wanted to ease my aching arms. He edged himself into the druids’ ring and held out his hands. I gave him the blade, faced the crowd, and spoke: “What was taken from you is restored.” I didn’t need to raise my voice. No one wanted to miss a single word I had to say. Every eye was on me, every tongue was silent.

“I have seen wonderful things,” I went on. “I have touched the border between life and death. I have traveled to an island none of you may ever know, but now I have come back, my steps bringing me to you from
there.
” I pointed to the open portal of the mound.

The men chattered, whispered, and shouted, all of them debating what I might mean. And in the end, what else
could
I mean but that I’d visited the shores of Tech Duinn and survived, that I’d breathed the blessed air of Tír na nÓg’s isle, that I’d braved the path from the Otherworld to return to Èriu? Certainly not that I’d nearly drowned in a bog, sailed to Avallach, and emerged from only a spear-cast down the stone-framed passageway!