Deception's Pawn (Princesses of Myth) (36 page)

“Wonderful,” I replied from my place beside the hearth. “I didn’t know I slew
three
monstrous hogs with bloodred eyes to win my way out of the Otherworld. I could have sworn I only killed two.”

“Ah, details.” Devnet dismissed my jest with a wave of his hand. “They ruin all the best tales, the worst lies, and every straying man’s reply to ‘Where have you
been
all night?’ I promise you, what I’ve sung is among the least outrageous of the bards’ contributions to your legend.”

“I don’t want a legend,” I said. “I want a life.”

“Well, you’re certainly going to have one. I hear that the people who farm there are already blessing the gods for your coming. They remember you from the time you used to ride with your father and he’d ask your opinion in settling disputes. They liked your common sense and good judgment.”

I blushed. “I’ll do my best for them.”

“Your share of Connacht doesn’t lie too far from Cruachan,” Devnet reminded me. “You can always turn to us there if you need help.”

“No,” I said firmly. “If it’s to be
my
land, I must be able to safeguard it myself.”

“Ah.” Devnet’s silvery eyebrows rose. “Then shall I tell Lord Eochu not to send any of his warriors to serve you?”

I laughed. “If you do, I might reconcile with my prince of the Fair Folk. Who would dare attack a ringfort built and manned by the People of the Mounds?”

The bard feigned horror. “Have mercy on all Èriu, my princess—my queen—and let the beings of the Otherworld stay on
that
side of the veil, I beg you!”

“Oh, very well,” I replied, pretending resignation.

Devnet rose from the bench we shared. “I’d better see how the men are getting along with packing your belongings. It shouldn’t be taking them this long; you didn’t arrive here with much.”

I sighed. “When I came here, I didn’t have Lady Lassaire heaping fresh presents on me whenever I turned around. I liked her better when she didn’t pay attention to me,” I said, though that was not exactly true. “Maybe I should stay out of sight. She can’t give me any more gifts if she can’t find me.” I got up and started for the door.

“Just don’t choose a portal to the Otherworld as your hiding place,” Devnet said as he fell into step beside me.

“Don’t worry, I know just the—” I stopped short on the threshold. Dairine, Ula, and Gormlaith stood in a row outside the great house. Their intense, agitated looks made it clear
they’d been waiting for me. I caught a glimpse of both Connla and Lady Moriath watching them from a distance, but as soon as they saw me come out of the great house, they left. Kian must have made my wishes known. The fosterlings had been persuaded, not compelled.

With a bard’s intuition, Devnet took in the situation at a glance and smoothly excused himself. Now that I was facing them at last, I didn’t know how to begin speaking about all the hurt they’d caused, all the harm they’d done—to me, to Aifric, and to themselves as well—by cloaking malice as harmless teasing and cruelty as a joke. They’d outnumbered me, taunted me, and used the power of slander and silence and outright injury against me. Now I was a queen in my own right, far beyond their reach, and all the power was mine.

Mine … and not. I couldn’t touch it. I didn’t dare. I was too afraid that if I tried, I’d stumble into the temptation to abuse it, and then—?

Then I’d be like them, like Bryg, like every mean-souled oppressor who ever tormented someone more vulnerable just because they could.

I couldn’t find the words—not yet—and so I waited to hear what my former “friends” had to say. They didn’t speak immediately, but continued to fidget and to dodge my gaze. Though I had no reason to like them, I also had no reason to enjoy their suffering.

“Where’s Bryg?” I asked crisply, breaking the silence.

“Maeve, we’re so sorry!” Dairine ignored my question and threw herself forward to clasp my hands. “We never meant to be so awful to you.”

“We couldn’t help it,” Ula put in. “It was Bryg’s doing. You know what she’s like. She would have used that nasty tongue of hers to spread ugly gossip about us.”

“Not just here,” Dairine added, rushing to strengthen Ula’s excuse. “Her father’s a bard. She’d tell him all sorts of lies and he’d carry them to every noble house he visited. Our names would be smeared so badly it’d ruin our chances for a good marriage anywhere!”

“You don’t seem to be so scared of her now,” I replied coolly. “Aren’t you afraid she’ll hear that you’ve apologized to her enemy and punish you for it?”

“She won’t,” Gormlaith said in her shy way. “Not if you forgive us. You have the favor of the Fair Folk. If she spoke one bad word against your friends, they’d curse her and she knows it.”

I wanted to say,
Do you believe you can become my friends again after all you did to me? Would I
want
to renew my friendship with any of you, the ones who drove away another, weaker girl to who knows what sad fate?

I looked at the three of them: Ula, who carried herself so high that she might never find anyone good enough to love her; Dairine, whose desperation to claim a nobly born husband made her a joke among the young men of Dún Beithe; and Gormlaith, who let her fear of Bryg’s hunting pack force her to abandon her one true friend. She might marry her beloved Connla and make a happy home with him, but every year at Samhain all her joy would turn to darkest mourning and terror at the thought of one small, sad ghost coming back to ask,
“Why, Gormlaith? Why did you betray me?”

Pity touched my heart. I couldn’t change these girls any
more than I could expect Ea to nest at the bottom of a river. They would have to find their own road to courage.

“I forgive you,” I said. “But remember what
you
said about the Fair Folk and know that from this day on, I count every girl who comes here as a fosterling to be my friend.” The threat was clear: Bryg’s wrath or the Otherworld’s curse. I was fairly certain which one they’d fear more. I’d done what I could for the sake of any girls who would come after me here at Dún Beithe.

They bid me farewell guardedly, with stiff, formal smiles and nervous laughter. Suddenly, Dairine’s head jerked up. “There’s Bryg,” she said, pointing to where the bard’s daughter came walking toward us in Kian’s company. The three chastened fosterlings mumbled a last goodbye and fled.

I centered myself for this meeting.
She can’t hurt me
, I thought.
She never could, unless I let her.
“Hello, Bryg,” I said.

“You hate me.” The words broke from her lips on the harsh edge of a sob. “You hate me and you have every right.” She began to weep so wildly that Kian had to gather her into his arms to shield her from the curious glances of passersby. I could almost hear their maliciously amused thoughts:
Is she losing her mind? Again? I wouldn’t be surprised!

I touched her shoulder gently. “You were the one who hated me, Bryg,” I said quietly. “And you had no right to do it. I told you, your brother Kelan was my friend and I had nothing to do with his death.”

“I know!” she wailed. “Oh, I know it now! If you’d been guilty of shedding his blood, you never could have escaped the borderland between life and death. He was a great warrior and a great hunter. He would have tracked you down and pulled you into the darkness with him.”

“Well, he didn’t,” I said, trying to calm her by keeping our talk matter-of-fact. “You were wrong, very wrong to treat me or anyone the way you did, but it’s over. I forgive you for it. There’s no more need to cry.” I admit that I didn’t speak purely out of compassion. I just wanted to shake off this mean-spirited girl’s shadow and get on with my life.

“Thank you.” I never heard Bryg speak in such a small voice before. She sniffled and eased herself out of Kian’s arms. “Thank you, Lady Maeve.”

Lord Artegal’s son gazed at her with enough sympathy for the two of us. “Ask her, Bryg,” he coaxed. “Go on, ask her.” The bard’s daughter shook her head.

“Ask me what?”

“Did you see him?” Bryg’s question was a trembling whisper. “Did you see my brother’s spirit? Does he—did he say anything to you? Anything about—about me?”

I took a deep breath and bit my lip. “Your brother spoke to me about you. He told me how much he loved you. I feel that he always will.” I didn’t add that Kelan had said such things while he was still alive. Devnet wasn’t the only one who could wave away details when it suited him, or when it was a necessary kindness.

She poured out her heart’s thanks to me and walked away. I turned to Kian. “Take care of her,” I said. “She has a talent for healing, but she’ll need help to heal herself.” He nodded sadly and I kissed him once, as a friend.

We broke our journey to Cruachan at Emain Macha. I felt a dizzying mix of anticipation and worry as soon as Conchobar’s stronghold came into view. I was about to see Odran and Ea
again, and though I yearned for them both, I didn’t know what sort of a welcome Odran would give me.

As our party entered the ringfort, my anxiety vanished at a sight so unexpected, so wonderful, that every other thought flew out of my head and I nearly broke my ankle leaping out of the chariot.

“Derbriu!” I cried, rushing into my beloved sister’s embrace. “Oh, Derbriu!” We held each other tight and laughed until tears of happiness streaked our faces. The magic of that moment made everything around us seem to vanish.

Conchobar was finally able to break into our sealed world by barging up to us with a baby in his arms. “You said I’d only have to hold her for a little while,” he accused my sister. Derbriu took back her daughter and introduced me to my namesake.

“I only hope she grows up to be as wise as you, dear sister,” she said.

“It wouldn’t hurt if she turned out to be as pretty too,” Conchobar put in, uninvited.

My joy at seeing Derbriu again was dampened by the message she had to give me. “Lord Conchobar summoned me as soon as you sent him word that you’d be coming to Emain Macha. There was a young man staying here, a handsome boy named Odran—”

“Was?” The word terrified me. “What do you mean ‘was’?”

“Oh, Maeve, darling, no, he’s not dead,” my sister reassured me as quickly as she could. “I know how it was between you. He told me.”

Was
again. I prepared myself to endure whatever else she’d say.

She recounted how Odran asked for her the moment he
heard she was my sister. He begged her not to treat him with contempt for being a coward, but he was deathly afraid to face me and speak the words we both knew would come. I heard his voice behind hers:
I love you, Maeve. I always will, but this isn’t the love you want, the love you need and deserve. You know this is the truth. You sensed it even when we were together on Avallach. I love you, but I’m not a part of you. And as much as I wish it were otherwise, you are not a part of me. May all the gods guide you to find what I can’t give you. Be free, beloved.

He was right; I knew it. That didn’t stop the tears, or the hope that one day I would see him again. “Where did he go?” I asked, wiping my eyes.

“Back to Avallach. He’s made up his mind to resume his studies there, but as a healer. You only missed him by a day. Do you want to go after him? I’m sure that Lord Conchobar would—”

“No.” I wanted him to be free too. “Did his father go with him?”

She shook her head. “He’s still here. He told me that he couldn’t leave until he saw you. You trusted him with a treasure.” She smiled. “I’ve seen it. It’s a very pretty bird.”

“Seen
her
,” I corrected automatically. “And she’s not pretty; she’s beautiful.”

We made an odd group—Conchobar, Ea, Master Íobar, and me—as we climbed to the top of a low hill within sight of Emain Macha. I could see a grove of oaks in the distance, and fields where all manner of small prey might lurk. I wished my sister could have come with us, but little Maeve had turned so
fretful all of a sudden that Derbriu feared the baby might be sick and refused to leave her, even for a short time.

We chatted as we made our way to the top. Master Íobar apologized for his son’s manner of leaving me. I assured him that it was a choice I understood and accepted. Conchobar asked me if I’d like him to send me Lord Cairill’s head to decorate the lintel above my doorway when I had a great house of my own.

“I should do that myself,” I said flippantly. “You’re not the one who’s got a reason to want him dead.”

“I’ll think of something,” he replied. I wasn’t sure if he was joking.

When we reached the crest, Conchobar made a sweeping gesture over the landscape. “Is this what you had in mind, milady?”

“Yes, thank you.” I removed Ea’s hood. The kestrel blinked in the sunlight, stretched her wings, and gave a strange call, different from her usual
kee-kee-kee!
This sounded more like
quirrr-rr, quirrr-rr.
I gave her an inquiring look. “What did you say, Ea?”

“She’s made that sound many times in the past few days,” Master Íobar said. “I feared it meant she was ill, so I kept her from flying.”

“Probably lovesick, poor bird,” Conchobar teased, then swallowed his grin and shot me a sheepish look in case I didn’t feel this was a joking matter.

“You could be right,” I replied softly, but my gaze was on Ea and Ea alone. I saw the bright glint of flame in her eyes, the spark that had first bound me to her, heart to heart. “And if you
are, that’s all the more reason to do this. Give me your knife; I’ve neglected sharpening mine and I need a keen edge for what I have to do.”

Conchobar drew his blade and offered me the hilt. I slipped the point under the loop of braided hair that still encircled Ea’s foot. One flick and it was severed; one toss of my hand and she was flying.

I watched her until she was out of sight. I was unaware of Conchobar’s arm around my shoulder and of the tears trickling down my cheeks. From that moment, she would wear nothing binding her to the past, and I would fly with her in spirit, free of all ties I did not choose for myself, with a bold heart. It was a future that was frightening, exciting, challenging, and glorious as any bard’s song.