Deception's Pawn (Princesses of Myth) (6 page)

“What news does she mean, Kian?” Lord Artegal demanded.

“Er … I’m not sure, Father.” Kian’s horse caught his rider’s
uneasiness and danced nervously in place. Ea reacted too, mantling her wings and snapping her beak before settling down once more.

“Lord Artegal, your son’s an able fighter, isn’t he?” I asked innocently. “He knows how to handle the spear, the sword, and the bow? If I had to travel from one end of Èriu to the other, could he keep me safe from the dangers of the road?”

The answer came without hesitation: “Of course!”

“Then why can’t he protect me from one small bird?”

I explained myself swiftly and artfully. If Devnet had been there, he’d have been proud of me. I used a bard’s skill for weaving words and fashioned a tether that let me lead both men down the path I wanted them to follow. Make no mistake, when I spoke about why I’d lost my embroidery lessons, I never said anything
against
Kian. If I’d done that, Lord Artegal would have taken his son’s side at once, and I needed him as my ally. Instead I heaped the young lord of Dún Beithe with praise for his courtesy, his concern about my well-being, and his loyalty to the High King.

“Have you never heard that the greatest heroes have the greatest hearts?” I asked Lord Artegal. “That’s what made Lord Kian go a bit too far, trying to protect me from that bird’s keen beak and talons. His good intentions blinded him to my good sense. I’d never approach any beast that would hurt me, although”—I smiled playfully—“there
is
that story about how I caught a black bull by the tail when I was five.”

Lord Artegal threw back his head and roared with mirth. “I remember that tale, Princess! It traveled here on the lips of many bards, and my cousin Íde confirmed that it was true.” He turned to his son. “It’s decided—when you and I return from
our hunt, we’ll find your mother and have her set things right. A girl with the courage to stand face to face against a bull can take care of herself with the fiercest bird of prey.”

“We weren’t exactly face to
face
, Lord Artegal,” I said demurely, and was rewarded with more laughter.

Laughter can sometimes be more valuable than a fistful of gold. I know that Lord Artegal’s mirth bought me my heart’s desire: he swore that Lady Moriath and I could have access to Ea’s refuge for as long as necessary and I swore I’d take no risks while I was with her. I’m sure what he heard in my vow was:
I’ll stay well away from the bird.
What I meant when I spoke it was:
The only danger I face when I’m with Ea is holding her too close to my heart.

That night there was great buzz over Lord Artegal’s decision. The entire household learned about it well before it was time to gather for the evening meal. When the lord of Dún Beithe returned from the hunt, he went straight to his wife to present her with a small deer, half a dozen rabbits, the bag of birds Ea brought down for Kian, and his decision. The servant who witnessed the results couldn’t run fast enough to spread the word.

Lady Lightning was true to her nickname: When her husband said he was overruling her orders, she tried to blast him off the face of the earth, then stomped away into her sleeping chamber and stayed there.

She did not stay quietly. Her angry voice gusted from behind the bull-hide curtain, making the great house ring with Lord Ategal’s countless failures as a husband. When she exhausted her rage, she wept so loudly we all thought a bean sidhe had slipped into the house to bewail the coming death
of a great warrior. She only fell silent when Kian dared to enter her room. He emerged looking pale but determined, like a hero who’s braved the perils of the Otherworld and come back to tell the tale.

Meanwhile, rumors danced around the hearth. I tried to eat my dinner as though all the whispers and the darting glances had nothing to do with me. As if that were possible! Part of me wished I could hear what Lord Artegal’s court was saying about me, and part of me was glad I couldn’t.

The worst of it was the other fosterlings. I expected them to seize the news, shatter it into a thousand needles of mockery, and begin pricking me with them mercilessly. Instead they said nothing at all.

What are they waiting for?
I wondered, steeling myself for the inevitable hail of jests. Instead they gathered around me after dinner in a ring of friendly smiles, congratulating me on my restored lessons with Lady Moriath. Before anyone else could approach, the girls carried me into our sleeping chamber, away from curious eyes.

I should have felt reassured, but their behavior pulled my nerves taut as a bowstring. My edginess must have showed because Gormlaith asked what was wrong.

“You’re not going to tease me about this?” I asked. “No jabs about
why
I got my lessons back?”

Ula looked honestly startled. “We’d rather know
how
you did it. Lord Artegal doesn’t usually interfere with his wife’s household decisions.”

“That’s because he values his skin,” Dairine murmured.

I shrugged. “All I did was ask.” I wasn’t trying to hide anything; I simply didn’t know how to explain what I’d done
any more than I could have explained how to walk. I sat down on my bed and added: “Thank you for not making this into more than it is.”

“Why should we bother? There are plenty of other people out there dying to do that.” Dairine nodded in the direction of our bull-hide door. “You’re one of us now, Maeve. We stand with you.”

C
HAPTER
F
OUR

Lack and Skill

M
Y DAYS FELL
into a soothing rhythm, like the rocking of a baby in her mother’s arms. Having friends made it easy to find my special place in the life of the ringfort. Ula, Dairine, and Gormlaith helped me, teased me, defended me, braided my hair (and dipped a strand of it in pinesap while I slept), washed my soiled bed linens when my moon time surprised me by arriving early, and put a dead mouse in one of my shoes. I couldn’t tell from one day to the next if we’d end up quarreling or giggling together, but I gave as good as I got and none of our disagreements lasted longer than a dewdrop in the sun.

I’d come to Lord Artegal’s stronghold because I didn’t want to stay under Father’s roof. I’d have been happy to go anywhere, as long as it meant escaping Cruachan. The girls’ friendship changed that. Now I was glad to be at Dún Beithe instead of being relieved
not
to be at home.

Even though I’d been welcomed as one of them, my friends and I didn’t spend every moment in each other’s company.
Dairine always seemed to have at least three flirtations going on at the same time. If one of these grew intense, she’d sneak away and make Gormlaith cover her tracks when Lady Lassaire questioned her absence. When she was in a mood, Ula took long walks alone, pacing around and around the top of the ringfort walls. I once tried asking her if anything was troubling her or if she’d want my silent company. She reacted so ferociously that if her tongue had been a sword, she’d have had my head for a trophy.

No one knew where Gormlaith went when she didn’t want our company. Ula and Dairine didn’t seem to care. When I questioned her, I was met with shrugs, silence, and sky-blue eyes that begged desperately,
Please, oh
please
let me keep my secrets!
I wanted to help her, but not if it brought her pain. Willingly or not, I respected her need for solitude.

I didn’t understand everything about my new friends and how they chose to live their lives, but I needed them. They were my ringfort, forming a defensive wall around me against Lady Lassaire. Ever since Lord Artegal had overruled her decision about my special needlework lessons, her attitude toward me had soured. There were no direct attacks, but she had less obvious ways of showing her resentment. Instead of criticizing my handwork, she gave me compliments like ripe apples with wormy cores.

One afternoon at our weaving lesson, she said, “My goodness, Maeve, what a surprisingly fine piece of work from you! And just when I’d given up all hope of seeing you shine at any womanly art. Do you think Lady Moriath will ever be able to bring up the quality of your embroidery to this level? Or even get you to
finish
a design?”

Her words made me cringe. The longer I dawdled over completing an acceptable piece of embroidery, the longer Lady Moriath would need to teach me and the longer I’d be able to spend in Ea’s company. “I’m sorry, my lady,” I replied meekly. “It’s taking more time than I thought. I’m using very small stitches.”

She clicked her tongue. “Small or large, I’d love to see what you’ve accomplished after so many lessons, if anything. I don’t want to have any misgivings about your handwork skills when I send you off to your husband.”

My face blazed with embarrassment, but before Lady Lassaire could badger me more, Ula snorted. “Even if Maeve couldn’t thread a needle, you won’t have to worry about her future. When it comes to marriage, men look for riches, not stitches.”

“Shame on you, Ula!” Lady Lassaire snapped. “You make our brave young warriors sound like common traders. That is dreadfully disrespectful.”

“I apologize.” The tall girl’s gray eyes were frosty. She returned to her work, but I heard her mutter, “It’s still true.”

Is it?
I wondered. Though my eyes were on the loom, my mind wandered. I was no longer the heir to all Connacht, the High King’s bargaining token for making alliances, but did that mean my future held
absolute
freedom? How many choices would I really have?

What was the life of every woman I’d ever known? Marriage, children, the carding combs and the spindle, the loom and the needle … what else awaited me? I’d raise my sons to be warriors and my daughters to be wives, but what would
I
be? What else
could
there be for a girl?

I’d had a taste of something more. When Mother’s difficult pregnancy kept her confined to bed, Father turned to me for companionship and advice. He took me with him when he made a king’s decisions for his people, and he asked my opinion often. That ended once my brothers were born, but there were other times when I’d looked beyond the loom. Hadn’t I helped free two slaves from a cruel master? Hadn’t I rescued our bard, Devnet, from Lord Morann and saved myself from becoming part of his plot against my father?

I wasn’t ready to leave all that behind, buried under a pile of prettily woven cloth. I wanted my life to make a difference, and not just for myself. But how? If I could possess a kestrel’s wings and fly above the land of Èriu, would I be able to see the road that could lead me to my dreams?

My head began to spin. A vision of Ea rose in my mind, and I longed to go to her. Her company always comforted me. The silences we shared would help me think more clearly about where I was now and where I needed to be.

When Lady Lassaire told us that we’d spent enough time at the loom that day, I nearly knocked it over in my haste to be gone.

“Lady Maeve! What do you think you’re doing?”

The shouted accusation sounded so loud inside the little storehouse that it seemed to make the wooden walls shake. I gasped and froze where I stood, confronted, caught, and guilty. The evidence against me perched on my wrist, her talons firmly closed on the leather sleeve I’d made in secret, her head unhooded, her golden eyes shining.

Kian bore down on us like a charging bull. His fierce
look made me think he was possessed by the battle frenzy, an awesome force that transforms men into terrifying warriors. Devnet sang about it so often, it was easy for me to imagine what wasn’t there. Smoke seemed to rise from Kian’s nostrils, his spiked hair bristled and quivered so rapidly that it sounded like a swarm of angry bees, and his eyes were filled with blood.

Stop this nonsense!
I commanded myself.
Such things aren’t real; they’re a bard’s magic.
I blinked and the illusion vanished, though—bad luck—Kian didn’t.

“Are you
trying
to get your face torn off?” he bawled, waving his arms.

I spun around so that my back shielded Ea from seeing this madman and prevented her from flying away in a panic. “Be quiet,” I said softly. “You’re scaring her.”

“How would you know what the bird’s feeling? It’s not a dog! Hand her over now.” He thrust his arm in front of me.

That was a stupid move. It startled Ea from her place on my arm and made her jump onto his, but in his rage he forgot he wasn’t wearing anything to protect his flesh from the kestrel’s talons. They pierced the fabric of his tunic easily, turning his indignant scolding into a yowl of agony.

To his credit, he held still despite the pain. I don’t know what I would have done if he’d flung his injured arm around wildly, trying to make Ea let go. She could have been injured, though not before fighting back. If she slashed at his face, Lord Artegal would see to it that she paid with her life.

Murmuring thanksgiving to the goddess Flidais, I coaxed the kestrel back onto my wrist and returned her to her wooden roost. She glowered at Kian, then settled down to preen her ruffled feathers. Meanwhile, her victim flooded the storehouse
with curses. I had to admire how many he could rattle off without repetition, and I didn’t even mind that I was the object of every one. When he began to tire of insulting me, my family, my ancestors, and all of Connacht for breeding such thoughtless, contrary, unnatural girls, I spoke.