The Well of Shades (47 page)

“We don’t know how old she is.”

“I’d put her no older than seventeen; about Breda’s age. I can’t for the life of me see Breda raising a child. Hers certainly wouldn’t be smiling at babies and sharing its toys.”

Tuala grinned. “She did
whack Derelei on the hand.”

“That was the part I liked best,” said Ferada. “A man must learn to ask permission before he touches.”

“Speaking of such matters,” Tuala said, “your brothers are growing up quickly. I don’t just mean their willingness to help entertain the little ones. Queen Rhian tells me Bedo is showing a great deal of interest in one of Breda’s handmaids, a girl named Cella. Very
charming, Rhian said, and of good character. Their behavior is perfectly discreet, of course; little chats in the Great Hall, glances when they think nobody’s looking, a particular kind of smile. I do tend to think of Bedo and Uric as children, but of course they are young men now.”

“Hmm.” Ferada’s thin lips twisted in a smile. “I worked hard enough to ensure they’d grow up well. Yes, they’re
good boys, I have to agree, for all the headaches they’ve caused me. Of course, it won’t come to anything, Bedo and this girl. He’s too young. Tuala, about Eile. Promise me one thing.”

“What?”

“Talk to Bridei before you decide to make a friend of
the girl. She’s a Gael, after all, and that’s going to look odd to many folk. You’re not supposed to be drawing adverse attention right now. See if
Bridei agrees with this theory of Ana’s. For such a dour, shuttered individual, Faolan seems to have a lot of people looking out for his welfare. I’d have thought a man like that more than capable of running his own life.”

“You heard Eile,” Tuala said, shifting the nursing infant to the other breast. “She traveled with him all the way from home. They talked about the past. They looked after a
three-year-old together. This is Faolan we’re speaking of.”

“Perhaps that’s evidence that this girl is lying.”

“You’re so cynical, Ferada. Ana spoke to Faolan himself, remember. He wanted Eile looked after.”

“If he cares about her, why did he move on before she got here?”

“Because he had no choice.” Tuala was suddenly solemn. “His reticence has done neither Eile nor himself good service. I’ll
talk to Bridei, of course. We talk about everything. Don’t you and Garvan do that?”

D
RUSTAN HELPED EILE
and Saraid settle into their quarters, then went in search of his betrothed. He sent the hoodie ahead and, when it flew back to him, all he had to do was follow it across the garden to a small upper courtyard protected by a creeper-covered wall. There was a round
stone table here, and a view over the parapet to low hills and the distant sea. Ana was standing very still, one hand on the table, the other curled up against her mouth. Halfway up to the court, Drustan realized she was crying.

One long stride carried him up the remaining steps; he moved to enfold her in his arms. “What’s wrong? What has happened?” he asked her, his lips against her hair.

“I’m all right,” Ana said, wiping her eyes. “I’m sorry if I worried you.”

“You don’t look all right, dear heart. Tell me. What has made you sad?”

“I met my sister. Breda. You know how much I’ve been longing for that; looking forward to seeing her again now she’s grown up.” Her voice was shaky.

Drustan kissed her brow but did not speak.

“She… When I saw her, I threw my arms around her and held
her close. I could feel her stiffen all over, as if she found my touch disgusting. It was odd. Odd and terrible. I thought, maybe she’s afraid; she must know she could be the next hostage. And then I thought, she’s still young. This must be very strange to her, meeting me after so long; perhaps she doesn’t know what to say. I tried to talk to her; to begin telling her how much I regret those lost
years, and how much I missed her and worried about her. She just looked through me, Drustan. She didn’t seem interested in anything I had to say. She was… coolly polite. As if I were a stranger, and rather a tedious one at that.”

“I’m sorry,” Drustan murmured. “You don’t deserve this, on top of everything else. Perhaps Breda simply needs time.”

“Maybe.” Ana sounded doubtful. “I hope it’s only
that. She was… I can’t quite say what it was, but she made me uneasy. And… this is going to sound silly, but she was quite impolite, as if she had never learned the appropriate way to behave in company. But she’s been at our cousin’s court for some time now. She must know these things. It’s as if she doesn’t care. I didn’t say anything about the baby.” The tears began to fall again, wrenching at
Drustan’s heart. Her sadness made him feel helpless.

“Come,” he said. “Are you ready to go in? We are housed in your old chamber, I understand; a very comfortable one with some beautiful embroidery on the walls. It was not hard for me to guess whose hands had
fashioned that. Eile and Saraid are next door. If you don’t want to talk to Breda anymore, you need not.”

“Of course I want to,” Ana said
as they made their way down the steps. “But I’m not sure I know how.”

R
EALIZING THAT SHE
had been offered an opportunity at White Hill, Eile determined to swallow her doubts and misgivings and make the most of it. The old scholar, Wid, was both strict and kindly. He seemed to spend a lot of his time seated in a strategic position just where the queen’s private garden
met the broader expanse of the general garden with its vegetable and herb beds, its substantial ponds, its small statues, its myriad places to walk or rest or, in the case of dogs and children, run about and chase things. Observing the pattern of guards, the fact that either Garth or Dovran tended to be on duty here along with any of a small group of other men who took it in turns, Eile deduced
that white-bearded Wid with his ferocious hawk nose was an unofficial member of the team, his role to alert the others with a cough or a movement if he spotted anything untoward.

Wid was a good teacher. She spent part of every morning with him, and in less than one turning of the moon she had grasped enough of the language to try out her basic skills on others, starting, at her tutor’s suggestion,
with the king’s bodyguards, often conveniently present just across the garden. She’d been shy of both at first. Garth was a big man, the kind of man she shrank from instinctively, but he had a nice smile, and she had seen how gentle he was with his little boys. Dovran was stern and solemn; he took his duties very seriously. She had not thought he would deign to talk to her. As it was, her halting
efforts elicited friendly responses from both men, and she managed a brief conversation every day with whichever was on duty. It tended to be restricted to remarks on the weather or a polite inquiry as to their
family’s health but, as the days passed, she became more and more adventurous in her use of words. When they understood and replied, keeping their own speech simple so she in her turn could
follow, it warmed her. Wid expressed his satisfaction by pushing her harder.

Saraid was learning still more quickly. While Eile studied, her daughter played with Derelei, who had attached himself to this new arrival to the exclusion of all else. Perhaps
played
was not quite the word. The two of them could generally be found sitting quietly in a corner, with Sorry an inevitable third, examining
some object of mutual interest—a feather, a leaf, a stone with patterns on it—and whispering in a language that was somewhere between those of the Gaels and the Priteni. This friendship had quickly won Saraid and Eile access to the private part of the garden. To her surprise, Eile on occasion found herself trusted to watch over the two of them, though never quite on her own; there was always a guard
somewhere nearby. Saraid was now a frequent visitor to the queen’s apartments; Tuala said she was exceptionally good for Derelei. Eile found it hard to believe that, before her arrival, the king’s son had apparently spent his days running about with Garth’s energetic twins, the three small boys driving the household crazy with their exuberance.

She’d had her own run-in with the twins. One rainy
afternoon she had volunteered to look after all four children while Elda rested. Garth’s wife had a baby due in less than two turnings of the moon, and her boys did wear her out. Eile had taken a set of rolling balls and led her small troop to a covered courtyard, out of the wind. She marked goals with chalk, and they took turns to get as many balls through as they could. The man-at-arms whose
job it was to keep guard nearby was coaxed to take a turn, but was laughing so hard he missed the goal by a handspan. The whole thing was loud, competitive, and chaotic; the twins grew red-faced, trying to outdo each other, Derelei retreated to a step nearby to watch,
and Saraid, to her mother’s surprise, played a little, observed a while and then took charge.

“Gilder, put the ball down. His
turn.”

“My
turn!”

“I said no. Galen’s turn.” She stood with hands on hips, a miniature commander, and Gilder, round-eyed, surrendered the ball.

“Now Derry’s turn. Come on, Derry.”

Derelei got up, obedient to the voice of his new soul-mate, and bowled his balls across the flagstones, each one neatly passing between the chalk marks. For this perfect result to be possible, one ball had to change
direction sharply as it rolled. Saraid glared at him; he had the grace to look a little abashed.

“Not that one,” Saraid declared. “Roll again.”

So it had gone on, orderly and civilized, until the twins’ mother, refreshed from her rest, appeared to fetch them and offered an invitation for Saraid to play with Gilder and Galen any time she liked. Elda spoke slowly, using gestures; Eile was delighted
to find she could understand, and had sufficient words for a polite acceptance.

“Saraid play
Derry,”
said Derelei, a frown on his infant features.

“You, too,” Elda told him quickly. “And you are welcome, too, of course,” she added, smiling at Eile. “I could show you the stillroom, if you’re interested.”

There was a lot that interested Eile: Elda’s herbs and potions, the wonderful music played
in the great hall after supper, the stories Tuala told the children, which reminded her of her father’s tales, long ago. It came to her that, when she was a tiny girl, she must have heard the Priteni tongue at home, for her father and Anda had their origins in Caitt lands, the northern realms where Drustan came from, and must surely have spoken their native language together from time to time.
She wondered what use Anda had made of the fabulous sum Faolan had paid for her freedom. She wondered if Anda had the capacity to use it wisely, or whether her aunt would let herself fall
victim to another man like Dalach, a man who saw women as possessions to be used and exploited and cast aside. She recognized, to her surprise, that a trace of pity had crept into her feelings for her aunt. She
hoped Anda had forgiven her. She began to think that maybe, some day, she in her turn would be able to forgive.

They had provided her and Saraid with a little chamber next to the one shared by Ana and Drustan. It had a comfortable bed, a small table, a chest for storage, in which their possessions filled only a corner, and a window looking out over the garden. Shutters could be closed to keep
out the chill wind and opened to admit the sun. There was a green-dyed blanket on the bed and a green felt mat on the floor. It was not the house on the hill, but it was a good place. Eile ordered herself not to like it too much; not to start taking it for granted. Allow herself to do that and, inevitably, it would be taken away.

Ana and Drustan would be leaving soon. She could see the restlessness
in them, the profound desire to be away on their new journey. It had occurred to her that, once she was no longer under their protection, her place at White Hill might change. Ana treated her as a friend, if a rather perplexing one. Drustan’s attitude seemed part that of older brother, part wise adviser. His fluency in Gaelic had made him the recipient of certain confidences she could not express
directly to Ana. She would miss the two of them badly. Because of them, it seemed to Eile she had not sunk to her natural position in the hierarchy of the court, which would have been at the bottom scrubbing floors, washing linen, and taking her meals in the kitchen, not at the board in the great hall with kings and princesses. Without the patronage of Drustan and Ana, she would have fallen
far below that middle level of folk, the one inhabited by people like Garth and Elda, who came somewhere between servants and leaders. Leaders had two levels as well: there were councillors and chieftains, druids and wise women, and, above them, those of royal blood. Of course, at White
Hill there were places where that order became jumbled. Tuala treated Elda as a friend; their children played
as equals. Eile suspected Faolan would be another piece that would not slot neatly into the puzzle, and perhaps that was the reason why she herself had unexpectedly become a friend to the folk at the very top, welcome to wander in their garden and learn from their old teacher.