Deception's Pawn (Princesses of Myth) (14 page)

I shook my head. “I won’t let you tell lies for my sake. A king’s word must be trustworthy.”
Unlike yours, Father
, I thought sadly. “If I can’t depend on you to tell the truth, I don’t want you for my messenger.”

“I only want to protect you, Maeve.” I’d never seen such deep sincerity in those wondrously green eyes. I felt drawn closer to him, and I didn’t know whether to fall or flee.

Why do I feel like this? It isn’t right. He’s not Odran!
I sprang back from the perilous brink by throwing a jest as if it were a slingstone.

“Who says I need anyone’s protection? I can skin my own enemies, though I’d rather wear their finger bones strung together for a bracelet.” I twirled the forefinger of one hand around my other wrist and laughed to break the spell he’d cast over me. “But I do need you to keep me in touch with my sister. I wish one of us had thought to do this long ago. I’ve lost too many years with no word from her at all.”

“What are you talking about?” Conchobar asked. “From the first year of their marriage, Lady Derbriu’s husband always
told the High King how she was faring whenever the lords of Èriu met at Tara. I was there often enough to see it for myself, and to hear old Eochu send back his own news.”

“Is that … is that true?” I felt a sour burning in my stomach. “He never said a word about her at home.”

“Are you certain? I overheard him give her husband special messages from Lady Cloithfinn, mother to daughter, about raising her little ones.”

“They never told me.” I spoke like someone newly wakened in a strange, disturbing world. “She was my favorite sister and they left me with no news of her. I knew she wasn’t dead—they’d have to tell me that—but for all I knew, she’d been stolen away by the Fair Folk to the Otherworld. Not one word.… Why?”

Conchobar fell silent, but it wasn’t for lack of something to say. He had the guilty, guarded look of someone holding on to a secret.

“What is it, Conchobar?” I asked quietly.

“I don’t know what you mean.” He faced me boldly, but failed to hold my gaze for more than two breaths together. “You should go. Lady Lassaire will be asking questions. You don’t want to be found here with me.”

“If it happens, I’ll take the consequences, but I won’t move from this spot until you tell me everything. Why didn’t my parents share the news they had about Derbriu, not even once?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is that another lie to protect me?” I clutched his forearm. “Or are you protecting yourself?”

He jerked out of my grasp. “How can I tell you anything I know about this? You won’t believe me. You’ll say I’m making
up stories to turn you against your father because I hate him for killing mine, and then … and then you’ll hate me.”

I reached for him again, taking both of his hands in my own. “You wouldn’t do that, Conchobar; you couldn’t. You’re a king and a warrior. You don’t fight a coward’s battle, twisting the truth until it breaks. Now tell me.” I squeezed his hands gently. “Please.”

He surrendered. “It was your father’s will. I was there the first time Lady Derbriu’s husband came before the High King, and I heard one of his attendants—his chariot driver, I think it was—say, ‘Our sweet princess Derbriu, a mother! I can’t wait to see how happy this will make Lady Cloithfinn and Maeve.’ ” Conchobar’s normally smiling mouth was a thin, hard line. “Your father turned on him and thundered that no one was to speak of Derbriu when they returned to Cruachan. He said that she was still his daughter and it was his news to share or keep. If he caught the slightest hint that he’d been disobeyed, there’d be one less tongue to drink his mead and eat his bread.”

He said that to
Fechin
? The man he trusts with his life when they go into battle?
I was incredulous, though I kept my disbelief to myself. I didn’t want Conchobar thinking I doubted his words.

“And … and no one challenged.…” Who’d dare to challenge Father? “I mean, no one questioned his command?”

“That fellow, his chariot driver, stood up to him,” Conchobar said. “He told the High King that after his years of loyalty, he at least deserved to hear a reason. I won’t forget how bravely he spoke, saying, ‘You can take my head for this if you like, but that’s the only way you’ll take my right to speak freely.’ ”

“His name is Fechin,” I said. “He’s fearless enough to defy
Father, but he came home with his head still attached to his neck, so what could have happened?”

Conchobar finally withdrew his hands from mine. “I’m not the only one who wants to protect you, Maeve,” he said. “The High King told Fechin that if you heard any news of Derbriu, you’d break your heart wanting to see her again, and if he allowed you to visit her, you’d never agree to come home again. He said, ‘If I forbid her to go to Derbriu, she’s too brave and headstrong to accept that. Will you be responsible for what happens to her if she runs away to seek her sister on her own? You know how much I need my girl, my beloved spark. I can’t let her out of my sight. She’ll be Connacht’s lady someday, if I ever find a hero worthy enough to have her for his wife. If you love her and you’re truly loyal to me, let her go on believing that Derbriu’s too wrapped up in her new life to spare a thought for her little sister.’ ”

I stared into the past, hearing Father’s voice as clearly as if I’d been standing beside Fechin, or in Conchobar’s shadow. “So that’s what he did,” I said under my breath. “That must have been how he kept Mother silent too. Wherever his threats wouldn’t work, he used love.”

“You don’t seem surprised,” said Conchobar, who did.

“I know my father.”

Conchobar left Dún Beithe two days later, on a morning so bright and cloudless that every golden leaf of the birch trees stood out as sharply edged as a knife. He rode away bearing my message for Derbriu, words that held nothing but love and my hopes that her coming childbirth would go well.

I didn’t say anything about all the years her messages to
Cruachan had been kept from me. What good would it do to pain her with the knowledge of Father’s selfish manipulation, done in the name of “protecting” me?

It was only after Conchobar was gone that I realized I was doing the same thing, protecting Derbriu by not telling her the whole truth. I was my father’s daughter after all.

C
HAPTER
N
INE

Children of Bards and Kings

“I’
M GLAD HE
’
S
gone.” Kian stood by Ea’s perch, whipping bits of meat into the falcon’s eager beak as if flinging rocks at an enemy. “If I never have to see that conceited, pushy, obnoxious lump of dung again, I’ll give half my cattle to the first person who asks!”

“Lucky for you that you’ll have to see him at Tara, when Beltane comes,” I said with a wry smile. “If your father heard you make such a stupid oath, he’d take the entire herd away from you. Fools and cattle don’t stay together long.”

Kian didn’t care for my jest. “If you think I’m a fool for despising your sweetheart, I’ll live with that.”

I rolled my eyes. “How many times must I say it? He is
not
my sweetheart.” I saw Kian’s mouth open, ready to repeat the words he’d already voiced far too many times since Conchobar’s departure. My hand flashed up, preventing him. “And don’t you
dare
say, ‘Does that mean you two are betrothed now?’ It wasn’t funny the first time.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be,” he grouched.

“It also isn’t true.”

“That’s what my mother said. She doesn’t like Conchobar either.”

“Then she’s the only other female under your father’s roof who feels that way.”

It was too true. Just that morning I’d had to dampen a fiery quarrel that sparked among my friends as we all sat carding wool by the hearthside. Since the task was simple, Lady Lassaire left us to do it alone. Though the moon had showed all her faces twice since Conchobar’s departure, he was still my friends’ favorite topic of conversation. Even Ula, distant and elegant, giggled worse than Dairine when she recounted how the young king of the Ulaidh had lavished her with compliments.

“Don’t think you’re special. He said gallant things to
every
girl,” Dairine sniped.

“Yes, even to you,” Ula replied with smooth malice.

Gormlaith made the mistake of tittering, which turned her into Dairine’s new target. “Even to
her
,” she said, stabbing a finger at the blond girl. “Isn’t it wonderful to find a warrior who knows how to feel pity?”

For once Gormlaith didn’t shrink from the duel. “Just as wonderful as finding one who doesn’t mind getting on the same tired horse every man’s been riding,” she said.

“Can we
please
talk about something else?” I protested, seeing Dairine’s hands tighten on her carding combs. I didn’t think she was going to throw them at Gormlaith, but I couldn’t be sure.

“Oh, all right, Maeve,” Ula said wearily. “If we’re upsetting
you that much, we’ll stop, but I wish you wouldn’t take these things so seriously. It’s childish.”

“Don’t say that about Maeve.” Dairine set aside her combs and put one arm around me. “I think it’s sweet, how much she cares about us. We’re lucky to have her.”

“Yes, we are.” Gormlaith followed Dairine’s lead and moved in to hug me from the other side. “I hope we’ll always be together.”

“Even after she becomes Lord Conchobar’s bride?” Ula remarked, slipping a needle into her words.

“Oh, I doubt one woman would be enough for
that
boy,” I said casually. “He’ll have to take all four of us or none.” The idea of such a marriage made my friends laugh until they gasped for breath and took our conversation elsewhere.

It was too bad that I couldn’t distract Kian so easily. I did try. Unfortunately, he had an awful talent for bringing every topic back to how deeply he loathed Conchobar.

There are times when the only way to put out a fire is to set a bigger blaze.

“Why do you envy Conchobar so much?” I asked. “Do you think he’s that much better than you?”

“What? Better than—?” Kian sputtered with confusion. “When did I—?”

“You wouldn’t try tearing him down so thoroughly and so constantly if you didn’t see him as a threat. Do you think he’s going to lead a cattle raid against your father when the summer comes? Are you afraid you won’t be able to fight to keep him from taking what’s yours? I hope you’re not jealous of him because he’s your age and already a king in his own right. Remember the price he had to pay for that.”

“Maeve, you don’t understand.” Kian looked miserable. “I don’t fear or envy him, except for how you—”

I was so intent on cooling Kian’s anger against Conchobar that I wasn’t really listening to him. “Well, you shouldn’t.” I sweetened my tone. “If anything, he should envy you. You’re his equal by birth, by the battle scar you bear, and someday—may my words not ill-wish your father—you’ll be as great a king as he. But there is one way you outdo him.” I touched Ea’s perch. “Any man can kill, but you can heal.”

“Oh. Is that all?” Kian was downcast. “That’s the only reason he should envy me?”

“It’s not enough?”

“I was hoping—” He took a breath and sighed. “Never mind. I know you want me to feel better, but you’ve picked the wrong cure. If Conchobar ever
would
envy someone for saving this pretty bird, it should be Bryg.”

“Did she really do that much?” I asked, struggling to salvage my mistake. “You’re the one who brought this kestrel here safely.”

He gave me a wistful look. “It’s all right, Maeve; you don’t have to scrape up ways to flatter me. If you’d been here at Dún Beithe when it happened, you’d agree that I did next to nothing. It happened back before Bryg went mad with grief and had to leave us.”

“Mad?” The word crept over me with dread and pity.

“It was a great tragedy. She was a sweet girl, a bard’s daughter, but she had a druid’s gift for healing. I’m just glad she believed in what I wanted to do, otherwise I’d have bungled the luckless bird to death. That girl knew what was needed, and when she didn’t know, she asked Master Cairpre or the
man who tends our hunting hounds when they’re sick or hurt. I wish she were here to see how well this fine lady’s thriving now, thanks to her.” He gave Ea an affectionate glance.

“I wish she were here too,” I said. “Couldn’t Master Cairpre help her when she … when she fell ill?” I didn’t know how to speak of Bryg’s affliction. I didn’t want to say anything that would make it seem I was shunning her for it. I was in a strange land and had no idea of how to go on.

I’d heard of people who’d become possessed by the spirits of madness, how they shrieked or shut themselves up in a ringfort of their own silence forever. Some had suffered the mind-shattering loss of a lover, a child, or a friend so dear it was like tearing away a piece of your own flesh. Some were cursed by the Fair Folk and some were possessed by the spirits of wild beasts. Still, all of these were only stories brought to Cruachan by our wandering bard. Even Devnet admitted he’d never met a madman face to face, though a friend of a brother of the fellow bard who told him one of the tales swore it was true.