Deception's Pawn (Princesses of Myth) (26 page)

I
HAVE NEVER
seen a battle, but I can imagine that even the greatest warrior grows weary of brandishing sword and spear against a host of enemies who never stop their attack. And if he must fight without a single friend by his side, his fight must seem twice as hard, twice as hopeless.

But even with a darkened heart, a warrior fights on.

I continued to deal with Bryg’s ongoing attacks with no thought of surrender. Even supposing I did want to name her the victor, what could I do that would make her agree to peace?
Maybe she’d accept my sincere apology … if it came accompanied by Father’s head
, I thought cynically.
She won’t be happy until I’m gone.
I tightened my lips.
Dream on, Bryg. You will never make that happen.

I was determined, but oh so tired too! There were times when exhaustion brought me to tears after Bryg’s latest assault failed to do so. When I felt such an outburst rising in my throat,
I hid myself with Ea, sat on the ground beside her perch, buried my face in my arms, and wept.

There were times when I felt so beaten down that I did consider Lady Moriath’s advice about going back to Cruachan. It was only a passing weakness. Something always happened to lift my spirits just enough to give me the strength to stay. Kian’s praise for my ever-improving aim with the sling, Ea’s breathtaking grace in flight, a visiting bard performing Devnet’s old song about my childhood encounter with Dubh the bull, and one time the shyly offered gift of delicate white anemones from the hand of the little slave girl.

While I gathered my small joys and held them close, a far greater happiness was riding toward me at a gallop that spring. Lady Lassaire was just leading us outside after breakfast when we heard the sentry atop the ringfort wall shout a familiar name and: “Open! Open! No one rides that fast unless he brings important news!”

Dún Beithe’s gate swung wide and Lord Conchobar charged through.

I ran to meet him without caring how it looked to any of the onlookers. The last time I’d seen him, he’d told me about the fresh threat hovering above my father’s head. Was that what brought him here now? Had Lady Íde been able to convince the High King that Lord Cairill needed close watching, or had Father brushed off the message she relayed from Lord Artegal and Conchobar?

Or did Cairill already find his chance to strike?
I’d find the courage to bear whatever news Conchobar brought, but waiting to hear him reveal it was terrifying. I startled his horse into a sideways skitter in my haste to know.

Conchobar calmed the beast, dropped nimbly from its back, and clasped my waist. His handsome face was shining like the sun. He tossed me high again and again while a crowd gathered around us.

“A girl, Maeve!” he exulted. “Your sister Derbriu’s given her man a healthy, whole, beautiful baby girl!”

“
That’s
why he’s here again?” Kian gritted. He’d asked me if I wanted to take Ea out for a flight, timing the question so that Conchobar was nowhere nearby to overhear it and invite himself. “Because your sister had a baby? Is there no message that man’s willing to entrust to someone else? When does he find the time to look after his own people?”

“He told me he wanted to see my happiness when I got the news,” I replied evenly, never taking my eyes from the soaring kestrel. “Don’t you take pleasure in sharing a friend’s joy?”

“That’s not all that oaf wants to share,” Kian muttered. I let that sullen remark pass without comment.

“Emain Macha’s not that far from Dún Beithe,” I went on. “Conchobar’s realm won’t suffer if he’s gone for three or four or even five days.”

“He’ll be here
five days
?” I could almost see sparks flying around Kian’s head.

I folded my arms. “Why don’t you tell him to leave? Lord Artegal will be so proud to see how his son treats an honored guest.”

“
I
don’t honor him,” he shot back. “And five days in Conchobar’s company is
six
too many, if you ask me.”

“Calm down. He told me that another person was accompanying him to Dún Beithe, but that man chose to
travel on foot. Conchobar can’t leave until his companion catches up.”

“May the gods give him swan’s wings to bring him here swiftly. And may they give him a slap in the head for walking when he could ride!”

I lost patience with my friend’s immature behavior. “Kian, what do you have against Conchobar?”

“I don’t like the way he looks at you, as if you were a plump little roasted duck on his plate.”

“I sound delicious,” I replied with a quirk of my lips.

He let loose a guttural cry of exasperation and struck his thigh with a fist. “I’m sorry, Maeve. I don’t know how to use pretty words, and when I think of Conchobar and you, I get so mad that it’s hard to speak at all. I just want to knock him over the head, sling him across his horse’s back, smack the animal’s rump, and see the last of him.”

“All that?” I asked impishly, hoping to dilute his anger with laughter. One look at his expression told me I’d failed.

“Why don’t you take me seriously? There’s so much I want to tell you, ask you, but you always turn it aside with a joke or a question. I see what Bryg is doing to you and I can save you from her if you’ll only—”

My hand covered his mouth. “Kian, would you really want me to accept you for my husband only because I had to escape Bryg? You’re worth more than that.”

He moved my hand away gently and gazed at me with regret. “Not to you.”

“You are my dear friend. You’re the only friend I have left under your father’s roof.”

“And that’s all I am. It’s not good enough for me, Maeve. Can’t I change that somehow?”

I shook my head.

“This is his fault,” Kian muttered. “If not for him—”

“Conchobar has nothing to do with it,” I said firmly. “I give you my word.”

He replied, “If you say so,” in a way that meant
I don’t believe you at all.
With a forced laugh, he raised his eyes to follow Ea’s flight. “Do you know who Conchobar’s awaiting? Who’s important enough to keep the high and mighty king of the Ulaidh hanging around our necks like a noose?”

I ignored his sarcasm. Clearly I’d never succeed in convincing Kian that Conchobar wasn’t his rival. “He hasn’t told me and I haven’t asked. I’ll be as surprised as you whenever we find out.”

I was wrong. No one in all of Dún Beithe could come close to being as surprised as I when Conchobar’s straggling companion arrived the next day. We were having our midday meal when a long shadow fell across the sunlit doorway. A familiar voice made my skin shrink as I heard: “Greetings, Lord Artegal. May your house be favored with health and abundance.”

“Master Íobar!” Conchobar cried, hurrying to welcome the man who’d terrified my father, torn Odran from me, and destroyed blameless creatures as easily as snapping a blade of straw. “You’re here at last!”

“Idiot girl, aren’t you listening? I said
you’re
the sole reason he’s come here! Am I going to have to come in there and carry you?
Again?
” Conchobar yelled at me through the curtain of Lady
Moriath’s sleeping chamber. I’d taken refuge there because I knew if I hid in my own room, the other fosterlings would drag me out and happily throw me to the hated druid.

Lady Moriath faced the inner side of the curtain, her hands on her hips. “I’ll say the same thing to you I said to Lord Artegal himself!” she shouted back with remarkable power for a woman of her years. “Don’t even
think
of coming in here after Lady Maeve unless you’re prepared to draw your sword! The only way I’ll let you have her is if you cut off my head first!”

“Don’t tempt me, old woman,” Conchobar snarled, but the curtain didn’t even ripple.

I touched Lady Moriath’s shoulder lightly. “I should go.”

“Why?” She turned to face me. “Are you afraid of that uncouth boy? Don’t be. He may be king of the Ulaidh, but he doesn’t rule us.”

I had to smile. Me, afraid of Conchobar? Not likely. “I didn’t run in here because I fear anyone, Lady Moriath,” I said. “I just wanted a little time to think, to clear my mind. That druid, Master Íobar, is someone I hoped I’d never meet again. When I saw him, my first impulse was to pick up something heavy and throw it at his head. Beyond that, I didn’t know how to face him.” I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Now I do.”

“You’re sure, dear?” The older woman cupped my cheek with one soft hand and gave me a searching look. “I’ll stand with you when you speak to him, if you like.”

“Thank you, but I ought to do this on my own.”

I stepped out of her room and walked past Conchobar as though he were invisible. As I expected, most of the household was massed behind him, gawking at me. Bryg, Ula, and Dairine clustered together, snickering and whispering. Gormlaith
stood nearby with the same regretful expression she always seemed to wear whenever our eyes met. Lord Artegal and Master Íobar were the only two missing.

I heard the rustle of Lady Moriath’s dress at my back and the older woman’s stern, carrying voice: “Don’t you layabouts have
work
to do?”

Lady Lassaire rose to her feet, flustered at being rightfully taken to task by one of her own attendants. She turned her embarrassment to impatience and herded all of her women away, as well as my fellow fosterlings, chiding them at every step. The rest of the onlookers drifted away, muttering.

“Well done, old woman!” Conchobar patted Lady Moriath on the back. She wheeled suddenly and slapped his hand away.

“Call me ‘old woman’ again and you’ll find out I still know how to give a rude child’s rump some lessons in manners,” she snapped.

The young king solemnly removed one of his gold bracelets and slid it onto her wrist, where it dangled loosely. “Please have mercy on me, milady. Here’s my pledge that I’ll be more polite from now on.” He looked at me contritely. “Sorry for what I called you. You know, an idiot?”

I favored him with a warm smile. “You might’ve been right. After all, look at the friends I choose.” Lady Moriath tutted a warning, so I quickly added, “Do you know where I can find Master Íobar?”

The druid was standing in conversation with Lord Artegal outside the great house. I expected a devastating scowl from Master Íobar for my recent bad conduct. Whenever I pictured Odran’s father, he always wore a glowering look, and tragic experience taught me to mistrust his smile. Now I saw
a strange, sorrowful expression in his eyes, and it shook me badly. This wasn’t the Master Íobar I remembered. What had changed him? I dreaded hearing it.

I forced my fears down. Perhaps I was imagining things and he was only weary from travel. “Welcome, Master Íobar,” I said calmly. “My apologies for how I—”

“I will not hear them, Lady Maeve.” He raised his hand with all his old authority, but spoke in a peaceable voice. “I can understand your reaction to seeing me so unexpectedly, after our last meeting.” He turned to Lord Artegal and Conchobar. “My lords, if Lady Maeve agrees, may she and I speak together privately?”

I nodded my consent and they left us, but we were far from alone. As always, the ringfort was filled with people doing chores, running errands, enjoying a rest from their tasks, or simply idling while they pretended to work. Master Íobar observed their presence, dissatisfied.

“I would prefer to speak with you alone, Lady Maeve,” he said.

“Come with me, then.”

I led him to the top of the stronghold walls and hailed the sentry.

“This is Master Íobar, who serves the king of Munster,” I said. “We wish to be undisturbed.”

“This is the right place for that, Lady Maeve.” The man bowed his head to the druid with respect. “I was on watch when you arrived, Master,” he said. “I recognized your rank by that fine six-colored cloak of yours. You may trust me to guard your presence here as long as you like. I’ll keep watch over there.” He indicated the opposite curve of the circular wall.

Even after the guard was as far from us as possible, Master Íobar remained silent. It fell to me to speak first. “Lord Conchobar says that I’m the reason you’ve traveled here with him. Was it for this, just to look at me?”

“I wish that were so,” he said in a voice so drained of energy and so heavy with sadness that I felt an invisible giant’s hand crushing my chest. “Lady Maeve, my son—”

“I knew it!” I cried. “Oh gods, I knew the worst had happened, but I hoped … I hoped I was wrong. I told myself that even if I never saw Odran again, I could be content believing that he was alive and happy somewhere. Did I wound your pride so much that you
had
to find me here and take that peace away from me?”

“I, take away—?” My outburst astonished him. “Lady Maeve, you think I came here to tell you that my son, my Odran, is … dead?” He spread his hand before his face as if that gesture could repel such a horrible thing.

“He lives, then?” I asked. The druid nodded, and I felt so giddy with relief that I willingly grasped the hands that had taken so many small, blameless lives. “Master Íobar, pardon me for putting words in your mouth. I’m deeply grateful to know I was wrong about Odran, but—” I hesitated. “But I don’t understand why a man of your rank traveled so far just to bring me news of my—my dear friend.” An old suspicion whispered,
Be on guard. He wants something.

“You’re mistaken, child,” he replied, still with that unnerving new mildness. “I came here with another purpose besides telling you about Odran. My lord the king of Munster is a close relative of Lord Conchobar. He had a vital message to send to Emain Macha and chose me to carry it as a mark of respect for
his kinsman. I arrived just before your sister, Lady Derbriu, gave birth. I was there when Lord Conchobar declared he’d take that happy news to you himself. Until then, I had no idea you were in fosterage here. I am not blessed with the gift for divining the future, but even I could read such a sign: it was my destiny to travel to Dún Beithe, find you”—he withdrew his fingers from mine—“and implore you to forgive me.”

I stood rooted, motionless. All I could do was repeat, “Forgive—?”