Deception's Pawn (Princesses of Myth) (27 page)

“I know you have not forgotten, Lady Maeve.” There was no measuring his regret. Everything about him—eyes, voice, body—was laden with it. “I destroyed so much that was dear to you, dear to my son. I killed the wild creatures you two were healing, but also the tame beasts who were my son’s joy. In my stupidity, I believed I was doing the right thing, cutting off all ties that would hold him back from following the druid’s path.” He sighed deeply. “Instead I almost cut off his life. My son was not a healthy child—”

“I know,” I said. “He told me about how you nearly lost him after his mother died.”

“Did he?” Master Íobar looked surprised, then gave a short, humorless chuckle. “Of course he did. You and he were close. So then you know about how he was saved when my wife’s dearest friend lured him out of his life-draining grief by teaching him to care for animals in need. She told me he had a natural ability for that—a gift from Flidais, the lady of wild things.” He hung his head. “What I did on that ill-omened day was a crime that enraged the goddess. It was cruel, the work of my pride and stubbornness, but Odran was the one who paid for it.”

“You said he was well.” I struggled to keep my voice steady.

“I said he lives. Lady Maeve, my son lies desperately ill on Avallach. He was well enough when I left him there, but since that time he’s grown weaker, frail enough for the masters of the island to send me word of his condition. They say that he will recover—there are no better healers anywhere than where the art is taught—but I can’t believe them.
I can’t!
” He cried so loud that the distant sentry turned to stare, then quickly looked away again.

“Have you gone to see him?” I asked. “It might not be as bad as you imagine.”

He shook his head. “I’m afraid that I’ll find out it’s worse. Think of me as a coward if you like, but I tell you that I cannot bear the thought of seeing another of my children dead before me.”

“Another?” I repeated softly.

“I had a daughter who held my heart. She was as beautiful and sweet as spring sunlight after a dark winter. I lost her. It happened many years ago, before Odran was born. He never knew he had a sister. He was so fragile: eating poorly, sleeping worse. Why tell him something that would only add to his nightmares? It’s enough that she will always haunt mine.” Master Íobar’s unfathomable black eyes stared into the past. “I was the one keeping watch over her when she vanished. She slipped away from me the way small children can do. She had a wild bird’s free spirit, that one.” His voice was fainter than the fall of a leaf. “They brought her back to me from the bog where she’d run off to play. I placed her lifeless body in her mother’s lap and knew that those small, still lips had given us their final kiss. May you never know such pain. And now Odran—”

I flung my arms around him and hugged him fiercely. The
memories of all his offenses could not stand against the enormity of all his suffering. “Master Íobar, the healers of Avallach
said
he’ll be all right.”

He pushed away from me gently, refusing to hear any reassurance. “I know better. Flidais will have her vengeance. The gods are clever in their punishments. She could have killed me easily by sending a wolf or a wild boar to cross my path. Instead she’ll use my child’s death like a spear. Before that happens, I want you to pardon me for what I did. I carry the burden of all those small lives, wrongfully ended. It’s too late for me to ask Odran’s forgiveness, but I beg for yours. I will not walk in the sun for much longer and I would rather travel to Tech Duinn with one less weight on my shoulders.”

I took his hand again and held it firmly. He would not run from me. “Guennola survived,” I said. “The little stoat got away, one of Odran’s pets. I saw her. Can’t you read that as a sign that Flidais will show you mercy?”

“Why should she? It’s not as if I spared the beast.”

I thought of arguing with him, then realized it would take more than words. “Master Íobar, come with me.”

I brought him to Ea’s shelter. He stared at the kestrel in confusion until I told him about how she had escaped his attack with her life, how she’d found hands to heal her and restore her free flight. “I thought I’d never see her again,” I said. “I had no hope of that, yet here she is.”

“What a wonder.” Master Íobar spoke with reverence. “Such a small bird, and yet so much strength and life in her! I wish Odran were here. He might take heart, knowing she escaped—escaped my blind stupidity.”

“Don’t you understand?” I said kindly. “This is a gift from
Flidais herself. The gods are not always harsh. Ea has a second chance to live and soar. I have a second chance to be happy with her. Let her be a sign that you can have a second chance as well.” I kissed his cheek. “I forgive you. Now go to your son.”

Master Íobar departed the next day. He left Dún Beithe before I was awake, but when I asked Conchobar where he’d gone, I didn’t get the answer I wanted.

“He told me he was heading back to Munster, sleepyhead.” The young lord of the Ulaidh slid to one side of the bench where he was eating breakfast and patted the plank, inviting me to join him.

I dropped down beside him. “Are you sure? Didn’t he mention going to Avallach?”

“Because ‘Munster’ and ‘Avallach’ sound
so
much alike.” Conchobar was in a jolly mood that morning. I didn’t care for it. “Why would he want to go there, anyway? He came to Emain Macha with a message from my kinsman and now he’s got to carry the reply. Remember what I told you about Lord Cairill?”

“The traitor,” I said grimly.
Did Lady Íde manage to caution Father about him?
“I thought you’d come here this time because you had news of his schemes.”

Conchobar took a huge spoonful of porridge and spoke around it. “I have no news to give, but my kinsman did. Says he’s worried about me ’cause”—he swallowed—“because Cairill’s gone to ground. There’s no sign he’s up to anything. Eochu got the warning all right, but instead of being grateful, he’s seeing it as someone trying to stir up bad feelings between him and his subject kings. Guess who he’s ready to blame?”

“You? But that’s ridiculous!”

“Tell that to your father. He’s not sure I’m involved, but there are enough people ready to throw rocks at me if it keeps their heads safe awhile longer.”

“Cairill, for instance?”

Conchobar grinned and gobbled more porridge. “Smart, aren’t you, and—mmm, this is good—pretty. Yes.” He set down his empty bowl. “Your father’s got his eye on me now, instead of where it should be. That’s the message my kinsman wanted me to know, along with a hundred different versions of ‘Be careful, Conchobar.’ No wonder he had to send a druid, what with how they’re trained to memorize everything.” He looked at me closely. “You seem unhappy. Don’t worry about me; I’ll stay out of Eochu’s way even when we all meet at Tara for the Beltane rites.”

“It’s not that. I’m just thinking about—” I let the words hang. What use was there in telling Conchobar about my worries over Odran’s health and my disappointment that his father had not gone to hearten him with news of Ea’s survival?

“About what?” Conchobar prodded. “Tell me.” I shook my head. “Come on, you know I’ll find out. Speak.” He put his arms around me and yanked me against his chest, to the amusement of almost all those present. “Don’t make me squeeze it out of you!” he cried, making me laugh even while I tried to break his hold.

“Let her
go
!” Kian appeared in front of us so suddenly, he seemed to burst from the ground. Before Conchobar or I could say anything, he drew back his fist and punched the lord of the Ulaidh hard enough to send him tumbling backward off the bench while I fell onto my hands and knees.

“Kian, stop!” Lord Artegal roared, rushing to seize his son’s arm. “Are you insane? By my head, that man is our sacred
guest
.”

Conchobar got back onto his feet, one hand cupping his jaw. “Let him be, my lord,” he said. “I won’t hold him or you to blame for this if you’ll give me one favor in return.”

Shame turned Lord Artegal’s face crimson. “Anything you name.”

I rose from the ground in time to hear Conchobar declare, “I ask that you suspend the bond of hospitality just long enough for Lord Kian and me to settle the one dispute that stands between us.” He indicated me.

“There’s nothing to settle,” I said. “I am not—”

Lady Lassaire didn’t give me the chance to finish. She had my wrist in a grip of stone and dragged me out of the great house, followed by her closest attendants and my delighted fellow fosterlings. I could feel rage rising from her like the blaze of iron in the forge. She didn’t stop until we were almost to the gateway of Dún Beithe, and then she released me so violently that I staggered into the wall.

“This is all your fault!” she shrieked at me. “Do you
like
making these boys drunk with desire for you? Does it make you feel powerful, you vain, heartless, unnatural girl? Your wicked games will kill my boy! How can you do it? He loves you. Yes, and better than you deserve! Put an end to this. Go back into the great house and say you’ve made your choice: that you’re his. Send Lord Conchobar away before they fight. Do it!”

“She won’t,” Bryg said, implacable. “She’s one of the Morrígan’s ravens. She glories in it when men fight. She feeds on their deaths.”

“Send her home.” Dairine was a hound straining on the leash, eager to please her master. “Be rid of her!”

“Yes, do that,” I said, looking at each of my attackers in turn. “Lady Lassaire, you’ve been blind to everything that’s been happening to me here except what you choose to see. If I go, you won’t have any problems to sidestep. But
you
will have to be the one to make me return to Cruachan, for I swear by my head that I will not be another Aifric! If I leave Dún Beithe, it won’t be because this swarm of horseflies drove me away.”

“Quiet!” Lady Lassaire snapped. “What do you know of Aifric? That inconsiderate girl didn’t give a second thought to how much trouble she made for us by running off. I curse the day you came here, but I will not expel you. I won’t have it said that I failed to discipline any fosterling in my keeping. You will leave Dún Beithe when
I
say, and not a moment before.”

“Whether or not I marry your son?” I couldn’t resist throwing that in her face after her talk of discipline. Had she ever
tried
to put the reins on Bryg, either for Aifric’s sake or mine?

“I told you to hold your tongue!” I got my face slapped for that impertinence. For a small woman, she had a heavy hand. “If you’re too dim-witted to know what a prize my son is, I can only pray that he comes to his senses and turns his back on you.”

As she spoke, a large crowd came streaming out of the great house, headed for the ringfort gateway. Lord Artegal was in the lead, followed by Kian and Conchobar. The mob swept past us, their voices raised in anticipation. Connla was the only one who paused long enough to call out: “Don’t worry, milady, they’re going to fight with fists, not weapons!”

Dairine gave a little squeal of glee and joined the throng.
The other girls and women fell in after her, including Lady Lassaire, until I was the only one left standing against the wall.

I was sure that I was guiltless of the fight between Kian and Conchobar, and yet I was still the cause of it. I hated what my life had become thanks to Bryg’s unreasoning hatred, and yet I had declared I’d never be another Aifric. I swore that I would never run away, and yet I knew there was only one thing holding me to Dún Beithe.

I raced into the deserted great house, threw on my cloak, made sure I had a knife and my sling, found a waterskin, and scavenged a leather bag and crammed it with as much bread, cheese, and meat as I could find. My feet flew to Ea’s shelter where the kestrel drowsed on her perch. I added her lure to the sack of provisions, donned my armguard, set her on my wrist, and dashed outside while she fluttered her wings and complained of such rough treatment. I fed her a scrap of meat to buy her silence as I scanned the battlements for the sentry. When I saw him head toward the side of the wall farthest from the gate, I moved swiftly.

I had a glib tale ready for the man on guard there, but I didn’t need to use it. Like everyone else in Dún Beithe, he wanted to see the fight between Kian and Conchobar. He was nowhere in sight. Perhaps he meant to watch just a bit of the brawl and return to his post before anyone knew he was absent. In my heart I gratefully wished him well.

I was not Aifric. I was not running away, but flying to my heart’s home, to the one who had always been my shelter without ever being my prison.

I was running to Odran.

C
HAPTER
S
EVENTEEN

Hungers

I
KNEW
I would be followed. Sooner or later, my disappearance would be discovered and then Lord Artegal would send out search parties. He would probably lead the one headed to Connacht. It wouldn’t do to have some less seasoned man present himself to Father saying, “Greetings, Lord Eochu. Is your daughter Maeve here? We seem to have lost her.” The master of Dún Beithe himself could excuse his unexpected visit to Cruachan by saying he’d come to see his cousin, Lady Íde.