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

“Go with him,” I whispered.

“What about you?”

“I’ll come later. I know the path. I don’t want to be near him.”

“I’ll stay too.”

Odran’s offer was bold but futile. His father lost patience
and grabbed him by the nape of his neck, like a puppy. Master Íobar was no longer young, but he had a fearsome strength. He dragged Odran away, pausing only to give me a backward glance and ask, “What are
you
waiting for?”

“For you to get out of my sight,” I spat.

He smirked. “As you wish, Princess.”

I waited until I could no longer see them or hear the sound of their retreating footsteps. Then I went back to the crannog to bury the dead.

It was hard labor. I had no practical tool for the job and had to dig a burial pit for Muirín and the hare using only a sharp stick. It was a mercy that the lakeshore soil was soft; I don’t know how I would have made any progress with an injured hand. When I had their resting place ready, I considered seeking the otter’s body but decided it would be a pointless gesture. She’d loved the water and now the water cradled her in the long sleep.

When I was done, I washed my hands and went back into the house. Ea’s hood was there, the only token I’d ever have of her existence. I couldn’t leave without it. As I searched the floor on hands and knees, I heard a faint sound and found myself staring at Guennola. Like the squirrel, Odran’s pet stoat had escaped Master Íobar’s rampage by agility coupled with luck.

“It pays to be small, doesn’t it, Guennola?” I murmured. “He overlooked you.” I held out my unbandaged hand to her. “And I overlooked him. He must have trailed me here. I should have been watching my back, but my mind was on Odran, and now I’ve lost him. It’s my fault Muirín’s dead, and my Ea, and the others.”

The stoat didn’t move or look away but kept her distance.
She didn’t even hiss at me. It was like facing a creature carved of stone. The poor beast was probably fear-frozen, though in my state of mind I took her behavior as a silent accusation.

“I’m sorry,” I said, my voice rasping. “We’ve both lost everything. I can’t give you back to Odran. His father will kill you. Will you be mine instead? I promise I’ll protect you. I’ll take good care of—”

With a twist of her lithe body and a flick of her black-tipped tail, Guennola flashed past me and out of the round house. I was left alone in the haunted shadows.

I found Ea’s hood and walked away from the crannog, hunching my shoulders against the deepening chill in the air. My flesh was cold, but inside I was burning with indignation and sorrow. Four small lives were gone, blotted out for no good reason. I would not let this crime go undiscovered and unpunished. I would demand justice.

“N
OTHING
?”
I
CRIED
, looking at Father in disbelief. “You’ll do nothing about this? Not even reprimand him for what he did?”

We stood beside the king’s chariot, which Fechin was inspecting before the next day’s departure for Tara. The poor driver looked as if he were praying for the earth to swallow him whole. He’d tried to excuse himself when I first appeared and began pouring out the story of Master Íobar’s atrocity, but Father ordered him to get on with his work. Now he was a captive of our confrontation.

“You heard me, Maeve,” Father replied levelly. “I’ll do nothing because there’s no need for anything to be done, unless you want me to scold every hunter in our household. Master Íobar committed no crime. Those were all wild animals—foxes, otters, the rest—and he must have had a good reason for what he did. Even the smallest beasts can be dangerous.
Are you going to claim that hand of yours is bandaged because Master Íobar bit you?”

“Muirín wasn’t wild,” I protested. “She was Odran’s pet, tame as any of your hounds or horses.”

“All foxes are wild, and my hounds and horses earn their food. If the fox belonged to Odran, let him settle this with his father.”

“Is that how you see it? Then I was wrong to come to you at all. If I want justice, I’ll have to get it myself.” I began to walk away.

“Come back here!” Father’s roar at my back made me shrink inwardly, but I kept walking. “By the gods, you won’t be satisfied until you’ve brought that man’s curses down on us all. Is your mother’s life worth less to you than a pack of vermin? You will
not
go after Master Íobar, not if I have to tie you to a pillar until we leave Cruachan!”

I walked on.

“You stubborn little— I said come
back
!” He overtook me, gripped my elbow, and spun me around. The violence of that turn tossed my hair back, away from my cheeks. The mark of Master Íobar’s hand was revealed.

Father saw it. His brow creased, his rage against me cooling sharply. His calloused fingers grasped my chin with tenderness as he tilted my face to one side. “What’s that bruise on your cheek? Did you fall?”

“I was slapped.”

“Who did it? Who dared?” He was ready to take heads.

“No one
you
would dare touch.” I pushed his hand aside and ran.

I didn’t pursue Master Íobar after all. What was the use? I had no actual power to punish him for his cruelty. But
his
power was very real. Even if his curses were no more than words, enough people believed in them, and belief carries its own dark, self-fulfilling magic. Father was wrong: I did value Mother’s life—and his—more than those the druid had stolen. Even Ea’s. I abandoned seeking justice. Master Íobar had won.

I didn’t leave my chamber for the rest of the day. The most I did was stick my head around the door frame and summon servants to bring me food and drink. I also dispatched one girl to discover what Odran was doing. As I suspected, he was isolated in his room like me, though not by his own choice.

“Find out if he’s been fed,” I told her. “If not, see to it.”

She twiddled her fingers nervously. “Milady, what if it’s because the druid’s said he’s not to have any food?”

“Are you afraid of him too?” She nodded and I narrowed my eyes. “He leaves tomorrow. I will still be here. You’d better start fearing me.”

Dawn brought the High King’s leave-taking, but I had no wish to bid Father farewell. I couldn’t stand the thought of looking at him, standing tall in his chariot, seemingly so strong and bold, when I knew the humiliating truth: He was so afraid of Master Íobar that he wouldn’t even try to prove if there was any real power to the druid’s curses. Like a child told that a monster lurks beneath his bed, he’d never so much as peek there to see if it were so. The man I’d seen as a mountain had become a hollow hill of sand.

But as much as I scorned him for how he’d failed me, I didn’t give in to the childish desire to hurt him by my absence
from the leave-taking. One of us had to do what was right, no matter how bitter the taste it left in my mouth.

I rose from my bed and put on my best dress and ornaments. Shortly after that, I stood with the rest of the women on the ringfort ramparts, looking down at the men setting out on the road to Tara. Master Íobar had been given a place in one of the foremost chariots. Odran and their two slaves waited beside it. He kept his face turned away from Cruachan. It was just as well. I was afraid of how I might react if our eyes met. Our last goodbye would not be spoken.

Father saw me and waved. At first I kept my hands folded in front of me. It had taken all my willpower to come this far, given how badly I felt he’d let me down. I would attend his leave-taking, but that was all I’d do to mark our parting.

His arm dropped to his side. His self-confident grin faded into a look of such bewilderment and hurt that it sent a pang through my heart.

I can’t let him ride away with this coldness between us
, I thought.
I grew up so used to him as the bravest warrior of Èriu, my bold, beloved father, my hero, that I have trouble seeing him as human. I knew he feared the druid even before he refused to give me justice for the creatures’ deaths. Why did I expect him to act otherwise? He can’t help being who he is
.

I surrendered to kindness, raising one hand in a gesture of farewell. “Safe journey to you, Lord Eochu!” I shouted. “Safe homecoming, Father!”

In ordinary circumstances Father’s absence would have put Mother in charge of overseeing the final Samhain preparations, but Lady Íde delegated that to me.

“If Lord Eochu trusted you with our cattle, you can certainly oversee the preparations for a feast. Of course you’ll have Lady Kinnat and Lady Dealla to help,” she said, naming two of Mother’s ablest attendants.

I was thankful to have so much responsibility. It gave me the pleasure of feeling useful, testified that someone as formidable as Lady Íde considered me mature enough for the task, and most of all, took my mind off my aching heart. Sometimes, when I took a brief rest from supervising the preparations, I mused over the approaching festival, wondering if the veil between worlds would allow the souls of animals to pass through along with those of human beings. There was never any question in my mind that the creatures Odran and I had cared for had spirits that lived on.

I’ll look at the moon and maybe I’ll see my Ea’s shadow hovering in the light
, I thought.
Or perhaps I’ll feel a furry body brush against my ankles and Muirín will be laughing up at me
. I smiled, thinking how I’d have to tell her to seek Odran at Tara and what a funny face the little fox would make—
What? Why didn’t he tell me? Oh, that vexing human!
—before her spirit blew away like a thread of smoke from the blessed bonfires.

We had everything ready three days before Samhain eve. Mother was sleeping when I went to report this good news, so Lady Íde and I spoke outside the room. After I gave her all of the details concerning food, drink, and entertainment, I ended by saying, “I hope I’ve done well. I’d hate to disappoint you.”

“You’d be wiser to
fear
doing that,” Lady Íde jested. “If you’d failed to give this your best effort, you’d have to answer to me
and
Lady Clothru.”

“Clothru?” My face broke into a smile of pure delight.
My childhood spats with my eldest sister were long gone. I felt nothing but joy to hear that I was going to see her again.

Then joy turned to misgiving. “Nothing … nothing’s wrong, is it?” I asked anxiously. It wasn’t normal for people to take to the road so near the shadows of Samhain just to visit their kin. “There’s been no trouble with her husband, has there? He’s still good to her?”

“Tsk. Of course he is. Rest easy, my dear. Lady Clothru will only stay with us until after Samhain’s past and she’s complied with the High King’s wishes.”

“His … wishes?”

“That she fulfill his role at the rites.”

“But he promised that honor to me!”

Jolted, I cried out too loudly. Lady Íde shot me a warning look and rolled her eyes at the bull hide curtaining Mother’s room. I lowered my voice, chastened, and repeated, “He promised it to me. I earned it. Master Niall and Master Owain approved. There must be some mistake.”

Lady Íde cradled my face in her cool hands the way Mother sometimes did. “I’m sorry, dearest Maeve. Lord Eochu sent for your sister the day before he departed for Tara. He left word to keep her arrival as a surprise for you, but I was sure you already knew that he’d changed his mind about your part in the rites.”

“Why would he bother to tell me? He gives and he takes away, with cause or on a whim. Nothing’s changed since the day he let me think he’d give me Dubh but never did.”

“Maeve, you mustn’t be upset—”

“I’m not,” I said, and was surprised to realize this was true. I was strangely calm after learning how Father had taken back the honor he’d given to me. I didn’t try to work out his reasons.
There were many possibilities, everything from some unknown offense I’d committed to this being one final “gift” from Master Íobar. If the druid said
dance
, Father would caper, even if he trampled on a promise.

What could I do about it? No more than I’d done when I was five and all I’d risked to claim the black bull turned to nothing at one word from the High King.

Clothru arrived shortly after noon on the following day. She rode in a gorgeously decorated wagon, escorted by a numerous party of warriors. Master Niall and Master Owain directed me to take charge of her welcome. I think they felt sorry for me, so suddenly denied my place at the Samhain rites. I was supposed to stand in the ringfort gateway and say some ceremonial words of greeting before having our waiting servants serve cups of mead to the guests.

That was
their
plan. Mine was to throw aside all formality, barrel down the path, and jump into Clothru’s wagon to embrace her. I don’t know who was more surprised by that turn of events—the druids, my sister, or me.

We were inseparable for the few days left before Samhain. It felt strange to guide my sister through what once had been her home, and stranger still to hear her exclaim over how much had changed since she’d left us. She told me about her experiences as part of another household and about how hard it was to manage one of her own since she’d married Lord Cineád.