Deception's Princess (Princesses of Myth) (8 page)

A shout cracked the air, and another. Blood spattered my face as a sword descended, opening the wolfhound’s throat. The enormous dog toppled among the remaining bones.

“Lady Maeve, are you all right?” One of Father’s warriors stood over me, offering a hand to help me back onto my feet. His other fist held the blade that had saved me. Two more men stood in the doorway, with Bláithín peeping anxiously between them.

“I’m not hurt,” I replied. “But two of the puppies—”

For no good reason, I began to cry.

The three men who’d come to my aid were on sentry duty when Bláithín’s shouts for help fetched them. Now all five of us stood before Father in the great house, with me still in my bloodstained dress, as he tried to bellow his way to the truth. His harsh questions were solely for the men. Bláithín and I were not asked to speak.

As the three warriors took turns explaining why a royal visitor’s valued dog was dead and how the High King’s daughter nearly came to die in its jaws, the buzz of titillated whispers from the onlookers turned our hearth into a hive of rumors. Lord Áed bided at the High King’s side, the dead wolfhound’s pelt in a heap at his feet. He speared our warriors one after the other with his eyes.

“Well, which is it?” Father thundered at the sentry who’d killed the beast. “Did you save my daughter or didn’t you?”

The young man met Father’s eyes without wavering. “Lord Eochu, it would be easy to say so and take my reward, but the gold would turn black with a liar’s curse. I saw what I saw, and these men saw it with me. We reached the storeplace only a few breaths before the dog bowled the princess off her feet, but in those moments we saw her fighting off the beast as ably as any of your fosterling boys being trained to the sword.”

“I don’t believe it. My daughter—my
child
—with a sword in her hands against a full-grown wolfhound?”

“It wasn’t a sword,” I said quietly. “It was a piece of wood.”

“A piece of wood
you
used to torment my dog!” Lord Áed exploded. He wasn’t talking to me.

Bláithín cringed. “My lord, I never—”

Áed wouldn’t let her speak. “You must have done it. There’s no other explanation for him turning savage enough to attack
the princess. What evil impulse made you goad him like that? Were you bored? Idle? Or are you too stupid to live?” He toed the dog’s pelt. “
Your
skin should be lying here. Nothing less would redeem you for causing my dog’s death and endangering my beloved Lady Maeve.”

The blameless serving girl crumpled, sobbing wildly. I caught sight of Kelan in the crowd, his face twisted with distress. Anyone could see how much he wanted to come forward, take Bláithín in his arms, defy every lie Lord Áed spewed at her. But doing so would insult the High King’s noble guest. The consequences were unthinkable.

I dropped to one knee, hugged Bláithín warmly, and looked Áed in the eye. “No one used that stick against your dog but me.”

“You’re a sweet, softhearted girl, Lady Maeve,” Áed replied smoothly. “You shouldn’t waste your time trying to protect the wench this way.”

I stood up slowly. Frost was in my voice, making me sound older than my years. “Which way is that? By lying for her?”

Áed suddenly saw the edge of the cliff to which his wagging tongue had brought him. As much as Father might want to keep peace between Connacht and the Menapi, he could not let any man call his daughter a liar and let it go unavenged.

“Forgive me, Princess, I spoke poorly. I know you’d never dishonor the truth. I believe you with all my heart.” The words tumbled from his lips in a single breath.

“I do tell the truth,” I said, letting my eyes travel around the encircling crowd before they came to rest on Father. “Everything these men said is true as well. I fought the dog, but not before it killed two of our own. It would have done the same to
Bláithín, and that would have been two more lives lost. Would
you
allow such a thing to happen and do nothing, Father?”

“I’m a trained warrior. You’re not,” he said sternly. “You’re my precious child. Your safety comes first.”

“I won’t be truly safe if I can’t take care of myself,” I replied. “I’m not stupid or clumsy or cowardly. I can learn how to use a
real
sword, if you give me the chance.” I closed my ears to the faint threads of laughter coming from the crowd.

“According to these three men, you already know the basics of that.” Father leaned forward, one fist on his knee. “Who taught you?”

I sucked in a sharp, short breath.

“Well, Maeve?” he persisted. “No one learns weaponry without being taught. You heard my question. Answer.”

I couldn’t speak. My blood was pounding in my ears, deafening me. I fought to keep myself from trembling, to keep my gaze from straying to Bláithín, still crouched on the floor, or to Kelan where he stood as close to her as possible among the crowd.

“Nothing, girl?” Father made a disgusted sound. “Burying the truth is birthing a lie. You shame me. Go.”

His words were knives. “Father, please, you must understand. I
can’t
answer you. I—”

“I can, Lord Eochu.” Kelan took two strides forward. His face was still a boy’s, but his bearing was a man’s. “I’ll tell you everything.”

Kelan’s revelation was the talk of Cruachan and it grew with every retelling. If you stood by the round central hearth and asked each person who passed by, “What happened after that
young warrior confessed?” you’d hear everything from
“When Lord Eochu learned Kelan taught the princess how to use a sword, he had the blacksmith grind the lad’s own blade into powder and made him eat it”
to
“Lord Eochu was so pleased by Kelan’s courage and honesty that he gave him half of Connacht and the princess.”

I found the truth with Kelan himself, down by the stables where he sat alone, cleaning a towering pile of gear for the chariot horses. He smiled sadly when he saw me. “Bringing my golden torque, are you, Princess? The one you said your father would give me when you surprised him with your sword skills?”

I dropped down beside him. “I’m sorry I made you give me those lessons, Kelan. I was foolish to dream Father would let me use them, no matter how good I got. I wouldn’t be able to draw a sword against his enemies unless I fought him first.”

“That’s a pity, Princess. You would’ve grown to be a capable fighter. You were good enough with that piece of wood to save my Bláithín’s life, and our baby’s,” Kelan said, polishing the metal fittings on the bridle in his hands. “That’s worth any punishment Lord Eochu could throw at me.”

“How—” I hesitated to ask the question. “How
is
he going to punish you?”

He brandished the glinting bridle. “What do you think
this
is?” His old grin was back. “Twenty days as a stable boy by day and a house servant by night. My comrades are going to laugh their throats raw before this is over. Eh, it could have been worse. At least he didn’t banish me.”

“But he could have, and I’d be to blame. You didn’t deserve this. Why is he being so unfair? Oh, Kelan, there are times when he makes me so angry, I wonder if I still love him!”

“Don’t talk like that, Princess. You know you do.” My friend rubbed the bridle fittings harder. “It’s not your fault that you’re so young your father still wants to protect you but you’re so brave you hate it when he does.”

I knew that Father had recovered from his wound completely when he led our men on a cattle raid once more. It was a great success: It proved that Father was as formidable as ever, it brought Cruachan a wealth of cows, and it sent the last of our loitering guests home. Father’s raid subtly reminded them that even if they had no plans for swooping down on other men’s cattle that season, they should at least look after the safety of their own herds.

Kelan was not allowed to join the first cattle raid. He was still being punished for his part in setting my feet on the “wrong” path. When Father decreed a second raid and in the same breath announced that Kelan was forgiven, my friend looked so grateful I feared he would cry. He rode away proudly and returned triumphant.

I congratulated him that evening, before the victory feast. He radiated satisfaction as he replied, “Thank the gods it went so well for me, Princess. I’ll have a fair share of the cattle we took and no regrets over losing the forty you offered me.”

“Oh.” I understood: Our lessons were over. I owed him nothing.

He read the disappointment in my face. “I’m sorry, Lady Maeve, but you know it’s impossible now. If I hadn’t taught you to use a sword, even a fake one, you’d never have dared take on that wolfhound. And if you’d died—” He shivered. “I’m lucky the High King was merciful and I won’t tempt his
mercy a second time. I’ve got to think about Bláithín and the baby, our future. Please understand.”

“I do,” I said. “I’ll accept losing my teacher, Kelan, as long as I can keep my friend.”

“Always, Princess.” We parted with smiles as I went to take my place beside Mother for the feast.

It was one of the wildest celebrations I could remember. Father was so well pleased with all the fine cows now added to our herds that he ordered the servants to pour more and more mead for his followers. Soon the atmosphere in the great hall became so loud and unruly that Mother rose from her place and discreetly retired to her sleeping chamber. Her tactful withdrawal took all of the women with her, including me. Only the serving girls had to remain.

I didn’t mind our enforced retreat. I was stuffed with good food and wanted to go to bed. The jolly uproar just beyond my door faded as I fell into a slumber so deep that a hundred warriors’ gatherings couldn’t wake me.

The sound that did rouse me the next morning was so soft that I thought I was dreaming it. Rubbing my eyes, I sat up and listened. Yes, there it was: someone was crying.

The great hall was a shambles. Benches were overturned, men and dogs lay sprawled on the ground, and rivulets of spilled mead trickled from dozens of fallen drinking vessels. The smell of smoke mingled with other, stronger reeks that made me cup a hand over my nose as I picked my way through the wreckage, trying to find the lonely weeper.

She was huddled behind my father’s bench, one fist pressed hard against her mouth to stifle her sobs. When she became aware of my presence and lifted her face, I recognized Bláithín.
Before I could ask her what was wrong, she blurted out, “It was Caílte’s doing. Caílte, fifteen years older than my sweet man and five times as skilled with the sword. Caílte, may his lying bones turn into worms of fire!” It was a soul-deep curse meant to be shouted loud enough to crack the sky, but her voice never rose above a fierce whisper. My belly twisted at the eeriness of it. “Your father gave him the hero’s portion of the boar last night. Why didn’t he choke on it? He claimed he overheard my darling mutter that someone else deserved that damned piece of meat. False! False! He refused to hear my beloved’s oath that he’d said no such thing, challenged him to fight it out, and killed him at the second blow. Let him die old, maimed, sick, and shunned for taking the light of my heart away from me!” She buried her face in her knees.

That was how I learned that my friend Kelan was dead.

K
ELAN WAS BURIED
with his bronze torque, the silver brooch I pinned to his cloak, his spears, and what was left of his sword. The blade had broken during his duel with Caílte just before the older, more experienced fighter landed the death blow. Bláithín showed me the tiny iron shard she’d saved.

“I know you liked him, my lady, and he always smiled when your name was on his lips. He told me how much you reminded him of his sister. May the great mother Danú comfort all his kin. I want to share this remembrance of him with you. That is”—she hesitated, probably remembering that she was not a young woman talking with a girl but a servant speaking to her princess—“if you’ll permit it.”

She placed the shard in my hand. The iron splinter was the length of my smallest finger and almost thin enough to be mistaken for a needle. I returned it to her with respect. “Thank you, Bláithín. You’ve honored me.”