The Cursed Towers (70 page)

There was a joyful reunion with Ishbel and the Fire-maker, neither of whom Iseult had seen since her marriage four years earlier, then she went to bow before the dragon-princess and exchange greetings. Isabeau turned in search of Meghan and her smile faltered as she saw Lachlan standing before her, his wings erect, his face stern.

"So, the miscreant has returned," he said. Tart words rose to her tongue but she swallowed them, curtseying respectfully instead, eyes lowered.

"What have ye done with my niece?" he asked.

"I gave her to Maya so she would remove the curse from ye, Your Highness," Isabeau replied equably. Surprise flitted across his face. Then he laughed. "O' all the things I was expecting ye to say, that was no'

among them! Ye continually astonish me, Isabeau. Ye and your sister, both. Come, who is that man my wife was just embracing so affectionately?"

Isabeau bit back a grin. "That, Your Highness, is my stallion Lasair, who ye wanted to have shot. He was really my father Khan'gharad, whom Maya ensorcelled on the Day o' Betrayal. Nineteen years he was a horse, Your Highness, and indeed he has found life as a man again very difficult."

"I can imagine," Lachlan murmured sympathetically. "I was only a blackbird for close on five years and yet still I find it hard sometimes. Come, I can see it's quite a story ye have to tell us! Will ye no' all come up to the meeting hall? We were halfway through signing a most historic piece o' paper when ye so rudely interrupted us. Ye can tell us your tale and make your excuses later." Isabeau was torn between a smile and an angry refutation, but she saw the rueful twinkle in Lachlan's eyes and grinned in response. "Aye, Your Highness. Ye ken your word is my command," she answered and he laughed.

With her arm linked through Iseult's, Isabeau followed the Righ through the palace and into the meeting hall. She was greeted so warmly by so many that her cheeks crimsoned. She had dreaded returning to Lucescere, sure that her welcome would not be warm. But it seemed that no one was willing to let the good cheer of the day be ruined by old tensions.

Meghan was waiting impatiently in the long conference hall and Isabeau was shocked at how old and haggard she looked, with her long plait all white and her small frame gaunter than ever. The black eyes still snapped with vitality, however, and she pulled Isabeau into a fierce embrace.

"What do ye mean by sneaking off into the night like that and no' sending word for three long years?" she cried. "It's worried to death I've been about ye."

"I'm sorry," Isabeau said contritely. "Indeed it seemed the best thing to do at the time, and where I've been I've had no way o' sending ye a message."

"Ye were always a foolish, impetuous lass, but I had thought ye had begun to gain some sense," Meghan snapped. "Why did ye no' trust me to have a care for the wee lassie?"

"It was no' just Bronwen, it was
dai-dein
as well,"

Isabeau said defensively. "And that at least worked out for the best."

"Whatever do ye mean?" Meghan asked, but just then Iseult came in the door, her arm linked with the Fire-maker's. Following them, arm in arm, were Ishbel and Khan'gharad.

Meghan's mouth dropped open in astonishment. "By Ea's green blood! It's Khan'gharad," she cried.

"How ... ? Where . . . ?"

Isabeau tensed. Despite all her attempts to explain and justify Meghan's actions on the Day of Betrayal, Khan'gharad persisted in thinking the worst of the old sorceress.

"She never approved of me and tried many times to separate Ishbel and me," he had said angrily. "She wanted Ishbel all to herself—she was a jealous, possessive auld woman who could no' bear that Ishbel loved me best. She tried to kill me on purpose that day so she could have Ishbel all to herself—she saw the opportunity and seized it."

"Meghan is no' like that, truly," Isabeau had protested.

Even Ishbel spoke up on Meghan's behalf, saying, "She was truly sorry, my love. It was that blaygird Ensor-cellor she was trying to kill, no' ye."

Khan'gharad had remained unconvinced, and so Isabeau was dreading this meeting between her father and her beloved guardian.

Meghan's face lit up, however, and she limped hastily across the room, her hand held out. "The queen-dragon spoke truly. Ye were alive! Och, Khan'gharad, can ye ever forgive me? I did no' mean for ye to fall into the chasm too. I was angry and I opened the earth too wide. The edge just crumbled beneath your feet and pitched ye in. I swear, on Ea's blessed name, that I never meant to harm ye. Where have ye been all these long years? Come, I can see there are many tales to be told. Will ye no' sit with us and tell us?"

Khan'gharad was stiff and proud but he acknowledged her apology with a curt nod and allowed Dillon to pull up a chair for him, Ishbel and the Firemaker and to pour them some wine. The interrupted formalities resumed then, the Mac-Brann signing after the MacAhern, followed by the Nic-Thanach and the newly restored NicAislin. Isabeau gave Meghan and the royal couple a very quick account of her years at the Cursed Towers and explained how Khan'-gharad had been ensorcelled by Maya.

Lachlan then pleased her greatly by leaping to his feet and saying, "We have a new addition to our signatures which I have only just learnt about. My wife Iseult Nic-Faghan was going to sign on behalf o'

her clan, but we are glad indeed to be able to welcome her long-lost father, Khan'gharad MacFaghan, Prionnsa o' Tirlethan, the direct descendant o' Faodhagan the Red!" A murmur of surprise arose and Khan'gharad bowed, his face quirking into an unaccustomed smile. He was passed the quill and ink, and he signed with a clumsy hand, still unused to having fingers again. Once all the prionnsachan had signed, the representatives of the various faery races came forward to make their mark. The Firemaker signed on behalf of the Khan'-cohbans, the Stargazer on behalf of the Celestines, and Brun on behalf of the cluricauns. Elala dipped her tiny hands in the ink and pressed them on the paper; the oldest of the tree-changers made a twiglike inscription, and the seelie drew his own simple rune. Asrohc was brought a barrel of ink in which to dip her claw, signing her name in a strange, ornate flourish that took up a great length of the scroll. Asrohc had been sent by her mother to renew the promises the queen of the dragons had made to Aedan MacCuinn at the signing of the First Pact of Peace, more than four hundred years earlier. Then Tomas carried the huge roll of paper down into the sewers so that Ceit Anna, the last of the nyx, could make her mark without needing to brave the light. The palace was once again filled with music and dancing, the jongleurs and troubadours competing to see who could draw the greatest crowd to listen to their songs and stories, watch their fire-eating, juggling, acrobatics and stilt-walking, and dance to their reels and jigs. Dide was in his element, playing his guitar as he walked among the throng. His eyes lit up when he saw Isabeau and Lilanthe sitting together under the trees, deep in conversation, and he veered that way.

"My lady Isabeau," he said with a deep bow. "I see ye have returned from wherever it is that ye've been. May I have this dance?"

Isabeau smiled up at him. "I do no' feel much like dancing, I'm afraid. I'm sure that Lilanthe would like to dance though. I saw her feet tapping."

The jongleur dropped down on the grass beside her. "Now I come to think on it, I do no' feel much like dancing either," he replied. "Will ye no' tell me where ye have been and why ye left like that? Three and a half years without a word!"

"I'll leave ye two to talk," Lilanthe said, getting to her feet, color washing up over her cheeks. She had seen the expression on Dide's face when Isabeau had walked into the meeting hall and she realized now that he had eyes for no other. He nodded and waved his hand as she slipped off into the garden, the nisse hovering above her.

Isabeau frowned at him. "Poor Lilanthe! Why are ye always so mean to her?"

"Mean? To Lilanthe? When am I ever mean to her?" he cried. "We're guid friends, I had thought, though I have no' seen so much o' her in recent times. She spends most o' her time at the Tower o' Two Moons, lecturing in the ways o' the forest faeries. Ye can guess how I feel about Theurgias! I'd rather be in a snug tavern, singing and playing my guitar. But enough about me. Where in Ea's green bluid have ye been?" She told him rather stiltedly some of what had happened during her years at the Cursed Towers. As she neared the end of her narrative, there was a sudden cheeping sound and a round, feathery head emerged from Isabeau's sleeve, regarding Dide with huge, golden eyes. He gave a startled exclamation.

"What in Ea's name is that?" he cried.

"This is Buba," Isabeau said, laughing. "I found her a few months ago, soon after Maya and Bronwen left. She had fallen out o' her nest and was too young to fly. I splinted her broken wing and carried her round with me while it healed, but even though she can fly well now, she will no' leave me. I think she thinks I'm her mother."

"But what is it? It looks like an owl but it's no' much larger than a sparrow!"

"She's an elf owl. They are the smallest o' all the owls. There are quite a few o' them at the Cursed Towers. They eat spiders and crickets—I had a horrible time trying to find food for her until she was auld enough to hunt for herself!"

The little owl crept further out of Isabeau's sleeve. Only six inches long from her tufted head to her feathery talons, she was almost a pure white in color with a few gray speckles on her wings. Her enormous eyes were fixed unblinkingly on Dide's face.

He looked back rather uneasily, saying, "Och, it's an uncanny gaze your wee birdie is giving me. It's almost as though she is reading my thoughts."

"Well, your thoughts are no' that hard to read," Isa-beau replied with a laugh. "It's a most expressive face ye've got, Dide."

He seized her hand, color rising in his lean, brown cheeks. "Then if ye ken what it is I'm thinking . . ." Isabeau squeezed his fingers and then drew her hand back. "I want to be a sorceress," she said gently.

"Witches do no' marry, ye ken that. Or at least, only rarely and usually to other witches. Ye ken ye do no' want to give up the jongleur's life for the Coven. Ye said yourself ye hate Theurgias! Well, I do no'

much want to travel around in a caravan, juggling oranges for a living. Ye ken I canna sing or dance or swallow fire or do somersaults like ye and Nina. I'd be no use to ye at all." Dide was silent for a moment, and then his irrepressible smile broke over his face again. He leant forward and nuzzled under her ear. "Who said anything about marriage?" he whispered. "Tomorrow is a long way away, but tonight is here and now."

Isabeau laughed and pushed him away. "Aye, but if I want to be a sorceress I canna be distracting myself with the needs o' the body, at least no' yet. Maybe one day, when I've won my staff and sorceress rings .

. ."

Dide kissed her ear and then her cheek. "So your body has needs, does it? I canna be allowing those needs to be unmet. Would I no' give a wee dram to a man dying o' thirst?" He kissed her cheek and then her mouth. Suddenly he leapt back with an exclamation of pain. "Your blaygird birdie just pecked me!" he cried.

Isabeau gave a peal of laughter. "Buba!" she cried. "Wicked bird!" Dide glared at the little owl, nursing his hand. Gingerly he sat down again, saying, "Canna ye tell it to go hunt some spiders?"

Isabeau smiled at him affectionately. "Nay, I think I need Buba here to protect me," she replied. "My chastity, if no' my health. Nay, go on, Dide, I meant what I said. I'm only here for a short time anyway. I must return to the Cursed Towers with my mam and my
dai-dein.
They need me there, and I have more to learn from the Soul-Sage and the Firemaker yet. I want to undergo my initiation and win my name and my scars. The queen-dragon said to know my future I must know my past. I think too much o' ye to merely dally with ye in the gardens ..."

He laughed, rather bitterly. "That's a soft brush-off, if ever I heard one," he said. "Ye sure I canna get ye some wine? If only it was Hogmanay, I could try with the Het Pint again." Isabeau laughed ruefully and got to her feet, shaking leaves from her skirt. "Go and play for the party, Dide," she said. "I have only a few hours and I want to spend some time with Meghan. I have no' seen her for a long time syne, and indeed she is looking auld and drawn." Dide jumped up and strummed his guitar. "Och my love's cruel and cold, cruel and cold she is to me," he sang, bowing to her with his black eyes sparkling with mockery. "Made o' ice and snow is she, cruel and cold she is to me."

He wandered off into the crowd, singing, and Isabeau lifted the little owl so she could brush her chin against its velvety feathers. "Come, Buba," she said. "I want ye to meet Meghan, who was my foster-mother as I am unto ye."

The little owl hooted softly in response.
Wise auld mother waiting,
she said. Lilanthe stood in the darkness under the trees and watched Dide kiss Isabeau with a queer, soft pain around her heart. Then she turned her back deliberately and walked away. On the lawn before the palace, dancers were skipping round in wide circles within circles, while long chains of men and women danced under the lantern-hung trees. Lilanthe got herself a cup of mulled wine and sipped it, watching enviously, her foot tapping.

"Ye do no' dance, Lilanthe?" Niall came up beside her, Ursa the bear lumbering along behind him.

"No one wants to dance with a tree-shifter, they're afraid they'll trip over my feet," she said with a self-mocking smile, lifting her skirt so he could see her broad, gnarled roots.

"But I've seen ye dance, ye're a dainty dancer indeed," he cried. She smiled gratefully but said, "That was in comparison to the tree-changers. Anyone looks dainty in comparison to them."

"Or to me," he said ruefully. "No one wants to dance with me because they're afraid if I step on their foot I'll break it!"

Lilanthe laughed. "They're probably more afraid that Ursa will get jealous. I'll wager ye that if ye send her off to bed with some honey, ye'll have flocks o' girls gathering round to dance wi' ye, hero that ye are." He blushed and said awkwardly, "I'd rather dance wi' ye again."