The Dark Mirror (68 page)

“You may go, Tuala.” The voice was very soft and utterly implacable. “Move your belongings today. And let Kethra mend what harm has been done; the students will accept her explanations more readily than any of yours, I daresay.”

“I—”

“Did
you not hear me?”

At the look on Fola’s strong features, a look that showed, at last, all the anguish and exhaustion of yesterday and today, the guilt and responsibility of a lifetime of tomorrows, Tuala swallowed her protest and fled. Never mind rules. Never mind doors and locks and watchful tutors. At full moon he would come, and she would be waiting.

“
ACCOUNT FOR YOURSELF
,” Dreseida snapped. “And make it quick; I need to see Gartnait as soon as we’re done here. He’s not progressing as he should.

“He can’t, Mother.” Ferada stood in the women’s quarters at Caer Pridne, looking into her mother’s fierce eyes, eyes that reminded her of a stalking creature of the wild, with herself the quarry fixed in its sights. “You know Gartnait’s not a scholar.
He simply can’t remember that kind of information. I don’t understand why you’re making him—”

“Then you’d better try harder, Ferada. I need your assistance with this. I need your complete loyalty. Have I mentioned that the chieftain of Fib approached your father on the question of an alliance? An alliance through marriage? What’s his name, Coltran, Celtane?”

“Cealtran.” Ferada supplied it grimly,
a picture in her mind of the portly, red-nosed chieftain newly arrived at court. Cealtran’s belly wobbled when he walked, and his little eyes were sunk deep in folds of slick pale flesh. He was fifty if he was a day; Dreseida must be joking. “He’s old, Mother. He’s from the south. And he’s a Christian. Father would never—”

“As I’ve made abundantly clear to you, any such decision will be mine.
Your father has assured me of that. There are other possibilities, of course, provided we don’t wait too long. Ana has uncles, not all wed. The queen has young kinsmen in Powys. And what about the chieftains of the Caitt? Plenty of possibilities, if all somewhat far from home. Now give me your accounting. You know how this works, Ferada. Do as I ask, don’t talk about it elsewhere, not to your father,
not to your brothers, not to your friends, that’s if you’ve managed to unbend enough to make any, and you will indeed be granted choice in the matter of a husband. I don’t ask much, Daughter. Just a little information. Just a little play-acting. For a clever girl like you, it should be easy”

“Mother Gartnait, and all of this . . . what is it for? What is your purpose?”

“If you think answer that
aloud you’re more of a fool than any daughter of mine should be,” Dreseida said. “This place is bristling with spies. One’s not safe even in one’s private quarters. There’s an election coming. Not quite yet, since Drust has surprised us all by clinging to life longer than
anyone would have believed possible, but soon, very soon. I seek to use what little power I have, as a woman, to ensure a satisfactory
result. No matter that I cannot vote. Men are remarkably malleable, Ferada. One simply needs to learn the techniques to mold them. Now tell me, what have you learned?”

“Not much. As I told you, there was little opportunity to speak to Bridei before I went back to Banmerren.”

“What about the girl, his sister? Any signs, messages? Does she talk about Bridei? About Broichan and his plans?”

“No,
Mother. Tuala’s very quiet; she keeps her thoughts locked away.”

“I need more, Ferada. Think of Cealtran, just itching to set his hand in yours and bear you home to warm his bed. The fellow wants heirs. Lots of them.”

Ferada shuddered. “Tuala did send a message,” she said grimly. “Ana took it.”

“Ana told you? What message?”

Ferada shook her head. “Ana didn’t speak of it, but I saw. You did
ask me to spy, after all. Tuala sent Bridei a little packet with a leaf and a stone in it. That was all.”

“And a ribbon.”

“I suppose it was tied up with a ribbon,” Ferada said, surprised. “How could you know that?”

Dreseida’s smile was thin-lipped, her eyes hard. “I’ve learned to observe. The young man wears a ribbon around his wrist, like a lady’s favor, yet it’s common knowledge among the
men that Bridei never goes near the houses of pleasure, never grants a girl his attentions; some folk whisper that he prefers boys, but Gartnait tells me there’s no sign of that either. Bridei appears to be as chaste as a Christian monk. You’d think that in itself would be sufficient to make men doubt his suitability to act as the Flamekeeper’s worldly embodiment. One expects one’s king to be virile.
I cannot imagine why anyone is taking him seriously as a candidate, but the word is that he has his followers. Of course, the boy was raised by Broichan, and that goes some way to explaining his oddity. He does wear the ribbon. It used to be an old scrap of a thing, but now it’s a new one, green-dyed silk. I’ve seen such a ribbon tying up a long plait belonging to a certain little wild creature
of our acquaintance. It’s clear what it means. He regards the witch girl not as his sister, but as his sweetheart. You must learn to be alert for detail, Ferada, if you’re to be any use as an informant.”

Ferada pressed her lips together.

“The message,” her mother said. “What does it mean? A leaf, a stone? What sort of leaf?”

“How can that make any difference? An oak, I suppose; there’s a big
oak tree outside Tuala’s tower room. It stretches all the way across to the outer wall.”

“Ah.”

“Mother, I—”

“What kind of stone? Small, I imagine. Black, white, gray? Smooth, rough, round, long?”

“I think it was white. Mother, I don’t like this. Why do you—”

“This is what you’ll do. Seek out Bridei. He talks to you, I’ve seen it; he likes your quickness. Be a woman for a change. Wear your
blue gown and the silver clasp. He’ll be troubled after Gateway. If your father’s account of what occurred is accurate, the king set a heavy burden on his close kinsmen that night, and it appears to have been Bridei who acquitted himself best of the three. You heard what happened.”

Ferada shivered. “Officially, no; but it is not possible to be deaf to the whispers. Ana and I knew that girl, Morna.
We had spoken to her, broken bread with her. It changed the way I felt about Banmerren, and about Fola. It filled my mind with questions that have no answers.”

“That should make you a good companion for Bridei. As Broichan’s protege, he seems to think in questions. Find him; be a listening ear for him. Let him talk it out. Win his confidence. Get as close as you can; use all you have, Ferada.
I’m seeking an opportunity here, and you can provide it for me.”

“What opportunity?”

“Later. All in due time.”

“Mother?”

“What is it? Make it quick; I told you, I’ve other matters to attend to.”

“It seems to me,” Ferada ventured, “that what happened at Gateway shows Bridei’s strength, his courage, his self-discipline. It shows he can be put forward as a strong candidate when the time comes.
Some folk are saying this singled him out as the only possible choice; that Carnach may now throw in his lot with Bridei rather than stand himself.”

“What folk? Who is saying this?” Dreseida’s tone was a hiss.

“Perhaps it is not I who must learn to listen,” Ferada said, and an instant later her mother’s ringed hand struck her a sharp blow across the cheek, leaving
a bloody welt. Dreseida regarded
her daughter through narrowed eyes. Ferada, breathing fast, did not lift her hand to touch her face, to wipe away the blood.

“You think your brother a fool,” Dreseida said. “He could teach you much about loyalty. Don’t ever speak to me thus again. If you imagine I will let such insolence pass without retaliation, you’re clearly unable to envisage your own future. Make Bridei your friend. Be his
confidante. In particular, I wish to know his movements; any ventures planned beyond the environs of Caer Pridne. Act soon, for time’s running out. And you’d better do something about your face or you’ll frighten the young man away. That would be most unfortunate for all of us.”

BROICHAN HAD TAUGHT
him better than any of
them guessed: masks and mirrors, tricks, charms and concealments. Every day he demonstrated the worldly skills he had learned, not just from his foster father but from Erip with his fund of lore and from Wid, who could read a stranger in a single glance. The court recognized Bridei now as a man of subtlety and depth, clever, ingenious, well able to hold his own in their dangerous games. They knew
a great deal less about his other skills, those learned in the earlier years at Pitnochie; the things only a druid can teach.

Faolan was uncomfortable with Bridei’s plan for getting to Banmerren. A cloak of concealment, achieved by the use of magic, did not constitute, for him, an infallible protection. In short, he did not believe Bridei could do it, and said so bluntly. “We’ll be seen the moment
we step out the door. What are you trying to do, lose me my employment here?”

“We won’t be seen. This deceives the watcher’s eye; only a druid could detect us. Of course, we’ll exercise due caution as well, keep to the cover of dunes and bushes, maintain careful watch as we go. Trust me.”

“They said you were mad when you took it on yourself to move the Mage Stone,” Faolan observed. “Folk did
what you bid them, despite that. All right, we’ll try this. How do you plan to get over the wall?”

“A rope. I’ll carry it.”

“How do you—”

“Trust me, Faolan.”

“Hmm. It’ll need to be quick. Don’t allow yourself to get distracted. In, out, home before we’re spotted. I may have expressed a wish to draw attention
on our ride to the west, but you must not be seen at Banmerren. Men are strictly forbidden
inside those walls, as you well know. Be caught breaking that particular rule and your candidacy won’t be worth a scrap of straw A king must be pure, perfect, and obedient. He doesn’t go off chasing women at midnight in a place he’s no business being anywhere near.

“I won’t be chasing women, as you somewhat crudely put it,” Bridei said. “I’ll be visiting a friend. And I’m bound to point out that
this was your idea in the first place.”

Faolan’s lips twisted in what might have been a smile. “Don’t try to pretend you don’t want it,” he said. “The look in your eyes is truly painful to behold. Just don’t forget, in the young lady’s embraces, why it is you’re there: to work this out of your system once and for all.”

Embraces, thought Bridei; that was hardly the way it would be, even though
the thought of touching, holding, kissing had begun to possess him for a great deal more of his time than he could well afford. Not only would he be unable so much as to put a hand in hers, likely he would not even be able to summon the right words when at last he saw her face to face. Tuala was a priestess now. That was her choice. He had nothing to offer her but a life of unhappiness, a life of
confinement within fortress walls. It would be like shutting a butterfly in a little box and expecting it to be satisfied. He could not ask it of her; to do so would be utter selfishness. And yet, she had sent the message. She had sent the ribbon.

FULL MOON: THE
sands of Banmerren bay palely shining under the gaze of the
goddess, the sea washing in and out, obedient to her call. The air was clear and chill. Two men made a silent way under the partial cover of low bushes. Their movement was scarcely visible, such was the spell Bridei had cast: a charm that worked, not by making them vanish, for he lacked the power to accomplish that, but by causing their forms to blend with whatever surrounded them, stone wall or pale
sand or twigs and stems of green-brown. Nobody had seen them slip out through the water-gate; it seemed no guards had been alerted, although they had most certainly left tracks on the shore before they sidled into the cover of the dunes. Faolan had two knives in his belt; Bridei carried a coil of rope. His heart was beating strangely, as if he had run a race; no amount of druidic discipline could
force it to a less
violent rhythm. His mind was forming words to say and discarding each possibility in its turn.
I hope you are well
: like a stranger, formal, meaningless.
I love you
. Forbidden; the truth. The perilous truth. Surely she knew this with no need for words.
Why did you leave me?
Selfish; petulant; an implication that she should feel guilty for obeying the Shining One’s command. That
could not be said.
Come with me now, now, I need you
. . . Showing her with his hands, his mouth, his body just what this need had become, a thing that seemed fit to devour him unless it were satisfied . . . That, most of all, he must crush. He would terrify his friend of the heart, he would turn her away forever. He had little to offer her; if he was careful with his words, with his actions,
at least he might keep her friendship, even though they must be apart. What, then, could be spoken? What was there left to say?