The Pool of Two Moons (63 page)

Isabeau shook her head, tears thick in her throat. Meghan smiled at her and embraced her fiercely, her head only coming up to Isabeau's shoulder. "Good it is indeed to see ye, my bairn. Ye are well?" She nodded.

"Nothing to say? Things have changed indeed if my Isabeau is speechless." She smiled at Iseult and grasped her hand, but did not let go of Isabeau, who had begun* to cry. "Obh obh! No time for tears, dearling. Where is Lachlan? What are ye doing here in the palace?" •

"The Righ is dead," Isabeau said, unable to stop her sobs. "He died about half an hour ago. And Bacaiche says he is going to kill the baby! Ye have to stop him, Meghan! She's only a babe, no' more than a month auld, and the dearest wee thing!"

Meghan looked at her closely. "I see. Where is Latifa?"

"She has the two parts o' the Key still, Meghan. I did no' ken I was meant to get it, no one told me I was meant to have the Key now."

A troop of Red Guards charged them, shouting, their claymores raised. Meghan lifted her hand and they tripped and went down in a red seething mass. "Anghus!" she said sharply. "Ye must get your daughter out o' here. It is no place for a bairn. Take her to the tower. Jorge is in the tower?"

"Aye," Iseult replied.

"Take her there—-she will know the way. If the fighting spreads and it looks as if we shall lose the day, flee out the secret gate into the forest behind. Tell Jorge to take the children to the summer palace. He will remember the way."

Anghus nodded and picked Finn up. She put her arms about his neck and said shyly, "I think I remember the beard."

He smiled and pressed his cheek against hers. "Come, my Fionnghal, let us get ye to safety. Come, Tabithas!"

"Bye bye, Iseult, Isabeau! Will we see ye at the tower?"

"Perhaps," Meghan replied, and the twins both kissed Finn and said they would see her there for sure. The soldiers had picked themselves up and were again charging toward them. Meghan waved her hand, and their legs tangled and down they went again. Anghus stepped around them, the wolf growling so menacingly the soldiers pressed themselves closer to the floor. Then the prionnsa was running across the flagstones, the old man in the tarn o'shanter at his heels. The wolf ran with them, tail wagging.

"Isabeau, Iseult, we must penetrate the palace. I will go in search o' Lachlan if ye can find Latifa. Tell her I am here and that we must join the Key! Dawn has passed, so we have until noon to do it. I charge ye with the task—whatever else happens, ye must join the Key!"

"Latifa has Bronwen," Isabeau said.

"Bronwen?"

"The baby."

"Tell her to keep the babe safe. No matter what Lachlan says, she is a NicCuinn and there are far too few o' the clan left to be quibbling about her parentage. I will seek out Lahclan and keep him safe, I assure ye. Now let us go!"

Maya lay across the foot of the bed, weeping. Great sobs shuddered through her. Pain like she had never experienced before penetrated her like a spear. Jaspar was dead.

She had never thought of how she would feel when he died. His death had been part of their plans from the very beginning. If she had conceived an heir when they first married, he would have been dead years ago. But it had taken her sixteen years and an ancient, powerful spell to plant the seed in her womb, and by that time she had drained all the life force from him. She and Sani had known his death was coming since the night she conceived—it had been Jaspar's powers she had used as well as her own that night, and he had had little left to give.

Yet she wept for his passing as if she had truly loved him, as if he had wound about her heart and in the uprooting taken great chunks of her flesh with him. Sixteen years she had played 'the role of loving wife, and now found it was not such a charade.

At last she lay silent, composing herself with a great effort of will. Dimly she had been aware of the soldiers. trying to break down the doors; dimly she had felt anger at Red's betrayal, and fear at the sudden appearance of
\
the winged man when she had been sure they had . hounded him far away. Now she was aware of light seeping in around the curtains, and the singing of birds.

"My lady?" A guard bent over her, voice worried. She ground her teeth at the change in her title—her husband not twenty minutes dead, and already she was merely "my lady."

"What is it?"

"We could no' catch the
uile-bheist—he
and his conspirators escaped from a window."

"Escaped from a window? We're five stories from the ground, man. What did they do, fly?"

"Aye, my lady." His voice and face were wooden.

Fear and chagrin flashed through her. It had been a shock to see her husband's little brother, caught halfway between blackbird and man. Ever since they had first heard the rumors of a winged man, she and Sani had feared that somehow one of the lost prionnsachan had survived. It had seemed impossible, however, and equally impossible that he could evade their grasp for several years. He obviously had powerful magic at his command.

Suddenly she thought of her daughter, the newly declared Banrigh of Eileanan. Her hands gripped into fists.

Bronwen was in danger. She sat up, wiping her cheeks surreptitiously.

The Righ was laid out on the bed, candles burning all about. Guards stood against the wall, backs straight, cloaks as red as blood. The door into the dressing room lay in splinters, a broken wardrobe half blocking the way. There was blood on the floor and the walls, but they had taken the dead soldier away.

"Guard!" she said peremptorily. "Where have they taken Her Highness?"

"Latifa the Cook took her, my lady, for the babe was much distressed."

"Tell Latifa to bring the babe to me at once."

She stood up and went to the mirror to straighten her dress and hair. There was only the empty frame, the mirror lying in glittering shards on the floor. A shudder ran over her, and she had to stand still, hand on the table, before she could collect herself again. There was a jug of water by the Righ's bed. Ignoring the soldiers, she washed her face and hands and drank a mouthful of wine.

As she paced the floor, she heard the sound of fighting grow ever fiercer. It was coming from within the palace now as well as outside and, despite herself, her agitation grew.

The chancellor came in, flanked by guards. "My lady, there is bad news."

"Worse news than that my husband is dead?" Even roughened by grief and fear, her husky voice was melodious.

"The city has risen, my lady. There is a mutinous crowd at the palace gates, and the guards are having trouble keeping them back. They were all taken by surprise, no' expecting the witch-lovers to take action on Samhain Day."

"Surely there are soldiers enough to put down the city rabble?" she said scornfully. He hesitated. "The palace guards are already engaged in repelling an attack from the rear, my lady. Somehow the grounds themselves have been infiltrated with a battalion o' rebels, and they now close in on the palace."

"This is incredible!" she said. "Ye tell me the rebels attack in the very hour o' the Righ's death? What conspiracy is this?"

He said nothing, and then lifted his grief-reddened eyes to her face. "The winged
uile-bheist
said he was Lachlan MacCuinn, my lady? The Righ's brother?"

"It is all a foul plot o' the rebels to discredit me!" she cried. "Jaspar knew it was no' true." He did not believe her, she could see. Rage engulfed her. She had to fight as hard to control her anger as she had her grief, for she needed the chancellor and could« not afford to strike him or screech at him, as she so wanted to do. It would be twenty-four years before Bronwen would be able to rule in her own name. By that time Maya would be an old woman and ready to step aside. Until then, though, she needed the support of those around her.

She hid her emotions under the guise of a grief-stricken woman who needed help and advice. The chancellor was an old and kindly man. He could not maintain his stiffness. She clung to his hands and wept, "Ye must secure the palace. Ye must keep the wee Banrigh safe! Where is she? I sent for her half an hour ago, and yet they have no' brought her. Find me my Bronwen!"

He went to give orders to the seanalairs, and the Dowager Banrigh went slowly through the wreckage of the doors and into her chamber, ordering the guards to leave her alone. She needed to have her clarsach and the magic looking-glass to hand. It seemed she was beset oh all sides. For the first time she wished she had not decided to trap Sani in the shape of a hawk. The priestess would be useful now—Maya could use her far-seeing and clear-seeing skills, and the benefit of her advice. She wondered if the hawk would come if she called it to her hand. It was probably too late now. Sani would never forgive her for not changing her back after Bronwen's birth on the road. At first Maya had been too unwell, and she was never left alone, surrounded by servants and guards until they arrived at the palace. Later, Maya had procrastinated, enjoying the freedom from Sani's cutting tongue, her constant reminder that Maya was a mere halfbreed, begotten on a mute slave. Maya opened the cabinet and took out the Mirror of Lela wrapped in its silk. She carried it carefully, knowing any mischance would deprive her of much of her power. It was the mirror which helped create Maya's illusion of youthful, human beauty. It was the mirror that facilitated her ability to transform others. She brushed her hair and massaged cream into her cheeks. In the mirror her face looked hollow-cheeked and haunted. She stared at herself and imagined herself in the first flush of youth and beauty. Slowly the marks of grief faded, and subtly the strangeness of her features modified until she looked more human than ever.

She stood at the window, wondering why no one had brought her the baby, and saw how the fighting washed around the palace like a wild sea-storm. Her throat constricted with fear. Surely the palace would not fall? The battle was loud in the corridors now, so loud she could hear it, and she wondered if she should go in search of her daughter herself. If Latifa did not keep her safe, everything was lost. She heard a door open behind her, and turned, eyebrow raised. There was no one there. She looked around uneasily, her skin prickling. There was a scrape on the floor. She remembered how the winged prionnsa had sprung from the shadows, a dark cloak falling from him. Her heart quickened. She sat at the table and pulled her clarsach to her. With the mirror concealed in her lap, every sense aware of danger, she caressed the strings so sweet, lilting cadences filled the room. "Be at peace," she sang. "Rest and be at peace."

As long as Maya could remember, her singing and playing had charmed those who listened to her will. She had spun the spell of love with her music and tied Jaspar to her for sixteen years. She had soothed angry crowds, beguiled recalcitrant prionnsachan and won enemies to her cause.

"Ye think I do no' know what ye do?" A man's voice said scornfully. "Ye sing the song o' sorcery." And to her chagrin, he began to sing, his baritone skillfully blending with her contralto. She felt the silken strands wrap around her, soothing her, sapping her will. With an effort, she quickened the tempo, saying,

"What coward is this that hides behind evil enchantments and sneaks into a widow's room, mocking her grief?"

"Grief! That's a joke! Ye think I do no' see through your play-acting?"

"How do ye know what I feel? Ye think I have a heart o' stone? Jaspar was my husband, and the father o' my babe, and I loved him well!"

She heard his claws click on the marble floor and turned her head, trying to conceal her fear.

"Loved him well enough to drive him to an early grave, steal his throne and murder his family?" The voice was thick with grief.

She strummed the clarsach, lightly, delicately, and said, "Why do ye no' show yourself? Are ye afraid?"

"I am no' afraid!"

"Yet ye skulk behind some enchantment so I canna see ye. Who is it who speaks?" He threw back the cloak and stepped forward proudly, his wings erect. He was dressed in the MacCuinn tartan and carried a bow as tall as himself. She ground her teeth with anger to see him wear the crest at his breast, as if he were the head of the clan and not his baby niece. "As if ye do no'

remember me," he said. "Did ye no' wake us so we could see ye and understand what it was ye did to us? Did ye no' smile as we watched our own faces being swallowed by feathers and beak?" Her fingers wandered into a lullaby, and she said thoughtfully, "How did ye escape the enchantment? I thought it would be impossible."

"Meghan o'the Beasts brought me back with the help o' some friends," he answered, pacing closer. "Yet ye can see they were unable to restore me fully."

She looked him over, flinching a little at the sight of his talons, which were bloodstained. "No," she said softly. "No, I can see they could no'."

He cried, "Why would ye do this to us, Maya? Why?"

The lullaby wrapped the room in soft rhythms of sound. "I was cursed, Lachlan, born o' a Yedda and the King o' the Fairgean, trapped between sea and land, trapped between cultures and races. Ye call me the Unknown, but if I am a stranger here I was no less a stranger among my father's people."

"Ye are Fairge! I knew it, I always knew it." Lachlan sat and clasped his head in his hands, propping the bow against his knee. His shoulders heaved.

"I am sorry ye were so trapped, Lachlan. I was young and jealous o' Jaspar's love for ye. Ye would never have let me be. It was
peace
that I wanted, it was to be left alone, it was
peace
that I wanted. Indeed I loved your brother, and I grieve much at his passing, but now he is at
rest,
he is at
peace,
be at peace with me, brother, be at
peace."

She saw him cover a yawn. His face was gray with tiredness. She let one hand drop from the clarsach into her lap, and she talked on in a gentle sing-song as she unwrapped the mirror. Lachlan had thought she had forced them to watch their own ensorcelment out of cruelty, but it was imaginatively changing their reflection in the mirror that effected the actual shape-shift.