Deception's Princess (Princesses of Myth) (17 page)

“That would leave you with no responsibilities at all.”

“What? Are you saying that you’re no longer shy of any of the creatures?”

“I’ve grown used to them.”

He looked pleased but hesitant to believe me. “Even Guennola?”

To answer, I headed for the rear of the house, where the stoat’s temporary enclosure stood near Ea’s perch. Odran had put her there to keep her out of mischief while we saw to the hedgehog. I intended to pick her up with my own hands, to prove I was telling the truth.

“Maeve, no!” Odran seized my wrists and spun me around to face him before I could touch one hair of the stoat’s pelt. “You’ve got fresh blood on your hands. Do you dip your fingers in stew before you pet your father’s dogs?”

I yanked myself away. “I’d rather have you think I’m a fool than a coward,” I declared. Then I realized what I’d said and blushed. “And if saying something like
that
doesn’t prove how foolish I can be, nothing will.”

“A fool couldn’t have come up with plans as smart as yours,” Odran said. “And having a few fears doesn’t make you a coward.”

We decided how to divide the creatures’ care between us.

“There are two squirrels, so that’s simple,” I said. “Which do you want?”

“The male. He doesn’t chatter so much.”

“That suits me. The female doesn’t find the need to pee everywhere.” I met Odran’s jest with one of my own.

“I should probably take charge of the badger.”

“I told you, I’m not afraid of him anymore.”

“It’s not about fear. His wounds are the most serious, and I have more experience at healing than you do.”

I had to give him that.
But not for long
, I thought. I was determined to learn everything Odran could teach me about helping wild things.

“If you have the badger, is the hedgehog mine?”

“Not if we want things to be even. We’ll either have to share his care or cut him in half, and I don’t think he’d like that.”

“That’s not funny, Odran, and it’s not fair. It means I’m only in charge of the squirrel.”

He gave me the strangest look, as if I’d said something unthinkably ridiculous. “Aren’t you going to look after Ea?”

Did he just say that?
“You want me to have the kestrel?”
If this is a joke—

“You have her already.” There was no hint of teasing in his voice. “And she has you. I’ve seen it. Whenever you have to do anything for her comfort, you always do more than enough. If I tell you to feed her, you catch the fattest beetles and earthworms and smile when that sharp, hooked beak of hers snaps them from your hand. When you clean up the droppings under her perch, you finish the job by scattering fragrant pine boughs over the floor.”

“It’s nothing,” I murmured. “You do things for her that I can’t. I’ve never loosened her bindings to examine her wing or retied them so she could continue to heal.”

“That’s my fault. I’ve never given you the chance. I know how much you want to. When I do those things, you stand so close that I feel your breath on the back of my neck.”

“I wanted to be right there, in case you needed me to fetch something for her. I’m sorry if I crowded you.”

“I wasn’t complaining.” His fingertips brushed my wrist. “Maeve, there’s no special skill behind what I’m doing for Ea. When I found her, she was holding her right wing oddly, so I bound it to her body for support because I couldn’t think what else to do. I don’t even know if it’s broken or merely sprained. You can already give her everything that I do—rest, food, sanctuary—and since you’ve watched me adjust her bandages, you can do that too. I know you can. But you can give her more. I’ve seen how you look at her, and how she looks at you. There’s a bond between you. The fire in her eyes flashes more brightly when you’re with her. Believe it.”

I did, as sure as breathing.

Ea sensed that we were talking about her. Her
kee-kee-kee!
from the shadows as good as declared,
If I’m so important to you earthbound sticks, then look at me! Pay attention to me! Bah, what’s the use? I’m doomed to suffer these ill-mannered servants
.

“We’re sorry, pretty one,” I said, drawing near. “You should be a part of this. Odran claims there’s something special between us. Is he right? Will you give me your permission to take care of you until you’re free to fly again? You know that means I’ll have to touch you, but I promise to do it without hurting your pride. Let me try now, please? It won’t be so bad.” I raised my hand to stroke her.

“Maeve—”

This time, Odran’s warning about putting blood-striped palms within reach of a meat eater came too late. I was already running my fingers over the sleek feathers of the kestrel’s head. She twisted her neck and darted her head upward so quickly
that I never saw her move. A flash of pain from my forefinger declared that Ea’s beak had claimed its prey. I shrieked and jumped away, terrified that when I looked at my right hand, I’d count four fingers instead of five.

All of my fingers were still attached to my hand. I gaped at them, seeking some mark of the kestrel’s attack. The only wounds I had were those I’d given myself, being absentminded with the brambles.

“Amazing.” Odran was as slack-jawed as I. “Why did you scream if she didn’t bite you?”

“She
did
bite,” I said. “It was a warning.” I looked back at the bird.
A second one
, I thought, recalling how she’d snapped her beak on empty air to make me mind her.
I don’t deserve a third
. “Forgive me, Ea. From now on, you will be the one to say if I can touch you.”

The kestrel’s eyes glowed and faded. She cocked her head and gave me a pert look that said,
Ah, so you
can
be taught manners! Good
.

Lughnasadh came. Master Owain and Master Niall oversaw our celebration at Cruachan, though nearly every aspect of the gathering was underscored by the grumbles of those young men who had not been chosen to accompany Father to Tailteann. None of them had ever attended the games there, and yet they were all convinced that our own races and tests of strength and other contests were miserable in comparison.

The only aspect of the holiday that seemed to meet with their approval was when they went off with the girls for the traditional bilberry gathering. The lads were so avid to participate in that sacred custom that some of them stayed out all night.
If they came home without a single bilberry to show for it, perhaps it was because they and their ladies had to eat all they found or starve before dawn.

Mother was somewhat concerned when I didn’t want to participate. “Don’t you
like
bilberries, Maeve?” she asked coyly. “Odran’s going.”

“Odran is a druid’s son. It would look bad if he didn’t join in every bit of the celebration.”

“It looks just as bad if you stay home. You’re the High King’s daughter. If your father were here, he’d insist you take part. The more young people who go, the more berries they’ll find. Everyone knows that a plentiful bilberry gathering means a rich harvest.”

“Why didn’t you say that before? That’s a
sensible
reason for me to spend the day with a mob of snickering boys and giggling girls. Why bring Odran into it? You were the one who told the fosterlings you’d know if I had a sweetheart. Don’t you think
I’d
know it too?”

Mother shrugged. “You’re young and pretty. You don’t need to have a
real
sweetheart, but why can’t you play with the notion? Flirt? Test your powers of persuasion? Try a few steps in a harmless dance while you can still hear the music?”

“Turn Odran into one of those scraps of cloth you used to give me when I was first learning how to sew?” I countered.

She folded her arms over the swell of her belly. Her brow furrowed. “Maeve—”

“Mother?”

“Go.”

I went. I loved my own skin too much to gamble it on back talk when she used
that
tone. I trudged off with the rest
of the bilberry pickers, filled a basket with the small, round, purple-black fruits, came back to Cruachan before anyone else, including Odran, and went looking for Mother. She’d tucked herself away in a secluded, sunny spot, probably because she wanted a respite from all the to-do of Lughnasadh. She glanced up from the hank of wool she was carding just as I dropped my basket at her feet.

“Bilberries,” I said, deadpan. “Yum.”

“And Odran?” she asked hopefully.

“He can pick his own.” I tried to keep a straight face when I said that to her, but our glances crossed and we both giggled worse than all the Lughnasadh berry pickers combined.

Lughnasadh was long over, yet the road from Tailteann stayed deserted and no messenger from the High King came to Cruachan. Mother began to fret over my father’s delayed homecoming. Every night at dinner she turned the conversation to
When do you think they’ll be back?
No one knew.

I didn’t share her concern. I’d passed my fifteenth birthday that summer, yet still I clung to my childish belief that there was no challenge Father couldn’t meet. When I recalled the time that I’d seen him come home from Tara gravely wounded, I didn’t tremble over how close we’d come to losing him but exulted because he’d had the strength and will to survive.

I might have felt more of Mother’s anxiety if not for my faith that all was well with Father and the fact that she and I now lived in different worlds. Her life centered on Cruachan, her husband, and the child she carried. Mine was fixed on the ruined crannog at the lake and the animals there.

Even the best of bards would be at a loss for how to describe
the depth and breadth of my happiness. It lifted my heart to watch my squirrel grow fat and cheeky, and on the day Odran declared that she was well enough to return to the wild, I grabbed his hands and danced for joy. My high jinks startled the squirrel so badly that she leaped out of her nest, hit the floor running, and dashed from the crannog without giving me the chance to say goodbye.

Odran’s squirrel was fully healed two days later and had a more sedate send-off. His place was taken by an undersized young hare with a bad cut on her left flank. Odran brought her in but immediately handed her over to me.

“What do I do?” I asked, caught midway between excitement and dread.

“Use these,” he said, bringing me a bowl of water, a little pot of salve, and cloth for bandages. “I’ll tell you how, but you’ll do it yourself.”

He did so, then left me holding her while he went to prepare her nest. By the time he came back to see how I was getting along, I had the hare’s wound cleaned, salved, and bandaged. Now I was working on cleaning all the scratches she’d given me in the process.

“You’ll be glad to know there’s nothing wrong with the beast’s hind legs,” I grumped, washing my generously scored forearms.

Just in case we’d missed the sound of shrill chattering, we acquired a new squirrel with a wound on his back that looked like the mark of talons.

“He must have fallen afoul of one of Ea’s bigger cousins,” Odran said.

“Bigger and clumsier,” I remarked. “Luck was with him. If squirrels carry talismans, this one should cherish his and pass it along to his favorite pup.”

I’d been given the hare, so Odran took the squirrel. That was for the best. Not only was it fair but it was also good for the harried beast. Every time I passed near his nest, he became desperately agitated. Odran guessed it was because I carried Ea’s scent and even squirrels can retain unpleasant memories.

Hare, squirrel, and all the rest were soon joined by a she-otter. Odran found her limping on three sore paws at the far side of the lake when he went there to fish. He’d gone there to catch some tempting fish for the badger, who seemed to have no energy and whose appetite had turned scanty and worrisome. Instead, he came back with the largest animal we’d ever taken in, her thickly furred body measuring more than the length of my arm.

I tried not to envy Odran when he took full charge of her, but my longing to be close to the pretty creature must have showed on my face.

“I know you want her, Maeve,” he said without prompting. “I’d let you have her, and take the hare, but I feel she should be mine.”

I told him that I understood. The creature’s name and his were the same. His mother must have been the one to call him Odran, because I couldn’t imagine Master Íobar using the magical bond of names to link his son’s life and fate to such a graceful, playful, and—for the druid—useless creature.

The otter turned both of us into dedicated anglers. She had
to have huge quantities of fish every day. At first we brought in enough to satisfy her, Ea, and the badger, but one morning we found that there was one less animal to feed: the badger was dead.

I thought I’d never be able to stop weeping. Odran held me while I sobbed, but he didn’t cry. I didn’t get the chance to ask him why he remained dry-eyed over the pitiable little body: he read the question from my heart.

“We did all we could for him, Maeve. I’ll mourn him after I’ve seen to the living creatures here who need me.” He carried the badger outside. I don’t know if he buried the body or left it for Flidais to find.

Goddess of wild things, Lady Flidais, take back your own
, I prayed.
Let the last gift of his body feed your other children. Let his spirit find peace
.

Odran came back and went directly to Ea’s perch. He began unwrapping the cloth that immobilized her injured wing.

“What are you up to?” I wanted to know. “I just changed that bandage two days ago.” I was going to add,
Did I do it wrong?
but put that aside. I
knew
I’d done it right, copying his work exactly.

“You’ll see.” He took off the binding strip and carefully touched the kestrel’s wing. She darted her head at him, beak agape. He just managed to avoid a bite.

I stepped in without being asked and held her small body firmly, one hand at the back of her head so that she couldn’t move it. She struggled and made sounds of distress that pained me.

“Hush, Ea,” I whispered soothingly. “Hush, my beautiful
girl. This is just like what I did for you two days ago. We’re not trying to hurt you. Be calm and we’ll be done soon.” She gave one final lurch against my grip and settled down into resentful stillness.