Deception's Princess (Princesses of Myth) (18 page)

Odran examined the newly freed wing. “I think it might be ready,” he said. “There’s only one way to find out. Maeve, can you carry her outside?”

“Why? What for?”

“You are going to show your bird the sky again, and you’re going to see if she’s ready to fly.”

I couldn’t speak. I did as Odran said, cradling her against my body so that she couldn’t slash my hands with her beak as I carried her out of the round house, but I wasn’t able to ask a single question or say one word. My head was too crowded with thoughts, my heart with warring feelings. I rejoiced and cursed, prayed to see proof that she was healed and grieved that I was about to lose her. My mind cried,
It’s too soon! Too soon! There are too many dangers. She’s not ready!
and then,
I can’t hold her back forever. Not if I love her. She must be free
.

We crossed the walkway to the shore and climbed to the top of a small hill. There was a warm, brisk breeze blowing toward us from the water. I tried coaxing Ea to sit on my shoulder the way Odran carried Guennola and would have succeeded if he hadn’t spoken up: “That’s a good way to lose an ear. Pull your sleeve down as far as it can go and let her perch on your arm. Wait, maybe I should do it. She’s going to dig in her talons, and you might not—”

“We’ll be all right,” I said softly.

We were not. Ea’s sharp grip pierced my sleeve as soon as
she set one foot there. I bit my lip. I would not risk startling her with a scream or even a whimper. More important to me, I wanted her to see that I was strong.

It wasn’t easy. A small cry of pain escaped the corner of my mouth. Odran heard, saw what was happening, and winced in sympathy.

“Gods, I’m a fool. You’re dressed for summer! That material’s not enough to protect you from her talons. We should have covered your arm with something more substantial, a piece of leather, anything. Here, let me take her.”

I shook my head emphatically, still grimacing. The kestrel wore a look of cool curiosity as she watched the faces I made while holding back the pain. Then she lifted her head into the gentle wind and stretched out her wings tentatively.

She’s going to leave me now
. That thought hurt more deeply than her talons in my arm. I prepared myself to accept it.

As it turned out, I was spared that day. Ea made no move to fly. Her injured wing had healed but was stiff from disuse.

“We need to keep her safe for a little while longer,” Odran said as I set the kestrel back on her wooden perch. “The problem is, we want to leave her wings unbound but we don’t want her able to pounce on the other animals when we leave.”

I agreed. “The otter’s too big to be her prey, and Ea wouldn’t like trying to grasp a hedgehog’s prickles, but if she recovers, nothing will protect the squirrel and the hare.” We both sank into deep thought. I was the first to break the silence. “Odran, give me your knife; mine’s too small.”

“What are you going to do?” He handed it over, but he sounded doubtful.

I took the soft leather pouch from my belt. It held my most
precious talisman, the iron splinter that came from Kelan’s shattered sword. I spilled that into the palm of my hand, set it aside reverently, and went to work. A few cuts were all it took.

“Hold her steady,” I told Odran. He obeyed, though he was still looking at me askance. I moved quickly, slipping the altered belt pouch over the kestrel’s head. “Now let go.” She twisted her head this way and that and snapped her beak through the opening I’d made for it, but other than that, she kept very still. “It works!” I exclaimed, delighted. “She won’t fly if she can’t see!”

Odran gazed at my handiwork with admiration. “You ought to secure the hood somehow,” he said.

“I’m going to take it home and fix it. I’ll find a pin to fasten it at her neck,” I said. “Meanwhile, would it hurt her to have that wing bound to her body again for just one more day?”

Odran liked my suggestion, though Ea made a loud, violent protest. She glared at us fiercely when we left her to return to Cruachan.

As we approached the ringfort hill, I noticed that the road we walked showed the recent marks of many horses’ hooves and the fresh prints of chariot wheels. There would never be so much traffic unless—

“My father’s home!” I exclaimed, pointing out the tracks to Odran.

“And mine,” he said, resigned.

“Don’t let him see
that
face. We have to keep you on his good side, remember.”

“I know, I know.” He sighed. “I just wish I could be as enthusiastic about seeing my father again as you are about seeing yours.”

“I’m not just glad for me,” I replied. “I’m happy for Mother.
Now she can stop worrying about him. Oh, I can’t
wait
to see the greeting she gives him. She’ll skin him alive for staying away so long and smother him with kisses for coming back.”

“That sounds like a very, um,
vigorous
welcome,” Odran said. “Do you take after your mother?”

I barely heard the question. In my eagerness to see my parents reunited I decided that I simply
had
to get home at once. Odran could catch up later. I broke into an all-out run. Odran shouted my name, but I had no time for explanations. I heard Muirín yipping frantically, the vixen’s shrill barks fading fast at my heels. I shot up the slope, through the portal, and into the midst of a milling crowd. It wasn’t unusual to find such a press of people massed so close to one another inside our walls. Father wasn’t the only one coming home and Mother wasn’t the only one wanting to welcome back all the men who’d gone to Tailteann. It was only when I burrowed into the thick of the mob that I became aware something was wrong.

Where were the smiles? Where were the cries of joy, the embraces, the kisses? Why did every face look filled with apprehension? Why were all eyes fixed on the portal of the great house?

And where was Father?

Panic struck. My absolute belief in his ability to survive anything fell to pieces as I saw the expressions of dread surrounding me. I no longer edged through the crowd but began fighting everyone who stood between me and the doorway, shoving men aside, grabbing women by the arms to drag them out of my way. As I struggled ahead, the severed heads of Father’s most honored enemies seemed to mock me from their
niches in the doorway. Lord Fachtna Fáthach leered down as I stumbled and fell at the threshold of my home.

“Maeve, are you all right?” Lady Íde stepped out of the house and helped me back onto my feet. Her face was distorted by anguish and so white that her tear-reddened eyes looked like pools of blood.

No! Oh no!
“Lady Íde, what’s happened? Is Father—”

“Oh, Maeve, precious child.” She pulled me into her arms so violently that the force of our embrace sent us staggering. She would have fallen backward and dragged me down after her, but strong hands were at her shoulders to catch and support her.

I looked into the face of our rescuer, a face I had feared I’d nevermore see in the living world. I blinked and blinked, afraid that I had slipped into a cruel enchantment cast by the Fair Folk. I scarcely dared to speak, afraid that if I did, the spell would shatter and he’d vanish.

But if he was an illusion, I had to know.

“F-Father?”

He looked as though some giant’s hand had wrung all the joy from his body and soul. One arm around Lady Íde, one around me, tears dripping from his cheeks, my father spoke: “Your mother … your mother and the child.”

O
DRAN CAME THROUGH
the crowd to find me sobbing in Father’s arms. My hair hung in tangles around my face in a swath of red, blinding me to everything but my grief and fear.

Father held me close and would not let me go. “Maeve, Maeve, my spark, my precious girl, you’ll hurt yourself if you go on like this. Hush, breathe, hear me,” he pleaded urgently. “She isn’t dead. Yes, we nearly lost her—both of them—and the danger isn’t past, but she’s still alive. That’s what matters. Come. We’ll talk inside.”

I allowed him to guide us into the house. He brought me to his bench by the hearth. My feet were weighed down with invisible stones and my vision was a blur. I was only half aware of holding Lady Íde’s hand. Father’s arms were over us like a great bird’s wings. Odran hovered near, and Master Íobar soon joined him. Servants brought us food and drink, leaving them within reach before hastening away. Not one of us took
a morsel or a sip, though my mouth was dry and sour and my stomach empty except for pain.

Finally, Lady Íde said, “The bleeding came over her this morning. Such things will sometimes happen before a child is ready to be born, but only a spot or two and no more. This was different. Cloithfinn called for help as soon as she realized how bad it was. Our druids rushed to attend her, as did all her women. While they were with her, Lord Eochu came home. Master Íobar joined his colleagues and their skills turned back the blood, but I insisted Lord Eochu send for a midwife.”

“A midwife?” I tensed. As far as I knew, you only summoned the midwife when a woman was about to give birth, but it was too soon for Mother’s child to be born and live.

“As a precaution,” Lady Íde reassured me. “I doubt there’s any immediate risk of … of what we fear, but we must make sure of it.”

“Can I see her?”

“In a while. She’s resting. When she wakes, we’ll need to wash her and clean the room. Sleep is her best healer now. I’d better go back to keep watch.” Lady Íde excused herself and ducked behind the bull-hide curtain to my parents’ sleeping chamber.

Odran gazed at me from the shadows beyond the fire. He didn’t speak, but his eyes met mine with a look of deep sorrow and compassion. I would have run to hold him and pour out my tears in the safety of his arms, but my place was with Father.

“I should have come home sooner,” he said in a hoarse, broken voice. “As it is, pure luck brought us back from Tailteann today.” He leaned forward on the bench, elbows on knees,
hands hanging limp and useless. “I could have found a way to prevent this.”

“Don’t berate yourself, Lord Eochu,” Master Íobar said. “There are some things you can’t fight with spear and sword.”

“I don’t merit any words of consolation. I know how badly I’ve failed.” Father shook his head. “I should have been here for her.”

I clasped his hand between both of mine. “You’re here now.”

“For how long? I lingered too many days at Tailteann. So many of my subject kings came to me there with troubles to be settled, and I was too proud to say, ‘This is work for the law-keepers.’ I stayed until I’d given every judgment. I could have turned over such matters to Master Íobar and the other druids and come home. And now the days until Samhain are running through my fingers like dust.” He looked at Master Íobar. “I once called the lesser kings here for Beltane. Could I do the same for—”

The druid’s expression extinguished the faint hope in Father’s eyes. “Samhain is too solemn an occasion. The barriers thin and vanish between the Otherworld and this one, between the realms of the living and the dead. My brethren will confirm what I say. The High King of Èriu must be at Tara for the rites.”

Father wore a self-mocking smile. “A fine king, who can’t protect his greatest treasures.” His jaw set; sudden determination turned him from flesh to iron. “A hundred curses take it, I
will
stay here! If I can’t stand between my people and the perils of the Otherworld on Connacht’s soil, why would being at Tara give me that power?”

“Have you lost your senses, asking such a thing, Lord
Eochu?” The druid held himself with dignity, majestic and fearsome, a figure of unassailable authority. “Are you so weak that you’d sacrifice the safety of your people, the fate of all Èriu, and the gods’ favor because you must cling fearfully to one woman’s skirts? I tell you, you will bring a
thousand
curses on everything you love if you follow any path that keeps you from your appointed place at Tara this Samhain. I know it, for every one of those curses will come from my mouth and break over Cruachan like a thunderbolt mighty enough to shatter stone!”

I rose from my place, my arms protectively around Father’s neck. “Master Íobar—” I began, but that was all I was allowed to say.

Before he knew whether I intended to defend him, to plead for mercy, to protest the druid’s threats, or even to counter them with my own, Father pulled me down beside him again.

“Forgive me, Master Íobar,” he said, shaken to the marrow of his bones by his belief in the druid’s power. “What I said was madness. I beg you, don’t punish anyone but me for that, especially not my Cloithfinn and the child. Guide me now. I’ll follow.”

Master Íobar’s aspect softened. “That is wisdom. Walk with me. The first thing you must do is let your people know that Lady Cloithfinn lives.”

“Thanks to you, Master Íobar,” Father said. He spoke as if Master Niall, Master Owain, Lady Íde, and the other women had done nothing. It was pitiably clear that he was trying to curry favor with the druid, out of fear, but if Master Íobar knew he was being flattered, he didn’t seem to mind.

“It is my honor to be useful to you, Lord Eochu,” he said smoothly. “Odran, come!”