Deception's Princess (Princesses of Myth) (21 page)

O
DRAN TOLD ME
all that he knew about Ea’s return. “I went to draw water from the lake and when I came back, there she was, shifting from foot to foot on her old perch. It was as if she’d never left.”

“There’s nothing wrong with her, is there?” I asked, apprehensive.

“Nothing I can see or feel. She’s fully recovered and she’s been hunting successfully out there.” He glanced at the squirrel’s nest. “She came back fully fed. I found no evidence that she’d tried bothering that little fellow. I think he really does have a lucky talisman, though the gods alone know where he’s keeping it.” I giggled. “Of course I put the hood back on her right away. There’s no sense in asking
too
much of a protective charm.”

“She doesn’t need food and she doesn’t need care, and yet she still returned.” I spoke in a voice made soft with awe, but my heart sang,
To me! She came back to
me! I wanted to dance. I wanted to weep for joy.

I controlled my impulses, refusing to look like a giddy child. “Maybe the braid I tied to her foot holds some of the Fair Folk’s magic, a spell to bind her to this place,” I said lightly.

“It was plaited from your hair, Maeve. Are you one of them in disguise? Let me see what you’re hiding.” For one amazing moment his hand cupped my chin. I lost the skill to breathe. “It could be true,” he said, looking into my eyes as if searching for gateways to the Otherworld.

“Odran—”

His hand dropped abruptly. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly. And before I could tell him that I wasn’t sorry, he turned swiftly back to Ea. “If she’s going to be free, then she’s going to come flying in here whenever she likes. If she comes with an empty belly, that will put our smaller creatures in jeopardy. We can’t bar her from this house, so what
can
we do?”

He’d gone from poetic to practical so fast that I saw no choice but to follow, reluctantly. “The otter’s safe, and you can stop leaving Muirín and Guennola here alone. Isn’t the hare too big to be Ea’s prey?”

“The hare’s size alone won’t save her if any problem arises from her wound,” Odran replied. “I’ve seen a nobleman’s biggest, most formidable hunting dog stretched out helpless when a thorn in his paw caused a swelling.”

A sick animal and a hungry raptor made a bad combination, and there was still the squirrel to worry about, to say nothing of any new creatures we might encounter who needed care. If Ea was going to come and go as she wished, we needed a plan.

In the end, I lit upon the answer: the squirrel and hare might panic if we put them under clay bowls like the hedgehog,
but a large, sturdy basket, properly secured, would thwart Ea well enough.

“I’ll bring a pair of them tomorrow, while you’re at your lessons,” I promised. “Meanwhile, we’ll leave Ea here, properly hooded.” I caressed her back. “You’ll forgive me, won’t you, my heart?” She snapped her beak at me petulantly.

Oh, what do
you
have to be upset about, Ea?
I thought with an irrational flare of temper.
You can come and go at will, travel as far away as you please or stay here as long as you like. Odran will have to leave before winter, be hauled off to a place he doesn’t want to go, and I … I don’t want him to go either. But what can I do?

In the moment before I pulled the hood over her head, I read the answer in my Ea’s eyes:
When I want to fly, I don’t wait for someone else to spread my wings
.

“Where were you today, my spark?” Father greeted me at dinner with a woeful look. “I thought you’d ride out with me again, but I couldn’t find you.”

I made some feeble excuse or other, all the while thinking,
This is the first time he’s ever taken such a close interest in my whereabouts
.

Lady Íde was present, piling meat on a platter to bring to Mother. “Let the girl be, Lord Eochu.” She spoke to Father with the easy familiarity born of her years-long standing as Mother’s dearest friend. “Did you never find reasons to go roving when you were young?”

“Yes, but why can’t my daughter do that with me?” he responded. “She was a great help when we were together
yesterday, and I hoped that was how she and I would pass the time before I leave for Tara.”

“If that’s what you want, Father, you’ve only got to ask,” I said from my place. “It was my pleasure to help you with the cattle. What task do you have for me tomorrow?”

“Cattle?” one of our men called out cheerfully. “What did our princess do? Ride another bull?” Everyone guffawed.

Was I never going to live down that tale?

“I’m too old for childish escapades like that,” I said demurely. “The king trusted me to choose the beasts we’ll slaughter for winter. If he thinks I did that job well enough, I hope he’ll give me new responsibilities.”

The last time I saw a grown man give me such an incredulous look, it was just after I told Kelan I was going to become a boy. That same expression was now on the face of every one of the High King’s warriors. Everyone knew how much our common comfort depended on thinning the herds wisely. If I’d had a hand in it this year, it changed the way they’d see me from now on.

And that was what I wanted.

“What are you mindless minnows gaping at?” Father bawled. “My daughter did a fine job! She’s got a mind like her mother’s, sharp enough to outthink ten ordinary girls!”

Our women and fosterlings grumbled until Devnet casually added, “Or twenty ordinary men.” The only one who didn’t laugh at that was Lady Íde, who scolded everyone for making too much noise and strode off to deliver Mother’s meal.

Father stood up and called for attention. “Master Owain, Master Niall, attend me.” As they came forward, I chanced to look at Master Íobar. He’d begun to rise as soon as he heard the
High King call the other druids’ names, presuming his would follow. Now that he saw he was not included, he settled back as though he’d only moved in order to settle his bones more comfortably. The look he shot at Father was short but venomous.

“What may we do for you, Lord Eochu?” Master Niall asked.

“I want you to witness my words,” Father replied. “I intend to have your princess accompany me as I continue seeing to our winter preparations. She’ll share in everything I do, from surveying the harvest to inspecting the stores of food to hearing the complaints our people may bring to me before I leave for Tara.”

Master Owain, the elder and more formal of the two, looked perturbed. “My lord, she’s so young, and these responsibilities are so—”

“She won’t be handling them alone,” Father replied firmly. “She’ll be by my side, learning. If she does well, she’ll be worthy to take my place at Cruachan’s Samhain rites while I fulfill my duties at Tara. I call on both of you to heed my wishes in this matter.”

“Lord Eochu, you say
if
she does well …,” Master Owain said with an uncertain, sidelong glance at me. “Who will judge that?”

“I will, of course.” Father’s expression darkened, daring the druid to object.

I laid my hand on his arm. “Father, you have enough to do without measuring my work. Why not leave that to Master Owain or Master Niall? They can see the results and decide if I merit representing you.”
And everyone else can see that I
earn
my honors
, I thought.
They’re not just given to me because I’m your daughter
. “If they don’t feel I’m trustworthy enough to stand with them, I’d rather stand aside. Too much is at stake for all Connacht, all Èriu, at Samhain.”

“Is that what you want, my spark?” Father looked proud of me. I nodded.

“She does have Lady Cloithfinn’s wisdom,” Master Owain said, now regarding me with respect.

“And her beauty!” one of the men shouted. A chorus of agreement answered him. Father beamed, taking the compliment for his own.

“I wager she’ll win this challenge,” someone else called out. “Lady Maeve will prove herself and take Lord Eochu’s part at Samhain. Who wants to bet against me?”

“Why bother, friend? You’re such a luckless wretch you’ve got nothing left worth winning,” a third man joked.

“Is that so?” Father was grinning. “I won’t stand that. If any of you wish to wager, I’ll give you the stakes for it here and now, in thanks for your courage and loyalty.”

He proved his words on the spot by stripping every gold ornament from his body and clothing, except for the thick torque around his neck, a prize that was worthy of no one but a High King. He distributed these to his followers and called the trusted servant who guarded the royal treasures to bring more. No one was overlooked, whether or not they had said anything. Master Íobar’s mouth stretched into a thready smile as he added a ring to the glittering adornments he already wore. A cloak pin rested in the palm of Odran’s hand. He sat gazing at the king’s gift, making no move to close his fingers over it, until his father snatched it from him with an impatient snort.

Devnet came forward and filled the hall with songs praising
Father’s open-handed bounty. One of a king’s highest virtues was his generosity to his followers, and it was a bard’s task to make sure that everyone knew it. When he finished singing, he received Father’s own drinking cup, the rim decorated with bands of silver and gold, in recompense.

The bard inclined his head. “Why do I bother singing about your liberality, Lord Eochu, when you give me something like this for my reward?”

“What’s wrong with it, Devnet?” Father asked, struggling to keep himself from sounding too nervous. If a bard felt he’d been insulted or undervalued, he’d use his talents to satirize the man who’d offended him. A sword or a spear could take a king’s life, but a bard’s wicked way with words could make him look so ridiculous that no self-respecting warrior would serve him. “Is it not enough for you?”

“My lord, the trouble is that this gift is so rich it makes my praise of your generosity look poor by comparison.” Devnet’s eyes crinkled with good humor.

“Is that so?” Father laughed, relieved. “I’m afraid I can do nothing to amend that.”

“Perhaps you can,” the bard replied. “You know that I was born wandering. I love to travel, to wake up under new skies, to meet with my fellow bards and exchange songs, stories”—he winked—“and gossip. With your leave, I’d like to go journeying after I’ve attended you at Tara. Will you grant me that?”

My father turned to me. “What shall I say to this fellow, Maeve? Shall I let him leave us?”

“You should
make
him go, and do it now,” I decreed. “Don’t wait for Samhain. Such a cruel man shouldn’t be allowed to linger at Cruachan.”

“How am I cruel, my lady?” Devnet looked wounded, but it was as much a sham as the little game we now played.

“If you go on your way after Samhain, you leave this household without any songs to cheer us through the dark days until spring.” The men of Cruachan applauded my pert answer. After their roar of approval diminished, I added, “What’s more, you’re doubly cruel, acting as though you need the king’s permission to desert us. You’re a free man, a free bard, and you have the freest tongue for empty courtesy that I ever heard.” This time the cheers were so loud they made my ears throb. Even if everyone there knew that Devnet and I were merely joking, it wasn’t every day that someone served a bard the same dish he set before others.

Devnet laid one hand over his heart. “I may be a free man, Princess, but from this day I am
your
man. Command me.”

I stood up and climbed onto my bench so that no one in the hall could miss seeing me strike a haughty pose. “This is what I want from you, my bard: go with my blessing, return to my welcome, and bring me—bring all of us!—enough new songs to last us for all the winters to come!”

The bard made a graceful gesture of submission. “I swear it, my lady. Your wishes will be fulfilled.”

“See that they are,” I said crisply, with a dramatic toss of my head. The effect would have been magnificent except I followed it by catching the toe of my shoe on the hem of my dress and tumbling headfirst off the bench and into Devnet’s arms. The assembled warriors howled and barked and bellowed in such a riot of hilarity that Father had to tell the servants
twice
to bring out more mead, enough for a victory feast.

As the silver-haired bard set me back on my feet, I gritted my teeth and whispered, “If you make a song about that misstep of mine, I will learn to drive a chariot just so I can run you down.”

“My song will be silence, Princess,” he assured me. “Out of respect for you and pity for your horses.”

I enjoyed working at Father’s side, even though it meant I wasn’t entirely free to visit the crannog anymore. It was wonderfully satisfying to see the approval in his eyes whenever I assumed his duties and to hear him speak to me as one adult to another. And yet, on those days when he had tasks I couldn’t share, I raced back to the crannog so fast that lightning would have lost the race to me.

Odran understood my situation. He always understood. We found ways to redivide our creatures’ care so that one of us would always be there for them. When luck set us both at liberty, we went to the crannog together. Nothing let my spirit touch the sun as much as those few, precious days, not even when our druids told Father they’d be content to have me in his place at Samhain.

On such days, my favorite thing to do in Odran’s company was unhood my Ea, send her off, and watch her flight.

“Look at her, Odran!” I cried, pointing across the lake to where Ea was an ever-shrinking shape against the clouds. “See how far she’s going, and how high!”

“At least as high and far as she flew yesterday,” he said. “Yet she always comes back.”

“I hope she won’t have a change of heart when winter comes,” I said plaintively.

“She won’t.” Odran’s arm slipped around my waist. “She always comes back to you.”

His lips still held the taste of the bread I’d brought for us to share and hid a faint savor of sweetness. I was so startled by his kiss that though I kissed him back, I stood like a stone in his arms.

To my disappointment, he pulled away. “Are you mad at me, Maeve?” he asked.