Deception's Princess (Princesses of Myth) (25 page)

So I held my ground, expecting an immediate attack from Master Íobar for what I’d said. It did not come. The druid’s smile slipped just a bit, and that was all. His calm refusal to
speak gnawed at my nerves. Sweat trickled down my back and made my palms damp as I waited for him to end the heavy silence, the silence he used like a sword.

And then I heard a voice murmur from the crowd, “Our princess has a king’s courage. I wouldn’t be ashamed to follow such a one.” I never did learn who spoke, but his admiration gave me strength to fight on.

“Master Íobar, please forgive the girl,” Father broke in, distraught. “I’ve spoiled her. Turn your anger against me, if you must.”

“Lord Eochu, my king, my friend, why are you so upset?” the druid replied mildly. “Did you think I was cursing this child?” His laughter was as believable as his smile. “I can’t destroy your daughter with the same mouth that praises your generosity, or what sort of guest would I be?”

“I’m sorry.” Father sounded as though he’d dragged himself away from a beating. “When you didn’t say a word for so long, I feared—”

“I was gathering my thoughts, that’s all. You must admit, Lady Maeve has a talent for knocking a man’s legs out from under him, even when all she does is open her lips.” He inclined his head to me slightly. “You will excuse me, Princess. I haven’t much experience with the ways of young girls. I didn’t expect to hear you reject my son so emphatically after the bold way you’ve been behaving with him.”

My fists clenched. “What’s so bold about sharing a special dish with an honored guest, Master Íobar?”

“I’ve heard others say that you two are sharing more than that. You and Odran have been noticed by many eyes, Princess, and many tongues find it amusing to chatter about you. They
speak of those long, meaningful looks the two of you exchange when you think no one is watching. They snicker over how the pair of you vanished from this house from sunup to sundown every day that I was at Tailteann. What reason could you have for doing that if not to play lovers’ games?”

“Dogs bark for the love of barking and rumormongers prattle to hear their tongues clack,” I said. “You’ve been misled through no fault of your own.”

“Have I? I don’t hear you denying this gossip.” He gave me a long, close stare, as if trying to drink all of my secrets through my eyes. “Come, child, admit how well you love—”

“I won’t,” I said firmly. “And I will not marry your son.”

Master Íobar’s calm expression cracked. He turned to Father, scowling. “So, the true ruler of Connacht has spoken,” he said coldly.

“Pay her no mind,” Father urged. “She’s only being shy. She’ll change her mind, I know it.”

“Shy?”
The druid’s face went from anger to false pity. “My poor lord Eochu, now I see why you’ve failed to father a boy. The gods sent this girl to test you with her unnatural ways, her arrogant tongue, her impudence. Instead of ruling her, you’ve raised her too high, pretending her judgment is as good as a man’s, and now she thinks she’s entitled to assume a prince’s role. If you can’t govern a rebellious girl-child, you wouldn’t know what to do with a son.”

There was a disquieting murmur of speculation and agreement from certain visitors. I took special notice of them, especially one tall, wolf-snouted man who smirked at every barb Master Íobar shot at Father for having only daughters.
He’ll bear watching
, I thought.

Father was desperate to placate the druid. “Master Íobar, I assure you, Maeve’s betrothal is in
my
hands, now as always. If I say so, she will marry—”

“No. Not after the way she’s humiliated my boy. Let some other man have her. No doubt she’ll make the choice, and no doubt you’ll give her what she demands of you.”

This last remark went too far. Father’s brow creased with indignation. He loomed up from his place and growled, “If I say my daughter will marry your son, then your son
will
marry my daughter. If I say the marriage will take place tomorrow, then you”—he jabbed a finger at the men around our hearth—“
all
of you will form a hunting party to supply the bridal feast. I rule this house. I rule Connacht. I rule Èriu!”

“You rule everything but your daughter,” someone muttered.

Other voices joined the first. Some cried out against any man who spoke against the High King. Some snidely reminded anyone who’d listen about how Father had cringed before Master Íobar. Some called Lord Eochu a hero, others named him a weakling, but all the voices began to rise as warriors sprang to their feet. Insults were shouted, and the hearth fire in our midst burned cold compared to the flames of rage leaping around it.

In the middle of all this, I turned to Odran. He looked stricken, confused, and hurt. I wanted to speak with him, to share and heal his distress, but before I could say anything, I spied Lady Íde standing in the doorway to Mother’s chamber. Her horrified expression yanked my mind away from Master Íobar, Father, and all the squabbling strife that wild ambition had provoked in our home.

Mother’s hearing all of this!
The realization hit me hard.
She’ll want to know what’s wrong. She’ll try to find out. She’ll leave her bed or fight the women keeping her there, and then—

I didn’t want to follow that thought to its end.

I pelted across the floor to where Devnet sat with his harp idle. Kneeling at his feet, I clutched his knees and implored, “Make them hear me, I beg of you! Silence them and summon their eyes!”

“At your command, Princess,” he drawled, and took a deep breath.

The wild, skirling, eerie song that poured from the bard’s lips was like none he’d ever sung before. It was not louder than the din stirred up in the great hall, but it was impossible to ignore. The melody was so enthralling that the words didn’t matter. Every other voice dwindled and died before that insistent, wailing music.

Devnet’s song ceased. The hall was utterly still and everyone was looking at us. The bard winked at me as if to say,
There. Just as you requested
.

I stepped into the silence with my arms flung wide. “Thank you, noble guests,” I said. “Thank you for your kindness, for remembering that Lady Cloithfinn must have peace. My father often says how much he prizes all of you for your wisdom and goodwill, as well as your swords and spears.”

I turned to address Father: “Lord Eochu, High King, how could anyone imagine I’d defy you? If it sounded that way, I apologize. And Master Íobar, I know how much reverence I owe you. When I said I wouldn’t marry your son, I spoke as the princess of Connacht. I have a duty to my people that comes
ahead of my own desires. For their sake, the man I marry must be strong enough to protect this land. He must command champions.”

A ripple of approval passed through the hall. The kings and warriors we hosted were pleased with what I’d said. I saw admiration in their eyes, even if some gave it grudgingly. I went on:

“Odran is destined for the druid’s path. You said so yourself, Master Íobar, unless”—I gave him a hopeful look—“you’ve changed your mind?” I got no response to that except the glint of stony eyes. I’d expected as much and shrugged it aside. “With your permission, Odran could stay here to begin a warrior’s training. Without those skills, how could he protect the herds and lands and treasures of Connacht, or even himself? The greatest druid’s word is not enough to stop a spear or turn aside a sword, but I’m sure that someone as wise as you knows this.”

I moved quickly and seized Master Íobar’s hands so that he couldn’t withdraw them without looking churlish. “You heard the rumors about your son and me and thought it would be a blessing if we could be together always. I’ll never be able to thank you properly for your unselfish wish to please us, but by now you must see why it’s impossible.”

“I do see, Lady Maeve.” Master Íobar pursed his lips. “I see clearly.” He twisted his hands free slowly, so that no one would be able to accuse him of rudeness, and turned to Father. “My son isn’t good enough for this princess of yours.”

“I didn’t say—” I tried to protest.

“I ask all of you to excuse me for disturbing the peace of
your house.” He strode from the hearth to his sleeping chamber, ignoring Father’s repeated appeals that he return.

“Odran, lad,” Father said urgently. “Go to your father. See if you can fetch him.”

“I’ll go to him as you bid, Lord Eochu,” Odran replied. “With your permission—” He glanced at me for the time it takes to blink before following his father into seclusion. Neither one came back.

The next morning there was an edginess to the atmosphere in the great house. People walked with a light, timid tread and it seemed like we were all holding our breath. No one passed the doorway to Master Íobar’s room without giving it an anxious sideways look, the way you’d regard a cave mouth where a monster of the Otherworld might be lurking, ready to spring out and devour you.

The tension broke when the druid and his son emerged, Odran sullen, his father serene. One of our servants sprinted out of the house as soon as they sat down to have some breakfast. The purpose of his hasty exit became clear when he came back at the High King’s heels. Father must have given orders to be notified as soon as Master Íobar showed himself.

The druid greeted Father cordially. His every word and tone were soothing and kind. Father accepted this renewed friendliness warily. I watched it all from out of sight, having tucked myself behind one of the massive pillars supporting our roof. Master Íobar would be accompanying the High King on the long journey to Tara, so it was to his advantage to pretend there were no hard feelings between them, but I was sure it would be a different story if the druid saw me. I didn’t intend
to linger. I’d stay just long enough to determine that Father was safe from retaliation for what I’d said last night, then sneak away to tend the creatures on the crannog.

“Well, look who’s there! Won’t you share our company this morning, Lady Maeve?”

Apparently I wasn’t as stealthy as I fancied myself, or else Master Íobar was genuinely gifted with a natural hunter’s eye. I stepped out of my insufficient hiding place and joined them. Keeping my gaze downcast, I murmured the hope that everyone had slept well. Odran’s voice was conspicuously absent from the polite replies. I was not the only one who noticed this.

“Odran, the princess asked you a question.” Master Íobar spoke severely to his son. “Didn’t I teach you courtesy?”

His reprimand forced a response. “I slept well,” Odran said without emotion. “Thank you.”

Master Íobar chuckled and looked at Father. “Children! These two are still nothing but sulky, stubborn children. What was I thinking, picturing them betrothed? Odran, I have to go with Lord Eochu to discuss a few things about our forthcoming journey. We’ll have your lessons after that, so don’t go wandering off for the day.”

“You needn’t worry,” Odran replied.

“That’s a good boy.” Master Íobar and Father walked out of the great house together.

Odran ate a last bite of cheese, wiped his mouth, and only then looked up at me. “What are you waiting for?” he asked. “You have somewhere to go, don’t you? The animals will want to be fed.”

“Come with me,” I said in a tight, strained voice. “I want to explain and I can’t do it here, surrounded by all these tattlers.”

“Don’t bother.” He got up. “I have to find meat for Muirín and Guennola. I want them to fatten up before we go. Their appetites always suffer on journeys.”

He tried to get by me, but I took his hand and held fast. “Odran, if you won’t come with me to hear what I’ve got to say, do it for the creatures. I need you to show me what to do for them after … after …” I couldn’t say it.
After you’re gone
sounded too final, as if his soul were sailing to Tech Duinn, the land of the dead.

His eyes fell to our clasped hands. “Are you forgetting so soon about what the gossips might say?” he asked, withdrawing his fingers. “You won’t have to worry about the animals. They’re all just about ready to be set free. You might even be able to release the squirrel today.”

“I’m not certain he’s fully healed. He seemed listless.” I sounded miserable, but I couldn’t help it. Odran’s coldness was too much to bear.
Why won’t you let me explain? How can you close your heart to me?

“If you don’t trust your own judgment, I’ll go tomorrow—by myself—to check him and the others. I might even let them all go.”

“Just like that? What if—”

“I’d never send them away if they weren’t fully healed, if that’s what you’re thinking. Why would I? So you couldn’t have them? To punish you for how you hurt me?” His words were bitter and his face became alarmingly like his father’s when he said, “I wouldn’t put something I love at risk over something as unimportant as you.”

I
DIDN
’
T CRY
—not while he stood there, throwing such cutting words in my face, not when he strode away from me, not afterward, when I was alone, never. I didn’t shed a single tear. Odran’s harshness was too vicious to be real, too vindictive to have come from the boy I knew, whose kisses were so tender. It left me too shocked to weep. Like one of the creatures in our care, he’d been injured and was snapping at any hand that came too near, especially the one that had wounded him.