Deception's Princess (Princesses of Myth) (7 page)

Some of them didn’t bother talking to me at all. They went straight to Father, tongues wagging, eager to let him know how sincerely they admired his
perfect
daughter. I heard them praising my skin, my hair, my eyes, taking me to pieces like ravens pecking at a dead thing. If any of them mentioned my wit, I missed it. At long last, they began to drop away one by one, overcome by all the mead and Gaulish wine they’d been drinking.

Our Beltane guests hung around Cruachan like the smell of rotting fish. Most of them returned to their own lands after the festival, but enough of them lingered to annoy me. Not only did they continue to waste my time pouring globs of sticky-sweet compliments in my lap, but their continued presence made it impossible for Kelan to give me my weaponry lessons. I lived in terror of having them announce they’d be staying with us until spring.

I took my irritation to Father. Good fortune let me shake off my admirers long enough to catch him by himself in one of the more distant outbuildings. It was a storeplace for all manner of discarded gear awaiting either repair or doom as kindling. Splintered spear shafts, broken baskets, even pieces of smashed chariots took up most of the space. The rest had been claimed by a bright-eyed hunting hound who had never been told that winter was not the right time to have pups.

“Would you look at that?” Father said, gesturing to where the new mother lay nursing her young ones. “
Twelve!
Twelve, and not a runt in the lot.” He’d brought a basket of meat scraps with him, and now he tossed one to the hound. She caught it
neatly, without disturbing her litter. “Tsk. They’ll eat her alive. I’d be doing her a favor if I drowned half of them.”

“I’ll help,” I grumbled.

“What?” Father blinked.

“Not the puppies—our guests.” It wasn’t the most gracious thing to say, but I was fed up. “Why won’t they
leave
?”

He put one arm around me. “Blame me, my precious spark. It’s my doing. Didn’t you wonder why I stayed at Cruachan to celebrate Beltane? Why I summoned so many of our nobility to attend me here instead of holding the rites at Tara?”

I think I know, Father
, I told myself.
You stayed because you’re still recovering from your wound, and the druids of Tara who healed you allowed it for the sake of peace
. But what I said was, “I’m just happy you’re here with us. I don’t care why.”

“My sweet girl.” He pressed his cheek to mine so that stray strands of his long mustache tickled my nose. “I’m never going to find the man worthy of having you for his wife.”

“You had plenty to choose from at the bonfires,” I retorted. “Every man there was
supremely
worthy. You only had to ask them, if they gave you a chance to do that before they told you.”

“And just like that, your sweetness is gone.” Father snapped his fingers, startling the nursing hound, who snarled. “Or like that,” he added with a rascal’s smile and a nod in her direction. “How hard did
you
snap at our noble visitors when they vexed you?”

“I know better,” I replied with the same dignity Mother assumed whenever Father began to tease her. (She only swatted him when he persisted.) “They’re our guests—princes, kings, and warriors—and they’re important. All I did was remind
them that you’re
more
important. If that helps them remember that I’m important too, then good.”

“Is that how you handled them?” Father was plainly impressed. “Did they take offense?”

“One or two of them might’ve been embarrassed,” I confessed. “But they’ll never admit it. They’re grown men, and I’m only a girl.” I purposely gave Father my most guileless look.

He roared with laughter so loudly that the hound leaped to her feet, shaking off puppies left and right, and made a false lunge for him. He pacified her with a fistful of tidbits. “Those poor men. I’m sorry for them. Who taught you to play kings’ games like that? Your mother has some skill at guiding people the way she wants them to go, then letting them think it was their own idea. Of course she doesn’t try such tricks with me.”

I snorted and turned it into a cough. “Maybe she could guide our dawdling visitors onto the road home,” I suggested.

“Patience, my spark. It’s good for me if they stay, easier to keep an eye on them, overhear any rumors that they’re not so loyal as I’d like.” He took a bit of meat from the dog’s basket and began to chew it absentmindedly. “I’ve been generous and honored every man as he deserves, but honor counts for nothing with the greedy ones. They’d turn against me the instant anyone convinced them they’d grow richer if a different High King ruled Èriu.”

“Is that how it is with all the lesser kings? Can’t we trust any of them?” Angry for Father’s sake, I closed my fingers on the hilt of a sword that existed only in my imagination.

He misinterpreted my words. “Don’t be afraid of them while I’m here to shield you, daughter. My girls should fill their
minds with happier things. Clothru and the twins are going to be wed by summer’s end, and I’ll see to it that Mugain and Derbriu are both betrothed at the Lughnasadh festival.” He spread the fingers of one hand. “
Five
strong sons-in-law before next Beltane. Powerful kin make the best allies.”

He talked about marrying off my sisters the way Mother spoke of household chores to be accomplished:
Card the wool to spin the thread to weave the cloth to make the gown to dress the daughter to send away forever as some man’s bride. Done. Who’s next?

“What about a sixth?” I asked the question as calmly as I could. “What are you going to do with me?” If Father intended to serve me up along with my sisters this year, I didn’t want it to come as a surprise. It’s better to fight a battle you can anticipate than a raid that descends out of nowhere.

He threw the last of the meat to the dog. “I’m not ready to give you up quite yet, dearest. When I matched your sisters to their future husbands, I had my hands full putting out all the wildfires of envy that broke out among the men I
didn’t
choose. I’d like to catch my breath before I go through that again.”

I felt relieved enough to joke, “Why don’t I just run away with a cowherd’s son tomorrow and save you the trouble?”

“Why don’t
I
just give you to that little snot-nose Conchobar today and solve all my problems?” he replied in kind.

“Conchobar?” I echoed. “Lord Fachtna’s son?” I remembered Devnet speaking of how bravely that young prince witnessed my father take his father’s head.

“Why not?” Father strode to the doorway, leaving me to run after him with the empty scrap basket. “Wedding you
to him would please the two-tongued schemers who’ve been striving to overthrow me from the moment I became High King. They’ve turned that accursed boy into their tool. Down I come, up he goes, into the High King’s seat, and then he fills their hands with gold. But if I make him my son-in-law and heir, his hidden masters
might
let me live out my days in peace, free to let down my guard, to give up testing myself against my opponents the way our best smith tests a sword.” His mustache lifted in a grin. “Where’s the meat in a life like that?”

“Who are they?” I asked. “The men plotting against you, what are their names? Why don’t you call them out, challenge them, and be rid of them?”

“Why not ask me to kill the boy and be done with it?” he said sarcastically. “My sword against a lad who’s what, eleven? Twelve?
That
would make the bards call me a hero!”

“You’re not taking me seriously.”

“You’re taking yourself seriously enough for the both of us,” he countered. “You’re trying to meddle with something that a girl can’t understand and that’s not your business.”

“How is this not my business?” I cried. “If you’re in danger, aren’t we all, our whole family?”

He clicked his tongue. “Maeve, I told you not to trouble your mind with this. It’s
my
place to handle it.”

“And what’s mine?” I would not shout at him. I would not give him the chance to claim I had no more control over my temper than a cranky child. “To sit and sew?”

“That,” he said lightly, “and to go on as you’ve been with our visitors, my spark. Keep their interest, keep yourself just beyond their reach, and keep the peace for me. Oh, and one more thing.” Arrow-swift his hand shot under the basket
I carried and knocked it out of my hands, over my head. “Keep your eyes open.” He swaggered back to the great house, laughing.

“I’m
not
picking that up again!” I called after him. But I did.

There’s something inexplicably adorable about new puppies. I found myself returning to that distant storage building almost daily, just to watch them squirm against their mother’s belly, pink noses speckled with milk. Their tiny whimpers and soft barks wove a love spell worthy of the Fair Folk.

I wasn’t the only one entranced by those little lives. Though I never crossed paths with the puppies’ other admirers, I saw proof of their visits in the many beef bones cluttering the floor. The mother dog received so many gifts, you’d think she gave birth to twelve princes. I followed Father’s lead and always brought her scraps, not bones, which left no mess behind and which she gobbled up gratefully.

One day I arrived at the dog’s “great house” to find a familiar face. There was the serving girl Bláithín, ankle-deep in pups, trying to tidy the floor. Her swelling belly made stooping to gather up the old bones difficult, but the mother dog’s determination to hold on to every one of them, no matter how bare, marrowless, or splintered, made it impossible.

“Let me help you, Bláithín,” I said by way of greeting. “If you keep her distracted, I can pick up the bones.”

“Thank you, Lady Maeve, but you shouldn’t do my work for me,” Kelan’s sweetheart replied. She sounded tired and looked drawn.

“It won’t be work. It’ll be a game,” I assured her. “How
many bones can I whisk away before the dog knows what I’m doing? Here, use this.” I thrust the basket of scraps into her hands and grabbed the empty one she’d been unsuccessfully trying to fill with the hound’s leftovers.

It all worked so well, I could hardly believe it. I whisked out of the storage building with a heaping basket before Bláithín managed to feed the dog half the meat I’d brought. “I’ll be right back as soon as I dump these on the midden!” I called over one shoulder.

As I passed through the ringfort, I had the good luck to meet one of our other servants with his own pile of refuse. He offered to let me dump the contents of my basket into his and I was glad to be spared the long walk to the midden. It meant I could rush back to Bláithín and finish our task sooner. I did so with light feet and a happy heart, eager to help my good friend’s sweetheart.

Then I heard the screams.

I was the only one who could hear them. The place the mother dog had chosen to birth her pups was set well apart from the rest of the ringfort’s structures. Its sturdy walls muffled the sound of Bláithín’s terror, and the furious barking of dogs, and all the other sounds of a desperate struggle inside.

I raced through the doorway to see Lord Áed’s huge male wolfhound menacing the serving girl. The beast must have gotten away from his master and caught wind of the meat scraps I’d brought. Our hound faced the interloper bravely, defending her puppies, but she was only half his size. Two small bodies already lay lifeless on the floor between them. A confrontation that had begun over food had turned murderous, and bad luck put Bláithín in the middle of it, her path to the doorway
blocked by a snarling, bloody-mouthed wolfhound that looked ready to close his jaws on anything that came near.

My eyes darted left and right, seeking some way to save her. A heavy piece of wood stuck up from the ruins of a broken chariot. I grabbed it with both hands and pulled, grunting with the effort, until it came free. It was longer and heavier than the false sword Kelan gave me for fighting practice, but it would have to do.

“Bláithín, I have him—run!” I shouted, slamming it down on the wolfhound’s hindquarters as hard as I could.

The monstrous dog yelped and wheeled to face me, eyes alight with fury. I moved quickly, becoming a wall between him and Kelan’s beloved, opening a clear escape route for her. I didn’t dare take my eyes off the wolfhound, but I heard her shift behind me, her fear-choked throat uttering a weak, “Lady Maeve, I can’t let you—”

“I said
run
!” I raised my makeshift weapon in the way Kelan had taught me. “Get help, go!”

She gave a small sob of terror and obeyed. The wolfhound lunged after her, fangs snapping, but I was her shield, deflecting the attack with a blow to his snout. He staggered sideways but did not fall. I cursed myself for not being bigger, stronger, a more seasoned fighter with the power to put an end to this. The beast shook off his daze too soon and gathered himself for another leap. I was his target now.

Every word, every lesson Kelan ever gave me whirled through my mind as I wielded that splintered staff like a warrior’s blade. As I fought, a chilling certainty fell over me:
This is to the death
. I shouted a challenge in the wolfhound’s face, forcing myself to cast away the thought that I might be the one to
die. I was Maeve of Connacht, clever Cloithfinn’s child, daughter of bold Eochu the High King, princess of Èriu! I would not let doubt weaken me. I would not accept defeat until the moment I reached Tech Duinn, the isle where the god Donn reigned over the dead.

I did not fight alone. The mother dog stood with me, protecting what was hers. She darted at her giant enemy, keen teeth drawing blood before she jumped aside, dodging his answering bite. We played him between us like the
sliotar
ball in a game of hurling. Bad luck: he was as smart as he was vicious. The next time our hound made a feint at him, he didn’t counter it. Instead he spun on those massive paws, as light-footed as a lad leaping the Beltane fire, and charged headlong into me.

His weight did what his teeth could not. I fell backward, feet snaring in my dress. I held fast to my weapon, still using it as though it were a blade capable of saving me. The wolfhound’s muzzle was so close I could smell the rankness of his breath. I imagined he was gloating, sure of his kill now that I was down.