Deception's Princess (Princesses of Myth) (30 page)

“Maybe you could take a look at it,” I suggested.

“I’d better. No one else is going to do it. Want to come with me?”

I always liked Fechin’s company. The chariot driver was a beloved, trusted member of the family, still boyish in spite of being close to Father’s age. I accompanied him out of the gates and down the ringfort hill. A bored-looking boy stood holding the reins of two handsome brown stallions. He wasn’t one of ours.

“Not keeping yourself
too
busy swallowing flies, are you?” Fechin greeted him sarcastically.

“I got told to mind the king’s chariot and I’m doing it,” the sullen boy replied.

“Good for you. With all that ambition, your master will have to take notice. Mark my words, today you’re a lump of meat with eyes but tomorrow you’ll rise all the way to being a log.”

The boy grunted something ugly and made a rude gesture. Fechin threw one arm around his neck in what
might
have been a friendly manner if not for how tightly he closed his hold on the lad’s throat.

“Was that the right way to act in front of our princess? Next time, think twice. Better yet, try thinking
once
,” Fechin purred in his ear before letting him go. “Let’s see if you’re good for something. These manes are a disgrace. No chariot leaves Cruachan with horses that look so slovenly, not while I’m the High King’s man. Bring me a comb and I’ll groom them myself.”

“Where am I supposed to get that?” The charmless oaf had a gift for whining.

“Find your master’s charioteer and ask him. Or have a look around our horse pens for some help. We should have a few men working there. Don’t come back without it.”

The boy did as he was told: he didn’t come back. Fechin conjured up a flock of curses on the incompetent lout while we waited. He and I ran out of things to talk about, which was no surprise. He loved me dearly, but I was still a child to him, and what would a battle-hardened chariot driver have in common with a child?

“What’s taking that lump so long?” Fechin groused. “And who was the brainless creature who hitched these innocent animals to the chariot just to leave them standing idle? They’re as bored as I am, and a bored horse is a dangerous horse, especially stallions.” He jerked one thumb at the chariot. “Let’s entertain them.”

I held on to the front rail while Fechin kept the stallions to a leisurely gait. He even let me hold the reins for a little while. The horses immediately sensed that they’d been given into the care of an inexperienced hand and tossed their heads, trying to wrench control away from me.

“Hey! Don’t try those tricks on Lady Maeve, you overgrown goats!” Fechin shouted. “And as for you, my lady, you’ve got to keep a tighter hold on those two than that.” He showed me where I’d gone wrong, then took back the reins before I could correct my mistake.

“Another time, I promise. Right now we’d best see if all’s ready for the leave-taking. It wouldn’t do to keep a king waiting,” he said, and drove the chariot back to where we’d found it.

There was still no sign of the boy. Fechin offered up a fresh round of curses as we got out of the chariot. “That does it! I’m going after him. If he hasn’t found the comb, my foot’ll find his backside. And if he
has
found it, I’ll break it over his skull for making us wait like this!” He gave me the reins. “Hold firm and let them know you’re their master, my lady. Don’t worry, I won’t be gone long.”

Maybe I
should
have worried. Worry might have made me wise. Instead, I patted the stallions on their muzzles, told them how beautiful they were, and climbed into the chariot. All I wanted to do was have them take a few steps forward with my
hand on the reins, just to prove to myself I could do it. It had been to play the part of a charioteer, to imagine what it must be like to drive into the heart of a battle, to maintain complete control over creatures who were half wind and half fire.

“Make way for Maeve, the war-maiden!” I declaimed, grinning. “Tremble before my mighty—
Waugh!!!
”

The stallions leaped forward without warning, taking off at a trot, then going into a canter, then an all-out gallop. I clutched the reins, wide-eyed with terror, and braced my feet, trying to pull them to a stop. But you can’t fool a horse. They knew I was no more capable of mastering them than a chunk of cheese. They’d been put into harness, then kept waiting and waiting until they were weary of it. Now they had their chance to do what they’d been born and bred for: run!

I shrieked as the chariot jounced over the ground. Its careening course threw me from side to side so violently that my hips gathered countless bruises and my teeth clacked in my head. My hair flew out behind me, then whipped across my eyes when the horses decided it was time to make an abrupt turn. I didn’t dare spare a hand to pull the tangled strands aside: hands were for holding a death grip on the reins and grabbing hold of the edge of the chariot.

The horses took another turn, scorning the road and pelting across open country. Blinking through my curtain of hair, I thought I saw water shimmering in the distance.
Oh no, not the stream!
I didn’t know much about horses—I was proving the truth of
that
with every breath I took—but I was sure nothing good would come of a galloping team plunging into unknown water. I gritted my teeth, breathed in, spun my wrists up and over the reins several times to take up as much slack as
I could, and threw myself backward so that the full weight of my body was pulling against the horses.

It was my best attempt and not good enough. The chariot rolled on, but at least my effort made the horses swerve away from the stream. Now we were hurtling toward the ringfort. I saw a mob of people streaming down the slope, including several men on horseback.
Thank the gods!
I thought.
They’ll overtake us, seize the bridles, and make these triple-cursed beasts stop
.

Apparently the same notion occurred to the stallions, who weren’t through with their playtime. They wheeled about once more and redoubled their pace, the thunderous rumble of their hooves filling my ears. The water drew them on. In spite of my pleas and shouts and sobs, they flew off the bank and into the water with a colossal splash. I heard a loud crack and felt the chariot heel over to the left as the axle broke, and I slid into the stream.

The water wasn’t deep, but it was icy. My legs began to go numb just as the first rider reached me. My wrists were hopelessly snarled in the reins, so he used a knife to slash them free. Other men arrived and started taking the stallions out of harness. My rescuer lifted me in his arms the way he’d treat an infant and carried me to the bank, where I was passed to another mounted man. Someone tossed him a dry cloak to wrap around me while a third rider sped ahead of us to deliver a report to Cruachan.

We entered the ringfort through a crowd of worried faces. Father and Lord Morann awaited us outside the great house. The most skilled bard would have struggled to describe the look of cold outrage on our guest’s face.

He’s got cause for anger
, I thought.
I broke his chariot and might have harmed his stallions. Thank the gods they’re all right! He’ll have less to forgive me for
.

I jumped off the horse. Water trickled around my feet from under the borrowed cloak. “I’m truly sorry for what happened, Lord Morann. It was an accident.”

He didn’t respond to my apology except with a short, cynical quirk of his lips. “Another accident, eh, Lord Eochu?” he said. “Why do you think your stronghold’s been beset by so many? I’ve heard whispers that such things were all the Fair Folk’s doing, but perhaps they were no more than … accidents.” He made it a point to stare at me.

Father’s face clouded. “Someone bring Fechin,” he called over the heads of the crowd. “Tell him that my brother king, Lord Morann, is to have my chariot, my two best horses, and half the cattle in Lady Maeve’s herd to atone for this atrocious breach of hospitality. I want it done before the sun clears the ringfort wall.”

What was I hearing? Did my father actually believe that I was the one to blame for Donal’s work? Why was one word from Lord Morann enough to make him look at me as if I’d been caught putting a dead owl in the great hall rafters? “Father, I tell you, it was an
accident
. I didn’t—” I pleaded my case, insisting that the wild chariot ride was nothing I’d planned, not mischief but mischance. I begged Fechin to defend me, to explain the circumstances. Father’s chariot driver looked unhappy as he said, “I’m sorry, Lady Maeve, but I wasn’t there when you … when the horses started running. I can’t be your witness.” Desperate to be absolved, I cried out, “What possible reason would I have to play pranks on the High King’s guests?”

“Peace, Maeve,” Father said coldly. “Accident or not, you and I are honor-bound to share the burden of compensating Lord Morann for his loss, but for nothing else. The spiteful tricks we all suffered were a coward’s petty vengeance. As you say, why would
you
do such things unless you carried a grudge over some supposed injustice?”

His words seemed to defend me. The meaning behind them let me know I was guilty in his eyes.
He thinks I’m responsible for all that mischief because he refused to punish Master Íobar!
The revelation left me stunned, but I had to rouse myself enough to play out the last move of our game.

“Thank you for your confidence in me, Father,” I said, bowing my head under the weight of our unspoken lies.

L
ORD
M
ORANN RODE
off, taking my reputation with him, though I didn’t know it right away. My friendless ways kept me at a distance from the whispers that followed me everywhere. Father had said that I was guiltless of that rash of household tricks, even if he thought otherwise, but scandal was a tastier dish than truth, as all the hungry gossips of Cruachan agreed.

Winter’s chill, misty days brought them fresh meat to chew. A gray-haired, ruddy woman, plainly dressed, arrived at the ringfort walls in Father’s best remaining chariot and was promptly brought into Mother’s room. I was there visiting when Lady Íde ushered her in.

“Ah, Cera, good morning!” Mother greeted her like an old friend. “How are you? Is your family well?” Her eyes flickered over the older woman’s dress. “You’re not wearing the brooch I sent you?”

“My daughter has it in safekeeping. I treasure it.”

“Good. I feared you took offense when a different woman was summoned to attend me after Lughnasadh.”

“Milady, am I a jealous fool? I live much farther from Cruachan than the midwife who saved you and your babies, may Brigid bless her. Time matters in a crisis. I’m not wearing your gift now because I won’t put it on until after our business is successfully accomplished. You know that’s how I’ve always done things.”

Mother laughed. “Of course. Pardon me for having forgotten, but it has been a while since the last time.” She gestured at me. “You see how well you do your work, Cera? Maeve has grown up beautifully, even if you did mistake her for a boy when you first saw her.”

She’s the midwife who birthed me!
I realized, and stared at her in wonder. It was no small thing to meet the person who’d welcomed me into the world. “I’m pleased to greet you,” I said with reverence. “Tell me if I can help you in any way.”

“Have you ever seen a birth, milady?” I admitted I had not. “Then maybe you’d better steer clear when the time comes.”

I prickled. “Wasn’t there a time when
you
first saw a child born?” I asked. “And yet you managed to get through that experience and many more.”

Cera’s chuckle was deep and hearty. “Oho, such feisty words! I remember you—the fighter. See, your fists are clenched now, just as they were when you let loose your first squall. I will call on you for help when it’s your mother’s time, but be warned: You know she’s carrying twins again, and that can mean difficulties, especially for a woman of her age. The babes are so cramped inside their mother that it makes them impatient to be born, and they often come early. Poor, ignorant
creatures, they don’t know how unwise it is to rush into this world. That’s why they’re punier than other infants, sometimes too small to live.”

I shivered to hear the midwife pronounce that dark hint of unthinkable possibilities. “Please don’t say such things,” I told her. “It sounds too much like ill-wishing.” Cera glared at me for that.

Mother took my hands. “Dear Maeve, Cera told me all this years ago, when I carried Eithne and Èile. She didn’t soothe me with falsehoods but gave me the hard truth, so I’d be prepared. Then she fought as bravely as a dozen of your father’s warriors to help me and my babies survive.”

“
Some
people value honesty,” the midwife snapped.

“I’m sorry I offended you, Cera,” I said. “I do appreciate the truth.”

She cocked one eyebrow at me. “If you say so, Princess.”

What does she mean by that?
I wondered.

Mother went into labor early, as Cera had foreseen. The winter solstice was three days away when her pains came on. I was summoned from sleep to attend her. I awoke to see Sabha’s bland, drowsy face looming over me, lit from below by the oil lamp in her hand.