Deception's Princess (Princesses of Myth) (32 page)

I turned to Donal. The boy looked glum and ashamed. “What’s wrong?” I asked gently.

He began to cry. I put my arms around him instinctively but my eyes were on Devnet, silently imploring him to explain what all this was about. The bard only shrugged.

“Oh, Lady Maeve, I’m so sorry!” Donal finally managed to gasp. “Èile and I owe you everything, and I’ve repaid you badly.”

“Hush, Donal, you owe me nothing,” I murmured. “It makes me happy to see you free.”

“But I’m
not
free,” he countered. “Not while everyone thinks you’re to blame for the mischief
I
caused when … when …” Sobs stole his voice.

“Pff! Hasn’t that silly gossip died out yet?” I patted the child’s head. “I don’t worry about it, so neither should you.”

“On the contrary, Princess,” Devnet said, dead serious. “You should. The tales have run wild. I spoke with one of the bards attending our most recent visitors. I saw how doubtfully he kept eyeing you and asked him why. He told me how surprised he was to see that you were an ordinary girl—a very pretty one, but that was all.”

“What did he expect to see?” I didn’t like where this was leading.

“What the whispers and the stories and the songs that have spread across Èriu promise—Lady Maeve is famed for her beauty but notorious for her waywardness. She inflicts a hundred incidents of malice and destruction on everyone under her father’s roof. Her strong spirit proves Lord Eochu’s weakness. Not even kings are safe from her antics. When she’s unable to cause havoc on her own, she sows discord and conflict among all the young men. To see her is to desire her and to desire her is to destroy yourself.”

“Is that all?” I laughed and hugged the little boy in my arms. “Dry your eyes, Donal. You’re not the one who wove all these lies about me.”

He looked up at me and sniffled. “But I was the one who played the tricks that—”

“You were, you had your reasons, and you’re sorry for them
now, aren’t you?” He nodded vigorously. “Then it’s over. It’s not your fault if gossips jabber and bards turn mice into dragons. Go and be happy.”

His face turned to pure light with a smile. A hug and a hasty kiss, and he was gone, leaving me in Devnet’s company.

“Was that justice, Princess?” the bard asked. “Letting the boy dodge responsibility and escape punishment for mischief he committed?”

“He was a slave, Devnet, helpless. His life was a punishment. Those pranks were the only way he could prove to himself that he had power over
something
.”

“Mmm.” Devnet tilted his head back and looked into the sky. “It’s noble of you to take the blame for that poor boy’s actions. I wish things hadn’t gotten out of hand.”

“I do sound fearsome, don’t I?” I had to giggle. “I thought I had to be at least seventeen years old before I could destroy men with a single glance.”

“It isn’t funny, Princess.”

“Or important,” I replied. “I’m no longer the hero’s portion, Devnet. Father has the
findemna
now, my brothers. Connacht will be theirs. Do you want to know something that
is
funny? I’m glad that Lord Morann was so good at muddying my reputation across all Èriu. If Father ever gets around to noticing I’m still here, he might not be able to find a king, a warrior, or any man willing to have me. I could live my own life here, as long as I liked. What’s a little mud compared to that?”

“Even if Odran hears the tales?” Devnet asked softly. He saw me tense at the name. “I traveled with him and his father from Tara to the island of Avallach after Samhain. Master
Íobar kept to himself, but Odran welcomed my company. He couldn’t stop talking about you, though secretly so his father wouldn’t overhear. It wasn’t out of fear, but because men tend to seal away their most cherished treasures. You have no idea how precious your memory is to him, Princess.”

“As his is to me.” I stood up and offered the bard my hand. “Will you help me, Devnet?”

He got to his feet as well. “Always, Princess. How may I serve you?”

I smiled. “How good are you at cleaning mud?”

Devnet rejoiced to hear I was going to fight to clear my name. “You must love that boy very much,” he said.

“That doesn’t matter. We’ll never meet again. I do hate the thought of him believing lies about me, but do you know what, Devnet? I’ve realized those falsehoods have to be destroyed for
me
, for my own sake. If I close my eyes and ears to slander, I’m giving others the power to say who I am. No one gets to do that—not Lord Morann, not Lord Áed, not the bards, not the worst gossipmongers in Èriu
—no one
.”

“As you say, Princess.” I’d never seen Devnet wear such a proud, beaming smile.

The plan I made for saving my name was simply to fight words with words, old lies with new truths. Devnet would leave Cruachan and use his sweet songs to counter the nasty rumors against me and to influence his fellow bards to do the same.

“That will be easy, if I bring them songs worth singing,” he said. “Songs that tell how wicked, tricksy Maeve, devourer of men’s hearts, was actually an envious spirit of the Otherworld.
Only fools believe that the
real
Lady Maeve played that creature’s pranks! For how could such a peerless princess, as wise and kind as she is beautiful, even think of—”

“Don’t make me sound
too
perfect, Devnet,” I teased. “Remember, you want to be believed.”

My father roared like a wounded bull when Devnet stood up before the whole household and “asked” for his permission to go roaming again. “You just came home!”

“Lord Eochu, if you continue exaggerating like that, you’ll be mistaken for a bard,” Devnet replied. “You wouldn’t want that. We have such a reputation for making up the worst satires against those who displease us.” He spoke lightly, making everyone present laugh at his jest, but Father didn’t take it that way.

“Fine,
go
,” he grunted. “The farther you wander, the less likely you are to aim that barbed tongue of yours at me.”

“My lord, I assure you that the only reason for my going is to praise you and your family throughout Èriu,” the bard said with an innocent smile. “I intend to give special attention to the virtues of your children. Who wouldn’t wish to hear about how the courageous
findemna
slew a horde of fire-eyed wild boars without leaving their cradles?”

“Get out,” said Father, now laughing louder than everyone.

Devnet left us the next day. “Where will you go first?” I asked.

“If you want to drink the purest water, go to the head of the stream,” he replied, with an air of mystery.

“Why can’t you tell me?”

“Oh, where’s the fun in that, Princess? If what I have in
mind succeeds, I’ll be home all the sooner, and if you guess right before I return, I’ll reward your cleverness with both hands.”

Devnet’s riddle solved itself. The answer came to Cruachan from the mouth of a man from the land of the Fir Domnann, where Lord Morann ruled. He steadfastly refused to state his business publicly, to Father’s irritation, but once the two of them retreated to a side chamber, we all soon learned it was nothing good. Father’s bellow of bloody rage told us as much.

And that was all anyone did discover about the enigmatic messenger, until dinner. After his first furious eruption, Father remained quietly confined with the man for the rest of the day. He pulled the bull-hide curtain aside only once, to summon two warriors, but once he gave them their orders to keep all would-be eavesdroppers at a lengthy distance, he stayed hidden.

When it was time to eat, he led the stranger to a place of honor by his side. All ears in the great house were focused on the two of them, including Mother’s. I liked seeing glimmers of her old self, before her difficult pregnancy took her out of the mainstream of our lives. It gave me hope that someday I’d have her back the way she’d been, high-spirited and even a little testy, nothing like the soft, baby-centered person she’d become since the triplets’ birth.

At last Father called for attention. Everyone was so avid to find out the visiting stranger’s identity and errand that even our rowdiest warriors fell silent in an instant.

“I have good news, my friends,” Father announced in tones that were a better fit for
I have news that someone’s died
. “After many years of seeking, I’ve finally found a household willing
and worthy to accept my precious lastborn daughter, Maeve, into fosterage.”

His announcement created quite the commotion. Mother gasped and laid one hand on her chest, as if trying to hold her heart back from leaping free. Scores of whispered questions raced around the hearth. Through it all, our mysterious guest kept his eyes on his food and continued to chew slowly and deliberately.

“Maeve, come here.” Father motioned for me to stand before him. “We’ll soon be favored by a visit from Lord Morann of the Fir Domnann. He’s coming to escort you personally to your new home. It’s a very great honor. Tomorrow we’ll begin making preparations for your departure.”

Lord Morann!
That
man? The one who’d falsely implicated me as the one to blame for Donal’s pranks, whose greed took half my cattle in reparation for a “crime” that was an accident, who’d used his bards to smear my name?

And after he’d done so much to make me an unwelcome addition to any royal household,
now
he wanted me as a part of his own? This smelled worse than the rotting owl in the rafters.

I could have objected on the spot, but what would that have accomplished? I read Father’s expression: he hated this situation as much as I did, but something had penned him into it. I stood tall and told him how much I appreciated having a father who always kept my happiness in mind, but inwardly I vowed to find out the truth.

Later that night, when I was about to blow out my oil lamp and attempt to sleep, I heard his voice outside my door. “May I come in, little spark?”

I pushed aside the door curtain. He dropped onto my bed
with a sigh of defeat. “You should be told what’s happened,” he said. “It’s your life that bears the brunt of all this. You have a right to know.”

By the flickering lamplight, he revealed everything. “Devnet’s wanderings bought him trouble. He went to Lord Morann’s stronghold, expecting to be treated as an honored guest. Instead he was taken hostage. You are the price I have to pay if our bard is going to be released alive.”

I was staggered. Where to begin counting the layer upon layer of evil behind that one act? In a single breath, Morann had violated the sacred guest-bond, laid hands on a bard, threatened his life, and forced the High King, his overlord, to become his helpless servant.

And it was all my fault. Devnet left Cruachan at my bidding, to help clear my name. Now I knew the answer to his riddle:
If you want to drink the purest water, go to the head of the stream
. The smears against me began with Lord Morann. Devnet had gone to that man’s stronghold seeking to persuade his fellow bard that it was time to sing a different song about me. Now this.

“I have no choice,” Father went on. “Lord Morann’s man let me know that if I refuse, our bard will meet his death in a way that casts all the blame on me, none on his master. I can’t risk putting that to the test.”

I patted Father’s hand. “We must save Devnet,” I said. “Give Morann what he wants. If he’s so keen to have me as his fosterling, you know he’ll treat me well.” I offered a weak smile. “I should be flattered, having such a powerful lord willing to use such desperate means to claim me.”

Father wasn’t comforted. “He wants you as more than a
fosterling. He’s one of several kings who want to take back my rule over Èriu but are too cowardly to do it in the right way, by coming against me in single combat. They support Fachtna Fáthach’s son, Conchobar, as High King.” He chuckled drily. “The boy wouldn’t last two breaths if he fought me, so their plan is to advance his cause by having him marry you.”

“That’s madness,” I protested. “No one becomes High King by marriage, and Connacht is my brothers’ inheritance now. I’m a road that leads nowhere.”

“You’re still a road Lord Morann wants Conchobar to take. The messenger gave me no reasons, only orders. The arrogance of the man! I’m to have you ready to leave us and on the road to meet his master in three days’ time. Lord Morann is so sure of my surrender that he’s already set out for Cruachan, in the chariot
I
gave him, attended by at least a dozen warriors.”

“And Devnet,” I said quietly.

Father was surprised. “How did you know?”

“Our bard is Lord Morann’s precious bargaining token and his shield. He wouldn’t leave him behind, out of his control, and if you attack his party, he’ll have him killed on the spot.”

“And make it look like my doing, no doubt. You do have your mother’s wisdom.” Father was on the point of tears. “I wish I could throw that messenger’s severed head at Lord Morann’s feet the moment before I took
his
own. All I ever wanted was to protect you, my spark, and now I’ve failed.”

I hugged him and reassured him that everything would be all right. I sent him back to Mother after making him promise he’d sleep without worrying about me. I told him that I wasn’t afraid to go to Lord Morann and that I could take care of myself.

I am no liar.

I didn’t wait for dawn, but dressed by touch in the dark and flitted from my room. My ears were alert for any sound coming from the chamber where my parents slept with the boys. The smallest whimper from one of the babies could quickly turn into the three of them wailing, rousing all sleepers.

I lingered under the rafters of the great house only long enough to pack a leather bag with food, drink, and the means to strike a fire. My knife was too small for protection, so I stole into the storehouse where I’d fought Áed’s wolfhound and carried away a piece of broken wood very like the one I’d used to hold off the dog. It would have to be enough.

I wasn’t going to sit and wait for my fate to find me. I was going to meet Lord Morann’s approaching party before they reached Cruachan. I didn’t know how I’d do it, but I pledged to secure our bard’s safe release without sacrificing myself.