The Dark Mirror (85 page)

I
WILL NOT ASK,” BRIDEI
said, ‘why you sent her away from Pitnochie again, nor why you thought to arrange a marriage for her while I was gone from home. I will not ask why, when you heard she had run away, you did not exert yourself to search for her. You need not explain why you failed to tell me she was lost; why you lied to me. I have never understood your reasons for distrusting Tuala so.
It is clear to me in all respects that she carries the blessing of the Shining One within her; that she walks a path of light and can bring us only good. You are the king’s druid. Knowledge of the gods lies deep in your heart and courses strongly in your blood. Where have I learned those ways, but through you? That you have never been able to recognize the truth about Tuala is a mystery to me. You
have disappointed me, Broichan. And you have awoken misgivings in me that are disturbing. I wonder if perhaps you do not realize that I am no longer a child, but am become a man. I wonder if you do not recognize that a man who would be king must in time learn to think for himself.”

“Sit down, Bridei.”

To refuse would be churlish; besides, common sense told Bridei his legs would not hold him
up much longer. It had been apparent, from the moment that last, terrifying race up Eagle Scar was over and he held Tuala safe in his arms, how much the success of his journey had owed to the remarkable
Spindrift and, at the end, to Faolan. Bridei knew he was weak and exhausted. Nonetheless, he had been trained in self-control: trained by the best there was. What must be faced now was a contest,
and he had no intention of losing it.

“Now,” Broichan said, sitting opposite him at the table and pouring mead into a pair of cups, “I hope you will hear me out, for all your talk of not seeking explanations.”

“I want none. There can be none that make any sense to me. She was in our care; entrusted to us by the goddess. You knew what she meant to me. You ensured, by your machinations, by your
inaction, by your silences, that Tuala was almost lost forever. You caused her untold grief and pain. If you expect forgiveness, you will be disappointed. If you expect compliance, you are a fool.”

Broichan sighed. “Bridei,” he said, “we have seven days until the assembly. Your earlier words told me you have not forgotten that fact, although your impetuous actions suggest you have lost sight
of its significance. Seven days, Bridei. It is winter. Drust the Boar will already be at Caer Pridne, coaxing, cajoling, bribing, turning men against you, gathering support for his own cause. Every day you are away from court, your opponent’s influence increases. The election will not wait for us. We must get back to Caer Pridne as soon as we can. You need to be there, to be seen and heard, to work
on the hearts and minds of those who can still be turned. To come here was folly. To stay here any longer than you must would be the death of our hopes. The death of Fortriu’s future.”

Bridei was silent a moment, regarding his hands, which were relaxed on the table before him. He did not touch the mead. ‘An overstatement, surely” he said. “There are other good candidates.”

“That’s disingenuous,
Bridei. Carnach will stand up as your proxy at the presentation, not in his own name. It is my considered opinion, and that of all in my close circle, that the only other claimant will be Drust the Boar. Both of us know, all of us know that you are the Flamekeeper’s chosen candidate. This has been fifteen years in the preparation; far longer in the planning. Your country needs you. Your people
need you. I recognize that you do require a little time to rest, to regain your strength. One day, two, no more. Then we must ride back to court.”

Bridei said nothing.

Broichan steepled his fingers; his expression did not change. “There is the question of Tuala. I understand that. I give you my personal assurance that she will be provided with shelter here for as long as it is necessary. As
for her
future, now is not the time to consider that. She’d far better have remained at Banmerren, where there was a place for her. Her escapade has lost us precious time. Never mind that; it can wait. After the assembly, when you are king, this can be attended to.”

“I don’t intend to let her out of my sight,” Bridei said.

“She cannot travel to court with us.” Broichan’s tone was blunt. “She
will not be accepted there in any capacity whatever. One glance, and it’s apparent she bears the blood of the Good Folk. What would the voters from Circinn think of that? Even our own view her with distrust. Why else do you imagine she had to leave Pitnochie?”

“I think,” Bridei spoke slowly, weighing each word, “that such distrust arises only if it is allowed to do so. Your people love and respect
you. A word or two from you would have been all that was needed to set such misgivings at rest. Instead, you sent her away. You robbed her of the only home she had ever known. Your assurances are worthless to me. I will not return to Caer Pridne without Tuala.”

There was a little silence.

“I’m sorry, Bridei. I understand the childhood bond between you. I see the qualities in Tuala that seem
admirable: wit, subtlety, loyalty, and a physical charm that might indeed set a young man to forgetting what is correct in the choice of a . . . mate.” Broichan spoke this last word with evident distaste. “Let me be blunt with you. I do not know what role you see for the girl at court. I realize it is not that of a sister. Perhaps an arrangement could be made. She would be housed, not at Caer Pridne
itself, openly, but—”

“Enough.” Bridei held his voice level, for all the fury that had seized him. “Evidently I did not make myself sufficiently clear. I intend that Tuala and I should marry. I will have no other. This is not a matter for debate. My choice is made.”

“Oh, Bridei.” Broichan’s words came out on a sigh. “You are still young. The future stretches out before you, full of possibilities.
This simply isn’t one of them, son. A king of Fortriu doesn’t marry a daughter of the Good Folk. Such an action would lay you open to lifelong ridicule. It would fetter you, cripple you. Her influence would render your course perilously unpredictable. We cannot allow this.”

“We?” Bridei breathed slowly, keeping his hands still, holding his expression calm.

“Your advisers. Although he never speaks
directly about it, Talorgen has
long hoped an alliance might be made between you and his own daughter. She’s entirely suitable: clever, well-presented, not ill-looking, and of the royal blood of Fortriu. And she’s the sister of your best friend.”

“I respect and admire Ferada; I always have done. I do not intend to marry her.” A vision of Gartnait, drowned face gazing blindly up at the night sky,
came to Bridei’s mind, and he shivered despite himself.

“Aniel,” Broichan went on, “suggested the royal hostage, Ana. Very beautiful, and apparently a model of kindness and courtesy. She would be an excellent choice. There are others. Bridei, I understand a young man is subject to strong urges, to the bodily passions the Flamekeeper awakens. There is no doubt in my mind that it is time you took
a wife.”

“But not Tuala.”

“Most certainly not Tuala. That you could ever have considered such an option possible makes a mockery of your education.”

“I see. Does not a decision to overlook her make a still greater mockery of the Shining One’s trust? It was the goddess who gave Tuala into my care on another Midwinter, long ago. Would you dismiss that so lightly?”

There was a pause. “Tuala can
be provided for, as I said.” Broichan’s fingers toyed with a mead cup. “You do not need to wed the girl to fulfill a promise of responsibility.”

“I think I do. It is my belief the Shining One brought her to Pitnochie for just this reason: so that, if I become king of Fortriu, I will have a perfect companion by my side, one who will strengthen me for the tests and trials that must attend such
a path. The goddess sent Tuala as my heart-friend so that, in this great work, I will not falter or fail. I love her, and she loves me. Is that too simple for a druid to comprehend?”

“Bridei,” said Broichan, “you are extremely weary and still quite weak, and I suspect you haven’t eaten since you rode away from Caer Pridne. Believe me, this is best left until morning. Or better, until after the
assembly itself. Such decisions should not be made in haste. If you will not leave Tuala here, then she can be conveyed back to Banmerren until the kingship is decided. It’s vital that you concentrate all your energies on the election. We can afford no distractions. Let this go for now. Fola will keep the girl safe until we have time to work things out—”

“No,” Bridei said. “It cannot wait. Tuala
nearly died tonight because of your failure to comprehend this; because she believed herself all alone in this world. I was witness to your own dark time at Gateway. I saw then what a toll your
chosen path takes on you. I know how hard it is. Tell me, has your life been bent so strongly on discipline and loyalty that you never learned what love is?”

“This is not love,” Broichan said, his tone
suddenly hard as iron, “but a young man’s delusion. You will not wed Tuala. As king, you cannot.”

Bridei looked straight into his foster father’s dark, impenetrable eyes. “Then it seems I will not be king,” he said quietly.

The eyes changed. It was evident that Broichan, in his wildest dreams, had never anticipated this. “What are you saying, Bridei?”

“Tuala will be my wife. I will not be swayed
from that decision, for I know I cannot go on without her. It seems you are presenting me with a choice: Tuala or the kingship. I will not give her up, Broichan. And if I decide the cost of fulfilling this fifteen-year dream of yours is simply too high for me, then you must find another man to be your puppet. Without her, I cannot do it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous! Of course you can do it!” The druid
was on his feet, his face white as chalk.

“Let me rephrase that,” said Bridei. “Without her, I will not put myself forward as a candidate. I hope that is sufficiently clear for you. I am a man, Broichan. I’ve grown up, and I make my own decisions. I have never lost sight of the destiny for which you prepared me. I do not let it go lightly, believe me. But I mean what I say, every word. If you
refuse to sanction our marriage, Tuala and I will walk away and make our own life elsewhere, beyond the reach of narrow-minded power brokers. There is nothing you can do or say that will change my mind.”

“I don’t believe this—”

“Consider only what you have done to Tuala. In your misguided actions you sowed the seed of this. My perfect obedience lasts only until I see the cracks appear on the
faces of those I believed beyond reproach. I cannot forgive what you have done to her. I cannot forgive your lies. But I do not make this choice in order to punish you. I want to contest the kingship, Broichan. I’ve worked hard for it. I believe it is the will of the gods; I am confident that I am the best man for it. And I know that, if I am elected king, I cannot survive it without her. It is for
that reason alone that I will walk away if you and your allies do not support my choice. Now I will do as you suggest: seek dry clothes, food, and rest. And the Midwinter ritual is still to be enacted. This is a season of awakening, a time of the birth of new light, the stretching out of the days until the Flamekeeper reaches his radiant zenith once more. An auspicious night. As you said, a little
time can be taken for this decision. Your decision, that is. Mine is already made.”

“What are you asking?” Broichan’s tone was constrained.

“For your support in all things. That you not only approve my choice, but show her friendship and courtesy, and ensure others at court do the same. That you speak no ill of her; that you enact no ill against her. That no word of your true attitude on this
matter ever becomes known outside the confines of this chamber.”

“And if I refuse, you really would—”

“I would walk away from Pitnochie, and from Fortriu, with Tuala by my side. You would never see me again.”

“You really mean it.”

Bridei rose to his feet. “If I become king, I intend to have a number of advisers,” he said, “yourself among them. What has occurred here does not diminish my gratitude
for the years you have devoted to my upbringing, for the wisdom you have shared with me, for the opportunities you have provided for me. It has, however, ensured that I will never be prepared to trust you again. A king should listen to his advisers and then make his own decisions.” He inclined his head politely, walked to the door, and left the room. Behind him, there was utter silence.

THE MIDWINTER RITUAL
lacked something of its usual vitality. Broichan spoke the prayers as if his mind were in another place entirely. They doused the fire only briefly: it was important to keep the hall warm, with three of those present suffering the ill effects of long exposure to the winter chill. At the point in the ceremony where question and answer must be spoken, Broichan looked at Bridei,
and Bridei, calm and quiet, performed the part long perfected under the druid’s exacting tuition. At the end, when all stood in a circle to speak the words of blessing, Tuala took her place by Bridei’s side, her hand in his. Faolan looked on unsmiling from a corner of the room.