The Well of Shades (40 page)

“Derelei,” she said, “no charms when other folk are here. No magic, understand?” And, as his mouth drooped and his head bowed, “You were good, Derelei. Good boy. You helped Anfreda. But from now on, let Mama do it. You can use your magic with Mama and with
Broichan. That’s all. Do you understand, Derelei?”

He was only two years old. “No hurt baby,” he said again, glancing over at the cradle.

“Next time, wait for Mama.”

The large eyes turned to her. “Bawta home?” he said hopefully.

Abruptly, Tuala felt herself on the verge of tears. “I hope so, Derelei. I hope Broichan will be home very soon.” She imagined the druid back at court, surely changed
by his winter in the woods, but still devoted to her son and ready to resume the education without which, she realized more strongly as each day passed, Derelei’s startling abilities could quickly turn from gift and blessing to danger and burden. “You miss your lessons.”

“Bawta home.” It was by no means certain whether this was a statement of foreknowledge or simply one of hope.

Tuala cuddled
him awhile, then put Anfreda to the breast while Derelei played on the floor with the little stone horse Garvan had made for him. Later, Ferada returned with Bridei’s bodyguard Garth, and Tuala formed with him a plan to ensure that, even when her attendants were absent, no visitor save those previously approved by name might approach within a certain distance of her door. She was reluctant to do
it, since it would mean at least two of Bridei’s best men were removed from other duties at a time when the influx of powerful guests meant every guard was constantly busy. But she knew Bridei
would agree. If both she and Derelei had felt that sense of danger, then the threat was real. Unfortunately, there existed dangers of a kind even the most expert of guards was helpless to combat.

T
HERE’S THE HOUSE
,” Faolan said, pointing ahead to an impenetrable tangle of dark oak branches hazed with green.

“I don’t see any house.” Eile was tired and out of sorts. Her chest was aching and her head was dizzy; she had lied to Faolan about being well enough to travel, and now she was paying the price. As soon as Saraid had been running about
again and eating with enthusiasm, Eile had declared herself fully recovered. There was no way she was going to hold Faolan back from getting to White Hill and delivering his urgent messages. She’d delayed him too long already. She’d cost him a fortune and embarrassed him with her proposition. He didn’t want her. It was becoming evident, as they neared King Bridei’s court, that Faolan had important
things to do, a life in which she could take no part. She knew better than to expect anything of him. So why did it hurt so much? Since Mother died, she’d always been alone. She’d always done things on her own; she’d always coped. She didn’t need anyone. Not even Faolan. She had to stop feeling let down. She couldn’t afford to be sad. There was Saraid to think about.

“There, between the oaks.”

“I can’t see it.”

“Cat!” exclaimed Saraid, wriggling to be let down from Faolan’s back. “Little cat!”

The striped feline shot off into the undergrowth with a flourish of its bushy tail.

“Down, please?” Saraid requested.

He set her on her feet. They had come to Pitnochie on a barge ferrying logs; with nobody on the jetty, they had walked up to Broichan’s house.

“Stay close!” Eile warned her
daughter. “If the cat wants to be found, it’ll come out. It’s probably half wild.”

Faolan set a hand on Eile’s shoulder and pointed ahead again, between the branches. “Bridei used to say Broichan—the druid who owns Pitnochie—had set a spell on the trees so they moved about to conceal his dwelling,” he told her as Saraid crouched in the ferns calling to the cat.

Eile regarded him skeptically.
“Why would he need to do that?”

“To protect Bridei while he was growing up. There were plenty of folk who didn’t want him to become king. Fortriu has its own share of plotters and schemers. In that, it’s not much different from home.” His smile was grim. He did not seem happy to be back. But then, that woman, Ana, was probably here: the one he loved and didn’t want to see.

“If Bridei is king
now, why are the trees still shielding the house? I can see smoke rising, but no buildings.”

“Broichan has his own enemies. Those men said he’s gone missing. That’s another thing I need to investigate.”

“Makes me wonder how this king ever managed without you.”

He eyed her narrowly. “That’s a joke, yes?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never met him.”

“Bridei’s highly capable, virtuous and clever. But
a king can’t perform his own self-protection. He can’t be invisible when it counts most. He can never be anonymous. There are other good men to watch over him. I expect, if I were not here, someone would step into my place.”

“You sound doubtful.” Eile was getting better at reading
his expressions, guarded as they were. “You don’t really believe anyone else can do it.”

There was silence for a
little, punctuated only by Saraid’s, “Here, kitty,” and an occasional rustle in the bushes, indicating that her quarry was at least half tame.

“Come,” Faolan said. “We’d best get up to the house. The two of you need a rest. They’ll be expecting us.”

As he spoke, a figure appeared ahead of them, striding forward under the trees: a tall man with flaming red hair and unusually bright eyes. He was
dressed in a russet tunic and trousers of fine quality, with good leather boots. By his side padded an enormous gray dog. Saraid retreated behind her mother’s skirts; Eile herself felt her stomach clench with a familiar fear. Strange men were threat enough. Strange men who dressed like lords and spoke a language she could not understand were still more alarming. This smiling nobleman made her feel
dirty and pathetic. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin.

“Faolan!” The red-haired man came up to them and put his arms around Faolan’s shoulders as if they were best friends or brothers. Faolan greeted him more soberly, though he returned the embrace. He said something in the Priteni tongue; Eile heard
Drustan
, and later
Ana
. He was asking questions; perhaps where was Ana, and was she
well.

The other man gave an answer, brief, somber. Eile saw Faolan’s features change; a look of deep concern came over them. Then he seemed to remember she was there, and reached to take her hand. She let him; she felt very alone, and his grip was reassuring. He said something else; something with Eile and Deord and Saraid in it.

Drustan’s eyes went still brighter as he gazed at her. He was
a strange-looking man. Eile saw a wild kind of knowledge in those starlike eyes, a thing that was entirely at odds with his nobleman’s clothes and soft voice. Then he said in almost unaccented Gaelic, “Welcome,
Eile,” and reached out a hand toward her. She could not stop herself from shrinking back. Faolan’s fingers tightened around hers.

“This is Drustan,” he told her.

“He speaks Gaelic,” Eile
whispered, then collected herself. She had to be polite, to speak appropriately. This was Faolan’s friend, and a person of consequence. “I’m Eile,” she said. “Deord’s daughter. Faolan told me you knew my father.”

“He and I were companions for a long period behind bars,” Drustan said, his eyes still fixed on her in what seemed wonderment. “Please, come up to the house. Ana hasn’t been well. I
just explained that to Faolan. But she will be eager to meet you. The three of us owe our lives to Deord.”

Eile nodded, a sudden lump in her throat. “The language,” she said, “did he teach you? My father?”

Drustan smiled. “He liked to keep me busy. He found all sorts of ways.”

“Come on, Saraid. Not much farther.” Eile knelt to hug her daughter, who had gone very quiet. Another new place; more
tall strangers.

“I expect there are cats at the house,” Faolan said, squatting down beside Saraid. “I bet Sorry would like to see them. And there used to be a man who cooked very good pastries. Shall I carry you?”

As they went up the path and the oaks seemed to edge aside to let them through, Eile caught an expression of wonderment on Drustan’s face as he watched Faolan. There was something
like delight in his eyes. She was not sure why Faolan’s actions should inspire this. When a child was scared you reassured her. When she was tired you carried her. That was all Faolan was doing: the right things. He’d been doing them all the way from Fiddler’s Crossing, and even before. What was so surprising about that?

The house manifested bit by bit: a thatched roof with little straw birds
woven here and there on the surface,
stone walls, small windows with their shutters open to admit the spring sunshine, a big door with iron reinforcing. The door stood open; folk were moving about within. Somewhere farther away sheep bleated, a dog barked, voices called. There were woods up the hill behind the house, a thick blanket of oak and ash, elder and rowan. As they came up to the doorway,
Eile saw a pair of birds, real ones, fly down from the roof to settle on Drustan’s shoulders: on the right a hooded crow, on the left a strange little thing with red feathers and an odd-shaped beak. Neither Drustan nor Faolan expressed any surprise at these arrivals. Saraid smiled, reaching out toward the creatures, then flinched back as Drustan looked at her.

“Eile and her daughter have made
a long journey and seen many changes since winter,” Faolan told Drustan, speaking in Gaelic so she could understand. “They’re not used to being among folk, nor to staying in a druid’s household. May I explain to Eile about Ana?”

“Of course,” Drustan said soberly. “It’s best if she knows from the start.”

“What?” asked Eile, not sure if she wanted to know what had turned both men pale and tight-lipped.

“She lost a baby,” Faolan said. “It was early times; it would not have been born until the autumn. She’s recovering, Drustan says, but very downhearted, as is he.”

“I’m sorry,” Eile said, looking at Drustan. “Does she want people to talk about it, or is that too upsetting?” So sad. So terribly sad. Even from the first she had wanted Saraid; even in the face of Dalach and the unthinkable future,
she had loved her unborn child from the moment she felt the stirring in her womb. She had thought she might not like Ana much, perfect Ana, Faolan’s princess. This changed things. Suddenly, Ana became real.

“The child was taken before we could really know him, or her,” Drustan said. “All the same, our infant was well loved. To talk of these things helps us heal. Best to be open with it; shutting
sorrow inside only allows it to
eat at us. Come in, please. We’ve prepared sleeping quarters for you. Our cook, Ferat, will have food and drink ready. We knew you were on your way, of course; Broichan’s men brought the news. The big surprise was to discover Faolan’s companion was Deord’s daughter. I never knew—” He stopped his words a moment too late.

“He never told you he had a daughter?” Eile
halted on the steps by the door, hearing the wounded, tight note in her own voice. “He never mentioned me? Not even once?”

“Eile,” Faolan said, “it’s a long and complicated story, best not told in the young one’s hearing. Don’t be hurt. We’ll talk about this later.”

“I’m not hurt. I’ve learned not to expect anything. That way I don’t get disappointed. He went away. He forgot us. Simple story.”

“Impossible,” Drustan said. “He could not have forgotten you, Eile. He chose not to speak of you, nor of your mother, for his own reasons. Sometimes a man needs to hold his dearest things to himself or he will lose his way completely. This is for later. We should eat, you should rest, then I will take you to meet Ana. We’ll have time to talk.”

Pitnochie was not like the brithem’s house at Fiddler’s
Crossing. It was darker, quieter, altogether more somber. Folk did welcome them. The housekeeper, a grim large person, showed Eile a little chamber she and Saraid could have to themselves. The cook brought out soup and bread and promised to make pastry cats for Saraid. Drustan translated everything in his soft, courteous voice. The dog watched them all, quietly alert. But Eile felt frozen.
She felt as if there were a wall between her and the rest of them. Here, there was no Líobhan, quick with smiles and warm words, instantly accepting her as an equal with no need for questions. There was no Phadraig to charm Saraid with his easy kindliness. Saraid was tired and scared. She sat between Faolan and Eile on a
bench and sucked her thumb. She would not touch the food, though they had
not eaten since early morning. Eile could see the lost look in her eyes.

Drustan was doing his best, that much was plain. He made sure she understood what folk were saying. But he was preoccupied, and he was not the only one. Eile had never seen such a tight mask of control on Faolan’s features. He was counting the moments until he could see Ana, she deduced. And Drustan was worrying about his
wife.

At a certain point during the meal Faolan asked Drustan a question in the Priteni tongue, and they began a rapid dialogue in which all Eile could catch was an occasional word from the list Faolan had taught her: king, danger, ride. And names: Bridei, Broichan, Carnach, Colm. She stared into her empty bowl, wondering if she could ever learn the language well enough to get by here. Without
it she felt entirely excluded.