“I hope you are not suggesting I would have done such a thing,” Caisin said, folding her hands before her on the table. “And I can assure you that none of those who are of like mind with me would have acted thus, if only because it placed both you and your brother at risk of capture by our mutual adversary.”
“I did wonder why, when you found me and Bear out in the woods, you did not lead us straight to Finbar. If you believed Mac Dara might take us…”
“At that time I did not know about the horse or about your unusual gift. Believe me, I have come to regret my decision deeply. But you must remember that this world is not like yours. Our ways will never be fully comprehensible to you.”
Nor ours to you, I thought. As an explanation, it had been more than a little lacking. “What if Mac Dara did it?” I asked. “He may be several steps ahead of you and determined to destroy us before the geis can be fulfilled. Perhaps he knew Finbar would go after the horse and I would follow him.”
“If this were his doing,” Caisin said, “you would already be in his grip, Maeve, and your brother with you. He would not have left you wandering where I could come to your rescue. He would have ensured your brother’s sleep was eternal.”
Somewhere inside me, a little girl was whimpering, I want to go home. I knew that child from long ago, and I ordered her to hold her tongue.
“I’m not doing this,” I said, trying for the kind of tone Aunt Liadan might use. “Not tomorrow. It’s too soon for me to weigh up the rights and wrongs of it. Why can’t it wait until the next Grand Conclave, whenever that is?” And when nobody offered a response, I added, “I can’t make a decision like this on my own. I need to talk to my parents and Uncle Ciarán. I need to take Finbar home.”
Still Caisin said nothing. I wondered if she thought I was not in earnest.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I mean it. I won’t do it.”
“Young man,” Caisin said quietly, “will you leave us for a little? Perhaps you could see if Finbar is sleeping soundly.”
What was this? If she thought she was going to persuade me more easily if I didn’t have Luachan for support, she thought wrong.
“Maeve?” Luachan had risen, but seemed reluctant to leave me.
“All right, go,” I said somewhat ungraciously. I did think he could have spoken up, supporting my decision. Surely he didn’t believe I should go through with this?
When he was gone, Caisin leaned forward and took my hands in hers. She fixed her eyes on mine. “I wonder if it has occurred to you, my dear,” she said, “that I might have something to offer you? Something that could make an immense difference in your life?”
I sat mute, unable to guess what she was going to say, but fairly sure I would not like it.
“Of course, your…difficulty”—a subtle glance down at my hands here, and I wondered if she’d been going to say deformity—“is part of the reason why you are so valuable to us all, since the nature of it is woven into the geis. I could see you thought that strange, since this is a verse from long ago, before the time of your father’s father. But ours is a different world, Maeve, although it exists alongside your own. Such curses have their own ways of working out, long and intricate ways, and so it has been with this one. To bring about Mac Dara’s downfall, we do indeed require a young woman with hands that cannot hold.” She moved her fingers gently over the scarred flesh of my palm, making me flinch. People generally did not touch me there unless they had to, and the curious intimacy of the gesture unnerved me.
“It was a sad thing to happen,” Caisin murmured. “And you only a child, not much older than your brother is now. A cruel thing. Your pretty face, your lovely hair. And these hands.”
“It was a long time ago. I cope well enough. My lady, whatever it is you’re trying to tell me, it won’t change my mind. I’m taking Finbar home in the morning.”
“Oh, Maeve. Has it not occurred to you, as it would to any other human girl in your circumstances, that you might make a bargain with me?”
I felt a sensation like a trickle of ice water down my spine. “My decision is made,” I said, withdrawing my hands.
“Perhaps you do not understand just how much I can offer you. If you assist us with this, I can restore your face to beauty. I can render your hands not only unblemished, but as useful as if they had never been burned. Ah”—as I opened my mouth to deliver an outraged refusal—“do not be so quick to throw this back in my face. Think what it would mean. A fine marriage and children of your own. I see how much you love your young brother, and I think you would not be averse to motherhood. Undamaged, you might well wed a nobleman or prince and hold a position of considerable influence. Best of all, this would give you the ability to do what your…misfortune…has denied you: riding, dancing, playing music, everything from picking flowers to ordering the work of a great household as your mother does. Cannot you imagine stroking your baby’s soft skin? Embracing your lover?”
“Stop it!” I snarled, putting my maimed hands over my ears. “I won’t listen! Do you imagine I would place Finbar at such risk, and Swift, too, on the strength of a promise to make me beautiful? That’s simply wrong! If I were to agree to this, it would be for one reason only: to restore Sevenwaters to the peaceful, well-governed place it was before Mac Dara came here. To make it safe for my family. To make it safe for everyone, your kind included. Your so-called bargain is an insult!”
Gods, this hurt. It was bad enough that Caisin believed I could be so easily corrupted, that she thought me so shallow. Still worse was the longing inside me to say yes, for I did want this. I wanted it so badly it felt as if my heart was being ripped in two. In my mind was that strange night when the Fair Folk had ridden by as my brother and I hid in the forest. I had watched as a perfect version of myself danced with a man, their steps graceful and fine, their eyes only for each other. I had yearned to be that woman. Deep inside, I still did.
“My answer remains the same,” I said. There was a little image of Aunt Liadan in my mind now, telling me to be true to myself. I rose to my feet. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, my lady. Now I must go to bed. We’ll be leaving first thing in the morning.”
“Perhaps,” said Caisin, “you should ask your brother what he thinks.”
CHAPTER 13
Sleep proved impossible. My belly was a churning mass of anxiety. My body was filled with the urge for action. But there was nothing I could do, not now. The household went quiet. Lights were dimmed. The sounds of voices and music faded as, I assumed, folk went off to bed. Did the Fair Folk sleep as humankind did? I supposed the answer must be yes, or they would not have been able to offer us these comfortably furnished quarters.
Within my chamber I paced, torn by indecision, furious with myself for considering, even for an instant, how wonderful it would be to become magically whole and perfect. To have the use of my hands. How could I not long for that? To ride. To throw a ball for a dog. To hold a baby. I had thought myself beyond wishing the past could be changed, but it seemed that was not so. Silently, so as not to disturb Luachan and Finbar, whose doorway was covered only by a light hanging, I walked to and fro, fighting my own weakness. In the morning we’ll fetch Blaze and Swift, and we’ll go straight home, I told myself. Finbar can ride Blaze. Luachan can lead Swift. And I’ll walk, since there’s nothing wrong with my legs. I prayed that Ciarán would be back at the nemetons when we got there, for it seemed to me he might be the only one wise enough to offer sound guidance.
“Maeve?” Luachan’s voice was just above a whisper. He stood at the curtain; it was drawn slightly aside, and through the narrow gap I caught his eye. “You seem upset. What did Caisin say to you?”
It stretched the bounds of propriety for us to be housed so close. Talking to a young man while the household slept around us was quite beyond anything my mother would have sanctioned. But the circumstances were extreme. I moved to seat myself on the floor beside the curtain, and after a moment Luachan sat down on the other side.
“She made me an offer,” I whispered. “Tried to bribe me into doing what she wants at this Grand Conclave. I said no.”
“What offer?”
A flush of humiliation warmed my face. I did not want to talk about this. But refusing to tell would be cowardly. “She said she could take away my scars. Make me beautiful. Give me back the use of my hands.”
After that, Luachan was silent for quite some time, long enough for me to assume the conversation was over. Then he said, “She offered that and you refused?” His tone was one of complete incredulity.
“Can’t you see how wrong that would be? What if I agreed and then something happened to Finbar? She should have known I didn’t need bribing.”
“How could she know that? You had refused to help her.”
I wanted to snap at him for being so calm and sensible, but I restrained myself. “Luachan?”
“Yes?”
“You think I should have agreed to go, don’t you? You think Finbar and I should appear at the Grand Conclave.”
A pause. “As I said, I would not tell you what to do,” Luachan murmured. “You are your own woman; that’s plain to me. But…You suggested this could wait until the next Grand Conclave. I don’t believe it can. I was told by Dioman, when we were bathing, that the conclave is held every third year. How likely is it that in exactly three years from tomorrow, all the components of this rather odd verse will again be assembled here, ready to be brought into play at the right time? How likely is it that three years can pass without Mac Dara learning that his opponents are preparing this trap? Someone will see something. Someone will say something. How much more mischief can the Lord of the Oak work in that time? All the pieces are at hand. This may be the only chance to put them together.”
He had shocked me. “But you were hired to keep Finbar safe. That’s why you’re here. He’s only seven years old. This can’t be a simple matter of his watching whatever it is that has to happen. It can’t be as straightforward as my calming Swift the way I did earlier, even allowing for a crowd and a fire and a lot of noise. Mac Dara’s hardly going to stand there and let us do it.”
After a silence, Luachan spoke again. “So you still intend to take Finbar home in the morning?”
“Of course that’s what I intend! And I’m expecting you to come with us, since otherwise Finbar would have to lead Swift, including getting him across the bridge.” I forced myself to be honest. “We can’t do it without you.”
“Will you tell Finbar about the geis?”
“No! And you shouldn’t tell him, either.”
“Is that quite fair?”
I had thought I was already cold, but this conversation was setting a new chill in my bones. Could Luachan be right? Surely I must put Finbar’s safety ahead of everything else. But perhaps I was making the biggest mistake of my life, an error that would haunt me into my old age. I longed for Bear and Badger. Not that they would provide ready answers, but their warm, strong presence would give me the heart I so badly needed. “I know as well as you do what Finbar would say: that we have to go through with this, that it’s the way things must be done. He’s been telling me that all along. He said we should take time to find the dogs today before we went home. But the dogs are still lost.”
“Finbar is a seer. Sometimes he gets things wrong, yes, because of his age and inexperience. But perhaps in this instance he is right; perhaps he has seen that we must all be present tomorrow or your father’s enemy cannot be defeated.”
“I won’t talk about this anymore,” I said, rising to my feet. It was uncomfortable to be reminded of Father’s council, where I had supported Luachan’s argument that the family must stand up to Mac Dara. Easy enough to do in the warmth and safety of home, with armed guards all around. “I don’t want Finbar told about the geis; he can’t understand the peril he’d be in if Mac Dara saw him. When he wakes up he’s to have something to eat—that’s if you have any supplies left—and then we’re fetching Blaze and Swift and leaving. If this darkness lingers, if there is no morning, we’ll borrow a lantern and leave anyway. And now I’m going to bed.”
I turned my back and walked over to my sleeping hammock. His voice came as the merest breath in the darkness.
“Maeve.”
“Enough,” I said.
“I failed you. I should have brought you home safely, you and Finbar. Instead, here we are. As a protector I have proven myself of very little worth.”
“My father would probably agree,” I said without turning. “But I don’t think you’ve been fully tested yet. Get us safely home tomorrow and nobody can complain that you’ve failed in your duties. Push me into facing Mac Dara and all three of us might perish. That really would be a failure.”
“Push you?” he echoed. “I don’t believe anyone could do that. Once your mind is made up, nothing can change it.”
I almost relented then, hearing the defeat in his voice. I wanted to go back to the curtain, sit down again, and offer words of comfort that might ease both Luachan’s mind and mine. Then Finbar made a little sound in his sleep, and the moment was over.
“When I said I wouldn’t talk about this anymore, I meant it,” I said. “We both need rest. By morning you’ll be seeing it the way I do. The only wise choice is to go home.”
The night passed slowly. There was no more sound from next door. I lay on my hammock, soft bedding cushioning me. Within that comfort my body was a jangle of tight parts and my mind was awash with unwelcome thoughts. I longed for Bear. Images of what might have befallen the dogs beset me, refusing to be banished, along with conflicting visions of a possible tomorrow. I could not escape the feeling that whatever happened in the morning, it would not be a simple ride home followed by a measured council in which Father or Ciarán thanked us for making the right decisions, then came up with a solution that would suit everyone. Perhaps the strange darkness would not lift. Perhaps, outside this lantern-lit place of peace, it would be night forever. Perhaps…perhaps…
At some point I must have drifted off into a light slumber, for I was jolted awake by a sound like a faint bell. I thought perhaps there had been soft voices speaking nearby not long ago, but now all was silent. After some time the bell-like sound came again: a bird was calling somewhere up in the trees that formed walls and roof to Caisin’s hall. Maybe dawn was coming. My head hurt. My limbs ached. And I needed to use the privy. I rose and went to the curtain, drawing it aside to peer into the next chamber. Luachan and Finbar were both fast asleep.
I had slept in the clothes provided for me. Though the lanterns were dimmed, there was sufficient light to find my way, so I headed out to the bathing chamber and the privy that was close by. When I was done, I found myself reluctant to return to the bedchamber and wait, alone with my thoughts, until the others woke. I would go and check on Swift.
A sound of voices drifted to me from somewhere within the house now, but there was nobody in sight. I took the path I thought we had taken to reach Swift’s enclosure, but it seemed I chose wrong, for the way wound in a circle, bringing me back to my starting point. I tried again, peering into a series of leaf-canopied spaces, all of them empty, until at last I found the area where Swift was housed. He was standing quiet, a white shadow at the far end of the enclosure. I stood awhile by the barrier, watching him and thinking I was not ready to face a new day. Indeed, I felt ill equipped to make a decision of any kind at all. I found myself wishing I had never left Harrowfield. And yet, the voices of Uncle Bran and Aunt Liadan whispered in my ears, saying that was wrong; telling me I had work to do here, and that if I was not brave enough to do it, then nobody was. Be true to yourself, Maeve, Aunt Liadan said. Confront your fears head-on, said Uncle Bran. What frightens you won’t go away, but you’ll learn the trick of standing up to it.
After a while Swift noticed I was there. I rolled myself over the barrier and went across to talk to him. He seemed more interested in the feed someone had left for him, and that was a good thing; if he was calm he’d be be
tter able to make the walk back to Sevenwaters this morning. I found a place to sit and tried to achieve my own state of calm, while above the leafy canopy the sky began to brighten at last, spelling an end to the preternatural darkness. It seemed the storm that had near drowned us was past and a sunny day was dawning. I was glad of that, for another weary walk through the sodden forest did not bear thinking of. It would be hard enough getting two horses over that bridge without the complication of rain.
Now, that was odd. Where was Blaze? Where were the horses of the Fair Folk, those I had seen passing by at night? This little yard was bordered on three sides by the trunks of tall, slender trees, and on the other side was the pathway back into Caisin’s dwelling. I had been so weary and confused last night I had not thought of it, but there was no sign of any other enclosures for livestock. I could see no stables or any obvious provision for the upkeep of the many animals a household such as this must require. Fey horses might have different needs, of course. Dioman might have decided, wisely, to keep nervous Swift away from their other livestock. But I would have thought Blaze, at least, would be somewhere close by. When I saw Caisin I must ask her.
I sat there a long while, watching Swift eat, telling him some of my thoughts, not all, for I did not want him to pick up my anxiety. Eventually I fell silent, listening to the swell of birdsong from above and thinking I must move soon, so I could be sure Finbar had breakfast before we left. Soon. But not quite yet.
“Maeve?”
Caisin’s voice startled me. I turned my head to see her standing by the barrier, a blue cloak thrown over her gown, her abundant hair confined in a jeweled net at the nape of her neck. The look on her face brought me to my feet, my heart thumping. “What is it?”
“I need to speak to you. Come closer, my dear.”
By the time I had crossed the enclosure and come out to stand beside her, I was shaking. Something had happened, something terrible. “Tell me,” I said. “What is it? Finbar—is he safe?”