“Trust me.”
He bowed his head. “Always. You must know I do.”
“Don’t forget, then. No matter what happens.”
“Can you tell me where you will go? Which direction, at least?”
She shook her head. “I won’t know until I become that other creature. I think I will find the way by scent; by instincts a man or woman possesses only weakly. But I don’t believe the tales of abduction and holding for ransom. My heart tells me our son has gone of his own free will. Gone on a mission.”
“At two years old?”
“This is not just any two-year-old, remember. This is Derelei. I’m certain he’s gone to find Broichan.”
EILE WOKE TO pain. Pain in every part of her body, her legs, her arms, her neck. Her head was on fire, her temples throbbed. Her throat was dry; she ran her tongue over her lips and tried to swallow. Cold. So cold, like deepest winter. Where was her cloak, her shawl? Why was it so dark? Where was… where was… She sank down again, down into oblivion.
TUALA MADE HER husband stay at the bottom of the steps with Dovran. Fola, whom she would almost have welcomed by her side, had remained indoors with Anfreda. It had been hard for Tuala to put her sleeping daughter back in the basket; hard to turn her thoughts away from all the things that could go wrong and to fix on the Shining One with a prayer: Whatever happens, keep Anfreda safe. A finger to the pale, downy cheek; lips touching the rosebud mouth lightly, a promise: I will be home soon, little one.
Now, in the small upper courtyard where Broichan had been wont to cast his auguries for good or for ill, Tuala stood alone under a sky touched by violet and gray and pink, closed her eyes, stretched out her arms, and called into her mind a powerful image of what she needed to be. The charm had no words. It came from deep within her, a gift of the Good Folk from whom she was descended, her mother’s people. She had not needed to learn this; it was already part of her. She turned once, twice, three times, a slender, pale figure in her plain gray gown, her dark hair plaited down her back, her feet treading noiselessly in their kidskin slippers.
The light changed; a bird flew over, crying a tentative greeting to the dawn. The flagstoned surface of the upper courtyard was bare; the stone table was empty. No woman stood there to greet the new day. Only a small shadow moved at the foot of the wall, a pair of bright eyes, a long tail. A whisk and a leap and it was atop the parapet; in the blink of an eye the creature vanished over the wall and away into the darkness of the woods.
SHIVERING, SHIVERING SO hard she could no longer sleep, if sleep it had been, that dark, deep unconsciousness from which she’d fought her way out once again. Where was she? She stretched cautiously, one arm, the other—there was something there, stones, they bruised her hand… She tried to move and pain lanced through her shoulder. Gods, it hurt! Her knee would not bend properly. It was dark. It was too dark. Why was it so dark still, as if night went on forever?
She got to her feet, her legs close to buckling under her weight. She reached out one way, the other way; turned, touched, reeled in disbelief. Where was she? What were these walls, so close, shutting her into a tiny space? Memory stirred.
“Saraid?” Eile whispered, her voice rasping and dry, the single word an immensity of effort. “Saraid! Where are you?” If she could have, she would have screamed, but there was something wrong with her voice. Her shout came out as a murmur, her desperate cry a whisper. “Help!” she yelled, and felt the word shrink to a little weak thing before it left her lips. “Saraid,” she whimpered, crouching against the wall, hugging her arms around her shivering body. “Saraid, be brave. It’ll be all right. Be strong, Squirrel. Mama’s coming.”
TUALA WAS GONE. Bridei had told her he would accept her decision, and he was always true to his word. Now, holding his daughter in his arms as Dorica showed the wet nurse the alcove where she and the nursemaid would sleep, the way to the privy, the places where clean clothing and fresh water and spare blankets could be found, Bridei wished he had no need to move before Tuala came home again. If he could just stand here by the window, watching the sky, cradling the warm bundle that was Anfreda, it might be possible to endure the time of waiting without breaking apart.
The wet nurse was called Tresna; she was the wife of a blacksmith. Apparently she had milk enough to feed her own babe, a strapping, rosy-cheeked girl, and Anfreda as well. As for keeping silent about the queen’s absence, Dorica had dealt with that in her usual manner, discreetly and effectively. Certain improvements would be made at the smithy. There would be a place at court for an elder daughter, now coming up to thirteen; a good place, not as a kitchen maid but in the sewing room or, if she proved apt, as a nursemaid. Tresna was calm and quiet. She took Anfreda from Bridei’s arms and bore her away, making little soothing sounds.
Then he had nothing to do; nobody to hold. He bent to pat Ban and fondle his ears. Then he called Aniel and Tharan and, as the men of the search party gathered in the yard after an early breakfast, the king and his councillors settled to another bout of questioning.
They had followed an order of priority. First interviewed, soon after Derelei’s absence was discovered, had been those most likely to have seen him or Eile: the bodyguards, Elda, the royal nursemaids. Fola and Wid; Garvan and his apprentice. Next they had questioned the guards who had been stationed in the outer court and on the walkways, with a good view of comings and goings. By then it had been dark, and Faolan had returned, and the search had gone beyond the walls. All the same, Aniel had continued to speak to the kitchen men and women, and to other folk with children who might have played with Saraid or with Derelei. Faolan had already interrogated the guards at the main gates. They had seen nothing at all.
This morning it was necessary to begin questioning White Hill’s guests, those who had for their own reasons lingered on far beyond the time of the victory feast. This was awkward, especially when the guests were people of a certain status, folk who would believe themselves above suspicion.
Still, both Aniel and Tharan were old hands at diplomacy, and they had invited Wid to assist them. The ancient scholar had a wealth of experience in the halls of powerful men. He had used it effectively to school the young Bridei in such matters, and after him Tuala.
They came, at length, to Breda of the Light Isles and her four remaining handmaids. Dorica had provided the information that Breda had at first been friendly toward Eile and that of recent times things had cooled between the two of them. Indeed, once or twice she had overheard Breda making quite cutting comments about this outsider who had so quickly insinuated herself into the queen’s favor. Dorica had dismissed it as foolish talk; it was well known that Breda lacked her sister’s maturity.
It was not possible to have Keother present during his young cousin’s interrogation. The king of the Light Isles had surprised them all by volunteering his services for the search once again. In a way that only added a complication, since Fortriu’s royal guest could not be allowed to venture forth without personal guards. To have Bridei’s vassal king suffer an accident or be attacked while under White Hill’s hospitality would be unthinkable; the political ramifications would be enormous. However, Keother’s readiness to help was disarming, and he rode out with his two guards and several of his own courtiers, following Faolan’s orders like everyone else.
They called Breda in. The princess of the Light Isles was on her best behavior this morning. She curtsied to the king, then inclined her head to the other men. Eyes on Bridei, she said, “I’m so sorry, my lord. Your son… You must be very upset. If there’s anything I can do…”
“Thank you,” Bridei said. “We’d like to ask you a few questions, then speak to your maids. A formality, you understand; we need to talk to everyone who was at White Hill yesterday. As no doubt you’ve heard, we don’t know when Derelei and Eile actually went missing, or how. That makes an effective search much more difficult to mount.”
“Oh.” Breda waited, hands prettily folded in her lap. In recognition of her stat
us, they had given her a padded stool to sit on.
“How did you spend your day yesterday, Lady Breda?” Tharan asked politely.
“My day? You don’t mean—What are you saying?” Her blue eyes went round with shock.
“We simply need to find out who saw either Derelei or Eile and her daughter, and when,” said Aniel. “And where folk were, so certain possibilities can be ruled out.”
“Certain possi—You can’t mean—oh, well, it’s easy, anyway. I was in my own quarters in the morning; my attendants brought me breakfast. Later on I went out and sat in the garden. I was there a long time. Then I went in to supper. By then everyone was running about with torches.”
“What part of the garden?” Aniel asked, narrowing his eyes.
“The main part, of course. I’m not allowed in Queen Tuala’s special garden.” She glanced at Bridei. “I was sitting on a bench near a rosebush. I was there all afternoon.”
“Just sitting?” Wid eyed her, his expression one of incredulity.
Breda flushed. “I had my embroidery with me. To tell you the truth, I get sick of my handmaids. They giggle and chatter so.”
“Can anyone vouch for your presence here?”
“If you’re accusing me of something, why not come right out with it?” Breda’s voice went up a notch. She turned once more to Bridei. “My lord, this is—”
“Just answer the question, please,” Bridei said quietly. The girl seemed unusually defensive; she was an odd creature, her manner at the same time naive and knowing. He did not know what to make of her.
“Of course people can vouch for where I was. My attendants will back up my story. And Dovran was there, in the garden. I don’t know if he saw me; he’s very intent on his duty. But I certainly saw him.”
“Lady Breda,” Aniel said, “what is your theory on this disappearance? What do you think most likely to have occurred?”
Breda shrugged. “I have no idea. It’s all terribly sad. That sweet little girl; I hate to think what might happen to her. I find it hard to believe Eile would be so wicked; I quite liked her, myself.”
“You believe in this tale folk are putting about, do you?” Wid’s voice was calm. “A kidnapping, perhaps on behalf of Dalriadan interests?”
“She’s a Gael, isn’t she? And only lately come here. Nobody knew a thing about her.”
“Lady Breda,” Tharan said, “I’m not sure if I understood correctly. Can it be that you have not yet heard the news that little Saraid was found safe in the woods last night and is back at White Hill?”
The oddest expression crossed Breda’s face; it was too complicated to read. “Oh.” She looked down, then up again, then to the door as if she wanted to flee. “Oh, really? Well, isn’t that wonderful? Such a dear little thing. I’m so glad. So didn’t she say what happened? Where the others are?”
“Not thus far,” said Bridei. “She’s too upset to speak.”
“Oh. How sad. Where is she now? Who is looking after her?”
There was a pause. Then Wid said, “She’s being well cared for. I don’t think we need detain you any longer, my lady.”
“For now,” said Tharan.
“For now? You mean I may have to go through this again?”
“There’s a child missing,” Aniel told her flatly. “And a young woman. A little inconvenience is surely a small price to pay for finding them more quickly.”
Breda rose to her feet. She clasped her hands before her. “There’s just one thing,” she said in a small voice, a child’s voice.
The four men looked at her. Suddenly the silence in the council chamber was full of tension. “Yes?” said Tharan.
“I didn’t want to say… I mean, this talk of kidnapping, of treachery, it’s all so distasteful. And I may have got it wrong, misinterpreted what I saw…”
“Whatever it is, tell us now and in plain words.” Bridei was on his feet, his face white.
“I… I did see her. Them. It was when I was outside, going up to the garden. Eile was in her outdoor clothes, and she had the two children, Saraid and little… and your son, my lord. They were going out the gate, the small gate at the side of the main entry.”
The men stared at her.
“You saw this, and you have waited until now, until they have been missing a whole night, before thinking to tell us?” Aniel, an expert in composure, could not keep the fury from his voice.
“It… it seemed so unusual, so unlikely, I began to wonder if I’d made a mistake.” Breda’s features were a picture of girlish confusion. “I thought maybe it had been someone else. Besides, even if it was Eile, the guards wouldn’t have let them out if it hadn’t been authorized, surely? I just supposed she had been allowed to take the children for a walk. Everyone knows how much Queen Tuala trusts the little Gael. Trusted, I suppose that should be.”
Bridei drew a deep breath and sat down at the table. “Be seated, Breda,” he said. “I very much regret that you did not make this known as soon as you saw Eile leaving; you could have mentioned it to Dovran or Garth, to any member of my household, and thus have allowed us to bring back my son and the other two straight away. Everyone knows Derelei does not go beyond the walls without armed guards. Everyone. I cannot understand why you have kept this to yourself for so long.”
“Nobody asked,” said Breda in her little voice, hunching her shoulders.
“Go through it again, please. We need to fix on a time of day, a direction.”
“I do want to help, as much as I can. It was around midday, I think. A direction? It was hard to see, but I am fairly sure they were headed toward the western track, the one that leads down to Serpent Lake. I’m sorry, my lord. I didn’t want to get Eile in trouble…” A single tear flowed down the flawless cheek.
“What do your handmaids know of this?” Wid asked.
“Nothing. I told you. I decided I must have got it wrong. I didn’t tell them anything. You know how girls gossip and build up something from nothing.”
“Very well. We will speak with these young women now, one by one. You may go, Lady Breda. Think hard about the consequences of your decision to keep this to yourself. Telling this tale to someone, anyone, could have saved lives.”
“But I have told you,” Breda said, eyes wide. “I’ve told you everything I know.”
The handmaids all told the same story. Breda had spent the morning in her quarters and the afternoon in the garden. Most of them had stayed indoors sewing, playing games or practicing the harp. Nobody had seen Eile or Saraid or Derelei. Aniel sent them away.
“I can’t believe it,” Bridei said shakily. “Breda must be weak-witted. How could she not understand how important that was? I can understand, perhaps, her reluctance to speak straightaway, not comprehending why it was so vital. But surely, once Derelei was found to be missing, anyone should have known to speak up?”
“That last young woman seemed on the verge of tears,” Aniel commented. “All of them were quite edgy; nervous out of all proportion to the situation.”
Wid managed a wintry smile. “For girls of fourteen or so, being questioned by four grim men, one of them a king, is enough to bring out either tears or defiance. They’re far from home, and this is a troubling matter.”
“Unfortunately,” Aniel said, “this has come too late to be of much assistance to us, except that it lends credibility to the unlikely story that’s going around the household, that Eile was deliberately planted here in order to carry out a kidnapping. Indeed, it would appear she’s done so with remarkable efficiency.”
“I cannot believe it,” Bridei said. “I know Tuala wouldn’t.”
“I hate to say this,” said Tharan soberly, “but that may merely reflect the fact that whoever is behind this chose his agent with particular cleverness. What now? What action do we take?”
“If there’s a man to be spared,” Bridei said, “send him out to find Faolan and pass on this new information, which will not be welcome. He needs to know. For ourselves, I do not thin
k there is any more we can do until the search party reports back.”
“It seems our only option is to entreat the gods for a good ending to this, and to await the return of Faolan and the other men,” said Aniel. “And that of the other emissary who went out this morning. Bridei, if you need our company, we are here. I think this will be a long day.”
THERE WAS A slight paling of the gloom in the small, deep place where Eile was trapped. Not day; not unless the sun was a long, long way away. She had slipped in and out of consciousness more times than she could count. At each waking her prison seemed smaller, the air colder. At each opening of her eyes, at each new return to the nightmare of now, here, her body ached more fiercely and her will grew weaker.
She fought for recollection of what had happened, of where she was and how she had come to be here. She remembered getting up and dressed, Saraid in her pink gown and Sorry in the celebration blue. Faolan… Faolan had slept in her chamber, and had been gone when she woke. They were going to… They would have… How long had she been here? Why hadn’t he come to find her? Why had nobody come, nobody at all?
Calm; she must stay calm. Breathe. Think it through. Eile rubbed her arms and legs, moved and bent them, trying to get warm. Derelei. She had been with the two children, Saraid and Derelei. Exploring; finding little treasures. Up in the garden first, greeting Dovran, feeling odd about that after last night and Faolan’s words of sweetness and promise. Saraid happy, running ahead. Derelei withdrawn and quiet. Then… then what? Then darkness, and waking in this shadowy hole.
It had been a long time, she judged. Her bladder was full, and she had to squat and relieve herself by the wall. She was thirsty. How long? Where were the children? Saraid would be frantic without her… And Derelei, what about Derelei? She was supposed to be looking after him; the queen had trusted her…
She made herself examine her surroundings. Above her, a circle of dim light revealed that she was at the bottom of a shaft, a well shaft, probably. Mercifully, it held no water now, though the walls had a crumbling dampness that was not reassuring. It looked a long way up, perhaps three times a tall man’s height, maybe more. Could it actually be daytime, and the shadowy darkness caused by some barrier at the top? Could she really have been down here from one day’s midpoint to the next morning? How could they have left her here so long? How could they not have found her? And if they had not thought to look here by now, did that mean… No, she would turn her thoughts from the possibility that she was in some place quite unknown, a place nobody could find. Of course someone would be searching. Faolan at least would be searching… He would keep on looking until he found her. Trust. Hope. Without those she would never have come to White Hill; she would never have begun to break free of the shadows that clung to her: her father, her mother, Dalach… They hovered close now, in this little dark place. Perhaps she would always carry them, like a burden never to be put down. Perhaps she had been foolish to presume it could ever be different; that Faolan could help her escape the shades of the past.