FAOLAN AND GARTH stood waiting for the rest of the search party. For a moment a stillness seemed to come over the courtyard; the moon was dark, the stars barely perceptible in summer’s long, eerie twilight, and even the night birds were hushed. It was cold. Wherever Eile was, she didn’t have her cloak. Faolan knew he should be planning how to do this, using logic, but logic had abandoned him completely. Suddenly, he understood faith; the compelling desire to trust in a power beyond the knowable, a benign and loving deity. Or maybe what he needed was the instinct of a wild creature, the ability to seek and find by scent, by subtle sound, by changes in the air that caused the hackles to rise, the breath to catch in the throat.
“Do you think—” Garth began.
“Shh. Just a moment.” Faolan held himself still and closed his eyes. In his heart, he cried out to her, a great shout of faith, hope, instinct: I love you! Where are you? Then silence. Silence save for the desperate drumming of his heart.
He sensed a change in the light and opened his eyes. The other men were coming with torches: Garvan, Wid, Uric, one or two more now, among them the unassuming figure of Suibne with two of his brethren.
“Brother Colm has given us approval to help you,” the translator said in Gaelic. “Meanwhile, he and the others will pray that we find your wife and the king’s son safe and well.”
“Wife?” Garth raised his brows.
“It’s a long story,” Faolan said, nodding thanks to the priest.
“Bedo’s been called in by the king,” Uric said. “That girl, Cria, as well. Aniel promised to send us a messenger if they got anything useful. May I make a suggestion?”
“Be quick,” said Garth.
“We should start down by Breda’s quarters. That’s the last place anyone saw them apart from Breda herself.”
Garth glanced at Faolan. “That’s the section we were starting on last evening when you came in with Saraid,” he said. “Some of it’s only been covered sketchily. Very well, break up into pairs and head down that way. One torch to each team. Faolan with Brother Suibne. Dovran with Wid. Garvan with Uric.” He paired them all, experienced man with less experienced, stronger with weaker, older and wiser with younger and fitter. “Cover every chamber top to bottom, no matter if the occupant is a court guest. Open storage chests, look in privies, don’t leave a thing unexamined. The least sign of anything untoward, report straight to me or Faolan. Understood?” He shielded a yawn. “And stay alert,” he added.
“I DON’T KNOW what you want me to say,” protested Breda, wiping her eyes with a delicately embroidered handkerchief. “Everyone’s telling me different stories, even my own maids are saying the crudest things, and I’m terribly confused. And scared. That man, your bodyguard, my lord, he didn’t need to threaten me like that. He should know better. Anyway, he’s a Gael, too. Didn’t Eile come here with him? Hasn’t it occurred to you that he could be part of the whole thing?”
“Breda,” said Bridei with hard-won patience, “we just need you to tell the truth. This was only a day ago. You can’t have forgotten. It seems you don’t realize how serious these matters could be for you. Your status, your royal blood, those things don’t render you immune where charges of this kind are involved.”
She stared at him. “Charges? What do you mean?”
They had been in the small council chamber for some time. Cria, her halting narrative growing steadier as she realized the men believed her, had told a grim story of jealousy, resentment, and retribution, of small omissions and errors punished by severe beatings and by subtle cruelty. She had advanced a theory, long shared in secret by all the handmaids, that Breda had caused the accident at the hunt partly in a deliberate attempt to injure Cella and partly out of sheer mischief. It was well known by the girls that the princess of the Light Isles could not tolerate a day without drama. If things got too boring, Breda took action to liven them up.
Bedo had related what he’d been told about jealousy and how that might have made Eile a target. All the while, Breda had watched him under her lashes.
“You are on the verge of finding yourself held responsible for Cella’s death,” Bridei told her. “If you would not have further accusations of unlawful killing leveled at you, tell us where you went with Eile and the children yesterday morning and where you left them. And let me add, in support of Faolan, who is an old and trusted friend of mine, that I was a hair’s-breadth from taking hold of you myself and shaking the truth out of you. Now speak. The question is simple.”
“I don’t like this.” Breda’s voice was small and tight. “I don’t think I want to say anything more. It sounds as if I’m being accused of… murder.” She turned her eyes toward Keother. “You’re my cousin,” she said on a plaintive note. “You’re supposed to protect me.”
“I’m a king, as Bridei is. And yes, I am your kinsman. That allows me to do what he cannot.” Keother strode over to where she was standing, the candlelight illuminating her wan, tear-stained cheeks, her brimming blue eyes, her cascade of golden hair. He seized her by the shoulders and shook her hard. “Tell the truth!” he roared. “Tell King Bridei what you saw! I will not have innocent blood staining the hands of my family!”
Breda blanched. “We took the sweetmeats down to a… a… storage place,” she said in a whisper. “There were some locked-up chambers, old dark musty areas. The little girl said she wanted to explore. It was part of a game Eile was playing with them, having an adventure, collecting things. I said I didn’t think it looked a very suitable place to be in, especially with children, and I went back to my chamber and then up to the garden.”
Perhaps, at last, she had told plain truth. Keother sighed. “Why didn’t you say this before? Why all the lies?”
“Aniel,” Bridei said quietly, “will you send a man to convey this to Garth or Faolan immediately, please?”
“I was scared,” Breda said, her tone one of misery. “When I heard they were lost, I thought… I thought I’d be blamed. And it wasn’t my fault. I wasn’t even there. Not after that. They were fine when I left. Really.”
“My lords,” said Bedo, “may I be excused? I’ve told you all I know, and I want to join the search. I could convey the message.”
“Go,” Bridei said, “and the gods go with you. Remind Garth that within that part of White Hill there is a disused well.” His stomach was tying itself in knots. The well. The well that was behind a chained door, so secure that, almost certainly, nobody had considered it a danger. Perhaps they had not even checked it, for it lay at the far end of that long walkway below Breda’s quarters, a place the search might not have reached at all before it was diverted to the wooded hill outside the walls. Thus you take your vengeance. You give me my very own Well of Shades. He thought he could hear the bitter laughter of the Nameless God. In his mind, Derelei lay down there in the darkness, a broken doll, limbs sprawled, fragile skull smashed. “Keother,” Bridei said, “I cannot go on with this tonight. I think it’s best if Lady Breda remains here until the area close to her quarters has been searched. I would suggest her handmaids sleep in our women’s quarters from now on; Dorica will find them beds, and will provide a serving woman for your cousin. Will you excuse me?”
“Of course, my lord.”
“Bridei,” said Aniel, dispensing with formality, “you should not join the search. We must be mindful of security. I’ll have supper sent to your private quarters. And I will come myself the moment we have any news.”
Bridei managed to nod politely and leave the chamber before he began to shake. He managed to walk to his own apartments before the tears spilled from his eyes. Then, because he was not just husband and father but also a king, he did not seek out Fola or go to watch his baby daughter sleeping. Instead he knelt in the corner he had set aside for his devotions, quieted his breathing and began to pray. But tonight, for the first time in his life, no matter how deeply he searched within himself he could not summon obedience to the gods’ will.
THEY FOUND THE door before any message reached them. Brother Suibne held the flaring torch; by its shifting light Faolan examined the chain that held the portal shut. It could not be readily unfastened; the holes through which the chain passed were too narrow to admit his hand. It seemed unlikely Eile would enter such a place. It was not possible a small child could have opened this door. Yet he felt suddenly cold, as if chill fingers had gripped his heart. “Hold the torch closer,” he said. “There’s something on this chain, it’s sticky. Can you see?”
“Oil?” suggested Suibne.
But Faolan already knew what it was. He wrenched at the heavy door with some violence, trying to heave it bodily open.
“Take the torch,” said Suibne. “I may be able to get a hand through.”
“She’s in there,” Faolan muttered. “I know it. I feel it. Eile!” There was no sound save for a muted rattle as Suibne sought to maneuver his hand through the hole and unfasten the chain blind.
“Almost got it… Stay calm, Faolan. God will aid us. Ah, that’s it… Now, I need to draw it through… God help us, is this blood?”
The chain was off. Faolan thrust the torch back in Suibne’s hand and pushed open the door. And there she was, a limp form on the ground, gown rent and filthy, face corpse-pale, eyes shut, limbs sprawled. He fell to his knees beside her, forcing himself not to take her up in his arms but to put his ear to her lips, his fingers gently to her neck. In his mind was a desperate plea, to whom he did not know: Let her be alive. Let me not lose her.
“God have mercy,” murmured Brother Suibne, then stuck his head back out the door to shout, “Down here!” in the Priteni tongue. He moved back in, lifting the torch to illuminate the raised stones encircling the shadowy pit; to reveal the narrow gap at the foot of the outer wall.
For an interminable few moments, Faolan’s own heart forgot to beat. Then he felt the weak whisper of her breathing, the slow pulsing of her blood. He stripped off his tunic and laid it over her, touching his lips to her brow as his eyes filled with tears. “She’s alive,” he said, and they were the sweetest words in the world.
“Faolan.” Something in Suibne’s voice alerted him. “There’s a well.”
He made himself get up; forced himself to take a step across and look in. The torch showed the two men evidence of a cruel climb. Eile had left her blood on the crumbling wall of the pit, her clawing final effort marking the moss-crusted rim with desperate red trails. It was clear that, once she was safely up and over the edge, she had collapsed into unconsciousness before she could call for help. Suibne held the torch out to illuminate the bottom of the pit. Heart in his mouth, Faolan looked down. The well was empty.
“Merciful God,” said Suibne quietly. “I had expected the child to be there, and this a heroic attempt at rescue. What has happened here?”
“Come and look at this.” Faolan, crouched once more by Eile’s side, was examining her hands. The torchlight played on the broken nails, the abraded palms, the fingers whose flesh was raw and torn. Her soft indoor boots were ripped and holed, her feet a mass of cuts and blisters. Her knees were deeply grazed, dirt worked hard into the wounds.
“She has an injury to her temple,” Suibne said. “Look, there. Best touch her cautiously, there may be hurts we cannot see. It is a long way to fall. A perilous and terrifying climb. Here, take my cape, she’s freezing.”
“Garth!” Faolan shouted from where he knelt. “Get down here now!” And, disregarding the cleric’s good advice, he gathered Eile into his arms.
“Faolan?” Suibne’s voice was soft. “Is it possible, I wonder, that a small child might slip out through a chink such as that appears to be over there? If that were to occur, a woman would not be able to get through to bring him back before he wandered. She’d need to raise the alarm. Folk would need to go out by the gates, then around the wall to find him. The trees grow thickly on those slopes.”
“Mm,” said Faolan, holding Eile close, wondering if he could be sure her heart was beating.
“Might she slip and fall in her haste to run for assistance?”
“Not Eile. Besides…” He reached a gentle hand to touch the crusted blood on her head wound. “Suibne?”
“Yes?”
“Take that chain, coil it up, put it in your pocket or conceal it elsewhere. I don’t want anyone tampering with evidence. If that’s her blood on it, I need the truth out in the open. I need justice.”
“One might say, of course, that we are the ones who are tampering. In fact I already have the item in question secure. I admire the young lady immensely, Faolan, whether she is your wife or something else entirely. I saw her courage and sweetness on our voyage to Dalriada. I saw her devotion to her child and her trust in you. I will pray for her recovery.”
Torches; voices; running footsteps. Garth was there, and behind him the bulky form of Garvan, with Uric close by. More men followed: Wid making remarkable speed, Dovran gray-faced with dread.
“She’s here. She’s alive. No sign of Derelei. Garth, I need to get her inside quickly. She’s been hurt and she’s icy cold.”
Exclamations of concern, of shock; a warm cloak—Wid’s; Garvan offering to carry Eile. It was wrenchingly hard to give her up; Faolan did so only because he knew the brawny stone carver would get her to shelter more quickly than he could. He had already demanded more of his knee than it was fit for, and he feared it might give way on him at any moment.
“Garth,” he said quietly, “seal up this chamber for tonight, and don’t let anyone tramp about in here. It could be important.”
“Of course. We should take Eile to the women’s quarters, yes? And call for Fola.”
“I’m not letting her out of my sight,” Faolan said. “Take her to her own chamber. I will watch over her, at least until morning. If that’s considered improper, too bad. We do need Fola; will you tell Bridei what’s happened and ask him if she can come?” They began to walk up the pathway, Garvan leading with Eile in his arms, Dovran beside him with a torch.
“Garth?” Faolan murmured.
“What, friend?”
“Bring Saraid. Even if she’s asleep.”
“You are both healer and nursemaid now?”
“Please.”
“Very well. I think you need a healer yourself. I’ve never seen you shed tears in public before.”
“This merits more than tears,” Faolan said. “Derelei is still lost. We don’t know what damage has been done to Eile. I am beginning to see answers. But I won’t do anything until Eile’s hurts are salved and she is safe and warm again. And you must sleep. I promised you rest. Instead, this. It is no life for a man with a wife and children.”
HE WANTED TO stay by Eile every moment, to do everything that was needed, to watch over her constantly, to ensure he would be by her side when she regained consciousness. He wished to be there to allay her fears and soothe her hurts. He wanted to tell her what he had not dared to put into words before.
Fola, however, had other ideas, and before her formidable will and indubitable competence Faolan retreated to the smaller chamber, the one with the green blanket, biting his nails. In the chamber which had once been Ana’s, a fire was made up on the hearth and candles lit; he watched through the half-closed connecting door. More blankets were fetched. Under the wise woman’s calm instructions, men brought warm water for bathing and a supply of plain food and drink. Elda arrived bearing a basket of salves and lotions and a clean nightrobe. Then the two women shut the connecting door and Faolan was left to pace alone.
As time passed he thought he might go mad. They were taking so long; what was wrong? He imagined her slipping away from him between one breath and the next. He thought of her waking, confused and terrified. He thought of her not waking at all. He imagined the chain and the hand that had wielded it, a wicked, arbitrary hand. He was on the point of bursting through into the other chamber to say he knew not what, when there was a tap at the outer door, then Garth’s voice.
“We’re here.”
Saraid was not quite asleep. She was in her little nightrobe with a blanket around her and Sorry in her arms. “Mama?” she said in a tiny, doubtful voice.
“I told her Mama was back, but sleeping,” Garth said.
Faolan nodded, taking the child in his arms. “Thank you. You’ve spoken to Bridei?”
“I’ve told him what we know. I understand Fola has seen something, too; something suggesting Derelei is indeed outside the walls and may still be alive. You know what that means, Faolan.”
“Another day’s searching tomorrow.”
“Will you come?”
Faolan looked down at the solemn face of Saraid. He listened to the soft, capable voices of the women from the adjoining chamber. He was Bridei’s chief bodyguard; he was responsible for the king’s family. “I’ll face that choice in the morning,” he said. “I take it you’ve decided not to continue the search inside these walls tonight?”
“The king says no. He believes Fola’s vision to be accurate.”
“You’d best go to your bed, then. Thank you for everything. You’re a true friend.”
Garth nodded. “You’d do the same for me,” he said.
When Garth was gone, Faolan and Saraid sat side by side on the bed and he sang her the Sorry song. In the newest verse, Sorry was put on guard in the forest, watchful and silent, and when Faolan passed she alerted him and the brave dog Ban to peril. Thus Saraid was rescued and brought home. He spun it out, wanting the child to see her mother before she went to sleep, but they reached the end and still the door remained closed.
“Mama?” Saraid asked. “House on the hill?”
“Mama’s too tired to tell a story tonight. I will tell it. We’ll wait till Mama’s ready. We’ll do it all together.”
“Faolan?” The door opened a crack, and Fola was there. “Oh.” She glanced at Saraid. “Can I speak in front of the child?”
He was chill again. “It’s ill news?”
“Not so ill, though Eile has not yet regained full consciousness.”
“Then tell me now. May we see her?”
“Sit down, Faolan. You can go in shortly. I can’t remain with her overnight, and nor can Elda. As you’ve refused other help, I must explain to you what is required. I know you won’t listen once you’re in the other chamber. Go on, sit. That’s better.” She came in to seat herself on the storage chest. The sleeves of her gray robe were rolled to the elbow. “We’ve warmed Eile up and tended to her cuts and bruises. She seemed to respond to the bathing and the heat of the fire; she managed to swallow a few drops of water. It’s important that you keep offering her something to drink each time she comes to herself sufficiently to swallow. But not too much at once. There’s plain bread and a little broth there; you can warm the pot over the fire. It doesn’t matter if she takes that or not. Tomorrow will be soon enough for eating. But she must drink.”
“Will she—”
“Let me finish. We’ve examined her closely to see what harm has been sustained. Apart from the blow to her head, it seems there’s been some damage to the left shoulder; she didn’t like us touching it. I don’t think anything’s broken, or she couldn’t have climbed so far. She’ll lose a few fingernails.” Fola glanced at the round-eyed Saraid. “There is no sign of abuse. I can’t tell you how she sustained the wound to her temple. Perhaps in the fall. On the other hand, it could be that blow caused her to fall. There are certain markings…”
“Yes,” said Faolan. “What damage has been done by that, apart from the flesh wound?”
“I can’t tell you. There may be no long-term damage. It’s astonishing that she sustained no broken bones, Faolan.” The wise woman regarded him gravely.
“You saw the mark on her head. I believe she was rendered unconscious before she went into the well. That can reduce the damage caused by a fall. I don’t want to make the particular details of the head injury public until I’ve asked a few more questions.”
“If you’re saying what I think you’re saying,” Fola commented, eyes shrewd, “you’d best not take too long over your investigations. Tonight, you’ll need all your energies for Eile. She’ll be confused and distressed when she wakes fully. Keep her calm. Elda’s left you a salve for her hands and feet. Apply it often. And call one of us if there’s the slightest need, Faolan. I will come back in the morning.”
“We’d like to see her now.”
Fola smiled. “You’ve been patient. Don’t expect much sleep tonight.”
“Garth said you saw something. About Derelei. Can you tell me?”
“I do not generally share my visions with the world,” the wise woman said, getting up. “But I see a difficult choice for you at dawn; love in conflict with duty. I saw Derelei, yes.”
“Where? Was he safe?”
“He was walking through deep, dark woods, all alone. He made his way with utter confidence. It seems to me his mother’s theory was correct. Derelei has not been abducted. He has not run away or wandered off and become lost. At two years old, he’s gone on a mission.”
“Derry’s gone,” said Saraid, nodding sagely.
“Where did he go, Squirrel?” Faolan’s heart was in his throat, but he kept his tone light.
“Derry’s gone. Gone in the woods. All dark.”
He looked at Fola; she regarded him calmly. A decision was made, without need for words, that no more questions would be asked tonight.
“Saraid,” said Fola, “Mama’s very tired. She’s having a big sleep. You can go in and see her, but don’t wake her up. Good luck, Faolan. Don’t hesitate to ask for help if you need it. I sense that doesn’t come easily to you.”
But he had already moved to the other chamber, where Eile lay tucked up in the big bed, a slight form beneath layers of woollen blankets. The flickering fire, its light playing on woven hangings depicting trees, flowers, and creatures, gave the room a good feeling, bright, safe, cozy. Saraid climbed onto the bed and wriggled in under the covers, as close to her mother as she could get. “Mama’s home,” she said. A moment later she started to cry, a small, repressed sound that soon grew to unrestrained sobbing as she clutched on to Eile and buried her head against her mother’s breast.
Faolan did not allow himself time to think. He lay down on Eile’s other side, on top of the covers, and wrapped his arm over the two of them. “Hush, Saraid,” he whispered. “It will be all right. I promise. Everything will be all right.” A terrible weariness came over him, made up not simply of the ache in his leg, the gritty feeling in his eyes, the weight of too many sleepless nights. He sensed how small and powerless they were before the violent and arbitrary acts of destiny. It took him back to Fiddler’s Crossing and the night his whole life had changed.
Saraid’s weeping died down. He stroked her hair, and Eile’s, and felt his own tears flowing anew. After a while a little voice said, “Story now. Please.”
He drew a shuddering breath and let it go. “All right, I’ll try. You’ll need to help me. I don’t know it as well as Eile does. Once upon a time there was a girl who lived with her mother and father…”
“In a house on a hill.”
“It was a little house, just big enough for three.”
“Chickens,” said Saraid. “Cat.”
“It was just the right size for everyone. Three chickens, one black as coal, one brown as—as mud…”
“One brown as earth.”
“And one white as snow. And a cat. Fluffy, is that right?”
“Mm. Garden.”
“She… she pulled up weeds and staked up beans and in between she stared into the pond, dreaming.”
Eile stirred, making a little sound.
“I think Mama’s waking up.” He lifted his arm away, slowly so as not to startle her; he eased himself off the bed.
“More story. Papa away. Eggs.”
He watched Eile as she raised a hand to touch her temple; as her eyelids fluttered and she tried to swallow. “When her Papa came home she cooked eggs for him,” he whispered, “and put in all the good herbs she had grown in her garden; I can’t remember the names.”
“Thyme, sage, calamint,” said Saraid sleepily.
“And when she gave it to him, he said, That’s my girl. Then she knew her mama and papa loved her, and that she was the luckiest girl in the world. Eile, are you awake?”
“Faolan?” Her voice was a croak, dry and painful. “What’s happened? My head hurts. And I’m thirsty.”
He fetched water; put an arm behind her shoulders to help her sit up; held the cup while she drank. “Not too much.”
Eile looked at him over the rim of the cup, her eyes shadowy in a face that seemed that of a ghost, pallid and shrunken.
“You had a bad accident; we didn’t find you straightaway,” he said carefully. “You got very cold. We need to take things slowly.” He set the cup aside; moved away again to sit on the very edge of the bed.
“What happened? I can’t remember anything. What day is it? How long—?” She began to shiver.
“Mama fell. Down, way down.”
“Oh gods, Faolan. Was Saraid hurt?” Eile drew her daughter closer.
“She’s not hurt. She was missing for a little, but no harm’s been done. She can’t tell us what happened. Eile, you were with the two children that day, Saraid and Derelei, out and about in the grounds. Then you vanished, the three of you…” He told her what he knew, without mentioning Breda. “And we found you, just now, by the rim of the well. Look at your hands, Eile. Can’t you remember?”
She stared at her hands, slathered with salve and wrapped in bandages. Her eyes were confused.
“Mama’s hurt,” said Saraid.
Eile’s shivering became convulsive, fierce bursts racking her body.
“Lie down again. Under the blankets. Let me…”
“I’m so cold, Faolan. I don’t think I’ll ever be warm again.”
He went to lay more wood on the fire. The chamber was warmer than was entirely comfortable. When he turned, Eile was sitting up again.
“You were lying here before, weren’t you, with your arm around us?” she said. “I wasn’t so cold then. And I felt safe. Who else is here, Faolan? I thought I heard some women.”
“Fola was here, with Elda. Now it’s nighttime and it’s just the three of us.”
“Come and lie down next to us. Keep us warm.”
So he did, staying on top of the covers, and very soon Saraid was asleep, cheeks pink, one arm around her mother’s and the other around Sorry. But Eile and Faolan stayed awake. It is like the dream, he thought. The good dream, where I wake with her in my arms. But cruelly changed. What will she say when she knows the truth: that Breda tried to kill her? For he knew in his heart what had happened; instinct and the evidence matched too neatly for there to be any other explanation.
“Faolan?”
“Mm?”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For being here. For looking after me. For coming to find me. Faolan, I… You said the top of the well. I think I can remember climbing up. Did I just imagine that?”
“No, mo cridhe. You climbed to the top. It was a feat of matchless courage. But when you got there, I think your strength gave out. Don’t thank me for finding you. It was my error that brought us there so late.”
“What error? How long was I there?”
“Almost two days and a night, Eile. It’s no wonder you’re thirsty.”
He felt sudden tension run through her body. “Derelei? What about Derelei? Is he safe?”
It had to be the truth. “We don’t know. We think he’s outside the walls, but our search has found no trace of him. Fola saw a vision, and in that he was alive and well, somewhere in the forest. We’re hoping very much that it was accurate.”
Eile said nothing for a little. Then her voice came, shaky and faint. “I was looking after him. This is my fault. Why can’t I remember? A well. Why would I go anywhere near a well with the two of them?”
Faolan’s lips were against her hair; his arm lay loosely across her, careful not to jar her injured shoulder. Quietly, he told her about Tuala’s search, and the arrangements that had been made to keep it secret.
“I can’t remember anything,” she whispered. “Except… I think my father was there. Down in that place. I just wanted to lie there. Everything hurt. He said, Fight. He wouldn’t let me give in.”
“So you climbed up.”
“I suppose I did. My hands are a mess, aren’t they? Why does my head hurt so much, Faolan?”
“You’ve got a lot of cuts and bruises. You’re lucky you didn’t break anything.” He got up, moving to the hearth. “Do you want some soup?”
She shook her head, wincing with pain. “I don’t want anything. I feel sick. I should have kept him safe. They trusted me and now he’s lost. He’s only little—”
“Shh, Eile. We’ll talk about this in the morning. Lie down now.”
“Faolan?”
“Mm?” He was banking up the fire; he must not let her get cold.
“You look exhausted.”
“I’m fine. I don’t need much sleep.”
“Rubbish. Leave that, come and lie down.”
“I can sleep on the floor.”
“I need you here, next to me. Please.”
There was no chance at all, in his current state of exhaustion, that desire would create any kind of difficulty before morning. All the same, the only items of clothing he removed were his boots. When he was lying down, Eile shifted so her head was on his shoulder. She curled against him. The fire set a rosy glow on the tapestry at the foot of the bed, a piece of Ana’s making, an image of a plum tree in full spring bloom with a family of ducks foraging beneath.
Faolan held Eile closer; his fingers twined in her hair.
“I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep,” she said. “I can’t get it out of my mind, Derelei all alone out there. It’s so cold at night.”
“Tuala may already have found him.”
“But—”
“Do I need to sing a song and tell a story to get you to sleep?” he asked her.
“You can if you want,” she said, and there was a smile in her voice.
There was a silence. “I’m worried that I’ll fall asleep halfway through. And there’s a thing I have to tell you. I—”
“Shh. Not now.”
“A story, then. Once upon a time there was a man who had lost his way. When he was young he’d had a blow, and for a long while, years and years, he’d been following wrong paths, and all that time the world had been rushing by him, and he’d never bothered to stop and do little things. Hugging a child. Sitting quietly with a friend, talking. Singing songs. He’d gone so far down a track to nowhere, he hardly knew who he was anymore, and although he was not yet thirty, he was told he looked old.”
“I never said that.”
“Not in so many words, maybe, but it was what you meant. Anyway, to cut things short, he met someone—two someones—who suddenly made his life very complicated. They were always doing things that surprised him. Sometimes they scared him. Sometimes they brought tears to his eyes, tears he could not shed, because he had forgotten how. It became impossible to lead the life he had before. They were a nuisance and a hindrance and they made it necessary to throw away his carefully devised rules, the rules that held him safe, the ones that stopped him from feeling. He tried to let the two of them go, thinking they’d be better off without him; thinking it would be easier for him without them. Then he felt something odd, as if a part of him long closed had at last been exposed, raw and painful beyond belief. He thought maybe that was the sensation of his heart breaking.”
She said nothing. He wondered if the story had worked all too well; perhaps she had fallen asleep.
“Remarkably, he got another chance. She gave him that; she was wiser than he was. This time he determined to tell her how he felt; how she had opened him up and let light into his life. But she kept saying, shh, no, not yet, and he held his tongue. Until the time he nearly lost her again. Then he told her, even though she tried to stop him, because he knew that if anything happened and he hadn’t said it, he could never forgive himself.”
A silence. Then she murmured, “I suppose you’d better say it, then.”
“I love you,” he whispered. “I’ll take as much or as little as you’re prepared to give me. I’ll give you and Saraid everything that’s in me.”
The fire flickered; the birds on the tapestry moved in the draft; the silence lengthened. At last Eile’s voice came, hesitant and sweet: “That was the best story I ever heard, Faolan. Will you sing the song now?”
He did not tell her where and when he had last sung this lullaby. He did not speak of Deord lying in Briar Wood with his head on Faolan’s shoulder as his eyes grew slowly more tranquil and his face paler, and his lifeblood drained into the dark soil of the forest floor. But he sang it for the three of them, father, daughter, granddaughter; a trio of souls whose courage was a beacon, lighting the way forward. The melody wafted around the sleeping form of Saraid and wove its way across Eile’s body lying against his as if it belonged there. It moved out through the fire-lit chamber where maybe, just maybe, Deord, too, could hear it. By the time Faolan got to the last lines his own lids were drooping, and a sweet warmth was stealing through his aching body. “Rest tired limbs and weary eyes,” he murmured, “and to a bright new day arise.” And, holding her close, he slept.
UNDER THE SPREADING canopy of an ancient oak, in a hollow partway up a wooded slope some miles from White Hill, the druid sat cross-legged on the ground. He felt the heartbeat of Bone Mother in the earth that supported him; he smelled the myriad scents in the air, the tiny, subtle differences he had learned to recognize over the long years of his training. The sounds of the woodland were a wild, soft music, balm to the ears, telling a wisdom deep beyond human knowing, old and unchangeable. I endure. I am strong.
His eyes were closed, his back straight, his hands loose against the tattered garment that covered his nakedness. Soon he would slow his breathing, clear his mind, enter deep meditation. As he had come closer to his destination, he had heard the goddess bid him slacken his pace and take time for reflection, for a task awaited him that would tax his newfound strength hard. Daily he had sat thus awhile, fixing his mind on the gods and on obedience.
Often, in the visions his trance brought him, he would see a figure climbing the hill, feet soft on the forest path, face dappled with sun as the Flamekeeper’s light sought to penetrate down between the leaves. Sometimes it was Bridei, a strong, square-shouldered man in his prime with steadfast blue eyes and curling hair the color of ripe chestnuts. Sometimes it was Tuala, his daughter, a slight, graceful girl whose form seemed both ethereal and strong, both eldritch and dearly familiar, with her snow-pale skin, her cloud of dark hair, and her deep, knowing eyes. And sometimes, as today, it was the child: Derelei, his little student, his frail, precious infant mage. Broichan’s vision showed him the tiny figure clad in nothing warmer than shirt and trousers, his feet in indoor boots that were fraying and mud-coated. The child’s face was grubby, too. Beneath the grime of his journey, the soft mouth was set in iron-strong determination. The large eyes gazed straight ahead.
Ten paces away, Derelei halted, looking up the hill. At that moment the druid realized that this time it was not vision, but reality. It was indeed his dear one who stood there on the track between the trees, his light, odd eyes lifted, unwavering, to examine the seated figure of the druid. Broichan held his breath.
“Bawta!” exclaimed Derelei and, opening wide his arms, ran forward, his small face illuminated with joy. Broichan’s heart performed a somersault. Tears flooded his eyes. He rose to his knees, spreading his own arms, and caught his grandson in a strong embrace.
“Derelei,” he murmured against the child’s hair. “Have you come all this way to find me?” Even as he spoke, he knew it was so. There was no need to consider how such a journey had been made; the fragility of the infant, the long distance and rough terrain, the fickle nature of the weather and the threats attending the path. With this particular child, such considerations had no relevance. Broichan held the boy close, feeling Derelei’s arms tight around his neck, and knew this for a moment of deepest change. He was made whole at last, and now he would go home.
After a little he opened his eyes and observed that, after all, the child had not made his journey quite alone. Sitting neatly at a slight distance, using a paw to wash behind its right ear, was a small gray cat with a tail like a brush. It looked vaguely familiar.
A druid did not leap to conclusions. He did not ask questions unless absolutely necessary. Life was a series of puzzles. A druid’s skill lay in choosing from a range of solutions, each of which might be correct in one way or another. Broichan studied the creature. When the cat had completed washing to its satisfaction, it fixed its large, fey eyes on him in solemn examination. The druid smiled.
“Welcome, daughter,” he said, and the cat was gone. In its place stood the queen of Fortriu, regarding him with something of the same calm scrutiny.
“Father,” said Tuala. “We’ve missed you. You’re needed at home.”
Not a word about his sudden departure. Not a sign that she was shocked or alarmed at the change in his physical appearance. Her cool self-discipline was the twin of his own demeanor as it had once been, hard-learned, hard-practiced, a shield and defense.
“Then we should go,” he said, and heard his voice tremble like a leaf in autumn. He stood with Derelei in his arms and found that he was weeping.
“You may be the king’s druid,” said Tuala, “and I a queen, but I think we can allow ourselves to forget that for a little. There’s no one to see us out here.”
She moved across to him and Broichan saw that, although her gait was as neat and smooth as that of the creature whose form she had assumed for her journey, the hand she stretched out toward him was not quite steady. There was a shadow of uncertainty in her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Broichan said, shifting Derelei to his hip and wrapping his arm around his daughter. “Tuala, I’m so sorry.”
“Shh.” Tuala hugged him, and he saw the tears glinting in her eyes. “That’s all past. What have you been eating, grass? I can feel every one of your ribs.”
“Tuala—your child—is all well—?”
“A fine daughter. We named her Anfreda.”
He felt another wide, uncontrollable grin spreading across his face; it was an odd sensation. In the days of before, he had not been a man who smiled. “Anfreda. That pleases me. You’ll be needing to get home to her. Quickly. Perhaps we should—?”
“Derelei is too little for a transformation. No doubt he could do it, but we shouldn’t allow that. He lacks control. I can carry him.”
“I will carry him, Tuala.”
She did not question his fitness. “Very well. And as we go I will give you the news from White Hill. Much has occurred in your absence. We needed you. We still do. I hope you will stay this time.”
“If I am needed, I will stay,” he said. “It seems to me you have taken a great risk for me.” He knew how much she feared making her Otherworldly powers public knowledge.
“For my father, yes. And for my son. When we are nearly home I will use that other form again.”
“I remember the little cat Fola gave you when you were a child. Mist, wasn’t it?”
“I loved her dearly. A true friend in lonely times. I don’t think she would be offended to know I copied her form. Remembering her so well made the transformation easier.”
“It’s a rare gift,” said Broichan. “I hope, in time, you will show me more. I think we could learn from each other.”
“YOU SHOULD GO,” Eile said. “I know that’s what you would be doing if it weren’t for us. Saraid and I will be perfectly safe here. We can spend the day with Elda or up in the garden with Dovran to guard us, if you’re really concerned. Derelei’s at terrible risk. The king needs you.” She scrutinized Faolan where he crouched by the hearth, remaking the fire so she and Saraid could dress in warmth. Already he had fetched them breakfast while Garth hovered in the hallway and, to oblige him, Eile had made herself swallow a few mouthfuls. She still felt odd; there were aches and pains everywhere and a curious dizziness when she tried to stand up. But she would not admit this to Faolan. The men were even now assembling out in the yard, ready for another day’s search. She knew that if she held him back, guilt would torment him all day.
“Of course,” she added, “if your leg’s not up to it…” She would not say how badly she wanted him to stay. It had been sweet indeed to wake in his arms and realize she was not afraid. The anticipation of a wondrous change in herself had stirred her to the core.
“I’m not leaving you on your own. You must stay where you can be adequately guarded. We still don’t know what happened to you. It’s possible your fall wasn’t an accident.”
“I know what you think. It sounds… crazy.”
“Eile, I’m deadly serious. If I’m not here, the best place for you is the royal apartments. Fola is there, and at least two other women, and Dovran will be on guard during the day. I’ll carry you up there before I leave. You mustn’t try to walk about. You need complete rest. I want you to stay with Fola until I get back.”
Seeing his tight jaw and his pallor, Eile bit back a remark about giving orders. “All right,” she said. “I suppose you do know about these things. Maybe I could help Fola with the baby.”
“You must rest, Eile. Don’t try to do anything. You can’t expect to be instantly well again; you need time to recover.”
“If that’s what you think. Resting is something I’m not very good at. Faolan, I hope you find Derelei. That’s the most terrifying thing, not knowing if your child is lost or found, dead or alive.”
Faolan nodded, then bent to pick her up in his arms.
“Faolan?”
“Yes?”
“Before we go up there, I want to tell you… What you said last night… those things… They were good to hear. Very good.”
He said nothing; his eyes spoke for him, making her catch her breath.
“And… waking up this morning with you there, your arms around me, that was good, too. Surprising, but good. I wanted you to know that before you left.”
Faolan smiled. It was like watching a ray of sunlight break forth in a dark place. “Thank you,” he said.
FOLA SEEMED UNPERTURBED to find herself overseeing Eile and Saraid as well as the queen’s baby daughter and her wet nurse. She made Eile lie down on a pallet, refusing to take no for an answer. Anfreda’s trusted nursemaid tried to take Saraid out to play in the garden, but the child stood firm, refusing to leave her mother’s sight.
“Maybe it’s best,” Fola said. “Until Faolan gets to the bottom of what happened to you, he’s wise to suggest the two of you remain within safe walls.”
“I think he believes someone did it on purpose,” Eile said, glancing at Saraid, who was on the mat playing with Derelei’s wooden animals. She would not use the words hurt, injure, kill in her daughter’s hearing. “I think he’s hoping I’ll remember without prompting, so he can prove his theory. Or that Saraid will say something. But why would anyone want to do that to me? I’m nobody.”
“Can’t you remember anything?” Fola asked.
“Not between earlier in the day and waking up in that place. Faolan said there was a narrow opening to the outside; that the children might have got out there. But why would I take them to a well? That’s so foolish, when they’re little and curious. What must people think?”
“I suggest you ignore what they think, Eile. Those of us who know you at all well would never believe you capable of negligence where children are concerned.”
“So folk do think it’s my fault that Derelei is lost. Oh, gods…”
“There’s talk. So I’m told. At such times of crisis folk tend to gossip. Bridei trusts you. You should be reassured by that.”
“Gossip, what gossip? What exactly are they saying?” Eile sat up on the pallet, trying to disregard the way her head reeled.
Fola was at the table, grinding something efficiently with a small mortar and pestle. A pungent odor filled the chamber. The wise woman turned shrewd dark eyes on Eile, but said nothing.
A sudden suspicion came to Eile. “Did Faolan ask you not to tell me?”
Fola smiled. “You know each other pretty well, don’t you?”
“Tell me, please. I need the truth, woman to woman. What is it people are saying about me?”
“I heard a theory,” said Fola with some reluctance, “that you’d been placed here for the purpose of kidnapping Derelei. That you were a spy, a very clever one who won the queen’s trust with astonishing speed. In some people’s eyes, that makes Faolan guilty, too, guilty by association. Bridei stood up at supper last night and ordered the entire household to stop spreading such tales. He was right; the whole idea is sheer nonsense.”
Eile’s stomach tightened with a feeling that was part misgiving, part fury. How dare folk turn on Faolan, who had been with the king since Bridei first came to the throne? “But they know Faolan,” she said. “They must know how loyal he is; how stupid it is to suggest he could be a traitor.”
Fola had finished pounding her dried berries to powder. Now she transferred the result from the mortar into a tiny stone jar. “Faolan is a particular kind of man,” she said. “He may have been at court for years, but few folk really know him. He’s ever been less than open to friendships. He’s been guarded about his past. He is by no means universally liked, Eile. And he’s a Gael who, by choice, has attached himself to a Priteni king. That in itself must arouse suspicion. Those few who do understand the man at all well know he is flawlessly loyal to Bridei even when out there playing some contrary role, as his work often requires him to do. But ordinary folk may well look at him, and look at you and what has happened to you, and leap to an unpalatable conclusion.”
Eile made herself speak, though she feared her voice would betray too much. This hurt far more than the gash she bore on her head. “But nobody knows what happened to me,” she said. “If I fell or was pushed; if I was stupid enough to take the children into that place of danger. Whether I sent them outside the wall; whether someone took Derelei with or without my approval. There were no witnesses except Saraid, and she won’t talk about it even to me. If I can’t remember, how can I defend myself? How can I defend Faolan? He’s been the best friend I ever had and all I’ve brought him is trouble.”
“Lie down, Eile. You’ve been through an ordeal. It’s essential that you rest. That’s a severe head wound, not to speak of the chill you sustained. Take my advice and set these rumors aside. Don’t let them bother you. In time the truth will come out.” She corked the little bottle and set it on a shelf. “I hear that baby stirring. I’ll ask Tresna to bring her out here to be fed; we could do with a distraction.”
Obediently, Eile lay down and closed her eyes. She listened to the sounds of the two women changing Anfreda’s wrappings; of Tresna feeding her while her own baby kicked on the mat, cooing happily. She listened to Saraid singing to Tresna’s infant and examining its tiny fingers and toes. All the time the feeling in her belly, a cold stone of uncertainty, grew heavier and the images in her head grew darker. How could she set this burden on Faolan, who had been so good to her? It wouldn’t just be today. If she stayed with him, if she let him take responsibility for her, it would be one thing after another. She was trouble; he’d more or less said so, even as he’d spoken his sweet words of love. She would create problem after problem for him without even trying. Besides, tied down by her and Saraid, how could he continue with the special duties he performed for the king, the duties he excelled at, the secret ones nobody else could carry out? He’d never be home. She’d constantly be worrying about him, out there in danger. They’d both be unhappy. Common sense suggested she should walk away; leave White Hill and let him get on with his life. She pictured him coming back and finding her and Saraid gone; his voice sounded in her heart, saying, I’ll give you and Saraid everything that’s in me. “No running away,” she murmured to herself. “Not anymore.”
The day wore on. In the early afternoon, when it became apparent both Eile and Saraid were chafing at the restriction of staying indoors, Fola allowed them to go out and sit in the queen’s private garden. With Dovran on guard it was deemed safe.
“But don’t venture any farther,” the wise woman warned. “I’m under orders to keep you more or less in sight. If you need anything we’ll send someone to fetch it. And don’t talk to anyone except Dovran.”
Out by the long pond, Eile watched Saraid running along the path, then stopping to show Sorry something she had found. Her daughter’s hair was glossy, her skin rosy; she looked neat and pretty in her gray gown with a little embroidered cape over it, a gift from Elda.
Dovran hovered close by; he seemed keen to talk. “How are you feeling? You looked so limp and white last night. And your head… That’s a nasty injury.”
“I’m well enough. Don’t waste your time worrying about me.”
“I do worry,” Dovran said, the words rushing out. “I care about you. If I could—”
“Dovran,” said Eile, “tell me what folk are saying about what happened to me. What stories are they telling?”
“It might be better if you disregard that.” Dovran stood leaning on his spear, brown eyes troubled in his handsome, open face. “Folk talk a lot of rubbish.”
“I want to know. I expect my friends to be honest with me.”
“Can you really not remember what happened?”
“Nothing. What have you heard?”
“The talk should have died down now you’ve been found; now it’s clear you were trapped in that place and too weak to call for help. But I heard the men talking this morning; I rearranged one fellow’s face for him.” Dovran eyed his right fist. “He was suggesting you didn’t fall down the well at all, just waited there to give your accomplice time to get away undetected with the child. That it was an elaborate cover for a kidnapping. He hadn’t seen your hands, or your head. You should be resting, Eile.”
Eile folded her arms tightly, pushing her bandaged hands out of sight. “What about Faolan? Did anyone say anything about Faolan?”
Dovran gave a grim smile. “Faolan’s more than capable of looking after himself. A person would be a prize fool to get on his wrong side.” Then, at her look, he added, “There’s been a rumor or two. A Gael at the court of Fortriu, a regular traveler; it’s inevitable. How did you two meet?”
He saved me from the worst place in the world. He came for me: a wondrous friend in the guise of an unprepossessing stranger. “On the road,” Eile said.
“You sound sad. Eile, you know how I feel about you. I want you to be safe; I want to help—”
“You’ve been kind to me,” Eile said. “I value your friendship, Dovran.” She saw in his face that he had understood the unspoken message, but we will never be more than friends. She could not find any words to make him feel better. He was a nice man; he would meet someone else soon enough.
Saraid was sitting by the pond, refastening a ribbon around Sorry’s head. It was an unusual color, a delicate lavender. Someone must have given it to Saraid; it was new. Eile felt an odd sensation, a prickling at the back of her neck, somewhere between memory and premonition. “Saraid?” she called. “Who gave Sorry the ribbon? Was it Elda?”
Saraid shook her head, small face solemn.
“Lady.”
“What lady, Saraid? Ferada? Red-haired lady?”
But Saraid was hugging the doll tightly now and had closed in on herself; her pose told Eile there would be no more said on this subject today. Her stance reminded Eile, uncomfortably, of the old days at Cloud Hill, Saraid sitting hunched and silent on the front step while, in the hut, things happened that were no fit sight for a child. “You’d best be off, I suppose,” she told Dovran.
“I can watch the garden and talk to you at the same time.”
“We should be going in.”
“Oh. Very well, then. I don’t suppose I will see you at supper tonight.”
“No, I don’t imagine I will be there. Farewell, Dovran.”
“Farewell, Eile. Bye, Saraid.”
“Bye.” It was wistful. Nobody had offered games today.