ONE GOOD DEED

Ada

Finvara did not come again. My only visitors were servants who brought my meals. When they entered the chamber, I could see guards outside my door, and it seemed an unnecessary precaution. Did the king fear that Edward might change his mind? Might he? No, I realized, it was Diarmuid he feared. My only hope for escape lay in a circumstance I had dreaded up to now: that the earl might be overcome by his ancestor.

The king cannot keep you in Faery indefinitely, Cliona said. Else you would waste away.

Which meant that eventually I’d have a chance. But would it come before the battle?

As I paced between window and chamber door—the activity that occupied most of my time now—I could not help wondering about what had transpired between Cliona and Finvara in the past. He clearly believed he had a claim to her. Had he reason for that? Cliona had implied she’d chosen between them. I thought about how I’d watched him, admiring his comeliness, and how I’d permitted him to kiss me. Had it all been glamour?

I have long known Finvara, Cliona replied to my train of thought. Longer even than I’ve known Diarmuid.

I halted in my pacing. “Have you?”

He visited me in my childhood and even into my maidenhood. Like my mother, I could always see the gentlefolk.

“You were a fairy seer.” Cliona had, of course, been born before Diarmuid’s seal exiled the fairies. But fairy folk had a reputation for shying away from mortals.

He proposed to carry me off, many times. And I had been tempted, handsome and honey-tongued as he was. But my mother had warned me against him, and I would not go. When I married, my husband put a stop to my wandering, and I thought I would never see King Finvara again. But he sent a servant from his own house, and it was she who arranged for the coracle, and the horse that carried me away from my husband’s hall.

“The king helped you escape your husband!”

He did, though it did not end in the way I expected. It is often the case when one accepts gifts or favors from fairies.

“He caused your death?” I said, aghast.

Not in the way that you mean. There are forces more powerful than Finvara. It is myself I blame. I have ever been fond of the fairy king.

This information shined a very bright light on the hostility between the two men at Brú na Bóinne. “But you chose Diarmuid.”

I chose Diarmuid, yes. I should be by his side now, and he would wish me to be so. He will come for us.

I had no doubt about that. But how long would we be confined here? If I had to stay in this tower, waiting and wondering, my very sanity would be in peril.

“There must be a way,” I muttered.

With some difficulty, I unlaced and cast aside the plum gown and again donned the armored dress, which Finvara’s servants had cleaned and returned to my chamber.

“The banshees!” I suddenly recalled, rushing to the window. “Mightn’t we call them?”

I called them when first Finvara began weaving his spell. And they did try to warn you, but it was already too late. The fairy king’s enchantments are old magic—very powerful. Neither I nor the banshees can counter them.

Sighing, I moved to the bed and sank down. I tried to recall everything I’d read about charms against fairies, and fairy enchantments. But in all the stories and accounts, I’d never read of anyone returning from Faery without being either released by the fairies or aided by someone on the outside. Abduction enchantments were strong, especially when sealed by food or drink.

There were a few things I might try—turning my clothes inside out, making the sign of the cross—but I could not know whether these charms had worked without again trying to escape, which was obviously risky. I had my doubts Finvara’s spell would be so easily defeated.

Again I paced, staring first into the fire and then out at the forest, exhausting myself by fretting. I had been at this some time when I heard a noise near the door. I turned, expecting a servant, only to find Billy Millstone standing in my chamber.

“How do you come to be here?” I demanded, taking a step backward. I glanced around the chamber for my spear, though I’d already made a thorough search for it earlier.

“Shush, lady,” he hissed. “Billy’s after helpin’ thee.”

I frowned, momentarily hung up by his odd dialect. “Helping me?”

“Ach, aye,” he said, gesturing. “Make haste now.”

I stared at him, wary. “Why would you help me?”

The redcap grumbled with impatience. “’Twas thanks to thee that oul Billy was spared.”

“Spared from what?”

“‘I’d flay thee alive, Billy,’ says the king, ‘if not for the lady askin’ me to show mercy. Count yerself lucky.’ And so I do, lady. And grateful too.”

My gaze flitted from him to the door. How had he bypassed the guards?

“How are we to get out?” I asked, afraid to hope.

“Sure it’s the same way thou camest in!” he replied, as though I’d asked something foolish.

“But the enchantment …”

The enchantment has opened a door to the Gap, explained Cliona. Billy has used it to come to you, and he can use it to get you out.

Mightn’t this be a trap? I wondered.

She was silent a moment. The alternative is to remain here.

“Are we after waitin’ here to be caught?” demanded the redcap.

“I’m coming!”

He turned for the door before I reached him, and as he stepped toward it, I took hold of his jerkin. I braced myself for the spinning sensation, and it came. But a moment later I stood on the deck of his tugboat.

“Heavens!” I cried in surprise and relief. I stared at Billy in wonder. “I am in your debt, sir.”

He muttered something unintelligible and made for the wheelhouse. I followed.

“How did you know I was Finvara’s prisoner?” I asked. “How did you manage to get free of your captors?” Billy took hold of the navigator, and I said, “Where are we going?”

He made an exasperated noise and whined, “Just be still a moment, lady, or Billy will get addled.”

I stood fidgeting, waiting for him to finish. Dare I trust him?

Have we a choice?

We had, and we’d made it—whether for good or ill would soon enough be revealed.

“Where are we going, Billy?” I repeated when he’d concluded his fiddling with the device.

“The Faery library,” he replied. “There is somethin’ thou wilt wish to see, havin’ to do with Diarmuid’s curse.” He stuck out his chin and continued staring out the wheelhouse window.

I frowned. “Can you not simply tell me?”

The redcap turned then and met my gaze. “Billy swore an oath, as the Danaan warrior told thee. Some things he mayn’t say. Not without invitin’ a fate worse than death.”

Billy shuddered, and he continued staring at me strangely. I got the sense he wished me to understand something he had left unsaid. Could it be that he truly wished to help me but was prevented from doing so directly by his blood oath to Balor? Could it be that some book in the library would explain how Diarmuid’s seal was to be broken? I didn’t like the delay in joining the others, but this detour could prove valuable. When I left Edward at Brú na Bóinne, he had not yet come to understand how or when he was to break the seal.

“All right, Billy,” I said. “Let us go there.”

Billy returned to his navigation, and I said, “What of my other questions, Billy? How did you know I needed rescuing?”

“Billy knew he’d lock thee away,” he replied. “It’s in the king’s nature. As for how Billy got free—they’ve almost all of ’em left the castle. Pocketed Billy in the dungeon, did they—leavin’ in such a rush as not to be mindful a redcap can pick a lock like no other folk. And the wee rat-faces they left to mind Billy?” He sniffed in the air, flicking his thumb and finger as if at an insect. “Meh!”

“Well, again I thank you,” I said. His story held enough water to let me breathe easier for now. It was true I had asked the king to show mercy. And heaven knew I was happy to be out of that tower.

I left Billy to his navigation, but after a moment, he said, “Why, lady?”

“Why what, Billy?”

“Why ask the king to show oul Billy mercy? After them praties, an’ all?”

I frowned, considering. It was a question I’d asked myself without receiving a satisfactory answer.

“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “I suppose it seemed to me you had your own troubles that caused you to make the decision you did, and not all of them were of your own making. The same may be said of us all.”

“Hmph,” he grunted, scratching the rough stubble on his chin.

Both Billy and I fell to musing. I wondered why the library, but perhaps it was an obvious choice. Isolde had found information there about her family tree and the alternate histories. And I had planned to visit there myself before agreeing to go with Finvara to Gallagh.

I have seen it, offered Cliona.

Have you? I prompted. When first I learned of my connection to the Danaan woman, I had striven, I realized now, to preserve some distance between us out of fear of what was happening to the earl. Either she had respected this or she, too, had preferred to preserve a separation. But as our peril increased, I knew that I would need her—I certainly could not expect to survive the battle without her aid—and I began to feel it was important to understand her better.

My husband was a hard man, said she, and I could feel the mournful flavor of her words. My mother had taught me to read some Latin, and I wanted to continue my studies, as well as to read the books and documents my husband possessed. Especially during the time of my confinement with our daughter. But I was not permitted. He was God-fearing, and he believed that his neighbors would think me a witch. When I came to Brú na Bóinne, Diarmuid continued my education, and he introduced me to the library so I could read the history of my new people. It was there I found the histories of Ireland and learned that my child’s children could be lost.

Since the night I danced with Queen Isolde, one thing that had puzzled me was the idea of the Danaan warrior poring over history books. It hardly seemed in his nature. Now I understood.

So you went to Diarmuid with this information, I said.

I cried over my daughter. I railed at him for making it impossible for us to be joined again in death. I told him the least he could do was save my mortal descendants. He had perhaps been selfish in some ways, but had I not also been, in trying to take my child from her father? Diarmuid deserved better from me. But he did what I asked, and it affected us all. It is no great wonder Billy hates us.

It was impossible not to be moved by this tale of woe. I cannot fault you, I told her, and you should not fault yourself, for trying to make a better life for your child, or for your grief over your permanent separation from her. I am deeply sorry. I believe I can imagine what that might be like.

Heaven knew I thought about my own mother every day.

Someday, you will have your own child to worry over, Dana willing, she said. But I have been blessed to find you, and there are others—distant relations you know naught of. I have Diarmuid to thank for this.

Why the connection between us, lady? I couldn’t help but ask. The answer Finvara had given to this question had been illuminating. Why not an Irishwoman?

You are in part an Irishwoman, and you are the only one who bears my family legacy, the mark of Faery.

I suppose that we also have scholarship in common.

We had something else in common, but I could not quite bring myself to question her on that point. I had to believe that some choices had been entirely my own.

I glanced up at the helm then, wondering how long it would take us to reach the Faery library, which I understood to be superimposed, dimensionally speaking, on the library at Trinity College.

I noticed we were approaching a larger ship—a Gap galleon. I thought at first it was the Queen of Connacht, but then I glimpsed the baleful eyes of its figurehead.

“Billy!” I cried, starting to my feet. “That’s a Fomorian ship!”

“Ach, aye,” he muttered grimly.