A Dance with Fate

by Juliet Marillier

  My mixture is complete and safely stowed in a drawstring bag; I’ve made enough for several days, in case Dau’s headaches continue. Brother Martán is putting things away on the shelves. It would be all too easy for an unscrupulous person to misuse these materials, meticulous records or not. I have to speak up, even if it gets me in trouble.

  “Finished for the morning, Mistress Liobhan?”

  “I am, thank you. But there’s something I must tell you.” I explain what I saw, and that I made sure the jar of dried devil’s-foot was securely stoppered and the shavings cleaned off the knife. “I used an old rag; you’ll find that and the residue in there.” I motion to the basket where debris is dropped before it’s consigned to the fire at the end of the day. I don’t want him thinking I’m covering for an error of my own. Because he’s looking very serious now, I add, “If you want to check what I’m taking with me against what I wrote in the book, please do.”

  “I’d best do so, I suppose.” Brother Martán opens the little bag I pass to him, sniffs at the mixture, then closes the string and gives the bag back. “Thank you. Your vigilance is appreciated. If you notice anything of the kind again, please let us know straightaway. Just a careless error, I expect. But troubling.”

  Troubling, I think, because you know none of your trusted brethren would make such a glaring mistake. So who’s been using devil’s-foot?

  30

  DAU

  Dau?”

  I swim up through mists of sleep. Someone’s shaking me by the shoulder.

  “Dau, there are visitors at the door. Master Cormac and his sister.”

  Sitting up feels like shifting a block of stone. My head is dizzy, my limbs are leaden, all I want to do is lie down again and shut out the world. But Corb is urgent. “They have something for you. I couldn’t just send them away.”

  Cormac. I remember what I’m supposed to be doing, why it’s important to talk to him. Cormac and his sister. Gods. Maybe Liobhan can take Sárnait off somewhere while I . . .

  “Where’s Liobhan?”

  “Not back from the stillroom. Here, let me comb your hair. That’s better.”

  I look a wreck, no doubt. A ruin of the boy they once knew. Not that Sárnait will remember me, but Cormac will. I was never sure how much he understood, back then. “Let them in, Corb. We shouldn’t keep them waiting.”

  “Dau!” Cormac’s voice is a man’s now; we are of an age. He speaks with what sounds like genuine warmth, and no trace of shock. “Welcome home! Do you remember my sister, Sárnait?”

  “I imagine you’ve both changed somewhat,” I manage. “I wish I could see you. You find me less than perfectly prepared for visitors—I had to take a sleeping draft earlier and my head is not as clear as it might be. I’m happy to make your acquaintance again. Old friends and good ones. I hope you’ve been well accommodated.” There’s something in the room that troubles me. Something I can’t identify, a smell, some small sound, something . . . And none of them is speaking now, not even Corb.

  “Corb, will you go and fetch us some refreshments, please? Just something light.” How long did I sleep? Not long, surely, or Liobhan would be back.

  “Yes, Master Dau.” Corb is being a servant. “And something for the . . . ?”

  “A bowl for water,” Sárnait says. “She doesn’t need food. Not until later.”

  All of a sudden I’m very still. The faint smell, the little sound, the slight difference in the room . . . And now, before I can utter so much as a word, someone is putting a living, breathing creature into my arms and I have no choice but to take it. A warm, wet tongue licks my cheek. The small body wriggles a bit, then settles against my chest. A dog. They’ve brought me a dog.

  “You remember Father’s bitch, Fleet? This pup is from Fleet’s daughter’s last litter. She only had two. Sárnait’s keeping the boy, and we thought you’d like this girl.” Cormac’s tone softens. “We haven’t named her; that’s for you to do. You must have been sad to lose Snow. I know how much you loved her.”

  You are a Swan Island warrior. You will not weep. You will not be sick. You will not order these kind people out of your chamber and you will not tell them rudely that you cannot have a dog, you will never have a dog, you can’t be trusted with a dog. You will find a solution. You will make the impossible happen. “This is . . . very thoughtful of you,” I say, working hard to keep the tremor out of my voice. The creature on my knee is quite small. If she’s old enough now to leave her mother, I don’t think she’ll ever be a massive animal. Her muzzle is delicate, pointed; her ears flop down, but that will likely change as she grows. Fleet held her ears high. The puppy’s tail is thumping against my knee. A dog. A hostage to fortune. A treasure I cannot afford to have. She leans against my heart, warm, alive, perfect. “What name did you choose for your dog, Sárnait?”

  “I’m waiting to ask Seanan what he would like.”

  This cannot happen. This is not going to happen. “Fleet’s granddaughter,” I say. “A good line. Is this dog all white?”

  “She has a dark patch over the left eye,” says Cormac, “and another on the lower back, near the tail. Otherwise pure white. The sire was an excellent hunting dog, compact and wiry. She’ll be easy to train. And strong.”

  He cannot have heard the manner of Snow’s death. I want to ask if he knows why I ran away from home all those years ago. But I can’t; not in front of Sárnait. Gods, if only I hadn’t taken that draft. I can’t think clearly. Of course they’re assuming I will go on living here and Sárnait will marry my brother and this little dog and her own brother will run around together all day and be happy. Hah!

  I manage to chat about inconsequential things until Corb comes back. No sign of Liobhan. What is she doing? I avoid saying anything about Seanan, even though it’s plain Sárnait wants to ask me about him. I set the dog down on the floor for a bit and hear her exploring in all corners. I ask Corb, more than once, to make sure she can’t get out. If my tone sounds rather fierce, too bad. She may not be mine for long, but while I have her I will keep her from all harm if it kills me. A plan starts to form in my mind. Too risky? I hope not.

  I snatch an opportunity to speak to Cormac alone as my guests are leaving. The little dog is feasting on a piece of cheese someone has dropped under the table. While Sárnait is coaxing her out I draw him aside in the anteroom.

  “I need to talk to you sometime. Not here. Somewhere on our own.”

  “Of course, Dau, if you wish. We’re going out riding soon, with your brother. Tomorrow morning?”

  “Thank you. It’s important, Cormac. And . . . please don’t tell anyone. Not anyone.”

  I can’t see his face. He may well be thinking I’ve gone a little crazy as well as blind. But he sounds calm as he says, “I’ll be discreet. The stables perhaps? I might take you over to admire my new mare; she’s a fine girl with a beautiful temperament. A gray.”

  “I’d like that, Cormac. And then a walk, away from listening ears.”

  “I’ll meet you after breakfast, all being well.”

  They leave, and I find I no longer want to crawl back into bed. I have a problem. Two problems. That’s on top of the existing situation.

  Corb has set down a bowl of water for the dog. I hear her lapping. “Corb,” I say. “If I gave you a couple of days’ leave, could you get home to the farm and back easily?”

  A moment’s silence before he replies. He’s surprised, thinking it out. “The walk isn’t long. I could be there and back in less than a day. Why?”

  “I can’t keep the dog here. She wouldn’t be safe.” I imagine her sleeping on my bed, a small, warm presence to keep away the nightmares. I imagine her running in the field, walking by my side, a companion, a friend. Someone to take care of. “If you took her to your parents’ farm, would they keep her for me? I would pay them well. I don’t know how long she’d need to stay there.” Unti
l Liobhan’s year is up? That is too long. I would be a stranger to the little one. I would miss the best time to work with her, learn her ways, start to train her. “It might be a good while. But I can’t have her here in the house. And don’t suggest the stables.” I feel my body tense, hear my voice become sharp. I make myself count to ten. Why doesn’t Liobhan come back?

  “If that’s what you want.” Corb sounds doubtful. “Only . . . mightn’t it be best to wait until after the visitors have left? You’d have to explain to them why the dog wasn’t here. And who would stand behind you at table while I was gone?”

  He’s right, of course. I have no doubt Seanan would use the creature as a weapon against me. But he’s not likely to act while Lord Ross’s family is here. He’ll wait until they’re safely out of the way. Then he’ll strike. I think of a dozen ways she could be hurt in what appeared to be an unfortunate accident brought about by having a blind owner. My brother is both devious and imaginative. But Corb is wise. To send him home, I’d probably need Iarla’s permission. And I’d need to explain why it was necessary. A visit to his parents might be sufficient excuse, but not if he rushes there and back in a single day so he’s here for supper.

  “As soon as they’re gone, then. And in the meantime, I’ll need you and Liobhan to help me look after the dog. And . . . Corb, I want her kept away from my brother. You don’t know the story, but . . .” I don’t want to tell him. He’s only a lad. “The dog I had before, Snow, died at the hands of my brothers. That was why I left home. That and some other things.”

  “I’ll help, of course. That’s . . . it’s terrible, Dau. How old were you?”

  “Thirteen. Around the age Sárnait is now.”

  There’s a silence, then Corb says, “I’ll go and find a leash later, something very light. She’s wearing a good collar. She’s small, though; maybe she’d be better in a harness.”

  “When you take her to the farm you’ll have to carry her most of the way.” What in the name of the gods am I doing? Under what circumstances could I possibly keep this little dog? Wherever I go when Liobhan’s year is up, I won’t be here at Oakhill. Even if I were, this is the last place for the creature. She’s too delicate for the long and unpredictable walk through the forest to find that portal. As for Swan Island, there’s a rule—no dogs, because of the sheep. I should have said, I am a blind man and cannot look after an animal. I should have said, Look what happened to Snow. I can never have another dog, or a sweetheart, or a child, or anything else while men like Seanan walk the earth. I cannot let it happen again.

  “Dau? Are you all right?”

  As Corb speaks, I hear the patter of the dog’s neat small feet on the wooden floor, and then she is beside me, putting her paws up on my leg, thrusting her nose into my hand for attention. And even though I am not alone, I let my tears fall. For me. For Snow. For this trusting creature who does not know I’ll be sending her away. For Sárnait. For a world full of men like my brother, and for dreams that can never be.

  31

  LIOBHAN

  The musicians are practicing again. I think they’re in the hall itself, perhaps getting things set up for their suppertime performance, though it’s only morning. I resist the urge to go in and listen. Cian would most likely repeat his invitation to be part of the performance, and I don’t want to have to say no again.

  On the way to our quarters I have to duck into an alcove to avoid a group of people that includes both Lord Scannal and Seanan. Once in our chamber, I find an added complication in the form of a small dog. I should be glad that Dau’s headache has abated and that he’s up and having some late breakfast. But he looks tired and troubled, and it’s plain that Corb, too, is upset. The dog doesn’t care. She’s under the table eating morsels from Dau’s own platter.

  My mind has been on other things. It sounded as if the monks already have serious concerns about the stillroom supplies. Am I putting two and two together and making something considerably greater than their sum? Am I acting like a spy when my job here is something quite different? I must speak to Miach, if I can find her. But privately, or I risk getting both of us in trouble.

  Corb makes a brew; he’s well trained by now. He and Dau explain the presence of the dog and what they intend to do about it. The plan they present me with is full of holes. What happens when I leave Oakhill? Or when Dau and I head off to try to find Eirne’s realm? And, more immediately, how are we supposed to conceal the animal from Seanan when he can walk up and knock on our door anytime he wants? Besides, surely the girl, Sárnait, is going to mention to her prospective husband that she brought his brother a surprise gift. She’ll have no idea why that wouldn’t be a wise move. Dau should have said no. Of course he should. But looking at him now as he gathers the creature up onto his lap and strokes her tiny ears, I understand perfectly why he didn’t. And in a way, I’m glad of that.

  I drink half my tea before I make any comment. “How’s Corb going to get out without drawing attention?”

  “He’ll have Iarla’s permission to visit his family for a night. If anyone asks awkward questions about the dog, he tells the truth: that I’ve ordered him to take it to the farm.” After a moment he adds, “Corb knows what happened with Snow. He understands why this is important.”

  I wish I could think of a better plan, but nothing comes to mind. I change the subject. “Corb, I need to go and see Miach. Where would I find her at this time of day?”

  “When she’s not in the herb garden or making up cures, she helps with the linen. Sorting and mending and so on. They work in a room near the kitchen, where the morning sun comes in.”

  “One of you should take the dog out first,” says Dau. “To do what dogs do.”

  “That won’t be me,” I tell him. “Corb can do a far better job of being unobtrusive. You’d better find that lead first, Corb. I’ll stay here until you come back.”

  “I’m not an infant,” Dau snaps. “I expect I can manage not to burn the house down or trip and break my leg for as long as it takes.”

  “Don’t I recall your promising recently not to be an ass?”

  His hand tightens around his cup, then very deliberately he relaxes it and lets go. “Stay, by all means. These are your quarters, too.”

  Corb goes. I make a neat stack of the dishes and put them on the tray. The dog sits on Dau’s knee, her bright eyes watching every move. I wonder how big she’s going to grow.

  “Does she have a name?” I ask with some hesitation, knowing Dau’s mood to be volatile right now.

  “No.”

  “She needs a name. If not now, then soon. Or we’ll have to call her Dog.” Which, to me, seems rather the same as being called, Hey, you! or Girl.

  Dau doesn’t respond. I wait, and after a bit he speaks again. “Did I tell you Sárnait has one, too? This one’s littermate, a male. Not here, thank the gods, back at Lord Ross’s holding. But she would bring it here if . . .”

  “Another reason to speak to Cormac soon. Was he friendly? Do you think he will listen?”

  “I’ll make him listen.”

  “Dau. Don’t forget you’re a chieftain’s son. You’ve been doing a good job. A remarkably good job. Hard as it is, you need to keep that up until these people have gone home. And probably after that, too, unless you want to go back to the harness room. So, speak to Cormac nicely. Don’t push him, negotiate with him. Explain calmly.”

  He attempts a smile. “Cormac’s still a friend. We may be men now, but he’s not much changed. As for the harness room, I’m coming to think I like it better than these comfortable surroundings. I never was suited to being a chieftain’s son.”

  “Really? That’s a pity, in a way. You’d make a good chieftain.”

  The look on his face makes me want to laugh. Or maybe cry. I’m not sure which.

  “Better than Seanan, maybe,” Dau says with some bitterness. “But you could say that o
f almost anyone. Cormac knows I want to talk to him alone. We’re meeting tomorrow.”

  “Good work.” I won’t tell him about what happened in the stillroom. It’s none of my business, it’s not part of the job I’m doing, and there’s no reason Dau should add it to his troubles. I’ll have my own private conversation with Miach, and with luck that will be an end of it.

  * * *

  * * *

  Miach is folding newly laundered sheets and laying them in a storage chest with sprigs of dried lavender in between. There are one or two other maidservants in the long chamber, but they’re at the other end and it’s safe to talk quietly. I make myself useful folding, one of the tasks where being tall comes in handy.

  “May I ask you something? It might seem a little odd. It’s about the stillroom and Brother Petrán’s book.”

  “Ask away. I probably can’t answer, though. I never learned to read and write. When I need to set down what I’ve used or what I’m taking away, I tell Brother Pól and he writes that part for me. I just sign with my letter, M for Miach. I don’t know what else is in the book.”

  “How about other people’s letters, like the M for Martán or P for Pól? Do you notice those? Could you tell me how many different people take supplies away? Perhaps what sort of things they take?”