A Dance with Fate

by Juliet Marillier

  Cormac listens in silence to the whole story. I reach the end without shedding tears. Indeed, I feel almost as if I am telling another man’s tale.

  “God’s mercy,” Cormac breathes. “Why didn’t you say anything at the time? We’d have helped you. We’d have believed you. All those years . . .”

  Now I could weep. But I will not. “Thank you,” I say, and put my hands over my face.

  “I wondered, sometimes. I wanted to ask you if anything was wrong. If your brothers were being cruel to you. But we were young . . . A boy of eleven or twelve does not accuse a chieftain of concealing such terrible things. Or even the son of a chieftain. Can’t you do something now, Dau? Can’t you see your brother brought to justice?”

  “He is an accomplished liar,” I say. “Even as a boy he had that skill. Our father will always believe Seanan’s word first.”

  “And Ruarc? A man in a holy order?”

  “If you had asked me a year ago, I would have said he will be Seanan’s accomplice until the day he dies. Now I’m not sure. But I can’t trust him. If called upon to speak out, I doubt he would do so. Besides, he is away at present.”

  There’s a long silence. We reach the end of the field and turn back.

  “I understand why you’ve told me,” Cormac says. “I think you’ve saved my sister from disaster, though I imagine she won’t see it that way. How much do I tell my father? And how much, in turn, does he tell Sárnait?” After a moment he adds, “I expect your brother will be less than pleased. Best if he does not learn the true reason for a change of heart on the matter.”

  “Are you sure your father will refuse the betrothal if you tell him this? Might he, too, dismiss it as a fanciful tale concocted out of bitterness and failure?”

  “My father is a good man, just and fair. He’d need to hear only a small part of this to decide the betrothal should at the very least be delayed, and most likely not go ahead at all. I’ll suggest we stay another night or two, so as not to cause disquiet. I will ensure Sárnait is accompanied at all times.”

  A wave of relief passes through me. Gods, someone believes me at last. Believes me without reservations. “Thank you,” I say again, and my voice cracks as I speak. I summon what little dignity I can find. “If Lord Ross is able to leave with the issue unresolved, that may be best for all concerned. I would not wish to upset Sárnait. Your father might then send a letter, advising that he has changed his mind. It would be best if his reasons were not those I have provided. Liobhan and I are bound to stay in this household until next spring, and . . . I will not let her become my brother’s victim.”

  “Dau, I am so sorry. Sorry we did not understand at the time, and deeply sorry now. And . . . our gift was perhaps unwelcome? The manner of Snow’s demise . . . If you wish, we can take the pup home with us.”

  My mouth twists. That would be entirely sensible. Except for Sárnait, who would be upset and would ask awkward questions, perhaps before she left this household. I find that after a day, a single day, I do not want to give up Hope. “A kind and wise suggestion,” I say. “But I plan to send the small one elsewhere until such time as I can be sure of her safety. A local farm. They will look after her. Your gift was welcome. An expression of true friendship. I am sad that things have fallen out this way.”

  “I, too, my friend. Now, we are almost back at the barn and there are several men up there, so we should turn our conversation to other matters. I will speak to Father tonight, in confidence. Tomorrow I will keep Sárnait busy. And the next day, all being well, we will ride for home. Thank you, Dau. In time, my sister will understand how much she owes you.”

  * * *

  * * *

  There are two more suppers to endure, two evenings of music and dancing. On the second, Seanan has been seated next to Sárnait at table, not far from me, and I cannot help hearing some of their conversation. It turns my stomach. I want to leap up and shout out my brother’s wickedness in front of everyone. It is just as well I am placed between Cormac and Master Beanón. Cormac is discretion itself and does his best to keep me occupied with horse talk. Beanón joins in once or twice, but seems otherwise content to listen. I suspect he is as much an observer as Liobhan is. The man is sharp, acute, as a lawman should be. I wonder if I may have an opportunity to ask him about my father. If anyone has been in a position to observe changes, failing health, fading memory, then surely Beanón has. But how I could broach such an awkward topic, I cannot think.

  I retire early. Thus far there has been nothing to indicate Cormac has spoken to his father. Sárnait, at least, did not know of any change to their plans; that much was plain when she spoke to Seanan of a ride tomorrow, perhaps as far as the forest edge. I can only hope Cormac’s faith in his father’s good judgment is justified.

  Then it is morning again, and I learn that the plans have indeed changed. Lord Ross has an urgent need to return home; his entire party will be leaving as soon as their horses can be made ready. Corb brings this news with our breakfast.

  I would like to bid Cormac farewell, but I know we should stay out of the way until they are gone. We take our time over the meal. Then Corb and I go to the bathhouse and enjoy a good wash. When we return, Liobhan takes the dog for a walk, promising to be cautious. I don’t imagine either Seanan or my father suspects we had anything to do with the early departure of their guests, unless both Cormac and Lord Ross have been too honest about the reason for it. Even so, I don’t want Liobhan or Hope to cross Seanan’s path.

  Corb tidies up the chamber, which doesn’t take long. A servingwoman comes to the door to take away our tray. Another servant brings a pile of clean garments and removes others to be laundered. For now, I remain a welcome son of the house, and such services are considered appropriate to my station.

  “Dau?” Corb is putting the clothing away in a storage chest. “Shouldn’t Liobhan be back by now?”

  He’s right. My stomach tightens. The dog needs only a short walk, just sufficient to stretch her legs, sniff about a little, and do her business. Something’s happened. Dark images flood my thoughts, pictures of where Seanan might have put her: down a bottomless hole; perched on a tiny patch of dry land surrounded by sucking bog; up a tall tree on a fragile branch. I order myself not to be a fool. Yes, my brothers did all those things to me, and worse. But Liobhan is not a terrified child, she is a warrior, brave, strong, resilient. More than a match for Seanan. “She’s probably talking to the musicians,” I say. “Or up in the herb garden collecting ingredients for a brew.” But she wouldn’t be. Not when she has the dog with her. Not when she said she’d come straight back.

  “Should I go and look for her?”

  Corb has guessed my thoughts. Is my face so open? “Thank you, Corb. Be discreet, please. Don’t ask people, just have a look about. Don’t go up to the stables.”

  He goes and I wait. The longer I wait, the deeper the chill moves into my heart. I tell myself this can’t be anything serious. It’s too soon for Seanan to guess the real reason Lord Ross’s party is leaving early. They may not even be gone yet; they could still be making their farewells. But time moves on and neither Corb nor Liobhan reappears. I pace across the chamber and back, counting my steps, a pointless occupation, but better than tearing my hair out, and far wiser than rushing out to find them, since I have no guide. Curse being blind! Curse being useless! Where is she?

  At last the door opens. My heart leaps. I turn, though I cannot see who it is.

  A patter of little feet on the floor. The dog, at least, is safe. I crouch to feel her warm body, the rasp of her tongue. “Liobhan?” I ask.

  “I couldn’t find her.”

  It’s Corb. I rise slowly to my feet, waiting.

  “The dog was in the garden by herself, not far from here. Her leash was tangled in a bush; I had to set her free. There was no sign of Liobhan. I had a good look, Dau. Maybe the dog ran away from her and she’s out
searching. But . . .”

  “But she’d have come to tell us by now. She’d have asked you to help search.” My heart feels like winter. “Did you see anyone? Seanan or any of his men?”

  “Only folk doing their work. This one can’t have been there long or someone would have found her. She was frightened. Shivering.”

  I’m up and pacing again, until Corb says, “Sit down a moment, Dau. You’re upsetting the dog. This could be anything. She may have needed to go to the privy. She may have been called to help someone with a task.”

  “She wouldn’t have left the dog on her own.” I sit, despite the urge to keep moving. I know staying calm is best. Be a Swan Island warrior. Make a plan. Take control. But that is not so easy. Inside me there is a panicking child. Alongside him, a blind man who wants to find Seanan right now and confront him. I know he’s done something. I just know it.

  “We should ask Iarla,” Corb says. “Tell him she went out with the dog and didn’t come back, say we’re concerned. I’ll do it if you want.” The voice of common sense.

  “We’ll both go,” I tell him. There’s no way I’m waiting on my own again. “Only . . .”

  “The dog will be all right in here,” says Corb. “With luck we’ll find Liobhan quickly. And if we don’t, Iarla will know what to do.”

  Hah! He might know, but he won’t be able to act. Not if this is Seanan’s doing. I count silently up to five. “Good idea, Corb,” I say. “I don’t suppose we’ll be long.” I wish I could believe my own lie.

  34

  LIOBHAN

  First thing is the smell. A stench so vile I want to vomit. Next thing is the dark. The utter dark. Where in the name of all hells am I? Third thing is the pain. Stabbing pain in my head and neck, aching wrists and shoulders, cramps in my legs . . . I can’t move. What in Morrigan’s name is this? I try to shout for help. But I can’t shout. I can hardly breathe. I’m lying on something hard. There’s a gag over my mouth, cloth stuffed between my teeth, and I can’t get so much as a squeak out.

  We’re trained for this sort of thing. We practice it on Swan Island, though if they tried out this particular combination on any of us there’d be protests afterward. I know what to do. Focus. Concentrate my thoughts. Read the situation. Identify the challenges, put them in order of priority. Find solutions. But I can’t stop shivering, from cold, from shock, who knows? I don’t want to breathe through my nose, the stink is disgusting, like rotting fish, like dead things, but I have no choice. Whoever put this gag on did a thorough job.

  Focus. Right. What happened? Judging by the splitting headache, someone’s knocked me out. Didn’t I fight back? Did I just let that happen? What was I doing? I was . . . I was walking the dog. Shit! What happened to the dog? If she’s been hurt Dau will never forgive me.

  Something screams. My heart thuds in shock. Is this Snow all over again? No; even a dog in its death throes couldn’t make a noise like that, a crazy, ear-splitting screech of agony and terror. It was a bird. It was . . . Oh, gods. That stink, the scream, the wild scrabbling I hear now, claws against wire, something desperate to get out, something desperate to fly away . . . Can it be Crow Folk? They’ve been near Oakhill, too, attacking farm stock. That’s what the men-at-arms said, and that Seanan’s traps helped keep them away.

  This makes no sense. I’m a prisoner, trussed up in the dark. The birds are close. I can feel the air move as they flail around. How many, I can’t judge. They’re scared, perhaps hurt. But not attacking me. They must be prisoners, too. Why?

  I’ve got to get up. My wrists are tied behind my back. My ankles are hobbled. But I can do this. I roll, tighten my stomach, force myself to my knees. I wobble and fall sideways into the wall, and the screaming breaks out again, right in my ear. It’s not a solid wall, only a flimsy barrier of twisted wire. I flinch away as something stabs between the strands. I’ve seen what kind of damage those beaks can do.

  My eyes are getting used to the dark. At the far end of this place there are cracks of light, and I guess it’s still day outside. Not underground, then. Am I still within the walls of Lord Scannal’s domain? My bladder is not overfull; maybe I haven’t been here so very long.

  There’s another smell. Something like an apothecary’s remedy, a potion . . . It’s familiar . . . Was there something my mother used that smelled like that? Something she kept on a very high shelf in a box with two locks on it? Morrigan’s curse! I’ve been dosed to keep me quiet! Someone’s been playing tricks. What in the name of all hells are they planning?

  Assess strengths and weaknesses. I’m hurt, bruised, possibly I’ve been fed a substance that will hinder my ability to help myself. I’m tied and gagged; I can’t call for help. I don’t know where I am. Against that I set the fact that I’m strong, I’m fit, I believe I’m still in my right mind. The bonds are tight, but they’re rope, not wire. If there’s time, I can work myself free using that mesh barrier. That’s if the prisoners on the other side don’t peck me to pieces while I’m doing it. I was lucky to recover so well after we fought them off the other time. Both Dau and I had injuries, but they healed. Other folk weren’t so fortunate.

  No point in worrying about the herbal smell and exactly what it is. No point in trying to guess what in the name of the gods is going on. Seanan must be behind it, though; who else? I struggle to my feet. My head reels. I steady myself. I can’t waste time. There must be some plan here, or why take such pains to tie me up? That means my captors will come back. I’ve got to get out, and fast.

  There’s a rough section on the wire mesh. I stand with my back against it and rub the wrist bonds up and down. Seems the birds can’t get to me here; they flap and squawk and flail around not far away, but nothing touches me. I remember Brocc singing to the Crow Folk, chanting a terrible wordless song that held them at bay. It was full of dark power, and it both saved our lives and scared me witless. I can’t do that. Brocc’s the one with fey blood. I’m all human. But my mother is a wisewoman. In those squawks and screams I don’t hear an enemy putting up a challenge. I hear something driven mad by fear.

  I can’t sing. I can’t form words. With the gag in my mouth I can’t even manage a la-la-la. But I can produce a sort of strangled hum. I make the tune as soothing as a desperate woman can, the fraught kind of lullaby a person might sing when they’re very short of sleep and the baby won’t stop crying. Dau would laugh if he could hear me. Only he wouldn’t. If he knew about this he’d be beside himself with fury. And if this really is Seanan’s doing, that’s not the way to deal with it. What’s needed is cold calm. The cleverest, most well-calculated of traps. A merciless accounting, truth laid bare for all to hear. I swear by everything I hold dear, I’ll see that happen before I leave this place. I’ll make it happen if I die in the attempt.

  35

  DAU

  We can’t find her. Time’s passing. Iarla seems to understand my urgency, but it’s plain the household is not going to be turned upside down for a bond servant who—most people will think—has simply seized an opportunity to walk out the gate and leave. Iarla doesn’t say this in so many words, but I get the drift, and it’s a fair assessment. Unless you know Liobhan. Running away is not in her nature.

  I feel the full weight of my blindness. I feel it even more strongly than in those feverish days after it first happened. I’m still a chieftain’s son. They haven’t thrown me out of the house yet. I could insist on a search, I could rally the good people of my father’s household—despite my brother’s influence, there are many—I could order the men-at-arms to look in every nook and cranny, every underground place, every hidden corner until she’s found. At least, I could do that until someone with higher authority—my brothers, my father—stepped in to stop me. But a blind man cannot take control. Even if I could, that is not the way to deal with Seanan. Strategy. That’s what I need. My eyes may be useless, but my mind works perfectly well. I must be calm. Make a plan. One step
at a time. And remember that any member of the household who is seen to assist me might become a target for my brother.

  Corb and I retreat to our quarters to talk in private. The dog is frantic with excitement at our return. We’ve left her alone far too long—the sun is nearly at its midpoint, and Lord Ross’s party is long gone. I should have let Cormac take her back. That was a selfish decision and now it’s an inconvenient one.

  “Change of plan,” I tell Corb. “I want you to take her to the farm today, now. Tell the gate guards the story about visiting your family. If you’re challenged about the dog, tell them the truth—that I can’t look after her and I’ve asked you to take her. You’ll need to stay overnight; it’s too late now for you to get back before dark.” I could tell him not to come back at all. On the farm, he’d be further from Seanan’s reach. Corb is a fine, unselfish young man. He doesn’t deserve to be put in danger because of me and my wretched family. But I need him. I need him to be my eyes and help me get around. And I need him because he knows what this is all about; he understands the danger and the difficulties. He’s the young brother I never had. The problem is, Seanan must have seen how much I rely on Corb. He’s probably observed the bond between us. Which means I’ve given my brother three weapons to use against me: Liobhan, Hope, and Corb. “And be careful. Really careful.”

  “But what about you? Who will help you while I’m gone?”

  “Get packed up now. You’ll need some supplies from the kitchen, and don’t forget something for the dog. While you’re fetching those, I’ll speak to Iarla again. I’ll tell him where you’re going and ask for a replacement. Now that Lord Ross’s party is gone, with luck someone can be spared.”

  There’s a silence. Then Corb says, “Are you sure? That this is the best thing to do, I mean?”

  “I’m not sure of anything.” Except that Liobhan’s gone, and I’m not letting Seanan get his hands on Corb and the little one as well. With them away safely, I can stop being so careful. Gods, if only I could see! “But I do want you to go.”