Sive wandered about the room, sampling dishes and stealing sidelong glances at the guests. Several times she was stopped and complimented on her singing. It made her flush with pride and pleasure, and though she did her best to give a gracious reply, she knew her inexperience showed. She caught sight of her father at the king’s side, making introductions and helping the conversation flow easily, and had the childish wish he would do so for her instead. There were many strange faces in the hall and among them more than one man she would not mind meeting.
She was glad Daireann had not made the journey to attend. Her half-sister would be sure to find a way to mar Sive’s evening. “Watch you don’t strain your precious voice,” Daireann had cooed at her one day when Sive was careless enough to react angrily to one of her digs—and for the first time, Sive realized that Daireann was jealous. Daireann had the powerful father, the luxurious court, the prestige that comes with a great name—yet she did not have what Sive had. Though the great Bodb Dearg, Grian’s first husband and Daireann’s father, was the master of all music, their daughter had a pretty voice, no more.
WHEN SHE FIRST SAW Far Doirche, it was not the handsome green-eyed sorcerer who caught her attention, but the ragged boy who trailed at his heel.
Sive had never before seen a person starved for food. Among her people, whom mortals called the People of the Sidhe, there was plenty for the taking. To be sure there were those who were powerful and high, and others who served, but since there was no end of food and warmth and fine things, there was no need for any to be without. Or so she thought.
This boy, though: he was only a little younger than Sive herself, on the edge of his change to manhood, yet still smooth-cheeked and slight. Skinny, rather, with bony shoulders hunched under a tunic so worn and patched she could not fathom how his master would allow such a thing to appear at a grand gathering. He glanced at the nearest food table, the longing plain on his face. Such a gaunt, pale face it was, with dark hollows under his eyes, as if he had not slept for days. Then his master moved on, and the boy jerked his gaze away and scrambled after.
Sive looked then to the man he served. His dress was impeccable, all bright silks and fine linen. Glossy honey-brown hair hung smooth down his back. He made his way through the crowd, exchanging greetings and cordial talk, and the eyes of his acquaintances never strayed to the boy at his heel. It was as though he did not exist.
The sweetness of her victory vanished in a gust of hot anger. It was shameful, a guest to be treated so. No one would go hungry, not at her sidhe.
She grabbed a bowl and, passing over the delicate sweets and morsels, ladled in a generous serving of stew. She floated a couple of biscuits on top, took a goblet of mead in her other hand and went straight to the boy.
Startled dark eyes lifted to meet hers when she spoke.
“Sir, I see you have not yet eaten. Will you not enjoy the hospitality of the king of Sidhe Ochta Cleitigh? Or perhaps our food does not please you?” She held out the bowl. “I am Sive, daughter of Derg, who is counselor to King Fiachna.”
He eyed the stew, then glanced quickly up at his master. Far Doirche was deep in conversation with two other men. Thin fingers crept slowly toward the bowl.
“My thanks to you,” he whispered.
Sive could not help but stare as he spooned it in. She had never seen a person eat like that, furtive and hurried at the same time. Like a hound at a sheep carcass, she thought.
He had almost finished when Far Doirche spoke his name.
“Oran.”
His voice was low and musical, pleasant to hear. Yet Oran flinched as though he had been struck. He thrust the bowl into Sive’s hands and wheeled to bow his head to Far.
“Please forgive me, master.” The words were barely audible.
She could not leave it alone. There was something so wrong here. For the first time, she spoke directly to Far Doirche.
“Surely there is no need for a servant to apologize for eating from the common table? The food is here for all to enjoy. I offered it, so if there is any wrong done, it is mine.”
He did not look angry. His face, like his voice, was pleasant. A bystander would have said his stare was simply curious, or perhaps admiring. But those green eyes weighed on Sive, drilled into her, and she was suddenly, unreasonably, afraid.
“You are the singer,” he observed, his manner courtly and gentle. “A wonderful voice.”
“Thank you, sir,” she managed. A cold breath flowed over her ankles—surely just a draft of winter air dancing through the hall after the heavy doors had been opened, but it seemed to come from him. His eyes had not shifted from her face.
“Oran’s job is to attend me. He will have a time to eat.” He smiled gently. “Of course, to refuse a lovely girl’s generosity would be impolite.”
Far’s gaze finally shifted away to rest on the boy. “Have you finished with the stew?”
Oran’s nod was almost imperceptible. “Yes, master.”
“Good. Then why don’t you take the mead with you, and we’ll continue.”
They left her then and made their way down the crowded hall. But she noticed that Oran left his mead goblet on the first table they passed.
Oran Remembers
How is it that people did not shudder at first sight of him, go cold with gooseflesh or faint with premonition? But I have seen it so often—it is only to those who know what he is that the evil is so plainly in view.
And what of it, if she did not understand the risk she took with her kindness to me? It was long since anyone had paid me any mind at all. Sive placed herself between me and the Dark Man’s displeasure. I will never forget that.
But I will always regret it. For he marked her that day, marked her as surely as he turned the mead in my goblet to mud. Every person on his path he sorts into one of two categories: those who are of no use to him, and those he may turn to his own ends. Sive had unwittingly caught his eye. And now he bent his mind upon her, and I could only pray that he would find no hold there for his dark dreams.
THERE WAS LITTLE TIME to dwell on Oran, or on his strange master, for Sive was soon overtaken by her mother. Grian was in her element, bright-eyed and with a high color to her cheeks. Sometimes a flush like that spoke of temper, but not tonight. Grian was happiest in a crowd, whether singing for them or bantering and laughing in the midst of a circle of men. She thrived on attention, and Derg, it seemed, was wise enough not to take offence when she fluttered her lashes and arched her neck for an admiring man. Perhaps, mused Sive, his patience, along with his unending devotion, was how her father was able to keep Grian’s love when Bobd Dearg had not.
But Grian had not forgotten she had a young daughter just recently come to womanhood. “How are you managing? Enjoying yourself? Who have you spoken to?”
The questions came in a stream, with no space for a reply. Sive did not attempt one but only smiled and nodded. She did feel awkward in her new role, unpracticed at the gracious talk her parents excelled at, but she was enjoying herself. How not? She had sung well, the pale green silk of her gown flowed over her slender form in a lustrous wave, and she had seen more than one head turn to watch her pass. On this night Sive stood on the very brink of her adult life, full of promise.
Grian fussed at Sive’s hair, tucking stray tendrils around her ears and then gathering up the weight of it from her back and shaking it gently into place. Looping her arm through her daughter’s, she began strolling through the hall, her mouth close to Sive’s ear.
“Men have been asking after you,” she murmured. Sive’s heart sped up, with pleasure and with alarm too. Would her parents betroth her this very night? Surely not, and she so young? Grian nodded, a subtle, tiny dip, toward a man to their right. “Him, for instance.” Sive had a brief glimpse of a broad back, dark hair, a cloak of many rich colors. “That is Irial, of Sidhe Finnachaidh. A man of fine reputation.”
“Who else?” Sive sounded a bit breathless, her voice betraying her.
“
Oh, several.” Grian gave a brief, silvery laugh. “I have hardly ever had to rebuff so many in one night.”
Sive stopped. “What do you mean, rebuff?” Fear that her mother would entertain these men’s inquiries was replaced with indignation that she had not.
“I told them you were but a bud half-blossomed, as they could very well see for themselves, and that they must wait for the full flowering before buzzing about you like bees.”
Her tart words made her daughter stiffen. Does she mock me? Sive wondered. The thought came, mean and angry, that Grian only wanted to keep these men buzzing about herself.
But Grian’s manner softened as she felt Sive’s reaction.
“Ah, now, daughter.” She glanced about the crowded hall and coaxed Sive into a quieter alcove. She touched her face softly, found Sive’s eyes with her own, and Sive felt her sulkiness waver.
“There is no need to be rushing after men, dear one. It’s long ages you will have, for lovers and husbands too.” She nudged Sive and smirked. “Maybe even both in the same body, if you are lucky.”
Sive stared at her, startled, and then dissolved into giggles. She was old enough at least to share a woman’s joke, her mother was telling her. Her injured pride was healed.
The horns interrupted them, calling the nobles to feast. Grian, Sive saw, had already left their conversation, her mind flitting ahead eagerly to the next event. Sive smiled ruefully. Her mother could be kind, even wise, but unless music was involved, you couldn’t hold her focus for long.
Grian tugged at Sive’s arm. “Come and eat, then,” she said. “We will be well placed to admire the view.”
Derg was not overly highborn, but he had the ear of the king. That, and the marriage he had made to Grian, gave his family a good place in the feasting hall. Sive followed her mother into the hall. Always a handsome room, it had been transformed into a wonder of light and color. Sive lingered to admire the living garlands twining up each column, coaxed into lavish bloom despite the snow outside.
A shiver, as if someone had dropped a little handful of that snow down the back of her neck, crawled up her spine. She looked around and then quickly dropped her gaze. That man, the one with the ragged servant, was entering the feasting hall. Sive hurried after Grian before he could draw near. She hoped his seat would be far away from hers.
THREE
The seasons danced through their cycle. How many times, Sive could not say, for time held little meaning in the undying lands. Surely several winters went by, time enough for her to understand the wisdom of her mother’s words. She had indeed been a half-opened bud, but now she came fully into her woman’s form. The childish roundness in her cheeks melted away, and she found the grace in her limbs. She learned, too, to be at ease in a crowd and to converse with a stranger, to accept a compliment with calm pleasure and then turn the talk back to the speaker so that it flowed between them. She was a young woman near the height of her beauty, only a few seasons away from the appearance she would keep to the end of time.
She was asked to sing often, growing confident in her art. Sive and her mother were sometimes invited to one or other of the neighboring sidhes, and though Grian filled her ear with the usual mother’s cautions, she did not hinder Sive from meeting the men who asked after her. Sive was confused, and even troubled, by the uncharacteristic caution shown by some of these men. It took her a while to realize that her gift was the cause: they were both fascinated and frightened by it, as if at any moment she might open her mouth and plunge them into helpless, unwilling love. Because it had never occurred to her to misuse her voice, their fears seemed foolish. Yet the power was real. She could, if she wished, sing a king and his servants to sleep and rob him of his treasures, take revenge on a rival by plunging her into despairing grief, or, yes, compel a man to love her. But that was not the sort of love Sive wanted.
She did not go to the woods as often as before. Right after her first change it had been all she wanted to do. She had practiced until she could transform effortlessly, her body streaming into deer form with a mere thought. As a deer, she learned the forest in a whole new way, through different paths and different senses. It was a constant fascination, with a hint of danger to add an edge of excitement. For although Sive was swifter than any real deer, and smarter, there is no wild creature whose safety from those who hunt her is assured.
But her life was changing. She was busy creating her outward face, learning to be a woman in the world. Shapeshifting no longer seemed so wondrous but only an amusement better suited to a younger self.
“YOUR PARDON, LADY. Your mother is asking after you.” Sive put down her embroidery and followed Grian’s maidservant.
Grian sat in the bright gazebo, open to the air and sunshine, that Derg had built for her to enjoy in fine weather. A slender man, bearing the flagged spear of a messenger, stood by her side.
“Sit down, daughter. There is great news.” Sive sat in silence, keeping to herself the thought that her mother looked more troubled than pleased.
Grian waved in the vague direction of the messenger. “An invitation to sing—from Bodb Dearg himself! He is hosting a council of all the men of his western realm. He has heard of your talent and wishes to hear your voice.”
“Only me?” Sive had never traveled to Bodb’s great dwelling on the shores of Loch Dearg, even with her family.
Her mother’s smile was fleeting—impossible to tell if there was bitterness there, or amusement. “Of course only you. I am not so foolish as to insult a man like Bodb and then return to rub his nose in it.” Her voice became brisk. “It is a great opportunity for you, Sive. And it is certain you will not be alone. Daireann will see to you.”
“Daireann. Of course.” Sive kept her thoughts about her half-sister to herself as well.
“You must leave in two days’ time,” Grian announced. “This man will stay and escort you there. Nessa, see him settled now.” And with that the maidservant led the messenger into the house, and the two women were alone.
Sive’s mind was full of questions, but the one that pushed its way forward surprised her.
“Why did you leave Bodb?” She had asked this once before, as a young girl, and Grian’s sharp reply had made it clear it was her mother’s own business and no one else’s.
Today, though, Grian sighed and shrugged. “I suppose you should know, if you are after going there.”
She regarded her daughter for a long moment.
“I was young, only a little past your own age, when Bodb asked for me. And the prospect of such a grand match went to my head, I suppose, for my father had little work to persuade me to go to him.” Grian’s father, Manannan, had an ancient and mighty name himself; he was, in fact, the one who had created the enchanted barriers that hid their lands from the mortal men of Gael. Sive could well imagine that he favored the match.
“I was not his first wife, nor his last,” Grian continued. “But it was lovely at first. We made music together nearly every day, and he came often to my bed. I was his new young bride, and he craved my company.”
Sive began to see the end of the story, even before her mother confirmed it. “But a great man has great demands on him, I suppose, and it must be said I am something demanding myself. His ardor cooled, and even more his interest, and he turned back to the running of his many households and his hunting and his music, and I was left alone. And later, when your sister was but half-grown, he brought home another wife, a beauty with hardly a brain in her head.”
Grian shrugged. “I bore it long enough. It was a rich and pleasant life that I had, but I was not happy in it. And then came the year we held the great gathering of all the sidhes. I sang, of course, and Derg was one of many who came to praise the music. But he was different from the others. Many men are full of fine talk, but it’s rare to find one who listens just as well. When we talked, he would listen as though there were no other sound in the world. And that was only a part of all I loved about him. When he asked me to return here with h
im, I didn’t even let myself think it through. I just said yes.”
“Have you ever regretted it?”
A long silence, so long Sive thought she had overstepped and would get no reply. Then Grian smiled. “At times. I have come down in the world, there is no doubt of that. But what I return to is this: he still puts me at the center of his heart. He has no desire for a collection of women, but only for me. I like that.”
Sive nodded. Any woman would like that, she supposed, but especially her mother. She rose from her chair—there was a journey to organize—but Grian waved her back.
“Stay a moment. There is one more thing.”
Grian leaned forward, her eyes intent. “Sive, when I left Bodb I was already pregnant, though I didn’t yet know it. It is possible you are his child, not Derg’s.” Startled, Sive sank back into her chair.
“It is in my mind that Bodb has asked for you to see what manner of woman you have become, perhaps even to consider claiming you as his own.” She raised a hand against Sive’s vehement headshake. “It is nothing against Derg as a father. He has been good to you, as I well know. But it would be to your advantage, Sive. If he offers it, you should accept Bodb’s protection.”
Now Sive did rise, flustered and confused. “If he wanted to acknowledge me, he could have done so long since,” she said.
“All the same. If he claims you, don’t respond in haste, is all I am saying.”
Sive didn’t want to think about her mother’s words, much less discuss them. “I’ll pack now,” she said, as she rose and fled to the house.
FOUR
Bodb’s crystal house dazzled in the sunshine, brighter than the glittering surface of the great lake below it. Sive took a deep breath, marvelling at the colors of sky, hills and water reflected from its walls. Now she understood what her mother had meant by “coming down in the world.” She had thought their own king’s palace very beautiful, but this was beyond anything in her experience. Grian had been right, she saw now, to talk the king into providing a full retinue of maidens and guards for the journey. Sive was not sure what she would do with so many servants, but at least she would make an adequate entrance on behalf of their sidhe.
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