by Cherry Potts
‘You have failed me, Maeve,’ she said, ‘and now I must deal differently with those you arrested for me this day. Do you understand me?’
Maeve nodded, unwillingly.
‘You will deal with them personally. I have no choice but to believe I can still trust you. You will not fail me again.’
Grainne couldn’t bear to look at Maeve. She longed for Tegan to return, Tegan who had told her nothing but the truth, even when she hadn’t wanted to hear it. The silence stretched and she turned back to Maeve, waiting for her answer.
Maeve paled, but at last she inclined her head in response. She was a soldier, she must follow orders. She must deal with the prisoners, as soon as Tegan could be found to relieve her of her present duty. She wished abruptly that she had thrown Killan from his roof; it would have been easier – she recoiled, seeing again Phelan’s broken determination to die. Maeve took an unsteady breath, trying to imagine what must come.
I can’t, she thought, I can’t do it – I can’t, I can’t –
Chapter Twenty-Nine
In the familiar darkness of the stables, Brede headed straight for the corner where Guida’s tack was stored. She wrenched the bridle from the hook and slung it over her shoulder, then hauled the Plains saddle from its rest, cradling it against her chest as she moved the few steps that took her to Guida’s side. She settled the saddle hastily in place and pulled the bridle over Guida’s head. She swore bitterly as Guida pulled sharply away from her fumbling.
‘Leave the poor beast be,’ Eachan said, taking the leather from her shaking hands.
Brede tried to get her breathing under control, willing her eyes to stop smarting. Neala pulled at her elbow.
‘Which way is the wind blowing?’ she asked, her voice husky and her accent shaky. Brede looked down at her next-kin.
Towards death she thought.
‘Kinward.’ Her voice sounded tight, even to her own ears. She ushered Neala away from Guida, who was beginning to stamp at too many people too close.
‘My kin?’ Neala asked uncertainly.
‘Yes,’ Brede said fiercely, ‘I will claim Clan Right for you. You’re blood of Wing Clan on both sides, they’ll not refuse you.’
‘Even though I sound like a city dweller? Even though I’ve no horse?’
‘Even so. Carolan will be grateful to have something of Falda again.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Certain. And if by some lunacy he does not, you have kin in the Marshes too. My mother would welcome you with open heart.’ Brede put a reassuring hand on Neala’s shoulder, and briefly the child looked so like Falda that it stopped her breath.
‘I need to know,’ Brede said abruptly. ‘I need to know how and when and –’
Neala laid a hand over Brede’s, and nodded quickly.
‘My mother died at midwinter four years ago, of a fever. She’d been ill for a long time. Nothing particular, only that she got thin and tired and had nothing left to fight with when the fever came.’
Neala looked up at Brede’s shadowed face trying to gauge how much she should say, wanting to move away from that memory. Brede winced at that calm, adult explanation. Neala caught the look, but didn’t know what to do with it.
‘She spoke of you often. She thought you were dead. She said she saw you struck down;’ Neala made a slicing movement with the side of her hand. ‘She grieved for you, more than for any of her kin, save Carolan.’
‘She was so close? I couldn’t find her. I couldn’t see her.’
‘She had no chance to go to your aid, she was captured almost at once.’
‘By Madoc?’
‘The same.’
Brede waited for Neala to continue, but the silence dragged.
‘He sold you when Falda died?’ Brede prompted. Neala nodded, a slight movement that kept her eyes hidden. She tied knot after knot into the cloth of her belt, pulling each one tight, then wrapping the loose end around her fingers.
‘I was no use, once she was dead; a burden. He used to allow her to teach me Clan ways, provided he was there. I hardly saw her but he was there too. He wanted to know everything there was to know about the Clans.’
Brede shuddered, remembering Madoc’s offer to Grainne. Neala glanced up suddenly, a fierce grin on her face, the belt unravelled from her fingers.
‘We taught him a thing or two, before he got good enough with the language. It was days before he realised that what we’d told him was the correct greeting to another Clan was actually I am your enemy.’ The smile slipped. ‘He thought it amusing,’ she said, her voice utterly bleak. Brede reached out, intending comfort, but Neala shrugged her away and slipped past, to take Guida’s reins from Eachan.
Brede heard steps behind her, and turned. Sorcha’s eyes flickered from her face to the horse.
‘Leaving?’ she asked.
Brede looked away, taking the reins from Neala and twisting them.
‘I’ve fulfilled my contract.’
Sorcha rubbed her hand across her eyes. No comfort then. She gazed about the stables, grasping after some way of expressing the depth of her distress.
Eachan saw, and beckoned Neala to him.
‘Come and help me wax some saddles,’ he suggested.
Neala trailed reluctantly after Eachan.
‘I must take my next-kin back to our Clan,’ Brede said, her voice husky, angry with herself for making excuses. ‘I needed time to talk to Neala.’
‘Has it helped?’ Sorcha asked, aware of how short that time had been.
‘Yes.’
Sorcha didn’t need the saddled horse to know that Brede was on the point of walking out of her life.
‘Phelan was my friend once,’ she said at last, feeling her way through the litter of possible causes for Brede’s rejection.
Brede sighed restlessly. ‘Have mercy on your enemies.’
‘It was a long time ago. He was young, charming, ambitious, wild. The sort of man who gets his way. I suppose we all indulged him, Aeron, Grainne and I.’
Sorcha rubbed patterns into Guida’s hide, frowning.
Brede checked Guida’s girth, pretending that what Sorcha was saying was idle chatter, but when Sorcha’s voice trailed into silence, she looked up, straight into Sorcha’s eyes, too close for comfort. Brede went to collect her saddle roll.
‘Aeron indulged him more than either you or Grainne realised.’
Sorcha hunched a shoulder, bemused.
‘I think that hurts Grainne more than anything else, that she had no idea.’
‘Or because she is jealous?’
‘No, she could’ve had Phelan for the asking, but Aeron always came first with Phelan, and with Grainne. Losing her hit them both hard.’ Sorcha sighed deeply. ‘Grainne can’t cope with this.’
Brede placed the saddle roll across Guida’s back, gently shifting it to lie level. Sorcha reached a hesitant hand to stroke Brede’s fingers. Brede jerked away momentarily, then took Sorcha’s hand and turned it palm up, sniffing at it.
‘Between us – Grainne, Maeve, you and I – we killed this man who was your friend.’
Sorcha shook her head.
‘It was his choice.’
‘We drove him to that choice, and you allowed him to die.’
‘I couldn’t stop him.’
‘He cursed me, Sorcha, he cursed me with such – hatred – I could feel the words sticking to me, just as his blood stuck to your hands.’
‘Just words.’
‘No, Sorcha, no more than your songs are just words. I feel stained – marked.’
Brede rubbed her forehead gently with the side of her thumb.
‘Is that why you’re running away?’ Sorcha asked.
‘I don’t imagine I can outrun a curse, but I can’t stay here any longer.’
‘Why not?’
‘I can’t. There is no why.’ Brede lapsed into her own language suddenly. ‘The wind is blowing,’ she said softly.
Sorcha wrapped her arms about herself
, seeking comfort.
‘I feel it,’ she said.
‘Feel it?’
‘The wind. I never have before, but you are right. It is no longer safe here.’
‘What about Grainne?’
‘Grainne.’ Sorcha’s voice had a sombre tone to it. ‘Grainne is an old friend. Well, I allowed one old friend to die today. Grainne has asked more of me than she has a right to, and I’ve done it, in the name of friendship, without thinking. I have allowed her needs to become my own.’
‘So, now?’
‘I can’t. I promised her.’
Brede frowned. ‘Loyalty?’ she asked.
Sorcha’s mouth twisted. ‘She still needs to try for peace; she still needs the strength I can give her. Not for long now, one way or another, and then I will be free of what Grainne needs. It must be loyalty, mustn’t it, for it feels like a burden now.’
‘What was it before?’
‘Love.’
Brede tested that word against the terrible doubt in her heart and found it still held her, there was still some spark of value there.
‘Talk to me,’ she said. ‘Tell me who you are, or what you are. Tell me why you can keep Grainne alive, why the whole course of the war depends on you – and don’t tell me it doesn’t, I won’t believe you. I am staying, but only while you talk. The wind is at my back, I will listen; but not for long.’
A slow smile spread across Sorcha’s face.
‘I love you,’ she said softly. Brede’s fingers clenched about the leather.
‘That isn’t what I meant.’
‘It is what I mean, with every bone in my body. It isn’t who or what I am, but it could be.’
‘You don’t mean that. Your sense of duty is far too strong.’
‘Is that what you think? I came here because I was running away from duty. I crept away to be with an old friend who needed me, and I left behind duty. I thought of this as an adventure, as freedom.’
‘This was freedom?’
‘Yes, but – so irresponsible; a mistake. I should have sent someone else, someone who would have kept Grainne strong, and no more. I’m too close to Grainne, I couldn’t see where I should stop, only that I could meet her needs.’
‘What are we talking about?’ Brede asked, confused. Sorcha reached suddenly, gripping Brede’s wrist.
‘Power. That is what you’re asking me, isn’t it? Who I am, what I am. You know that I am a witch. You know how strong I am.’
Brede nodded impatiently. ‘A Songspinner.’ She pulled against Sorcha’s hand; reassured that she had chosen physical force, to keep her still.
‘More,’ Sorcha continued, abandoning caution. ‘I’m the Songspinner.’ She shook her head suddenly. ‘I’ve been deceiving myself, in blaming Grainne. I chose every step I took. But it’s too late now. I have to finish what I’ve begun.’
‘And if you had not begun?’
‘Then I would be free to come with you – but you will not have me.’
Brede pulled free of Sorcha’s grip and took a sudden interest in Guida’s mane, finding snarls that were invisible to Sorcha.
‘Tell me what you are afraid of,’ Sorcha said. ‘Tell me what I have to do to convince you.’
Brede shook her head.
‘What does the – Songspinner? – want with me?’
‘Love.’ Sorcha said, barely a whisper. ‘Desire, need.’
‘Need?’ Brede asked doubtfully.
‘Need,’ Sorcha said firmly. ‘Like water, like air, like the movement of wind on tall grass.’
‘You don’t expect me to believe that,’ Brede asked, shaken.
‘Expect? No, but hope – for pity’s sake Brede, stop doubting me. Stop building walls and expecting me to knock them down for you. If you can trust Grainne, if you can love Tegan; you can show me a reason for my meagre hope.’
Brede slapped Guida’s shoulder, edging her out of the way. Very slowly she stepped forward so that she was within touching distance of Sorcha. Sorcha risked a glance at Brede’s eyes. She could see no softening of Brede’s resolve, no understanding. She tried to swallow the tight knot of distress that choked her.
Brede’s fingers traced the spasm in Sorcha’s throat, barely touching, a flicker of flesh against flesh.
‘It isn’t the same,’ Brede said. ‘I hope for nothing from Grainne, so it costs very little to trust her. I resisted Tegan; I put my life in her hands, but never my heart.’ She lifted her hand, caressing the side of Sorcha’s face. Even to think of the trust she had offered Sorcha was to be reminded of desire, which seemed like a betrayal now. ‘So much power,’ she said, and her voice was no more than breath. ‘You frighten me.’
Sorcha reached a hesitant hand to Brede’s hair, which was coming loose from its bindings.
‘Stay.’
Brede laughed – a strange sound, like anger – like despair.
‘I can’t.’
‘Stay,’ Sorcha said, again, more assertively.
Brede pulled free, alarmed at the quickening in her blood at Sorcha’s touch.
‘I can’t,’ she said, very gently. ‘I have to get Neala away.’
‘Will you come back?’ Sorcha asked, watching for a shift in Brede’s granite resistance.
‘No,’ Brede said at last. ‘Once I’m back with Wing Clan, I’ll not return.’
‘If you didn’t have to go, would you stay with me?’ Sorcha asked, echoing Brede’s question.
Brede thought, and thought, and finally reached out to hold Sorcha.
‘How can I say what I think, or what I hope? I can’t speak my heart. There are no words.’
‘So?’ Sorcha asked, hoping that the tremor in Brede’s arms spoke of passion.
‘So,’ Brede said. ‘This is where we stand.’
‘So,’ Sorcha echoed, ‘you will go to Wing Clan.’
‘Yes.’
Sorcha reached to pull Brede closer.
‘But not until morning?’
‘First light,’ Brede said firmly.
‘Sunrise,’ Sorcha compromised, winding her arms about Brede tenderly; feeling the tremors still, resistance ending.
‘Sunrise,’ Brede agreed.
Chapter Thirty
Maeve waited until Grainne drifted into sleep before she slipped away. She couldn’t wait any longer for Tegan. Right now, she did not know how to control the feeling of betrayal and contamination and hopelessness that smothered her. She was afraid she might hurt Tegan if she saw her; if Tegan didn’t strike her down first. Closing the door softly behind her, she breathed more deeply, and leant against the cold wall.
What now? Her mind slithered away from that other betrayal, those friends whose treachery led her here, to these choices. She half knew that she was about to make a bad choice, but still her mind screamed at her, I can’t, I can’t, and at end, there was only this one, last, dreadful, thing left for her to do. Maeve rubbed at her face, and pushed through the outer door. She stumbled down to where Riordan guarded the stairs. She glanced from her brother to Cei, and could find no words. Riordan’s eyes flickered across her face, and he drew his sword, slowly – not wanting to precipitate anything. Maeve glanced at the blade, and found the strength to straighten her back, to smile in reassurance.
‘A guard is needed above,’ she said, her voice husky.
Riordan nodded, and gestured Cei away up the stair.
‘Maeve?’ he asked, his voice barely a whisper, the sword still in his hand.
‘What you do not know, you can’t be blamed for,’ Maeve said, gripping his shoulder. ‘I have orders from the Queen, and I…’ She shook her head sharply, it wasn’t safe. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered and walked briskly towards the barracks.
Riordan didn’t sheathe his sword. His mind raced, telling over the prisoners and his sister’s expression. He had to do something, but he could at least give her some small moment of grace, As soon as Maeve was safely out of sight, he called Cei back, and sent him for reinforcements.
M
aeve slipped through the stable, loosening the tether of her horse, gathering saddle and bridle. Aware of the increased amount of activity between the barracks and the tower, she scarcely stopped to ensure the buckles of the saddle were secure before she mounted, and was away.
Stealing out of the city, Maeve was forcibly reminded of Tegan’s anger at the lax security, and for the first time allowed that she was right – although she no longer cared. As soon as she could safely do so, she allowed her horse free rein, riding along the river as fast as the horse could go in the darkness, wanting only to put a good distance between herself and any hunt that might follow.
It was only when she was challenged by the sentry that Maeve realised that she had forgotten the first rule of a warrior’s life. Enemy territory.
She stared down at the spear point levelled at her heart, at the red marking on the shaft, and made a swift decision.
‘I have news for Lorcan,’ she said calmly, ‘from Phelan.’
Disturbed by the distant clatter of hooves on cobbles, Brede stirred, and began to dream, and woke suddenly from that dream, afraid. A rider burst into the courtyard, almost falling as she dismounted a horse that hadn’t quite come to a stand. Brede dragged her clothes into a semblance of order and went to investigate. Sorcha wasn’t far behind her.
Tegan grabbed a torch from its sconce, calling out for Maeve. She scarcely glanced at Brede, save to nod to her.
‘Is Maeve still with Grainne?’ Brede murmured to Corla, as the crowd in the yard increased in size. Corla shook her head.
‘Horse has gone,’ Eachan muttered, a sense of unease gripping him.
‘Who’s Maeve?’ Neala asked, her clear voice piercing above the uneasy muttering. Brede gave her a brief description. Neala nodded in understanding.
‘She rode out of here shortly after the hour,’ she said.
‘She did what?’ Tegan asked. ‘Where was she going?’
‘How could I know?’
Brede sensed a ripple of anxiety pass through the small crowd of Maeve’s warriors; each and every one of them knew what had occurred this day, each of them save Tegan. Quickly she drew Tegan by the arm, pulling her into a corner of the yard.