Shapeshifter (3 page)

“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

T
he 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 him, 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

B
odb’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.

She was led through rich, airy rooms and delicate gardens to Bodb himself. He was a handsome, commanding man with thick golden hair pulled into a knot at the back of his head. He was not, as Sive had imagined, lounging at his ease, fingering his famous harp; rather he strode briskly into the room with the air of a man with a long list of tasks to see to—which of course he was, with guests arriving from all corners of his kingdom. He gave Sive a gracious but brief welcome, thanking her for coming, introducing her to the master of revels, and pointedly
not
asking after her mother.

Not exactly a greeting for a long-lost child, she noted wryly. Grian, it seemed likely, had been mistaken with that fond theory.

“Daireann is looking forward to seeing you,” Bodb offered. He frowned. “I had thought she would be here to greet you. She insisted you share her rooms, so that you will feel more at home.”

Of course she did, thought Sive as she mustered what she hoped was a grateful smile. It was hard to imagine this lovely palace held a single uncomfortable corner, but Sive had a feeling Daireann would find it.

“I’VE PUT YOU OVER HERE, so you’ll have more privacy.” Daireann motioned to the corner of her sitting room, a spacious, bright chamber joined to a smaller sleeping room by a wide, arched opening, both so draped and swathed with gaudy silks that Sive felt swaddled in a peacock’s breast. “There’s a settle already there, so we won’t need to clutter up the room with an extra pallet.”

Sive eyed the narrow bench warily. Elaborately carved, heaped with overstuffed cushions and raised at the head, it would be delightful for lazing away a dull afternoon— and a nightmare to sleep on.

“Of course there’s no room for your women in here, or with my maids.” Daireann motioned vaguely to the door beyond her bedstead, which presumably led to a third room housing her servants. “With so many people staying, we’ve had to put all but the most important guests’ attendants in the outbuildings. But I expect you’re used to seeing to yourself.”

It was masterful how she did it, wrapping so many slights in a single pronouncement. Sive’s growing anger— there was ample room for one companion to stay with her, and she was willing to bet she was the only female guest in the place sleeping without one—was almost overshadowed by grudging admiration. She forced a bright smile.

“It’s lovely, Daireann,” she said. “You’re very generous to share your chambers with me.”

“It’s the least a sister can do.” Daireann drifted into her sleeping room and admired herself before the tall mirror mounted beside her bed. She arched her neck, tossed back her yellow hair and slipped another bracelet up her white arm. Sive waited, knowing there was more to come. Daireann never left a gracious phrase unbarbed. “In any case, I don’t suppose we shall see much of each other. There are several men courting me, and you’ll be busy with the other workers.”

With a sisterly smile as venomous as a poisoned arrow, Daireann excused herself and bustled off, leaving Sive to discover for herself where her women had been housed and when dinner might be expected.

HE HAD A TUMBLE of dark curls and black eyes that flashed when he smiled, and he was sitting to Sive’s left at the next morning’s meeting called to organize the performers. Somehow her attention kept drifting toward him rather than the master of revels, an earnest fellow with a droning voice. The schedule was not taxing: over the five-day gathering, performers were asked to share their art at every other dinner and at two midday meals. “You all are our esteemed guests,” gushed the revelmaster. “If there is any comfort or hospitality lacking to you, you have only to let me know.”

A proper bed would be a start, thought Sive. After a night spent bobbing in a sea of cushions, she was less than rested. Her women had fared better, sharing one room but each with a freshly stuffed pallet, clean bedclothes and a rack to hang out her gowns.