Deception's Princess (Princesses of Myth) Read Free Page A

fate of a man who thought he could betray me and escape the consequences just because he was High King of Èriu.” He gave the sightless eyes a mocking look. “I taught you otherwise, eh, Fachtna Fáthach?”
    I stared at the severed head in wonderment, remembering the times when Father had spoken about attending the High King at Tara or sending him gifts. A man so high-ranked that other kings paid him tribute, yet now he was … gone.
    “What did he do to you, Father?” I asked.
    “You don’t need to burden yourself with such things, my spark. It’s men’s business. All that touches you is this: I’m High King of Èriu now, and you’re my bold, bull-hunting daughter.” With that, he jounced me in his arms and carried me into the house.
    If I had any further questions for him, they were swept out of my mind by the storm of preparations for his victory feast. It began that night, went on for thirty more, and the din of it rocked Cruachan to its roots.
    We were not the only ones sharing the celebration. The road to our ringfort soon teemed with noblemen arriving from all parts of Èriu. Every one of them bowed and brought gifts. My ruined silk tunic was soon replaced by a more splendid one. My sisters received equally magnificent garb.
    Gold ringed every neck under our roof. No sooner was a heavy torque finished, polished, and placed in Father’s hands than he awarded it. It was very funny to see some of his younger,thinner fighters struggling to stand tall under the weight of such a precious yoke. I couldn’t begin to count how many animals were slaughtered to feed the shifting crowd. We breathed the scent of roasting pork and stewing beef for so long that I forgot what fresh air smelled like.
    My sisters and I soon grew tired of so much revelry. Even though we were always welcome at the nightly carousing, we often stayed in our room after eating.
    “It’s so boring ,” I complained to Derbriu. “Every night Devnet the bard sings nothing but songs about how Father cut off the High King’s head.”
    “That’s the truth.” Derbriu cleared her throat and burst into a hilarious imitation of our house bard performing the tale of how Eochu Feidlech, son of Finn, rode out to avenge an act of treachery by Lord Fachtna Fáthach, and won. All of my sisters giggled, but very softly. It was dangerous to make fun of a bard. If he learned about it, you could find yourself the target of a satire cruel enough to kill, or so Mother said.
    Silence followed the laughter. Clothru said, “It’s all going to be different for us now.” She didn’t sound happy.
    “Why?” I asked.
    “Because now we’re the High King’s daughters. We’re more important than before.”
    “Too important,” Èile said glumly. “It means there’ll be no more putting off sending us into fosterage.”
    Fosterage …
    I was well aware of the custom that called for highborn children to be raised in other households. Some went as young as a year old. Boys were sent to learn the skills of a warrior, girls to prepare themselves for marriage. Fosterage forged lastingbonds between families. Mother said it was also good for the children, making them more self-reliant, helping them to grow up strong, far away from softhearted parents who might be too ready to offer sympathy for every hurt or to make excuses for every failure.
    No one asked the children if they wanted to go.
    “It won’t touch you, Maeve,” Clothru said. “Father will flatter his strongest allies by awarding the rest of us to them, but he’ll want to hold on to you as his pet bargaining token.”
    “It’s not fair,” Èile sulked. “Just because she’s the youngest—”
    I opened my mouth to protest, but before I could speak, Mother entered our room. “Your father wants you all to join the feast.”
    “Do we have to?” Mugain whined. “I’m tired.”
    “All right, girl,” Mother said crisply. “If you’re so weary, I’ll tell your father he can take the cattle