Ana and Ferada had taken their bread and cheese out into the garden. They sat in their usual place, on a stone bench under a pear tree, with several other girls around them. It was a pretty sight: they might almost have been two manifestations of the maiden All-Flowers, Ferada representing autumn in her russet gown, her fiery hair pinned up high, her sharp features softened by a dusting of freckles across the bridge of the nose. Ana was all springtime, with her ashen-fair locks spilling across her shoulders, her clothing the traditional tunic and straight skirt of her island people, woven in palest cream with borders the hue of forget-me-nots. She wore a silver brooch at the shoulder, pinning her shawl; it was wrought in the shape of a sea-beast, part horse, part seal, part something else: one of the ancient signs of lineage in the Light Isles. It seemed to Tuala, watching these two and wondering what she might say to them, that something set them apart. Whether it was their noble blood, or the advantages of education and upbringing, or the touch of the goddess herself, both looked lovely, powerful, and—for all her own reservations about Fox Girl—somehow good. Tuala became aware that she was staring.
“Come and sit by us, Tuala,” Ana said in her soft, melodious voice. “The sun is so warm today; I think the Flamekeeper must be smiling on Fortriu.” She shifted across to make room on the bench; Ferada stayed where she was, expression mildly amused. As Tuala walked over, all the other girls got up without a word and moved away out of earshot.
“I’m sorry,” Tuala found herself saying, “I didn’t mean to—”
“Shh,” Ana said. “Sit down; don’t mind them, they’re just silly girls. Ah!” she added triumphantly as Tuala seated herself between them. “You owe me, Ferada!”
Tuala looked from one to the other and Ana’s cheeks reddened slightly.
“A wager,” Ferada said. “How long it would take you to pluck up the courage and come over to sit with us. Unfortunately, here at Banmerren we have nothing much to wager with. I have to wash Ana’s hair tonight, something we do for each other anyway while we’re here.”
Fox Girl was sounding almost human. It was surprising; she had maintained her distance up till now, save in the history class.
“I heard you were going to court,” Tuala ventured. “When your father returns.”
Ferada grimaced. “Inevitable,” she said. “We’re here for a while, shut in behind high walls, and there for a while, being polite to men our families think suitable. I don’t know which is worse, really.”
“But you’ll be wanting to see your family,” Tuala said, surprised. “Your mother and little brothers.”
Ferada raised her brows. “Would you be in a hurry to see Uric and Bedo if they were your brothers? Frogs in the bed, shouts and shrieks when you’re trying to study, weak jokes about which of the men you like best?”
Tuala smiled despite herself. “I thought they were fine little boys,” she said. “They made me laugh.”
“Didn’t you threaten to turn Bedo into a newt? I’m sure that’s what he told me.”
“I may have said something like that,” Tuala replied. “He knew it was a joke. Eventually.”
Ana laughed. “Little brothers would be nice,” she said. “I have only much older ones. And a sister.” Abruptly, she was solemn. “She’ll be nearly eleven now. She probably doesn’t even remember me.”
“Hmm,” said Ferada, breaking off a piece of bread and tossing it to a thrush that waited on the grass. “Big brothers can be a worry; wouldn’t you agree, Tuala?”
“I don’t know,” Tuala said. “I have neither brothers nor sisters.” There was a picture of the forest people in her mind, girl with cobweb hair and pale jewels on her fingers, boy all of nuts and berries and creepers. If folk like those were her family, it was no wonder the other girls looked at her askance.
“You do really,” Ferada said. “You have Bridei. A foster brother.”
There was a little silence.
“I need to ask you something,” Tuala said.
“Go on, then.” Ferada’s interest was caught; there was a speculative glint in her eye.
“Fola wanted me to find out about—about what’s expected for young women such as yourselves. With marriages and alliances.”
“Why would you need to ask us?” Ana was amazed. “Fola should hear you in history class. You already know more than the rest of us put together.”
“That’s not what she means,” said Ferada. “She’s talking about the bits that elderly male tutors don’t tell.”
“You can’t mean—” Ana flushed again, her cheeks turning rose pink.
Ferada gave a crooked smile, glancing sideways at her friend. “I doubt very much if Fola intends us to provide expert tuition in matters of the bedchamber,” she said drily “It’s more about what’s expected of us, and others like us. Do you think?”
Tuala nodded. “That’s what she said. I know both of you are daughters of the royal line; that Lady Dreseida is a cousin of King Drust, the child of his mother’s sister, and that Ana is descended from a more distant branch of the royal line, the one that rules in the Light Isles. That means your sons would have a claim to kingship one day; it restricts who you can marry.”
“And it limits our other choices,” Ferada said glumly. “Be glad you have the option of staying at Banmerren, Tuala. You may be shut off from the outside world here, but it’s a whole lot better than being a royal brood mare. That may seem like having power, when so much depends on us, but there’s no real power in it. When it comes to it, the men make the decisions; all we are is breeders.”
“We don’t do so badly,” Ana put in. “It is a life of privilege compared with the hard work of a farmer’s wife or the lot of a servant.”
“How can you say that?” Ferada was outraged. “You’re captive here, stuck at Drust’s court for years and years, and you can’t go anywhere unless you’re surrounded by big men with knives. How long is it since you saw your family?”
Ana looked down at her hands. “A long time,” she said. “They do not come here. I imagine my cousin is afraid any who visit may become hostages in their turn. My presence here has kept my kinsmen compliant. It has done what it was meant to do.”
“You always seem so calm,” Tuala ventured, choosing her words carefully. “As if you didn’t mind being a prisoner.”
“There is no point in complaining,” Ana said. “I was sad at first, sad and frightened. I missed my little sister terribly. But they have been kind, the king and queen. And it helps to be able to spend time here at Banmerren. I like learning. I like the other girls’ company, Ferada’s in particular.”
“And you need not have those large guards always lurking somewhere close by when you’re in here,” Ferada said drily.
“Indeed, cannot,” agreed Ana. “There are times when the rule banning all men save druids from this sanctuary is most welcome.”
“Ana?” Tuala asked.
“Mm?”
“What if your cousin . . . what if he . . .?” It was too terrible to say this in full; the whole situation seemed, indeed, quite unbelievable.
“Difficult question.” It was Ferada who replied; Ana had folded her hands together in her lap, her gray eyes suddenly shadowed. “What if her cousin decides to stop being so obedient? Decides to attack Drust the Bull or ally himself with an enemy such as the Gaels, maybe? I wouldn’t like to venture a response, save to say that if I were a hostage I’d be a great deal less sanguine about it than Ana is.”
“I don’t think they’d kill me,” Ana said in a small voice. “But I suppose it is possible; if they are not prepared to make good that threat, then there’s little point in holding me here in Fortriu. It is hard to believe that they would do it. Queen Rhian has been very good to me.”
“You’re safe as long as your cousin believes they’d carry it out,” Ferada said. “That makes it fortunate he doesn’t visit. One look at the way you’re treated at Caer Pridne, for all the guards, and he’d realize the king couldn’t bring himself to lay a fi
nger on you.”
Tuala could not tell if Ferada believed her own words, or had made this speech to reassure her friend. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It is very difficult for you. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“I’ve accepted it,” said Ana. “Our ancestry makes us significant, not only as what my friend here calls royal brood mares, but also as pieces to be deployed to advantage in the game of political strategy. I learned this early. For me, the time as a hostage may not last much longer. I’m deemed to be of marriageable years now, and it’s likely to be more useful to King Drust to wed me to a dangerous chieftain or petty king whom he wishes to placate. Then I suppose he will take new hostages.”
“How can you be so calm about it?” Ferada exclaimed. “This makes me so angry sometimes I could scream, if ladies were permitted to do something so uncouth. We have so much to offer, so much we could give—and because of the accident of our birth, we have no free choices at all.”
“Shh,” warned Ana. “Don’t let Kethra hear you talking about accidents of birth. It sounds dangerously like an insult to the gods. We must accept the lives they give us, Ferada. We must work within the pathway they allot us.”
“Hmm,” said Ferada, her lips twisting in a humorless smile. “To get back to your query, Tuala, we’re about to return to court for another round of introductions to men our families deem suitable future prospects for us. There aren’t many to choose from. They must be high born, healthy, of good character, and steadfast practitioners of the ancient faith of Fortriu. In other words, they must be in all ways fit to father a future monarch. I’ve yet to meet a single one I could bear to have touch me, let alone do what a husband does to his wife. Most of them look me up and down like a choice cut of meat. They can’t help themselves.”
“That’s a little unfair,” Ana said, frowning. “There are worthy men among them.”
“Worthy!” Ferada gave a snort of derisive laughter. “Who wants worthy? Never mind. I know there’s no choice in the matter. If there were, I would tell my parents I want nobody. I would make my own life as Fola has done.”
“It could be lonely,” Tuala ventured.
Ferada regarded her curiously “That’s odd, coming from you. Don’t you like being alone? You’re always scuttling off to your hidey-hole up in the tower. Maybe Fola’s like you. Maybe she enjoys being by herself, with only her own thoughts for company”
“A wise woman has the company of the gods,” Ana said. “That means she is never lonely.”
“Sometimes we speak to the gods and they do not answer,” Tuala said. “That is the loneliest of all.” She thought of Bridei with a shadow in his eyes, his face ash-pale with tension. The answers he needed, neither man nor god had been able to provide.
“What is it, Tuala?” There was concern in Ana’s tone. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.” She must guard her thoughts with more care if they showed thus in her face. “When must you marry? How soon? Broichan wanted me to—I only came here because—”
“He had a suitor for you already?” Ferada asked. “Who? Tell us!”
“A man called Garvan. A stone carver. I did not want to marry him. I don’t want to marry anyone.”
“You’re in the right place, then,” Ferada said.
“Garvan,” mused Ana. “You mean the famous Garvan, the one who carved the bull stones at Caer Pridne? He must be quite old, surely.”
“I don’t know if he’s famous. He might be; Broichan did mention commissions for the king. He seemed old. Maybe thirty.”
“A stone carver wouldn’t do for either of us,” Ferada said, “however famous. It’s chieftains or their sons; sometimes kings from other lands. The royal women do go away. I suppose that’s a kind of escape. Look at Bridei.”
“What about Bridei?” Tuala tried to sound nonchalant.
“That’s what his mother did. Married the king of Gwynedd, went off and had her children there. The royal descent goes from father to son in those parts. Bridei has elder brothers, of course. One of them would most likely follow the father. Bridei’s a bit like Ana; parted from his family for other people’s reasons. He, of course, is entirely suitable for me or for Ana. He meets all the qualifications. The only drawback is the possibility that he could be a candidate for kingship; it’s preferred that the king wed outside the royal line, to avoid his sons becoming contenders in future years. To wed a woman of the blood, even a distant cousin, would concentrate too much power in one family; it would make the line of descent too narrow. Still, chances are Bridei won’t even put his name forward when the time comes. There are several older, more experienced men who are eligible, one or two of them widely respected. Your foster brother is unlikely to be a candidate, and so can be considered as marriage material for us. I’m forced to admit that it’s not such a bad prospect. Life with him might be rather too solemn, but at least he’s not an oaf, as so many of them are. Broichan’s brought him up to love the gods and to demonstrate impeccably good manners.”
“You think him too solemn?” asked Ana. “Some men find it hard to laugh; that is not such a bad thing. Better than a man who laughs too much, and foolishly”
“Ana likes him,” Ferada whispered to Tuala, brows raised. “She saw your brother from a distance two summers ago, when Talorgen took the boys to court. She said he was handsome.”
“I said no such thing.” Ana was blushing again. “I never even met him.”
Tuala was seized with a desperate need to turn the conversation to safer ground. “Your brothers could be candidates for kingship, too,” she said to Ferada.
“Well, yes,” Ferada said with a grimace. “Technically, they can, as my mother’s sons. But Uric and Bedo have a lot of growing up to do yet, and Gartnait’s entirely unsuitable. I love my big brother, but he simply doesn’t have it in him to take on such a weighty mantle. He’s lacking in so many of the essentials of a true leader, qualities which, I’m obliged to acknowledge, the worthy and rather dull Bridei demonstrates more and more as he grows older. Father would never consider putting Gartnait forward as a candidate. In fact, they are saying such a decision will face Fortriu within two summers. Drust is ailing. I heard Kethra say that. So, no chance for my little brothers; by the time Uric and Bedo reach manhood there’ll be a new young king on the throne.”
“Perhaps not young,” said Ana. “Bearing in mind that each of the seven houses of the Priteni may put a candidate forward, there could be several men of middle years in contention. Some of my own kinsmen would qualify by blood, although I doubt they’d declare candidacy if the election comes soon. My own situation is likely to prevent that.”
“True,” Ferada said. “The voting chieftains will surely choose someone who’s tried and tested as a leader of men; someone like Drust’s first cousin Carnach, who’s youngish but well respected and powerful in his own territories. And loyal. I think we can safely forget about both Bridei and my brothers in such a contest; put their names up and folk would only laugh. The biggest threat is from Circinn. From Drust the Boar. This will be his chance to claim the crown of Fortriu to add to that of Circinn, in order to unite the two kingdoms in the observance of the Christian faith.”
“The Shining One protect us from such a horror,” Ana muttered.
“Do you think it likely Drust the Boar can gather the numbers for that?” asked Tuala, shocked. “Would sufficient of the voting chieftains support him?”
“It’ll be close,” Ferada said. “They’ll be interesting times. Dangerous times. Hold out the prospect of such power before a group of men and anything can happen. We should go, Ana. It’s fine enough for riding today. Why don’t you come with us, Tuala? I’m sure we could smuggle you out somehow.” She rose to her feet with a mischievous glint in her eyes.
“Thank you, no,” Tuala said. “I must—I need to—”
“It’s all right, Tuala,” said Ana kindly. “You must not break rules. Ferada gets a little carried away sometimes, especially when she’s been shut in too
long. Like a caged cat. I hope we gave you the answers you wanted.”
“Yes, I—”
“The thing is,” Ferada said, “it’s just as bad for the boys as it is for us, in a way. The young men of royal blood, those who could be candidates for kingship, have their own set of rules to follow. Their wives are chosen as carefully as our husbands, not because of breeding, but because a royal wife must be perfect, beyond reproach. Just imagine having that kind of pressure on you. You’d be nothing but your husband’s shadow, your only purpose to reflect the glory of his role as human embodiment of the Flamekeeper and symbol of Fortriu’s aspirations. Every single thing you did would be scrutinized. You’d have no life of your own at all.”
“If you loved your husband,” said Ana, “that wouldn’t matter, surely?”
“Listen to her,” Ferada scoffed, “and her talk of love! How you manage to keep such foolish dreams alive in the face of so much evidence to the contrary I can’t understand. Now, we really are going to be—late enjoy whatever it is you’ll be doing, Tuala.” With a quirk of the lip, she turned and walked away, and Ana followed.
THE TREE CRADLED Tuala, its limbs secure and strong, anchoring her to earth’s heart. Its canopy spread fresh and green under the warmth of the sun. Ana had said the Flamekeeper smiled on Fortriu. Well he might; the Mage Stone had been brought home, and soon the land would have a new young king. For all Ferada’s dismissive words, Tuala knew how it would be. There was a deep certainty in it that allowed for no doubt.
She would not practice scrying. She knew what would appear on the water to taunt and torment her. It would not be Fox Girl this time, Ferada as a grown woman in an elegant gown, smiling up at her husband as he inclined his head with impeccably good manners to hear her words. No; this time it would be Ana. Tuala’s heart was cold. A young man who might one day be king needed the right bride. That could not be challenged; he could not walk a path of such terrible responsibility unless his wife could support him with all her own strength. He could not be fully accepted among the influential men surrounding him, both allies and possible adversaries, unless he had made a marriage entirely acceptable in the eyes of both his people and the gods. Tuala knew that. She had known Ferada was a possible choice, but she had been able to discount that, almost, because quite plainly Ferada would never be chosen. The Shining One would intervene before Bridei allied himself to a girl who thought him dull, for such a girl could never love him as he needed to be loved. But Ana; Ana was a different matter. Ana was young, beautiful, clever, of royal blood and both sweet and kind as well. It hurt to think about it. Ana liked Bridei. No doubt he would like her in return; how could he fail to do so? She was absolutely perfect, and utterly suitable. It was all too easy to imagine Bridei confiding in Ana as he had once done in Tuala herself, telling her his troubles, working through his quandaries, sharing with her every part of his struggle to know what choices were right. It fit perfectly; it was as if the gods had intended it.
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