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 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.