Free Deception's Princess (Princesses of Myth) by Esther Friesner

one of the wildest celebrations I could remember. Father was so well pleased with all the fine cows now added to our herds that he ordered the servants to pour more and more mead for his followers. Soon the atmosphere in the great hall became so loud and unruly that Mother rose from her place and discreetly retired to her sleeping chamber. Her tactful withdrawal took all of the women with her, including me. Only the serving girls had to remain.
    I didn’t mind our enforced retreat. I was stuffed with good food and wanted to go to bed. The jolly uproar just beyond my door faded as I fell into a slumber so deep that a hundred warriors’ gatherings couldn’t wake me.
    The sound that did rouse me the next morning was so soft that I thought I was dreaming it. Rubbing my eyes, I sat up and listened. Yes, there it was: someone was crying.
    The great hall was a shambles. Benches were overturned, men and dogs lay sprawled on the ground, and rivulets of spilled mead trickled from dozens of fallen drinking vessels. The smell of smoke mingled with other, stronger reeks that made me cup a hand over my nose as I picked my way through the wreckage, trying to find the lonely weeper.
    She was huddled behind my father’s bench, one fist pressed hard against her mouth to stifle her sobs. When she became aware of my presence and lifted her face, I recognized Bláithín.Before I could ask her what was wrong, she blurted out, “It was Caílte’s doing. Caílte, fifteen years older than my sweet man and five times as skilled with the sword. Caílte, may his lying bones turn into worms of fire!” It was a soul-deep curse meant to be shouted loud enough to crack the sky, but her voice never rose above a fierce whisper. My belly twisted at the eeriness of it. “Your father gave him the hero’s portion of the boar last night. Why didn’t he choke on it? He claimed he overheard my darling mutter that someone else deserved that damned piece of meat. False! False! He refused to hear my beloved’s oath that he’d said no such thing, challenged him to fight it out, and killed him at the second blow. Let him die old, maimed, sick, and shunned for taking the light of my heart away from me!” She buried her face in her knees.
    That was how I learned that my friend Kelan was dead.

K ELAN WAS BURIED with his bronze torque, the silver brooch I pinned to his cloak, his spears, and what was left of his sword. The blade had broken during his duel with Caílte just before the older, more experienced fighter landed the death blow. Bláithín showed me the tiny iron shard she’d saved.
    “I know you liked him, my lady, and he always smiled when your name was on his lips. He told me how much you reminded him of his sister. May the great mother Danú comfort all his kin. I want to share this remembrance of him with you. That is”—she hesitated, probably remembering that she was not a young woman talking with a girl but a servant speaking to her princess—“if you’ll permit it.”
    She placed the shard in my hand. The iron splinter was the length of my smallest finger and almost thin enough to be mistaken for a needle. I returned it to her with respect. “Thank you, Bláithín. You’ve honored me.”
    “Someday I’m going to give it to our son,” she told me, eyes shadowed by sorrow.
    “When he’s born, I’ll make him a gift of forty cows, I promise.”
    “My lady, it’s too generous, too much—”
    “Not enough, Bláithín,” I said. How could it ever be enough to make up for the loss we two were bound to share?
    The moon changed faces and the seasons danced, but when the time came, neither Bláithín nor her infant survived the birth. While the women of our house prepared the two of them for burial, I helped by gathering up the dead serving girl’s few belongings. She was already in the earth by the time I found the sword fragment tucked into the folds of her winter cloak so it couldn’t go into the ground with her. Rather than let