Free Blade of Fortriu by Juliet Marillier

would be too late for the Gaels to mount a strong counteraction, too late for Gabhran to summon his kinsmen from Ulaid and Tirconnell to back up his own armies. This time, the Gaels would be defeated. They would be driven out of Fortriu. Even if Circinn refused to aid him, Bridei would make it so.
    They should have told Ana, Tuala thought.Not to do so was to act as if this royal bride were too foolish to keep her mouth shut on matters of strategic importance. Not only that, it made the decision to dispatch Ana to the lands of the Caitt seem cruel and unnecessary. What bride wants to confront her intended husband before he has agreed to wed her? That is to court humiliation. What young woman wishes to marry a man about whom she knowsnothing beyond the fact that there is a question in his past? An arranged marriage was one thing; this went far beyond that.
    Tuala came through the archway and halted. The serving girl was nowhere to be seen. Seated bolt upright on the grass, his infant hands waving in the air, was her son Derelei, engrossed in some kind of game. Opposite him, cross-legged in his dark robe, sat the king’s druid,Broichan. It was a mark of the power the man carried with him that, even in such an undignified pose, with a little child as his only companion, the druid looked remote, grave, and intimidating. Tuala had never lost her fear of him. She stood watching them, herself unseen. For once, Derelei had not sensed her approach. Both druid and infant were deep in concentration, and now she could see, asBroichan moved one hand before him, the fingers curving in a particular way, that her son was not, in fact, waving his arms about somewhat randomly as little children do when discovering how their bodies work. Derelei had his eyes fixed on Broichan’s, and he was copying the druid’s gesture. The tiny, plump-fingered hand formed itself into a shape graceful as a gull’s wing; mimicked Broichan’s long,bony fingers as they flattened, stretched, came up before his face. A bird flew down to settle on the wall beside them, ruffling its feathers. Another, smaller bird arrived an instant later, alighting alongside the first with a puzzled look. Derelei gurgled with pleasure.
    Broichan bent his head, his long plaits falling forward, streaks of white hair among the black, colored threads woven throughto bind the braids, and spoke softly to the child in his deep voice. Derelei did not reach and grab, as he usually did when something interesting came so close. He stayed where he was, looking up intently, and said something in his mysterious infant language. Thus far he had few recognizable words.
    “Circle, thus …” Broichan was telling him, and using his fingers once more to demonstrate, makinga subtle sign a handspan above the grass. Derelei copied him, small hand stretched just so, circling before him. The grass flattened obediently, making a neat little ring on the sward.
    Tuala was shocked. She was angry. Her first instinct was to march forward and confront the druid. Who gave you permission to teach my son? How dare you? For all her terror of the man, she would have done it. Derelei’sskills were no surprise to her; she had seen already what he could do, what her own blood had given him, and if she had wished to see his talents developed so early she would have taught him herself. For Broichan to interfere without her blessing or Bridei’s was not just unfair, it was alarming. This was their child, not his. He had done enough damage to Bridei. In his assiduous efforts toform his foster son into the perfect king, Broichan had created a young man who was, in essence, desperately alone. Of course, Bridei was unswerving in his devotion to the ancient gods of Fortriu, steeped in learning, strong in courage, and entirely equipped to lead his kingdom. In that, Broichan had done exactly what he had set out to do. He was unable to see that he had erred at all.
    Tualaremained in place, mute, held by something she could