Free Blade of Fortriu by Juliet Marillier Page B

in such arts as the child has demonstratedhere today is a little … Otherworldly, shall we say? … what better way to avoid drawing undue attention to your own origins than for you to pass responsibility for guiding the boy into my hands? I can ensure he learns to harness his power, to channel his abilities to right ends. I can teach him to control what he has and turn it to the good of Fortriu. In doing so, I will protect both yourchild and your own reputation.”
    Tuala did not reply. He was taking over, as he always did; he would steal her son, make Derelei his own. His project; Bridei all over again.
    “You don’t trust me. That is nothing new; the feeling is mutual. It has long been thus between us. Talk to your husband. Set terms for this if you will. It’s important, Tuala.”
    “I want my son to be happy,” she told him.“I want him to grow up with his family around him; with brothers and sisters, if the goddess grants it. Children don’t just need education and guidance. They need love.”
    There was a little silence. “I’m aware,” Broichan said stiffly, “of your opinion of my deficiencies as a foster father. I cannot take that seriously. Bridei is everything he should be.”
    Tuala nodded. “Yes,” she said. “He’s grownadept at concealing how much it costs him. You robbed him of his own childhood. I won’t allow you to take away his son, as well.”
    “Allow?” Broichan hissed, and Tuala flinched at the look in his eye. The air seemed to spark around him, and his shadow grew larger. Derelei began to cry.
    “He’s tired; he needs his afternoon sleep,” she said, feeling a sudden weariness in her own body. The servingwoman, Orva, came hurrying over now and made to take the infant, but Tuala dismissed her with more briskness than was her habit. “No, Orva, I don’t need you. Go on, I’m sure Mara can put you to work with the linen. I’m taking him inside now,” she added, frowning at Broichan.
    “Baw-ta,” Derelei enunciated clearly, reaching out toward the druid. He had learned a new name. Tuala shivered as Broichanraised his own hand and placed it gently over the child’s head of fuzzy brown curls, not quite a caress, but as close as such a man could come to it.
    “I do not request this because of a desire for power, Tuala,” the druid said quietly. “Please speak to Bridei.”
    “Tell me,” Tuala said, “why did you approach me first, and not go to Bridei direct?”
    “Because I know he will not agree to it if youare unwilling. You prefer that I do so?”
    “No. He has enough to concern him right now. And so do I; he must ride to war soon enough. I share the common fears of all women at such a time.”
    “Yes.” Broichan’s voice was like a shadow made sound; like a deep well of secrets. “Will you not be tempted to follow him, to seek reassurance in the scrying bowl? They will be gone a long time: a season ormore. Surely this calls you strongly.”
    “Not so strongly that I cannot resist,” Tuala said grimly. “Contrary to what you imagine, I never forget how lucky I am that these folk accept me as Bridei’s wife. I don’t plan to give them any cause to doubt my suitability for the job. My husband needs me. My first loyalty is to him and to what he must be.”
    “Then you would be most wise to agree to my request.You cannot train the boy yourself unless you begin once more to exercise those secret arts. I, however, can do so without exciting any comment. Such practices are a druid’s daily bread.”
    “There’s no hurry. He’s a baby.” She turned to go.
    “Tuala:” Broichan spoke very softly behind her. There was something new in his tone, something that made her halt where she stood.”I don’t have as much timefor this as I would wish,” he said.”Let me give the child what I can.”
    And, looking back at him over her shoulder, Tuala saw the pallor of his long face, the way the bones of nose and cheeks jutted under the skin, the lines that had not