A HOME AWAY FROM HOME
CHAPTER 5
One thing these humans appeared to be, Ardagh mused, was enthusiastic. A swarm of them, plaid cloaks flapping as they ran, scurried from keep and outbuilding and craftsman’s stall, bowing to their long, chattering with his warriors. Some took the hounds in charge, others the horses—but no matter what they did, all of them, the prince realized, were making excuses to stare at him. Their broad, ruddy faces—some of them actually covered with hair!—were so very different from the pale, narrow, elegantly planed Sidhe norm that Ardagh could hardly blame them for being curious; he was barely keeping from staring at them in turn. He also seemed to be the only one with dark hair in the entire fortress, and the prince had to fight a sudden, ridiculously self-conscious urge to raise a hand to smooth his battle-tangled locks.
But suddenly, Ardagh forgot all about awkwardness. A tall, slender woman had come rushing Out from the keep like a young girl, gold glinting from head and neck, long, chestnut-bright hair streaming out behind her, to fling herself into Aedh’s arms, gasping, “You’re safe!”
“Och, Eithne! Of course I’m safe. I told you all would be well.” The brusque words were belied by the gentleness in Aedh’s voice and in the equally gentle curve of his arms around her. “Come, wife, enough of this. We have a guest.”
“Och!” The woman drew back in embarrassment, hastily arranging the line of her gown and cloak. “Your pardon,” she began to Ardagh, then stopped short, staring.
Ardagh stared as well, seeing past the ruddy skin and green eyes to a glittering hint of—why, yes, the woman bore a trace of Power! Power carefully hidden, as though she didn’t dare let anyone know about it… Now, isn’t this interesting? Ardagh thought, and stored the fact away for future reference. And was she sensing something of who and what he was? Was her gift strong enough for that? No… it would seem not. She seemed perfectly willing to accept him as human.
Aedh was watching his wife with a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Eithne, may I present the Prince Ardagh Lithanial of Cathay? Ardagh, this lovely lady is my wife, Queen Eithne.”
As Ardagh bowed politely, he heard the king add softly to Eithne, “He saved my life.”
“Your dream!”
“Yes, if you insist, my dream.” But Aedh’s voice wasn’t quite as condescending as his words. “There were would-be assassins—No, no, it’s all right, I’m not hurt, in good part thanks to Prince Ardagh. Yes, love, just as in the dream. You have my permission to say ‘I told you so’ as often as you wish!”
But Eithne, face gone ashen, was offering Ardagh a curtsey of her own. “My thanks, Prince Ardagh, my true, heartfelt thanks.”
“I did what needed to be done,” Ardagh told her, which was true enough, even if what he’d done had been insuring his own safety.
“But we can hardly leave our guest standing here,” King Aedh cut in, and signalled to some plainly clad men—more servants, Ardagh assumed—who came running eagerly forward. “See that Prince Ardagh is treated according to his rank, according to the full laws of hospitality.”
The servants bowed obediently, glancing sideways at Ardagh, their eyes bright with curiosity. Aedh added to the prince, “We will, if it pleases you, sit together a bit later and… chat. And you will, of course, be my honored guest at dinner.”
And beyond, Ardagh told him silently. But gently, gently—time enough to make himself an indispensable part of the realm once he’d learned the rules.
And so Ardagh said merely, “As it pleases you.” With a polite dip of the head to Aedh and his wife, he followed the servants away. They led him not into the main keep, but down a narrow, grassy corridor between two wooden, thatch-roofed buildings, stopping before a small, round hut set apart from the others by a low wall.
“If it pleases you, Prince Ardagh?”
As they moved respectfully aside, Ardagh paused for a moment, looking into darkness, thoughts of treachery in his mind. But even if the walls of the hut were of woven wickerwork, they’d been whitewashed and polished to an elegant, gleaming purity, and the doorposts themselves were intricately carved wood inlaid with bits of bright silver. Hardly a place for betrayal.
By now, his eyes were adjusting fully to the dimness within. Ardagh saw that for all the hut’s simplicity, it held a nicely built table, a chest for possessions, and what looked like a very comfortable bed with an enticingly thick feather mattress. There were no true windows, but slits in the wooden walls just below the shingled roof let in some light and air.
So now, a guest house—and one, presumably for honorable guests. Or what passes for a guest house in human society.
Aware that the servants were waiting for some response, the prince nodded. “Quite satisfactory.”
An awkward pause followed, as it dawned on the servants that he had no belongings to be stored away. They glanced at each other, then at him, and one of them said warily, “You will want personal servants assigned to you, of course.”
“Why?”
That caught the humans by surprise. “Why—uh—because—”
“I assure you, I am quite capable of dressing and taking care of myself.” And the last thing I want is one of your kind sharing this place with me.
The servants glanced at each other, blatantly thinking by this point that he was a complete eccentric. One of them asked, as if he wasn’t at all sure of the response he was going to get, “If you will follow us, Prince Ardagh?”
“Lead on.”
They led him on through the wooden maze to a second building, as dim and windowless as the first. Again Ardagh waited uneasily for his vision to adjust, then let out his breath in a sigh of relief.
A bathhouse. The humans’ idea of hospitality, the Powers be praised, included a bath. Ardagh waited, fighting back impatience, as the servants laboriously brought bucket after bucket of hot water, then gladly surrendered his hopelessly travel-stained clothing—but not his sword, he wasn’t quite that trusting, placing the weapon instead to one side where he could reach it should need be—and settled blissfully into the bath.
As he luxuriated in the hot water, feeling the aches of battle and long, hard travel seeping away, Ardagh found himself struggling to keep awake.
Idiot! These people may have the concept of laws of hospitality, but they are also capable of falsehood!
Ah, but when was the last time he’d slept in a bed? For that matter, when was the last time he’d slept the night through? Travelling through wilderness didn’t exactly lend itself to peaceful rest.
Forcing his mind to stay at least reasonably alert, Ardagh mused that though the human way of life here might look impossibly barbaric, at least the folk did seem to place some worth on cleanliness; they all bore a faint, unavoidably animal smell that seemed to be the scent common to humanity, but their clothes and bodies were spotless. Maybe it wouldn’t be quite as intolerable to live among them as he’d first feared.
“Your Highness?”
Ah well, he could hardly lie here all day. His own clothing had been whisked away, but surely other clothes of suitable quality would be provided. Ardagh let the careful servants dry him (sensing their bemusement at his Sidhe lack of body hair; they all seemed by comparison hairy as animals) and gingerly comb out his tangled hair, then stood courteously still as they dressed him in a linen tunic so finely woven it was pleasantly soft against the skin and smelled faintly of the sweet herbs with which it must have been stored, snug-fitting woollen leggings, and over all one of the apparently ubiquitous plaidwoolen cloaks, this one in a pattern of dark red crossed with sky blue that showed a nice appreciation for the contrast it made with his fair skin and dark hair. A servant showed him the proper way of wrapping the cloak—the brat, the man called it—and pinning it in place with an enameled brooch. Ardagh’s hand hesitated when he realized the pin of the brooch was iron, but there was a minimal amount of the metal after all, and it was well insulated by the thick wool of the brat. The prince slipped his feet into his own soft boots, which had been neatly cleaned and brushed during his bath, then glanced at himself in the sleek bronze mirror a servant held for him and winced at how unSidhe he looked.
“Your Highness, if you would follow me… ?”
Ah yes. The royal… chat. Now he must prove himself worthy of further hospitality. Even though he knew nothing of the politics here or even the name of the land—Ardagh straightened, channelling his thoughts to quiet self-control. What wasn’t known could be learned.
“So be it,” he said. “Lead on.”
The royal palace seemed to be more a collection of connected buildings than one cohesive structure. Ardagh was led to a quiet little stone building jutting out from a wall of the central keep. This, he was told, was “the conversation house,” presumably, judging from the solid, secure look of it, a place where one could talk in private.
It was windowless, as the bathhouse had been, though a small central hearth cast a sharp, flickering glow and sunlight filtered down through the smoke hole overhead. Ardagh kept his face properly impassive, but he couldn’t hold back a spasm of distaste. Didn’t these humans know the art of building proper windows or creating large enough sheets of glass to fill them? Or, he thought in sudden wariness, was this closeness intended to ward off would-be assassins?
A pity they don’t have magic to help them. It would make their lives so much simpler.
“Prince Ardagh,” said a now-familiar voice. “Please, enter.” King Aedh, his hunting clothes replaced by a fine, softly woven red brat and a linen tunic so white it glowed in the faint light, was sitting at the far end of the little house, gold glinting richly from neck and brow. He looked very much like a man totally at his ease, without the slightest sign of reaction from his narrow escape, though Ardagh suspected that the king’s relaxed appearance was as much a disguise as his own mask of Sidhe calm.
As the prince approached, he saw two more men seated to Aedh’s left and right. One, on the king’s right, was almost as elegantly clad as Aedh, his hair and beard neatly combed. His tunic and cloak were of a more subdued blue and green patterning, but he, also, gleamed with gold here and there. The other man, who sat on the king’s left, was clean-shaven, his grey eyes more tranquil than those of Aedh, deep as shadowed pools. He alone showed no sign of riches, wearing a plain robe woven of what looked like bleached white wool; the only real spot of color about him was the narrow ribbon of embroidery at the edge of his wide sleeves.
Ardagh, not completely sure how one judged human age, guessed that both men must be older than Aedh: the hair of the white-robed man had been severely trimmed, but enough remained to show liberal streaks of grey, while the hair and beard of the other fellow was a solid ash-grey, and his pleasant, plain face was lined. There was nothing old, however, about his wise green eyes; they sparkled with life and a hint of a wry, clever wit.
“To my left,” Aedh introduced, “is Father Seadna. Good Father, may I introduce you to Prince Ardagh Lithanial?”
Those quiet grey eyes studied the prince as though trying to puzzle out everything about him. “I have been told how you saved the life of our king. Please accept my gratitude in the name of the Church.”
Ardagh was clearly expected to understand what that meant and make some ritual response. Lost, he bowed politely and hoped that was enough. Evidently it was, because Father Seadna returned the courtesy without any sign of surprise.
“And this,” Aedh continued, giving the man on his right a quick, affectionate glance, “is Fothad mac Ailin, once my tutor, now my chief poet. And, I might add, my chief advisor in state affairs, just as Father Seadna is mine in less secular matters.”
Ah.
But he could hardly have expected a king to lack for advisors. Besides, Ardagh reminded himself, he knew nothing of this land, not even its name; he would need someone willing to teach him what he needed to learn. What better way to deal with a potential rival than to turn him to an ally? Face carefully neutral, Ardagh sank smoothly to the small, cushioned couch he’d been offered and dipped his head to Fothad with the same polite courtesy he’d shown to Father Seadna, and received Fothad’s equally polite bow in return.
“Thank you for answering my summons so promptly,” Aedh said without irony. “I know you must be weary.”
Ardagh brushed that off. “I can understand that you’d wish to question me, King Aedh.”
“Och, no, Prince Ardagh, that’s hardly our way!” the king said with such theatrical indignation Ardagh knew it was feigned. “To force a guest to submit to questioning would be against all the laws of hospitality.”
Indeed. But, Ardagh thought cynically, there were always ways to sidestep such laws, particularly when one was a human. “I see,” the prince said in a voice carefully empty of sarcasm. “What, then, shall we discuss?”
Aedh smiled slightly. “Why, I thought you simply might wish to… relax a bit after this strenuous day. Remember what you could of the name you overheard.”
Ardagh sighed. “Believe me, King Aedh, if I could, I would. But at the time I hardly knew I’d need to remember it.”
“Ah well, no,” the king agreed, “how could you?” Aedh paused a moment. “Perhaps we could discuss something else—though of course I would not dream of questioning you.”
“Of course not.”
“But perhaps it just might please you to volunteer, if you would, some assurance that your royal brother isn’t hard on your heels.”
“That,” Ardagh said shortly, “he most definitely is not. My brother has no intention of ever seeing me again, and I will swear to it by whatever oath you wish.”
“And of course,” Father Seadna murmured, “you have no desire at all to gather an army to yourself.”
Ardagh raised a wry eyebrow. “From here, you mean? To attack my brother? With the distances between this realm and that being as vast as they are? My word on this, King Aedh, such a thing would truly be impossible.”
“Would it, now?” Fothad wondered softly.
Ardagh stiffened. Did the human realize the insult he’d just implied? No, no, of course he didn’t; he couldn’t. With a sudden inner chill he remembered where he was. These people could never understand anything of Sidhe honor. They thought nothing of falsehood, and he was forever trapped among them—
No, damn Eirithan and all the rest of that treacherous royal court to the Outer Dark, he was not forever trapped! He would return. And right now he needed these humans; he must not let them alienate him. Struggling with despair and rage, the prince snapped, biting each word off sharply, “I have just given my word. My people do not lie.”
Fothad flinched and held up an apologetic hand. “Forgive me. I meant no insult.”
He seemed genuinely contrite, and after a tense moment, Ardagh dipped his head in acceptance. Aedh continued as calmly as though the moment of tension had never happened, “And what, I wonder, would a prince of Cathay wish from this far-off land?”
“The same thing any other man alone might wish,” Ardagh retorted. “Food. Shelter. A safe place to rest.”
“More than that, surely.”
The prince hesitated, hating the thought of showing anything the humans might interpret as weakness. At last he admitted with reluctant frankness, “King Aedh, what I want just now is simply this: sanctuary. A place where I may stay and think on what to do next.”
“That,” Aedh assured him, “you have.”
But Ardagh thought he caught the faintest hint of what could only be human pity in the man’s voice. Stung, he added sharply, “I have no intention of accepting charity.” With a quick glance at Fothad, the prince added, “I am sure you have truly wise counselors there at your side. But perhaps you can make use of someone not quite so familiar with this realm. There may be times when subjective wisdom might not be as useful as objective observation.”
Aedh glanced at his ministers. Fothad waved a hand in wry salute, and Father Seadna smiled fleetingly.
“I promise you,” Ardagh added with delicate irony, “I am not exactly untrained in the world of royal politics.”
Aedh chuckled. “No, you wouldn’t be, would you?” The king got suddenly to his feet, stretching. “It truly has been a most strenuous day so far.”
“A master of understatement,” Fothad murmured, and Aedh laughed.
“Come, Prince Ardagh, by now our dinner must surely be ready. You,” the king added to Ardagh with an open grin, “could surely use a good meal, from the looks of you. No, man, don’t glare at me. I doubt I could have survived in the wilderness for long, either. A peasant could probably have lived off that woodland with ease, but you and I are trained for more… civilized battles.” Wry humor glinted in the grey eyes. “That fact,” he said, almost casually, “speaks in your favor more than any fine words.”
“I… beg your pardon?”
“Why, Prince Ardagh, had you been in better condition, had you not shown such blatant signs of hardship, such princely ignorance of woodsmanship—particularly with the forest so green and lush about you—I would never have believed you were who and what you claim. Now come, our dinner waits.”
###
Following King Aedh and his queen through the now almost total darkness, servants lighting their way with torches (disturbing the Sidhe’s flawless night vision), Ardagh braced himself for the new flood of human curiosity that was sure to come at dinner. The dining hall proved to be—of course, the prince thought wearily—yet another separate building. Sensible, he supposed, since most of the structures here seemed to be of flammable wood and thatch, to keep the cooking fires isolated lest they—
Ardagh stopped short in the doorway, hit by such a storm of noise and smell and heat that for a moment he couldn’t have moved to save himself. Humans all around, talking and laughing and shouting, the scent of them mingling with the reek of roasting meat and grease and the smoke from torches and central fire pits that wasn’t quite finding the smoke holes in the roof, and the cold, cold burning of iron from everyone, everything—
I can’t! I—can’t!
Hardly aware of what he was doing, Ardagh raced wildly back out into the night. As his legs gave out from under him and he crumpled to his knees, the prince had time for one brief thankful thought that no one had followed him. Then he was lost in a time of seemingly endless misery as his too-empty stomach insisted, no matter how he fought with it, on continuing the useless struggle of trying to rid itself of food that wasn’t there.
Then, just when he had finally won the battle for control, a sudden voice asked, “Are you ill?”
Ardagh started, glancing up, gasping and drained, and saw a woman’s dark blue eyes staring down at him, set in a fierce, keen-featured face framed by a mass of deep red hair. Furious at having been caught in such humiliation, the prince ached to blast the impudent human where she stood—
Foolish. Even if he had wanted to so stupidly lose his sanctuary, he had no such battle-magic in this Power-feeble Realm. Yet under the circumstances, he could hardly defend himself properly with words, either. What can I say? “I can’t stand the noise you humans make. I can’t stand your animal smell. I can’t stand the feel of your iron.”
No, no, all that was impossible to admit.
Contempt flared in the woman’s eyes. “Now, aren’t you ashamed of yourself?” she snapped.
Stunned, he glared wordlessly up at her, and she hurried on, “I mean, a fine royal man like yourself losing himself to drink, and here it is still so early in the evening!”
“I—am—not—drunk.”
The words were bitten off with such savage force he saw the woman flinch. As though angry at herself for that weakness, she retorted sharply, “Oh, no, of course not. It simply amused you to grovel on the ground like a dog emptying his stomach.”
Before Ardagh could find anything safe and sensible to say, the woman turned away, red braids snapping out behind her, and was gone, leaving him still crouching there, blazing with useless rage.
Struggling back to his feet, Ardagh forced himself back to the dining hall. Come what may, he was not going to show any further weakness to these people!
So, now… he froze in the doorway, his stomach trying its best to rebel all over again: the hall was just as noisy, just as thick with smoke and the feel of iron.
Come now, you fool, you have some Power left. Use it. Isolate the smoke… accept it, a natural scent, nothing terrible about it.
Yes. His will held true. The smoke was not truly foul, just a bit thicker than might be preferred. Only smoke. That much was conquered.
Now, you must isolate the smells of food.
It was just as natural for his stomach to rebel, since it had been nearly empty for too long. But food was life, and he would not let himself turn away from life. Ardagh carefully analyzed scent after scent… yes. He could hold the smell of roasting meat separate from the rest, an aroma no longer sickening but warm and savory and promising.
Now, isolate the human noise… separate out the animal sounds, hunt for the emotions underneath.
Delicately, Ardagh separated out anger and greed—the quick, transient emotions that seemed so much a part of what he’d seen so far of humankind; carefully he hunted for the true, basic shape of mood in that hall.
Which, he realized with some surprise, was happiness, the comfortable easiness of those among friends, at peace with what and where they were. And, again to Ardagh’s surprise, he felt a little pang almost of envy shoot through him. How strange to have friends! How strange to be so totally at ease with others, to play with them so freely and boisterously!
One thing more must be considered. Iron.
But with the overwhelming distractions of sight and sound and odor reduced, the terrible feel of iron was, if not reduced, at least bearable. Ardagh took a deep, steadying breath and reentered the hall.
Silence fell. Hands froze on drinking horns, heads turned in his direction. Even the servants turning the iron spits over the central fires stopped to stare. Sure that every gaze in the hall was on him, the prince strode, straight-backed and proud, across the rush-covered floor to where King Aedh gestured to him. No true chairs here; the king and his wife sat, like everyone else, on low, hide-covered benches behind the length of the equally low, dish-laden table. As Ardagh took his seat at Aedh’s side, between the king and Fothad, crossing his long legs in imitation of the others, the king glanced at him in sympathy.
“Delayed reaction to battle, eh? I’ve felt that a few times myself.”
Powers, does everyone know where I’ve been and what I was doing?
Maybe not. Aedh, at least, had guessed. The clever grey gaze flicked over him, and the king smiled slightly. “Go easy on the ale till you’ve given your stomach something solid to work on.”
Excellent idea. Ardagh ignored the bronze-studded drinking horn set before him and chewed slowly on a section of freshly baked bread. Then, when he was sure that would stay where it should, he warily helped himself to some of the roast being offered to him and bit into it. Ah, sweet and crisp, lovely. He could have closed his eyes in bliss, unable to remember the last time he’d tasted cooked meat. Such niceties as forks were unknown here, but he hardly cared about that right now. Besides, one could nibble daintily enough if one were careful and one’s hands were clean.
“What would this meat be?” he asked after a time, and got a bemused glance from Fothad.
“You are from a far land if you fail to recognize boar.”
Ardagh raised a wry eyebrow. “Does that mean you believe me?”
Fothad grinned. “Who am I to argue with my king?” But he softened the cynical reply by adding, “It must be a frightening thing to be a stranger in a foreign land. If you have questions about the rules of this realm, don’t hesitate to ask me.”
Ah. Good. That might have been said merely out of human courtesy, but Ardagh quickly returned the grin. “Oh, don’t fear. I intend to do just that.”
A woman stirred at Fothad’s free side, glancing quickly at Ardagh then away, and the prince straightened. This was the sharp-eyed female who’d mistaken him for a drunken human. Her face now burning red, she was trying her best to ignore him.
So be it, Ardagh thought. I don’t want anything to do with you, oh sharp-tongued woman, either. Life is going to be difficult enough without any such complications!
Fothad glanced from him to the woman, one eyebrow raised. Whatever he might have been wondering, his voice was carefully bland as he said, “Prince Ardagh, may I present my daughter, Sorcha ni Fothad? Sorcha, this is Prince Ardagh Lithanial of Cathay.”
Ardagh dipped his head in curt politeness, and received an equally curt dip of the head in return.
His daughter. Wonderful. Nothing is going to be easy for me in this Realm, is it?
Ignoring father and daughter both, he bit savagely into the roast boar.
###
Eithne stole wary glances past the sturdy bulk of her husband at the stranger. Right now, lost in a positive rapture of eating, he looked anything but exotic, even with that glossy black hair and those odd, slanted eyes: the man plainly hadn’t eaten well for some time. But, for all his hunger, his manners remained impeccable. A prince, indeed, Eithne mused. And yet, and yet, underneath it all, there was the faintest, strangest hint of… she wasn’t quite sure what she felt. Not for the first time cursing her small, unpredictable magic, Eithne shivered suddenly, and Aedh glanced her way.
“Cold, love?”
She shook her head. “A thought, nothing more.”
Ardagh seemed totally oblivious to her wonderings. But somehow she was sure he knew. He knew who and what she was, while she, oh she still knew nothing at all about him…
Yes, I know he saved your life, and for that I shall never be grateful enough. But… what have you welcomed into our home?
Much later, curled next to Aedh in their bed, Eithne lay awake for what seemed an eternity, still wondering. At last, when the night was at its deepest, she slipped silently from the bed. Behind her, Aedh grunted in his sleep, stirring restlessly, and she froze. But then he settled back into sleep, snoring softly. Eithne let out her breath in a soundless sign. Moving to the window, she softly cast open a shutter and looked out into the night.
It was the darkest hour. But even so, someone was moving out there, a barely visible shape in the darkness. A guard? Eithne wondered for a moment. No. As that someone turned, Eithne caught the faintest gleam of pale skin, as though it held its own light.
The stranger, the foreign prince who called himself Ardagh Lithanial, was prowling through the night, graceful and silent as a cat, the darkness clearly no barrier to him, going nowhere in particular but pacing restlessly like a man unable to sleep—or, Eithne thought uneasily, like one hunting for something he knew he would never find.
Exile, she remembered with a sudden touch of pity, feeling as he neared her window a hint of his anguish. A lost, lonely exile.
But exiled from where?
As though realizing he was being watched, the prince stopped short. His green gaze, glinting in the darkness like the eyes of an animal, looked up and locked with her own, and Eithne, staring into those clear, cool eyes that were like a blank mirror giving up nothing at all, thought with a little chill racing through her, Alien, alien.
And in that moment, her own small magics rousing, she knew exactly how alien. “Sidhe,” she breathed.
Oh no, that couldn’t be. The Sidhe were only beings out of stories; he was human, he had to be…
As though he’d heard her whisper, the prince gave her the most elegant, most mocking of bows, then moved silently off into the night.