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

slithered inside his tunic. It peeped out at me from the embroidered neckline. “They despise my friends as much as you do.”
    I was suddenly ashamed. “Odran, I don’t despise them. It’s—” I paused to seek the right way of putting things, but all I could muster was a lame, “It’s complicated.”
    How could I tell him that his creatures filled me with misgivings? They weren’t like the tame beasts I knew, dogs and horses, nor like the animals of the world beyond our ringfort’s walls. An icy shiver of memory conjured up the wolf that would have had me if not for Kelan’s spear. And if a trained dog like Lord Áed’s wolfhound could turn vicious, how could anyone trust these sharp-toothed wild things? There was something fetching about them, but that made me uneasy too. If a mouse looks up to marvel at a kestrel’s flight, she forgets about its talons.
    I couldn’t tell Odran my feelings. He wouldn’t understand. He’d think I was a coward. He’d see me as just another of those girls who squealed when they saw a spider.
    “Complicated … I see.” Odran didn’t press me for a more satisfactory explanation. I was grateful for that. “It’s the other way around for your fosterling boys. Whenever they see Guennola and Muirín, they try to knock their brains out with sling-stones. You can’t get less complicated than that.”
    “They dared ?” I was furious. “Come back to the ringfort and show me the ones who tried to kill your animals. Father will skin those brats alive!”
    “No, Lady Maeve,” Odran said patiently. “The High King will tell me to fight my own battles. This has happened before in other courts. I’ve learned that the best I can do for my friends is keep them out of harm’s way.”
    “But I could—” I began. He shook his head. He’d made his choice and I had to honor it or truly become like his father, forcing my wishes over his. “All right. But if you change your mind, tell me. And if you want a good refuge, come here whenever you please. I’ll let you have this place to yourself for as long as you stay at Cruachan.”
    “I wouldn’t like that,” Odran responded. “Muirín and Guennola are good creatures, but they’re bad at conversation.”
    I settled myself onto one of the willow’s roots. “Which is which?”
    He sat down near enough to create an air of companionship but far enough to respect my uncertain feelings about his animals. “This is Muirín”—he patted the fox—“and this is Guennola.” He tickled the stoat’s chin. It bit him. I giggled until I snorted. “ Not funny,” Odran mumbled, sucking his finger.
    “Wait until the other Guennola finds out the name of your little horror,” I gloated. “A bite will be the least of your worries.”
    “It wouldn’t be the first time my girl’s name matched another lady’s.” He studied his finger. The tip was red but there was no blood. That bite had been no more than a friendly warning. “Your Guennola would have to be very stupid to believe I named the creature after her as an insult.”
    “Ah, but what if you named it after her as a compliment?” I asked impishly. “What if you did it as a tribute to her extraordinary beauty? What if you’re out of your mind in love with her? What if—”
    “What if I drop my Guennola down the back of your dress?”
    “What if I push you into the stream?”
    “Wouldn’t that break the guest-bond, my lady?”
    “I’m more worried that it’d scare off the trout.”
    “Trout?” He perked up with interest. “I like trout.”
    We were soon deep in a fish-catching conspiracy. I offered a plan: “If we broke off a willow sprig and one of us dangled it in the water, maybe that would hold a fish’s interest long enough for the other to grab it.”
    “Worth a try.”
    My scheme went better than I’d hoped, probably because Odran was the one seizing the distracted trout. His long, thin hands were strong and fast, stabbing into the stream like a