The Hidden World

Chapter 14

In the corridor, Maeve met with a bevy of court ladies in flower-coloured gowns who said that they had been sent to find her. Laughing and chattering, they swept her up with them and took her to a chamber high in the keep where a bath and new garments awaited her. The gown they chose for her was amber-coloured with trimmings of bright gold, and when she was dressed, they held a little mirror before her so that she might see herself.

She caught her breath. Never before had she been taken unawares by her own face, regarding it in the instant of surprise as though it were a stranger's. How often had she gazed in a mirror and wondered, Is this really me, this face? Is this what I am? Now she asked the same question, but for another reason. The girl in the glass was not the Maeve she knew. There was something subtly different about her, something new. She turned her head from side to side in puzzlement. The face was thinner, but that was only to be expected after living on frugal traveller's fare. The cheekbones looked sharper, and the cheeks beneath now had a flush of colour in them. The newly washed hair framed the face with softness, and the light glancing through the layer of outer hairs gave her head an aureole. The green in her eyes showed more in that light, and their expression was brighter, keener. But she saw many other things that she had never noticed before: the warmth and sensitivity in those eyes, the hints of humour and generosity in the folds of flesh that framed her mouth, the stubborn strength in the bones that supported the face.

When the ladies were through with their preparations, they led Maeve downstairs again and took her to the throne room. It was filled with people now, and Arawn and Dugall were there, seated in the two thrones. They too had been transformed: they were king and thane, clad in the rich and splendid garments of their offices. She could not take her eyes off Arawn. A mantle of royal blue hung about his shoulders and the red royal dragon of his house ramped across the front of his golden tabard. On his dark hair was a heavy circlet of gold, and on his hand gleamed the royal signet ring. Yet these trappings seemed to her but the outward expression of Arawn, of all the things that she had come to see in him: courage and courtesy, and steadfastness in the face of despair.

He smiled when he saw her, and beckoned to her to approach.

She was led up to the dais. Arawn took her hand and held it high, and proclaimed to all the gathered court who and what she was. And the people bowed—to her, to Maeve. Her cheeks burned with self-consciousness. Because of Grandma, she thought, and she seemed to feel behind her the woven image in the tapestry, as though it were a watching and living presence.

Then Arawn motioned to the other throne. Dugall, grinning, had vacated it. They could not mean her to sit there! But they did; their strong and gentle hands guided her to it, and she took her seat on the velvet cushion and clutched at the carved armrests. She could not meet all those eyes before her, so she looked instead at Arawn, and listened as he spoke to them of the fears and trials they had all experienced and the danger that was yet to come.

When at last Arawn was done speaking, and the people had begun to file silently out the great doors, Finian remarked flippantly, "We have here monk and Druid, old way and new. It seems to me that the Fomori have little hope, for we have many gods to their one."

"Do not blaspheme," growled Cathbad. "And do not underestimate the power of hate. It is like a raging fire, consuming all it touches; the more it feeds, the greater is its hunger."

One of the court ladies offered Maeve a chamber of her own, but she chose to stay with the Ryans in the great hall. The people of the keep offered what comforts they could to the refugees, and as the fortress had been designed and stocked to accommodate all the townsfolk in times of war, they did not suffer greatly. The worst part, Maeve decided, was the waiting. A week passed by under leaden skies, and still there was no news, no end to the gnawing anxiety. Time weighed on them, as heavy as the stifling air of the keep. Yet they did not give in to despair. Their king's strength and resolve had inspired them, the walls of the dun were a constant protection and there is always comfort in company. Maeve started once at the sound of a woman's laugh echoing through the stone hall: it was as though a bird sang in the dead of winter.