Foxmask by Juliet Marillier Page B

post myself by then.”
    â€œWell?” glowered Brona. “Are you?”
    â€œOf course not!” Creidhe said, seeing that her sister was almost in tears, and marveling that she had not noticed how much of a woman Brona had become, so wrapped up had she been in her own concerns. “Sam’s not exactly the running away kind, Brona. If he wanted something, he’d just ask for it.”
    â€œSo has he?”
    â€œHas he what?”
    â€œAsked. Asked you to marry him. Asked Father for your hand. I know he made you a comb. I’ve seen him looking at you.”
    â€œNo, Brona,” Creidhe said, sitting down on the bed and putting an arm around her sister’s slender shoulders. “Sam hasn’t asked, and I don’t expect him to.” This was not the time to tell Brona that it was possible their father might consider kindly, hard-working Sam no more suitable as a prospective son-in-law than he did Thorvald. “But I do have a secret; you’ve guessed that right.”
    â€œWhat?” Brona’s attention was instantly seized by this; the calculating look on her face showed she was sifting the possibilities, all of which probably had a young man in them. Brona had always been fond of tales of romance.
    â€œI’ll tell you when we get to Grim and Eira’s. But only if you swear to keep it secret.”
    â€œWhy should I swear?”
    â€œI’ll tell you that when we get there too.” Told just enough and no more,Creidhe thought, her sister might prove immensely useful both to cover for her own departure and to soften the bad news for Eyvind and Nessa. Judging by the look in Brona’s eyes whenever the name Sam was mentioned, it wouldn’t be very hard to dream up a return favor. “Now let’s take these bags out to the horses and say our goodbyes. I hope it’s not going to rain. Make sure you put your winter boots on.”
    Eyvind had already left, riding away to Hafnarvagr at dawn with a group of his most trusted men. They would collect Ash on the way. Margaret’s taciturn steward was a man valued for his ability to ease the awkwardness of negotiations on tricky subjects by summarizing, clarifying and suggesting useful compromises. Eyvind had once remarked that Ash had acquired this useful skill by living in the same household as Thorvald and Margaret, neither of whom was known for a pliant disposition. If Ash could survive that, the fearsome chieftains of the Caitt should present him with little difficulty.
    Nessa bade her daughters farewell with a grave kiss on either cheek. She spoke quietly, first to Brona, then to Creidhe while Brona was hugging her small sister one last time.
    â€œBe safe, daughter,” Nessa said softly, her gray eyes gazing with alarming clarity into Creidhe’s own. “This is a branching of the path for you. I’ve seen it. There will be a choice of ways, and some of them trouble me.”
    â€œYou looked in the fire for me?” Creidhe whispered. Her mother had once been a powerful priestess. She’d given that up to wed Eyvind, but the skills she had learned were deep and enduring. She had helped to train Eanna in the arts, and Creidhe knew her mother still used them herself when the need arose. The images in flame, the voices in earth, the song of wind and waves each told a little of the ancestors’ wisdom and the paths ahead. “What have you seen?”
    â€œA journey. A finding and losing. Death. Love. Hurt. I cannot tell if this is a tale encompassed in a single waxing and waning of the moon, or over a far longer span. There’s a strangeness and terror in it that makes me want to keep you here at home, safe where you belong. But I can’t. The ancestors don’t lie to us.”
    Creidhe shivered. Her mother’s eyes were shadowed now.
    â€œHave you told Father about this? About what you saw?”
    â€œNo,” Nessa said.
    â€œI’ll stay home if you