Daughter Of The Forest by Juliet Marillier

so did I.” But you were tortured in my house, by my people . “My brother always does what is right. He never betrays a secret. And I may seem a child to you, but I do know what I’m doing—that’s why I was sent for. I don’t know what they plan for you, but you will certainly be helped to reach a place of refuge, and then to return home.”
    He gave a harsh bark of laughter, so sudden it startled me.
    “Home!” he retorted bitterly. “I think not.” He had relaxed his grip on the blanket, and twisted his fingers together. “There’s no place for me there, or anywhere. Why should you bother with me? Go back to your dolls and your embroidery. Sending you here was foolish. What do you think it would take for me to kill you? A quick grab at the hair, a little twist of the neck…I could do it. What was he thinking of, this brother?”
    He flexed his fingers.
    “Good,” I said approvingly, trying to keep my voice steady. “At least you’re starting to think, and look around you. Maybe my brother was wrong, and Father Brien, expecting a warrior such as yourself to repay a debt in kind. Maybe they thought there was a code of honor among your people, as with ours.”
    “Honor? Huh!” He looked directly at me, and I could see that his face might be handsome in the way of the Britons, were it not for the marks of pain and exhaustion. The nose was long and straight, the planes of the face well chiselled and strong. “You know nothing, girl. Tell your brother to take you through a village after he and his men have finished with it. Let him show you what’s left. Ask him if he’s ever spitted a pregnant woman like a suckling pig. Remind him of your people’s habit of slicing the limbs off their victims while they scream for a quick end.” His voice rose. “Question him on the creative uses of hot iron. Then talk to me about codes of honor.”
    He broke off, and began to cough, and I went over to him without thinking and held up the cup of water to his lips. Between the paroxysm of coughing, and trying to breathe, and the trembling of my hand, most of the water went over the bed, but he did swallow a couple of drops despite himself. He drew breath finally, wheezing painfully, and looked at me over the rim of the cup, seeing me for the first time.
    “Damn you,” he said quietly, and he took the cup out of my hand and drank the little that was left. “Damn you all.”
    Father Brien chose this moment to appear at the doorway, took one look at my face and ordered me outside. Sitting under the rowans, listening to the small sounds of bird and insect about their daily business, I wept for my father, and for my brothers, and for myself.
    Father Brien stayed inside a long while. After a time, my tears subsided to a faint hiccup or two, and I blew my nose and tried to get past the hurt of what the boy had said, and concentrate on why I was there. But it was hard; I had to argue with myself every step of the way.
    Finbar is good. I know him as I know myself.
    Why didn’t he speak up, then? Why wait until the damage was done, to perform a rescue? And what about the others? They did nothing .
    Liam is my big brother. Our guide and protector. Our mother gave him that task. He would not do evil things.
    Liam is a killer like his father. So, is the smiling Diarmid. He turns a sunny face to you, but truly he seeks to be just like them both .
    What about Conor, then? He does not go to war. He is just. He is a thinker.
    He, too, could speak out, and does not .
    But he helped us. At least I think he did; he knew about the boy, and he never stopped me.
    Conor is a skillful player of games .
    Cormack knows nothing of war yet; to him it’s all fun and sport, a challenge. He would not condone torture.
    He’ll learn soon enough. He hungers for the taste of blood .
    And what about Padriac? Surely he is quite innocent of all this, absorbed in his creatures and his experiments?
    True enough. But for how long? And what of yourself,