The Dark Mirror by Juliet Marillier Page B

Broichan’s way of seeing the world. He could do that. He just had to stay calm, as Broichan himself did, and talk, not like a child, but like a druid.
    “My lord,” he began, “Tuala—the baby—came here at midnight on the solstice. The moonwoke me, shining in my window. I went out and there she was on the doorstep.”
    The druid frowned. “And where were the other members of my household while you were wandering about the place at night?”
    “Asleep, my lord. It was after the ritual.”
    “I see. Go on.”
    “I—I thought she was a gift, my lord. A gift for—” not
for me
, however much he felt this to be true, “a gift for all of us. A trust.The Shining One wanted us to take Tuala in: to keep her safe.”
    “Bridei,” Broichan’s tone was stern, “don’t tell me you are too foolish to recognize what that small creature is. No human infant ever had such eyes, such white skin, nor such a grave and knowing expression. She’s not some local girl’s by-blow; she’s one of the Good Folk.”
    “Yes, my lord,” said Bridei, realizing this was the firsttime anyone had actually put this into so many words. “She was cold. She would have died out there.”
    There was a pause. “A human child would certainly not have survived the night,” Broichan acknowledged.
    “Yes, my lord.” Bridei was working hard to echo the druid’s calm, detached tone. “I know Tuala came from the Good Folk. They brought her here on purpose. The Shining One woke me up so I wouldfind her. It was meant. We’re supposed to keep her.” Bridei’s voice wobbled a little, despite himself. “Tuala’s a very good baby, my lord. She hardly ever cries. And she has nowhere else to go.”
    “I imagine there was a conveyance of some kind? A basket?”
    “Yes, my lord.”
    “Where is it?” Broichan asked flatly.
    Bridei felt a prickling behind his eyes; he clenched his teeth tight together.
    “Answerme.” The druid’s voice was a death knell.
    “In my chamber,” Bridei whispered.
    “Fetch it.”
    “Yes, my lord.”
    Bridei did not look at the others, could not look, as he made his way to his own domain and returned with the little forest cradle under his arm. All the same, he saw them, frozen as if carven in stone and all staring at him: Donal with his honest features full of amazement, Enfret andthe other men at arms equally surprised, Ferat anxious, Mara grim, and sweet-faced Brenna with the baby in her arms: Tuala, who had become, so quickly, the still center about whom all else turned. She was so small . . .
    His feet leaden, Bridei walked back to his foster father’s chamber. It was hard to keep control of his thoughts, for his head churned with them. Tuala had nobody else, nobodybut him. The others only loved her because of the charm, and as soon as Broichan undid it they would be all too ready to cast her out. Her own folk didn’t want her any more than his family seemed to want him—he’d had not a word from them since they sent him here. But at least he had his foster father and Donal and the others. He had a home. Tuala had nothing.
    Bridei was at the door now. He couldbeg, of course; he could weep and plead like the child he was. Weeping would be all too easy; he felt the tears in his eyes now as he looked down at the scrap of woven leaves and grasses in his hands, the strange winter flowers still bright and fresh, the stones of power threaded on the handles. Who could make enough magic to outplay a druid? The key lay hidden at the bottom, the key that wasTuala’s only chance of survival. Bridei swallowed. Tears would be a waste of time; pleading was a weak man’s strategy. A druid listens to reasoned arguments, to logic, to proof.
    Broichan was standing by the small hearth. His expression gave away nothing. “Put it on the table,” he said.
    Bridei did as he was bid. The basket looked very small; already Tuala had outgrown it. “My lord, may I speak?”he asked.
    Broichan’s silence seemed to indicate